skylermadness

[skylermadness]

i persist in being too lazy to queue anything i upload

[skylermadness]

Promotion Preparation (Harold "Happy" Hogan TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: January 26, 2024)

Original Description:

Guess I might have a new contender for most obscure TF mood and most random character to write a TF story on. So a few weeks ago I watched the second season of Marvel's What If series. Now, for a long time, I've already had Happy as a mood for myself. As a character he intrigued me in a sort of 'random side character' kind of way, which truthfully has been a frequent way I get interested in characters in general. Honestly the amount of times I fell in love with a supporting cast member while completely disregarding the main character is a lot. This is one of those cases, and watching that episode of What If accentuated that mood towards Happy in ways you cannot even believe. Plus he looks cute in a more animated format! Although he looks cute regardless so that's neither here nor there. I didn't really care for the whole Hulk Blood Injection/Freak segments of his day in the limelight episode, but that's just me being not a big Hulk (and adjacent) guy and nothing personal towards him. If you want something funny I actually haven't watched any of the Iron Man movies in literal years so my worldbuilding for this story is probably mostly inaccurate and screwed. Then there's the fact that this story is in a weird point in the MCU timeline that's likely midway through Phase 2 or so. I did try to make do with what I could remember, alongside with what the MCU Wiki could provide me. Although either way this was just a silly self-indulgent story to fulfill a TF mood that I just couldn't stop obsessing over for a bit. Fun fact: The cover for this story was going to use an image of Happy from the Iron Man films, but the image looked too generic that I felt it would come off as appearing too indistinguishable from being an image of Jon Favreau in a suit. Hence I had to change it to a picture of him from What If to avoid any potential weirdness.

   Daryl had considered himself someone that was inexperienced in his field of study. Especially as someone who was still working on his degree in cybersecurity and was only three years in. Despite that however, he had gotten an internship at Stark Industries roughly a few months ago. Something he wasn't even expecting to achieve since he assumed the level of entry for such a job would be high. Especially since the only branch of the company that was near his college was the central branch. But he’s been coasting along pretty well for the few months he's been working as an intern there.

   That's what he presumed anyway. Then he opened his work email this morning to find that he's been asked to a meeting with one of the CEOs of the industry. Specifically Tony Stark himself…

   That alone was enough to cause Daryl's stress levels to go off the rails. A meeting with a CEO was one thing, but the former industry head? In person? And that wasn't taking into account that the guy was Iron Man, an Avenger. It made his heart rate reach levels that he wasn't quite sure was possible for a human being. And that was a feeling that was maintained for much of the day.

   Now, within the building he's been working at for months, he stands outside the door of one of the rooms in the upper floors of the building. He had usually been delegated to the ground level floors but there seemed to be very little differentiation in how the hallways looked between floors. Consistency and all. Didn't make him any less petrified to knock, though. He just stood there eyeing the wood, terrified as to how this would all go down.

   Was he getting fired? Or worse, had he done something that compromised the company? Maybe he left a firewall open for too long and let someone into their network, or perhaps he accidentally mishandled a crucial file and sent it to someone he shouldn't have. Crap, now he's thinking about all the times he's emailed someone with his work email. What if someone who emailed him before had been posing as an employee and-

   “You do realize I can see you just standing there?” a familiar voice called from the intercom beside the door, startling Daryl out his internal spiral. “The door's unlocked.”

   Daryl stiffened a bit, his body already filling with embarrassment. He stood in silence for another few seconds before lifting up a hand and reaching towards the door’s knob before promptly twisting it. Then, with a gentle push, he opens the office door.

   The office itself seemed to be rather tame, if not rather large. It got plenty of natural light judging by the massive window that made up the room’s back. Seating areas of varying sizes and uses found to the left and right of the room. Meanwhile at the middle back of the office was the main desk for work. And sitting at that desk was Tony Stark himself.

   “Daryl Griffin, was it?” the man inquired.

   “Uh, yeah…” Daryl responded as he started to walk away from the door and towards the desk. Something about his stress combined with the room’s size just made the walkway itself feel longer than it actually was. What was only a few seconds of walking felt like whole minutes. Despite the weird feeling of time disparity though, he reached the desk and took a seat in the chair opposite to Stark’s.

   “Took the casual approach for this meeting, huh?” Tony commented.

   Daryl could feel his own soul shrivel at that remark. He didn't have much time to really switch out to something more formal seeing as this meeting was scheduled less than a half hour after his last class for the day. It resulted in him wearing a T-shirt beneath a fully unbuttoned flannel, alongside a pair of jeans and athletic shoes. “I-I didn't have the time to change really-”

   Stark’s face remained emotionless for a few seconds… and then he smiled. “I'm just messing with ya, kid. I'm just wearing a t-shirt right now!”

   Daryl just nodded, his stress only dissipating a little at the statement.

   “Hm, usually I get the fanboys,” Stark remarked at the silence. “Right to business then. I'm presuming you're wondering why you were called into this meeting?”

   “Y-yeah,” Daryl attempted not to make eye contact. “Look, if I sent anyone anything it was probably because of an email hijack I might not have caught-”

   Tony let out a low laugh. “Kid, this isn't a scolding, nor have we dealt with any email hijackers in a while. Truthfully you've seemed to have been doing well at your job despite this only being an internship position.”

   The praise continued to melt away Daryl’s stress. “What? I- I guess that's something considering I'm only a third year at my college. Although I'm taking it I'm here for more than just praise-”

   “Bingo. Considering how you are, I think it would benefit us both that your position is moved to something more permanent.”

   Daryl paused, gears in his head turning and he tried to comprehend what was just told to him. “I- wait, are you… promoting me to an official job here?”

   “Quite more than that actually…” Tony says with a smile. He slid a piece of paper, a contract, across the desk and to Daryl. “You'll be placed as Stark Industries’ new Head of Security.”

   And the stress levels we back up. “H-H-Head of Security!? That can't be right, I’m still in college!!!”

   “Well, it's moreso a gradual position. One that needs some level of prep work, but that'll all be talked about if you agree to the job.”

   Gradual? Prep work?? Daryl was left dumbfounded at the offer. Was his prowess really that good to warrant being the Head of Security for an entire industry!? Something about that just felt so… so… impossible, but…

   The young man couldn't hold himself back from reaching towards the nearest pen. “I'm assuming this is something that'll be in full effect once I get my degree…?”

   “You could say that,” Tony responded. It felt cryptic, like the man was hiding something.

   Daryl didn't dwell on it for too much though. It feels like this was the offer of a lifetime, and in a quite literal manner that he could have this job until retirement. Working with Stark Industries straight out of college… the paychecks he could get from such a high position like Head of Security… It was an offer that was too good to pass up.

   And so Daryl writes his name onto the contract, the young man not even taking a moment to read it through.

   “Didn't even think twice on that, huh?” Stark said with a smirk. He slid back the contract towards him with one hand, and with the other he seemed to slink off the desk and beneath it. “Preparations can be put underway then.”

   Daryl smiled. “May I ask what kind of preparations…? Will I still remain in this internship until I get my degree? Or uh, will I be put in contact with the previous head? Just curious how this will- augh!”

   His questioning is cut short as he feels something cold jab itself into the side of his neck. For a few seconds Daryl’s body seizes up, but he regains control as he quickly lifts up a hand to feel the spot. 

   Pushing his seat back a bit Daryl looked behind him and found a silvery robotic suit reminiscent of Stark’s various Iron Man suits. He knew for a fact that wasn't there before. Furthermore its left hand was in the process of unmorphing from something, and he could see the appearance of a needle or syringe-like object in the mass of shifting metals. “Uhhh, wh-what was that?”

   “Nanite injection,” Stark responded plainly. “Again, part of the preparations for your new position.”

   “I, uh…” a dizziness started to enter Daryl as he turned to look at Tony and speak again. “What preparations needs… that…”

   “Juuuuust give it a bit…” Stark said, idly watching.

   Daryl wanted to respond, but the dizzy spell was making it hard to focus in full. Instead he elected to investigate himself, removing his hand from his neck to see if there was any blood on it. He was quite surprised to find that only a small amount had bled onto his palm. Although that small drop of blood had a tangible mixture of deep red and a dimly glowing blue. And what was even weirder was that his hand seemed to be… different. Changing.

   At first it all seemed to be slight. Something that looked to be a trick of his oncoming daze. Each individual finger seemingly getting slightly longer, slightly thicker. That change in appearance was only getting more prominent in just seconds as their once thin size was replaced with an almost chunkier looking physicality. The same was also being applied to the rest of his hand with it getting stretched out to be larger and more in proportion with his new fingers. The same was applied with its thickness as well which, albeit wasn't the most significant in changes, was fairly noticeable whenever he inspected his hand from the size. 

   A much stranger change was following however. The softness of his hands was quickly appearing to alter, seemingly looking to be getting more aged almost. His palms growing harder and more callused, the back of his hands getting more noticeably weathered. There even seemed to be a few scars etching into his knuckles. 

   “Whuh…?” was the best response Daryl could come up with at the sight. The man also made sure to check his other hand, his brain taking a few moments to fully realize the transformation was happening there as well. His mind was already feeling so fogged up that it was hard to fully comprehend just everything. It practically felt like his brain was on the beginnings of being put on anesthetics.

   That wasn't fully the case though, and if it was he probably wouldn't be feeling a dense heat surging through his arm muscles. Daryl was a rather thin fellow, but it was rapidly getting more tangible that what was injected into him was changing his body type at the most basic level. His arms were swelling up slightly larger, a low musculature steadily layering onto them. It wasn't the most drastic of mass growths as his new muscles were looking to be more equipped for lower level combat than they would be for more strenuous strength-related ordeals. But that didn't stop his biceps and triceps from just barely outlining themselves in the short sleeves of his flannel, evidently proving that no matter what his new size was going to just barely going to be larger than his current one.

   Muscle wasn't the only thing forming however. A layer of softness was lightly layering over them as well. Small amounts of fat formulating and increasing the width of his arms even more. Furthermore on his skin it would seem the amount of arm hair he possessed was increasing as well. Not by an immense amount, but still just enough that it was slightly more visible than usual.

   The ill-fitting feeling of his sleeves persisted as his shoulder muscles developed a bit more. Pressure was forming in his bones as well, the remainder of his shirt already feeling weird on his form as he was in the process of getting wider. His form getting broader and a couple inches being added to him horizontally. All of which was quickly followed by a heat in his core, and a churning in his gut.

   The warmth that coursed through him was a byproduct of yet another deluge of muscle gain. The flatness of Daryl’s chest was quickly superseded and his upper body strength increased as his pectoral muscles grew in size. It still wasn't the most drastic of growths though as his pecs only gently dented into his shirt, but it was still enough to form just a bit of cleavage. Meanwhile at the lower half of his torso his abdominal muscles followed in a similar manner by rapidly rippling forward a little and hardening as well. Even then however his belly had a level of smoothness, his newly developed abs only slightly visible beneath in it.

   But the churning in his stomach remained. The younger man bent forward a bit, slinging a transformed arm around his abdomen and moaned. The haze in his mind didn't fully let him string together a sentence, so in the end all he could sputter out was, “What’re ya… doing to…”

   His belly rumbled, and then the second half of his bodily changes were enacted. Softness formed throughout the entirety of his torso, expanding itself across him and prompting a major gain in weight. His pecs got a bit thicker with a layer of fat, pushing forward even more as they rounded out more. The most prominent change came with his belly however. Fat accumulating at a rapid pace, his stomach swelling forward more and more with each passing second. Just getting larger, rounder, and slightly pushing the hem of his shirt up more and more. Although in the end the gain in size would only result in his shirt moving upwards to a few centimeters above his belly button, it was still a fairly significant growth regardless. Especially since it was followed up by a light tickling spreading across his torso. A sparse amount of hair ran up his midline until it would reach his chest, in which it would then spread into a light dusting of chest fuzz. A few hairs even looked to be graying.

   All Daryl could do was gently squeeze his gut in confusion. His ability to think straight was reaching a point where it was extremely difficult to pull off. He knew something was up but every time he tried to fathom it his train of thought just derailed. And if anything he also felt like he could feel his own mind was starting to get rearranged as well. As if bits and pieces of it were in the process of being removed or altered. But the ramifications of such a thing weren't tangible yet, or at least he thought they weren't. Even if it was seeming like the way his body was looking was getting increasingly familiar. Increasingly his own…?

   His mental haze had left him distracted from the increasing tightness within his pants. His legs were kick-starting their changes with muscle mass forming across them alongside some fat. Much like with his arms the increasing diameter of his legs wasn't the most drastic of bodily changes. His thicker thighs pushed up against the denim of his jeans quite a bit, and the same could be said with his calves that were in the process of swelling with fat. Despite it all though strength coursed through his muscles. A new increase in endurance that the man had not possessed prior to the transformation.

   Concurrent with his leg growth were also the changes happening in his feet. His shoes had quickly started feeling undersized as his feet began their expansion, extending forward while getting thicker and meatier. Pushing against the toecaps were his toes, now becoming chunkier than they had been before. As his heels pressed against the back of his sneakers a hardness formed across his soles as callouses manifested. All while specks of hair poked out from the bridge of his feet. His footwear still was managing to contain his larger appendages, but it was evident that there was still some level of struggling involved between their differing size.

   It was at this point that the changes were also properly reaching the uppermost quarter of the man’s body. His neck was already in the process of widening and he could feel a pressure coursing across his face. “I… a-ahhh…” he moaned out, the sound of his voice seeming to alter just a bit. Seemingly deepening just a smidge with the tone shifting alongside it. 

   “It honestly isn't the easiest thing to find people matching the proper qualifications for the job, especially since…” Stark started explaining just why he was doing this, but Daryl had evidently no ability to fully keep up with the man’s monologue. For a second the man could tune in and hear a statement about trust problems regarding confidential work or the fact that it'd be easier to create your own workers, but everything else fell onto the ears of a man whose mind was feeling like it was being restructured.

   The pressure around his face continued as his skull was in the process of restructuring. While it got larger to fit his new proportions it seemed to lengthen a bit vertically as well, his forehead seeming to get a little larger alongside the area around his chin. All the while his jawline was in the process of reshaping itself, the angling of the sides shifting as the deepest portion of his jaw rounded. It all had caused his head to gain an almost ellipsoidal shape. The slight roundness of it got more prevalent as a bit of submental fat descended a little beneath his chin.

   At the same time his facial features were changing. The shifts weren't the most drastic though: his nose getting a bit wider, rounder, bigger. Eyebrows quickly thinning out while reshaping to a more soft angled, almost S-shaped appearance. Meanwhile his eyes were getting a little bit smaller and his ears pulled back slightly. Fat accumulated around areas of his face, his cheeks in particular, while some slight levels  of aging and weathering started to appear at the edges of his eyes. One of the more prominent changes came with his chin developing some slight pronunciation, a noticeable lump now pushing forward. 

   The last major concurrent change came with his hair. His hairline was evidently receding a bit. There was a certain level of curling that was etching into each follicle on his scalp, all of them lengthening a little as they turned and curved. Although some level of methodical shifts happened in his hair, still remaining slightly short while combing itself back. This quickly resulted in the final appearance of his hair to be fairly well kept and slightly volumed, albeit with small portions sticking out at points.

   He continued to squeeze his stomach while his other hand raised to touch his face. He could only let out a single exhale as he felt his cheeks flush. By this point his brain just felt jumbled to say the least. Mainly in part because, while he couldn't fully comprehend it, the nanites in his system truly were rewriting how his brain operated. How his mind viewed… everything.

   Knowledge was being shuffled and replaced. The requirements for his old cybersecurity job seemingly switched out for decades of new information. Ones needed by a now ex-boxer, ones needed by a bodyguard, ones needed by a head of security for a major corporation. All the memories required for such things, his own past being restructured to fit an identity that was replacing his old one rapidly. For a second he stared at Stark, the man continuing to go off about something, and it caused another spiral of memories to unleash itself upon him as his perspective shifted to seeing the man as more than a boss. A friend.

   Gone were the perceptions of a simple internship, and gone were the youthful twenty-something years of memories. Instead it was reshuffled, rearranged, practically extended as his entire identity was altered beneath the transformative effects of the nanites. As far as he was aware he's been a part of Stark Industries for years. But even then so many blanks remained, so many years still missing. Things that the strange technology would have to deal with as this form remained like this longer. For the time being however, as the foreign feeling of it all faded, the haze started to lift as the new man steadily came to.

   The last major change came with the man’s clothing, the technology within him doing something to shift his attire to fit his form more. All of it was growing a bit to fit his heftier body shape. The hem of his undershirt slipped down and tucking itself into his pants while the sleeves of it extended over his arms until they went a little over his wrist. A plain white color extended across the undershirt as the material shifted into something a bit finer. A split ran down the middle of the shirt as well, buttons manifesting out the material (and already fastened as well). The neckline extended upwards as well points folding out as the shirt became collared, its appearance now exactly that of a dress shirt.

   The patterning on his flannel faded as blotches of black formed across it. The material shifted as well, the softness also becoming more fine and pressed. Multiple buttons were consumed by the changing material while others were changed, repositioned, and gotten a little larger. Especially the ones at the lower half, which had now made its way towards fastening itself around his stomach. The sleeves lengthened to match that of his undershirt, and the hem of the morphing clothing lengthened vertically as well. Some more shifts and folds occured as well with the collar lengthening a bit while a lapel folded out from the split. By this point the flannel had fully become a suit jacket instead.

   The last bits of clothing changes were fairly standard as well. The rough denim of his jeans smoothing over, material shifting to one like that of his suit jacket. That being finely tailored and a deep black coloration to make them more like suit pants. A black leather belt also snaked around his waist with the silver buckle fastening once it was comfortably around him. His shoes were in the process of shifting as well, the urban feel of the sneakers being smoothed out as the cloth became a clean black leather. It all resulted in a formal feel to imprint into his footwear to change them into dress shoes. 

   With all of that done the very last pieces of his attire came with a tie. The object materialized beneath his shirt’s collar and elegantly tied itself around his neck before drifting down and tucking the rest of itself under his jacket. Although it ended up feeling a bit tight around his neck, the man being prompted to lower the hand touching his face in order to properly readjust it. That in itself was a sign he had come to to some degree, the words of Tony Stark’s rambling properly entering his ears.

   “...then again it's not exactly cheap to manufacture these-”

   “I-I'm sorry,” he interrupted, the man still trying to readjust his tie. “I think I blanked about ten minutes ago and didn't even hear any of that.”

   Tony raised a brow, although a slight smirk had seemed to form on his face. “Fine, fine. Happy, what's the last thing you remember?”

   That nickname ignited something within him, within Happy. A brown coloration overtook his irises as he started to respond. “Er- walking in here, I think…” he unhanded his tie and started to raise one up to his neck. “And a pain in my neck.”

   “So nothing!” Tony said, faining exasperation. “You know, while I like to hear myself talk I don't necessarily enjoy having to re-explain ten minutes of work info.”

   “Again, apologies. Truthfully it feels like I've blacked out most of the day anyway. I don't even remember waking up this morning.”

   A momentary silence occurred as Tony seemingly was thinking of something to say in response. “Well they did say you may have some memory lapses ever since you had to start taking those nanite shots after that accident…”

   “What do you…?” Happy raised a brow. He couldn't recall anything about that…

   “See, this is why it's important to have others around you-” Stark got up and went to the other side of the table. He placed a hand on Happy’s shoulder and playfully shook him. “-to help you remember important information like this!”

   “Tony, please.”

   “It's nothing to worry about, bud,” Tony reassured. “We can go on an in-depth discussion on it after work.”

   Happy seemed unconvinced, but let it go. His mind felt way too groggy to deal with much right now. 

   “Fine, fine,” he sat back in his chair. “Let's just get this meeting over with then.”

#tf #character tf #transformation #human tf #weight gain tf #age progression #male transformation

[skylermadness]

Cosmic Adoration (Ophion TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: February 14, 2024)

Hey look, I'm uploading something in the same day it gets uploaded on my other accounts. Woah.

Original Description:

Happy Valentine's Day! I've sort of become infrequent when it comes to holiday-themed TFs, but this was actually a story I've wanted to write out for a long time! Quite literally since I started writing it back in January of last year before getting burnt out and never finishing it... until now, anyway. Now I have it done and I can upload it publicly for all to see! I'm quite proud of how this turned out. I typically don't deal in PMC but I feel like that would have been the best route to take this story, and full MC would have tarnished what little themes I was trying to convey with this.  I don't think I have much commentary besides all of that though. I guess I could mention there was going to be a reality change segment in the furthest end of the post-TF, but with how I led that segment of the story along I couldn't really fit it in without it feeling needless and awkward.

   Valentine's Day.

   Initially the very concept of the holiday had eluded Hugo for a good chunk of his life. This had mainly been because he had trouble discerning the purpose of the holiday. Why did such a holiday need to exist to celebrate love? Especially when such a thing could be celebrated on any day of the year. To him, at least originally, it was just a way for stores to boost sales. The most he'd usually acknowledge is the price drops of confectionaries after and that was it. So as far as he cared the holiday was nigh-nonexistent…

   That pattern of thought lasted for about twenty-five years. Then he met… Jace…

   Dating had always been outside of Hugo’s range of social skills. He had originally thought himself as never really feeling the desire for it. He was content with being single, or at least he tried to tell himself that as to avoid confronting any weird feelings he might have. This thought pattern had quickly changed over the past ten months however, and it was all thanks to the introduction of his boyfriend into his life.

   It was… strange, really. Having first fallen in love all that time ago. Was it love at first sight, or was it gradual…? Hugo had originally just been sitting in a coffee shop waiting for his order before going to work, but had encountered Jace after they seemed to recognize him as someone whom he shared a few high school classes with so many years ago. He'd be lying if he said he knew what the guy was talking about, but the thought of being recognized so randomly was quite pleasant.

   Their encounters at that shop became frequent, almost weekly. Casual talks about life between the two, sharing their interests and enjoyments to one another. Admittedly Hugo had been the more reserved one of the two, but he always enjoyed listening to Jace talk about their own life. He loved hearing his voice, he loved hearing him speak so passionately about things, he loved… him…

   It was definitely a little awkward whispering those very words beneath a breath while in mid-conversation. And even more so when they decided to take things outside and less public so they could talk it out. That awkwardness had quickly faded though, their conversation shifting more into the hypotheticals of dating each other. It was silly and lifted Hugo's spirits up a bit after what he felt like was one big act of making a fool of himself.

   Then Jace said he would like to date.

   Hugo was surprised, stuttering and sweating and being filled with complete and utter confusion. Jace then gave him a small kiss on the cheek, the man's mustache ticking the skin and making Hugo feel even more flustered. 

   That was enough to settle everything though. They were officially getting together… but now Hugo had a new problem.

   It's been ten months of them dating now and he felt… inadequate? He always felt like his way of expressing love was lackluster in comparison to Jace's. Jace was the more expressive and outgoing one of the two, meanwhile Hugo always had trouble trying to properly express his own emotions in a way that didn't sound like he was forcing it out of himself. He just always had trouble trying to say things properly. Trying to determine what to say, what to do. Was he romantic enough? Was he receiving without giving back in a perfectly equal amount? Of course Jace had been left unaware of these concerns. Hugo had chosen not to tell these fears to them, which in truth might not be a good idea…

   He shook his head, then whispered to himself. "Why am I such a mess…"

   Realizing he had his head down in thought the whole time, Hugo raised it and looked forward. He was currently walking down the sidewalk of the city's shopping district. It was currently February 13th, the eve of Valentine's Day, and Hugo had decided that with the day of celebrating love fast approaching he should do something for it. It wouldn't necessarily be something grand, but he at least wanted to give his boyfriend something that would commemorate his own love for them.

   That's easier said than done though. Fortunately Hugo had a plan! He was on this particular street for a reason, to visit an antique's store and locate something of value there that would be enough to encapsulate his passion. Unfortunately, that was also easier said than done. He wasn't even sure he'd find something there, especially considering how… odd the wares seemed to be, at least just by a casual glance at the store's website.

   Still, it was an adequate starting point. His steps began to slow as his peripherals caught onto the deep brown wood of a building. Hugo turned, gazing into the windows and finding shelves lined with various peculiar objects. Too many to discern properly. He lifted his head for one final check, staring up at the letting that spelled out the store's name.

   Maurice's Audacious Antiques. The very place he was looking for. Perfect…

   A bell above the door silently rang as the young man walked in and the wooden floorboards softly creaked beneath the new weight introduced upon them. The place had an odd and comfy feel to it. Hugo would describe it as cabin in the woods-type vibes. And considering the rusting of the shelves to his left, this place definitely has age to it.

   His eyes then caught a singular person here. To the right, behind a counter was a rotund man with a balding head and a thick, tied up beard. His head constantly went back and forth between two objects, a laptop and a notebook with poorly scrawled wording in it, while mumbling random things that Hugo couldn't discern. Hugo took a few steps forward before he was in front of the counter, the younger man noting that the older one hadn't seemed to notice him yet.

   "Uh, hi…?"

   The burly bear of a man raised upwards with his eyes wide, sharply inhaling. "Got damn, ya' startled me!"

   Hugo rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Sorry about that… sir?"

   The man's face suddenly shifted from startled to smiling. "No need fer formal'ties! Jus' call me Maurice!"

   "Er, right. I just uh, came here to…" Hugo started to trail off. Should he say the reason why he's even here? Will it even help?

   Maurice raised a brow. "Ya' alright, son?"

   Hugo blinked a few times, then swallowed the forming lump in his throat. "I-I'm fine! I just uh, wanted to find a… gift for someone close to me."

   The older man nodded, stroking his beard in thought. Silence filled the space between the two for a few seconds before one of them spoke again. 

   "Don' think I've gott'n a reques' like that before. Ya might be able to find somethin' in one a' the furth'r shelves though. They have all kindsa trinkets 'n knick-knacks." Maurice advised. He then repositioned his hand to lean his head on its palm. "With our recent batch a' stuff, ya' should find somethin' you like!"

   Hugo nodded in response. "Th-thank you… Maurice-"

   He turned around and went to the area he was advised to go to. The store's amount of stock was unimpressive with only a single row of five shelves filed one after another, but he had settled on checking the fourth one for anything interesting. It looked like it had small stuff in it after all. Although he was a little curious about the store owner's usage of should and would. It felt like they didn't know their own stock. They tried to ignore that though. They had to focus on finding a gift for Jace.

   It was now that Hugo truly saw how strange the objects on these shelves seemed to be though.

   Some seemed pretty normal. A few intricately designed rings, sets of jeweled earrings, and weird looking necklaces with a design-scheme that felt expensive to look at. However, oddities seemed to pop up left and right. A red, glass-looking orb; sitting beside it was a blue orb with gold metal zigzagging across the middle. Some weird sharp pen-looking thing, a golden chalice of some kind, and… was that a marble pauldron???

   "This is so weird…" Hugo whispered to himself. 

   Finding a gift was already hard enough, but the pure absurdity here made things feel more challenging than they needed to be. At least finding something perfect was a non-issue. He casually picked up one of the many spheres, one that looked like it contained an entire galaxy inside, and stared at it in utter confusion. 

   He whispered again, "What is your purpose??" while pushing his face close to the object. He then set it down again, suddenly worried that he might break it.

   "This isn't going to work…" he sighed, slowly stepping closer to the shelf's end and the window beside it. He sounded off more objects in his head as he continued forward. Weird blue crystal, a pair of sunglasses, a censor thing, some kind of… cap??

   For an antiques store all of this felt absurd-

   His confusion was momentarily broken as the peripheral of his eye caught onto something glistening. He turned his head to look and found… another necklace? A fairly simple one at that. It was a single golden string with a white elliptoid object on it. For some reason he felt compelled to pick it up, gently cupping the elliptoid and putting it in his hand.

   "What is this…" he asked himself, lifting his hand towards his face a little. The elliptoid looked almost like an egg. Its shell was adorned with beautifully designed spirals, rigid enough that rubbing a thumb over it allowed him to feel them out a little. It felt nice. Nice and warm. He wasn't sure why it was warm, probably because of the sunlight, but it was oddly calming to him.

   "It does look pretty neat," he said with a smile. His mind was wracking over all the possible representations this single object could hold. The warmth he feels around Jace, the way they have slowly have made him try to come out of his shell, the newness he felt upon realizing his love for them. A small laugh escaped his throat. All of those sound so cheesy, damn. But… they're the truth, are they not? 

   It feels so embarrassing though. His smile falters, his emotions dimming. What if it's too cheesy though? What if it comes out horribly and he makes a fool of himself in front of Jace? Damn it, damn it, damn it, he felt so fucking stupid!!

   He sighs. "I-I'm overthinking this, I have to… I have to calm down. I just…" he looked out the window, sighing. "I just wish I could better show my feelings…"

   Right as these words left his mouth the egg on the necklace began to glow. Bright gold shone from the unknown material, the object slowly shaking as it seemed to move closer to him. Hugo had felt the object moving in his hands and looked towards it, but barely got any time to process it as the object practically flung out of his hand and around his neck.

   "Wh-what the hell-" he exclaimed, feeling a tickling around his neck as the string tied around it. He reached up both hands to try and grasp the mysterious egg-like object and pull it off. However, the moment his palm made contact with it he felt an intense warmth run throughout his entire body. He took a few steps back, bumping into the shelf behind him, as an intense golden glow entered his irises.

   "What is… hhhaaa…."

   A hand opened, fingers unfurling away from the elliptoid as they began to twitch. A strange energy was filling his body, coursing through it painlessly and warming it to a strangely comforting degree. All the while strange changes was beginning to form into his form.

   His hands were the part of his body that first made contact with the necklace, which meant they were the first to have begun their transformation. As Hugo's fingers twitched his nails began to lengthen. They grew longer, the tips getting sharper and curling as if they were becoming claws. Their translucency was lost as they gained a golden tone as well. The skin on his hands started to lighten, a cream color entering them as the softness hardened. A leathery texture had steadily etched into them while their composition became less fleshy and more scaly.

   As the cream-colored scales started to form across his hands, their size was beginning to increase as well. Both hands had stretched out to become larger and thicker. His fingers were getting plumper and meatier. As his hands got larger in size he gripped both of them into fists, his knuckles proceeding to ache for a moment before short, sharp golden spikes erupted from beneath the scales.

   The scales quickly started to move upwards to his wrists and forearms. The area increased in size to match the proportions of his hands. However, this new enlargement had also been due to a gain in muscle mass. Comforting heat surging into his forearm muscles as they began to gain bulk. At the same time the coloration of his scales had steadily shifted, hue changing from its soft cream to a brilliant gold. All the while more short golden spikes erupted from the back of his forearms at evenly spaced intervals before seemingly ending at his elbow.

   His elbows got larger, the scales rapidly transitioning to his upper arm and running beneath the short sleeves of his polo shirt. The sleeves proceeded to constrict, his muscles now bloating beneath the lustrous scurf he was gaining. His biceps bulged beneath the fabric to a quickly noticeable degree. His triceps mirrored those changes as well, Hugo's once skinny arms now having been mostly consumed by his newfound musculature. Rips started to form within the fabric of his sleeves as his delts ballooned, his shoulders widening drastically as everything soon began to flow into his body proper.

   Hugo leaned on a shelf, breathing deeply as he stared down at a hand. His mind was feeling… conflicted, to say the least. A fraction of him wanted to be afraid, wanted to attempt to pry off this necklace from his neck. His other arm was slowly raising itself up to fulfill that desire. But his fingers that were slowly curling around the elliptoid never closed the gaps between them.

   There was still another fraction of his mind. Curiosity as to what was going on, as to what this object was doing to him. A strange desire to let that curiosity flourish and let these changes progress. What was happening to him, why was it happening?

   His breathing slowed just slightly. "What does this necklace want to do to me!?"

   It had to be the necklace's will after all. Such a thought felt so absurd, but in the back of his head he felt it was correct to assume to.

   A sharp exhale exited his mouth as he felt a sharp heat enter his torso for a second. His shirt began constricting even more as he felt his own collar bone widen, his entire frame being made more wide and broad. The one button of his polo he had fastened started straining as a result, his frame clearly getting larger than his shirt had been accustomed too. Shortly after that the comforting warmth entered his torso as well. The light of the necklace's egg glowed brighter for a moment, Hugo beginning to feel a strange feeling well up inside him as it did so.

   As the scales started to converge on his chest their color lightened back to its previous cream tone. Meanwhile, his chest began to swell in size. His pectorals got larger and rounder, packing on mass at a steady rate as his polo filled out more and more. It wasn't long until their thickening pressed up against his shirt, steadily testing its limits each passing second as his cleavage got deeper and more visible within the fabric. The new roundness of his pectorals were quite visible in general. The one fastened button of his shirt would suddenly pop off, unable to hold itself against the slabs of meat that were now his pecs.

   Meanwhile the changes were running down his back as well. The back of his shirt was tightening as his trapezius muscles broadened and enlarged. A sudden surge zipped down his spine, the vertebrae decompressing and getting thicker steadily forcing his height to increase by a few inches over the course of the next few minutes. But the strongest feeling was in two points of his upper back, a massive pressure slowly mounting into them. Two bumps slowly rising from the skin-turning-scales, hard spikes emerging from those bumps and beginning to poke holes in the fabric of his shirt. This pressure only seemed to increase as time went on, Hugo stumbling forward a bit and hunching. He gripped his abdomen with his left arm while he grasped onto a shelf with his right, the sound of metal crunching piercing the air thanks to the strength of his grip and sharpness of his claws. 

   Hugo practically growled at the mix of senses he was enduring right now. "F-fucking hell-" his voice cracks slightly, sounding slightly deeper as it crackles. "W-where'd that comfort go…"

   The warmth he was looking for still remained, albeit now drowned out by the insurmountable pressure in his back.

   His abdomen started to churn, the region rippling as his entire lower half was consumed by scales. Hardened slabs of muscles arose from the area, abs pushing forward row by row. His shirt was riding up his belly during the process, his new muscles being granted increasingly better visible. It wasn't long until a solid eight-pack of abs formed. An even stranger addition occurred in his abdominal as well, golden gemstones formed on the perpendicular folds of his muscles: a massive diamond-shaped one at the bottom of his pectoral cleavage, a smaller one at the base of his first row of abs, and the smallest at the base of the second row. 

   Beneath a hand he felt his side getting indented as well, the muscles in his obliques shifting and gaining in muscularity, strengthening as his chest was barrelling out. All these changes tightened his polo shirt to an even stronger degree, the threads on his sides unstitching due his much larger body size. The size of his newly formed muscles had resulted in the crevices his muscles had produced being visible from indents in the fabric. Due to his increasing height the hem of his shirt continued to rise even more as well.

   By this point, the holes in the back of his shirt has been stretched even larger by the formulating spikes. Although at this point the spikes had grown larger enough to prove themselves as the pointed ends of an external bone growth. This growth had continued to extend and expand, a pair of large triangular bulges swelling up at his back. Pressure just continued to build up as these bulges got larger and larger. More and more of the back of his shirt continued to tear, and the bulges gained more and more definition in their shape to point that they were proven to be more than just bulging scaley growths. But after a few more seconds of pressure building, everything came to one big feeling of relief.

   “GGRRRAAAAGHHHH!!!” Hugo roared, the sound of splitting fabric piercing the air as his back was finally granted escape from its discomfort. What had emerged from the region was a pair of magnificent wings. They were draconic in appearance with the flesh and membranes possessing the same golden scales that the rest of his body had formed. Furthermore his newly developed wingspan was noticeably large, and as the new appendages curled into themselves it became evident that the fingers of his wings were long enough to descend down to the ground. 

   The young man could feel the heat of his blood pumping through the newly emerged wings. Strange tingles and sensations coursed through his nervous system as his brain was forced to get accustomed to them, and in truth he could feel his muscle memory rapidly getting used to having them there. Once all the pressure and tightness had subsided, Hugo shakily straightened his back and looked behind him.

   “These… things…” he stated, his voice continuing to deepen in tone as he spoke. Like the feel of something commanding was seeping into it. “Why does… having them feel so… nice…?”

   Finally unhanding the shelf in front of him, he moves a hand over to give his new wings a gentle caress. That desire to be afraid had been dispelled now, the man filled with a feel of familiarity at the sight instead. These wings were his, and this body…

   This body is yours, a stray thought pierces his brain. The Celestial Egg is granting what you desire…

   Hugo blinked a few times at the thought, and the pupils of his eyes seemed to get thinner which each blink. He then stops caressing the wing and pulls his hand over to rub a thumb on the egg that adorned the necklace.

   “The Celestial Egg…” he whispered, the meekness of his earlier tone of voice almost completely replaced by an almost deific level of deepness. Meanwhile his mind dwells on the object and thinks about what it's done, what it's doing to him, and as he does so he feels a tinge of pressure at the base of his spine. 

   Instead of sitting around waiting for what he knew was about to explode from his body, he decided to just move his other arm behind him so he could push down the back of his pants a bit. It was a little hard considering his legwear was already at the point that it could barely fit around his waist, but he managed to push the top of his jeans just enough that he could let whatever pressure in his rear relieved itself without having to fight against his pants.

   The act had unveiled a small, pointed growth at the base of his spine. Its size wouldn't remain diminutive however as pressure continued to build up within it, that pressure causing it to quickly extend downwards. At first it started out being rather thin and small, like an unimpressive snake slithering out from above the waistline of his pants. However after a few inches it became noticeable that the lengthening appendage was beginning to get segmented, and each segment was slightly larger in diameter than the last. Come ten segments long and it was undeniable that Hugo was gaining a tail, and it was only getting longer. Twelve segments, fifteen, eighteen, twenty two; all with a sequential increase in diameter by almost an inch. Come the mid-twenties and the tail would be about a ruler in thickness. A few more seconds and the segment count reaches the thirties, in which the rate of growth begins to slow down. Thirty two, thirty three, thirty four… then it comes to a halt at about thirty five segments. By then the tail’s width was about a ruler and a half, and the length itself could only be about four times that long. It also formed with the tail’s aforementioned pointed tip, a series of spikes running across the top of certain segments, and a shine from the golden scales adorning it.

   Concurrent with the growth of his new appendage were the swath of changes entering into the lower half of his body. The sea of scales cascaded down all sides of his body, flowing down his waist and hardening the skin of his legs to match the nigh-reptilian nature the rest of his body was garnering. Beneath the shifting scales on his thighs were his muscles which, just like in his arms, were in the process of bulking up and discarding their once skinny appearance. His quads and hamstrings grew in conjunction with each other, absolutely bulging in strength as the denims of his jeans were forced to strain against his rapidly developing musculature. At the back of his legs were his gluteus muscles, them too in the process of swelling up to the point his rear was rounding out a fair bit.

   Pressure surged throughout the bones in his legs, and the bottoms of each pant leg rose up the crus of his own limbs indicating that more height was being added to his body. All the while a low heat burned in his calves, those muscles also ballooning out of the back of the lower half of his legs. By this point all the crevices that divided his muscles were indenting into the material of his pants, splits and tears forming in the sides of his jeans and revealing the shining gold his body had attained. It was like the changes had finely sculpted his form to a body type akin to the Grecian marble statues, except looking like he himself was worth billions.

   The final change in his body’s lower half came to his feet. By now they had already undergone a process to have grown in order to fit his new bodily proportions, larger and wider and thicker. His chunkier toes were pushing up against the fronts of his shoes to such a degree that the footwear themselves was bulging in its attempt to contain them. The heels of his own feet dug into the back of his shoes, and the sides pressed up against their sides. Even a few rips could be heard as the strings began to snap against the bridge of his feet.

   And then came the sea of scales…

   Once beyond his ankles the hardening of his flesh went from the pristiness of the rest of his form to getting mixed with a shade of vermillion around his feet. As his soles were covered in scales an almost reddish-orange hue formed in the area. Meanwhile the top of his feet seemed to practically harden as a scute-like segmenting broke apart the skin, perfectly dividing itself to align with the ligaments of his toes. And by the time this plating extended to the ends of his toes, an almost bronze shade of brown dispelled the translucency in his toenails as they gradually restructured and sharpened. Rips could be heard from the cloth of his shoes as a quintet of pointed claws emerged from the front, curved and pointed and almost bestial.

   Yet none of the sounds of his clothing shattering or the feeling of his form practically improving on itself were as much a distraction for Hugo as they could have been. All during that segment of the transformation his mind was instead focused on his own thoughts. Because the longer the changes are pressed on, the more his body becomes less human, the more information his brain seems to attain. The more the Egg puts into his mind to make his mentality compatible. And he knows it's the Egg that was doing this. His mind registers it as his unique Sacred Artifact.

   “Holding all that is and ever was in the very palm of my hand…” the changing man speaks cryptically, a low and deep chuckle escaping his throat after he makes the comment. He could practically feel the power of his own voice resonating through the walls of his throat. Although that could also be from the scales rising up his neck.

   A grin then forms on his face, any emotion he was feeling earlier cast away as a feeling of pure confidence had overtaken him. “…and out of everyone within you you're making me one of the most powerful there is? I should feel honored considering just who I used to be~”

   He could only grin wider as he felt pressure wracking his very skull. He lets out a laugh of triumphant glee and exclaims, “Yes! Give me that visage and make this Ophion complete!” For a moment the Celestial Egg around his neck glows brighter as if in response to him, then Ophion (who has at this point cast out the name Hugo) continued to grin as his face finally began to push out with his entire skull structure shifting alongside it.

   The way his skull was restructuring was a complicated series of events to say the least. The lower half of his face was being pushed forward, and his lower jaw seemed to be extending and growing to be a bit wider in size in comparison to the upper portion. That portion of his face would only continue to push out more and more into a muzzle, the very features of his face being reconstructed to fit this new development. His nose melted into the muzzle’s tip as the nostrils became holes at the furthest end, meanwhile his lips quivered as small portions of them reshaped into points and hardened as they did so. By this point his new snout was looking to be one that belonged to someone draconic in nature, much like how the rest of his body had. This was further proven by how the dome of his head was being reshaped, humanity rapidly being lost under a deluge of shifts that made his entire skull structure that of an entirely different species. 

   The shape of his skull wasn't the only thing changing either. As the scales washed across his head, rushing past his neck and circling the base of his muzzle, bony protrusions began painlessly erupting from certain areas of his face. On each side of his head a triad of bone spikes would emerge. The series of spikes just barely obscured his ears, which themselves were in the process of repositioning themselves to protrude at the sides of his head while also gaining an almost elfine pointedness to their structure. His eyebrows were quick to fade beneath the scales, quickly replaced by juttings of golden spikes that layered over yet another set of bone spike triplets that would rise from his browline. Even right in between his eyes a very small spike would emerge. And although these weren't spikes, a pair of short and pointed protrusions would extend out of both ends of his chin.

   All while these changes had occurred, Hugo’s somewhat lengthy hair was being steadily sloughed off. With each inch of his scalp the sea of gold claimed clumps of hair would slip off his head. It's once luscious fullness thinned out, each follicle being shoved out at the root by his magnificent scales. As more of his hair continued falling off it would also reveal one last set of growths on his head. The first of which was rising from the middle of his head’s apex, a series of short brown spikes that would soon run down the middle back of his head. The second of these changes however was significantly more substantial. Two brown points erupted from a portion of the upper region at his head’s back, and those points were quick to grow outwards and upwards. Unlike the rest of his face’s pointed protrusions, these ones were noticeably less bony despite possessing an appearance of hardness to them. And as the duo of brown growths continued to rise out from his skull, diameter getting a little larger as they got longer, it was evident that he was gaining a pair of horns.

   Perhaps the last major change came to Ophion’s teeth. The omnivorous nature of his humanity was quickly shifted, incisors and molars quickly sharpening to fit his new species well. The most drastic change would come to his lower canines though as the reasoning for his lower jaw’s protrusion finally came into tangibility. Much like the horns atop his head the left canine of the two lower teeth would extend upwards a fair bit while sharpening itself and, after a few seconds, shift into being more like a prominent fang. The rightward canine didn't get that luxury however as instead it seemed to practically atomize and leave the gum to harden and scar in mere seconds.

   The pressure that had enveloped the anthropomorphic dragon’s head finally began to subside. A glint of red overtook Ophion’s irises as the pupils finally properly slit like a reptile’s. “This feels so… good,” he muttered to himself as he raised up a hand and gently caressed his own face. “Makes me wish I had a mirror to see just how divine I look now!”

   Because at this point that's just how he felt: absolutely divine! His brain can register memories of a world beyond this one, a life beyond this one, all of which has been meshed and mixed with his own thoughts of his previous humanity. The Egg had taken his desire and, inevitably, went a bit overboard in fulfilling it. But Ophion hadn't cared, the personality overhaul he had garnered was absolutely wonderful! No more pitiful fears about how he acts, no more staggeringly low amounts of self-confidence, no more worries about… about how he can show his love to…

   “Jace…” he whispered beneath a breath. The very name carried the same familiarity that it had when he was a human. And thinking about it… about him made Ophion’s brain register the same emotion the dragon had towards him: an intense feeling of love. But now that intensity practically burned inside him, he felt a devotion that not even those atop the System of Olympus could fell. It was an unquantifiable feeling and was something he just couldn't hold himself from expressing!

   “I can finally do what I've wanted for so long~” Ophion proclaimed. He turns and takes a step forward, but is stopped in his tracks almost immediately as he feels a knee of his pants split over his own. It was at this point that the dragon had finally taken full notice of his extremely ill-fitting clothing. His polo was somehow still hanging on for dear life, meanwhile his jeans were a few stitches away from ripping apart at the sides.

   “I'm going to need something better than this if I'm going to look more presentable…” he sneered.

   The Celestial Egg sparkled a bit and glowed for a few seconds, prompting his clothing to sparkle themselves as a bright light enveloped them. A few seconds later and his clothes would begin to grow, expanding over his form so they could all cover him properly. The hem of his shirt was quick to descend over his abdominal region as the entirety of it enlarged enough that his muscle mass wouldn't indent so intricately into the fabric. But then a different change occured, a deep brown beginning to overtake the coloration of the shirt at a rapid pace. As it did so the small placket of the polo began to extend down the middle, golden buttons lining it but not even bothering to fasten themselves. The once small collar would also lengthen, popping itself upwards as it raised higher and higher. And as the shirt’s split finished its full formation the entirety of the shirt would open to now fully reveal his muscled torso. Meanwhile the back of his shirt was seemingly being restitched, the giant hole formed by his wings altering to become more intentional rather than a byproduct of the appendages tearing through it.

   The sleeves of the shirt weren't left unscathed as any rips were fixed almost instantly. The constricted feeling was alleviated, changed to a more snug feel as they more comfortably outlined his upper arm muscles. By the time the sleeves were enveloped by the brown coloration they would also bulge as if they were simultaneously extending in length while still trying to contain themselves to their shortness. This would eventually manifest in the form of his shirt sleeves now taking a rolled up appearance.

   A similar discoloration had entered his enlarging pants, although this time it was more beige in tone that was enough to shift the denim into a different and finer material. The shifts within his legwear were a little less intense as they would also only enlarge enough to allow movement yet still be tight enough to outline his muscles, all while fixing themselves of the damage his unexpected growth in muscle had incurred. The button that held the jeans closed gained a golden tone, as did the zipper, both of which being left completely open despite the fact his pants fit him now. And with no belt the only thing that held the jeans on his body was a pair of suspenders that snaked from over his shoulders and down his torso before promptly buckling on his legwear.

   The last piece of his attire that remained were his shoes which after being enveloped by the Egg’s magical light… straight up dematerialized into motes of light and leaving his feet bare. The motes of light didn't disappear however, instead floating upwards and behind the dragon before seemingly rematerializing into something else entirely. Fine silken material layering onto his back, amorphousness quickly dispelling as it gained a menagerie of whites and browns, all with trims of gold lining. It was hard to fully realize at first but it would seem that some kind of suit jacket had manifested behind him, being worn casually as it was just clinging onto his shoulders.

   With that the Egg’s glow finally dimmed, Ophion now sporting a look that could only be described as both distinguished and casual. With a smile he held the Artifact with two claws and brought it to his face. “Really abiding by all my wants today, hm?”

   For once the Egg didn't shine in response. The dragon wasn't expecting any though, so he unhanded the object and let it drift back to hang over his chest. He then sauntered forward, making his way out of the aisle… and into the eyeline of a very awestruck Maurice who was still behind the counter.

   “Was wonderin’ if I needed to check on ya’...” Maurice commented as he made eye contact with the anthropomorphic dragon.

   “Does this not happen often?” Ophion inquired as he stepped forward towards the counter. “I can practically smell the stench of anomalous magic from this place now…”

   “Err…” Maurice looked away.

   Ophion chuckled. “Do not think I give much of a care with what you do here. Although I do give thanks for your wares allowing me to attain such a brilliant form~ I don't think I've felt this great in ages!”

   “Uhuh…” Maurice nodded, face still in a mix of awe and surprise. “Well, that’ll be-”

   “I'll be deciding the price here…” the dragon practically demanded. He fished around a back pocket for a bit and pulled out a wallet, although upon opening it he was greeted with his former self’s image in the ID photo window. “…and I have a feeling I won't be here for much longer.”

   Ophion then placed the wallet onto the counter, then turned to make his leave. “Thank you for your help, Maurice! Your actions shall be etched into my memory for as long as time flows!”

   Maurice is just left dumbfounded as he watches Ophion leave the store and, after a good few seconds, jet into the air as one would expect a dragon to do.

   “...still not quite sure how to process that,” the storeowner muttered as his gaze drifted to the wallet the dragon had left behind as payment.

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

   The sound of a blender pierced the air of the apartment, Jace idly watching as the fruit within the object was shredded into a fine paste. He was never quite sure how to spend days off from work whenever he was left alone. Especially since he had his hopes on spending the day with Hugo, but it was almost 5PM and Hugo hadn't gotten back from his mysterious shopping trip yet.

   The apartment falls into silence and Jace eyes his phone. Not even an indicator that his last text was read. “What could he be doing…?” the man muttered in concern.

   Then the melancholy serenity of the room was broken in an instant by the sound of a thump from the apartment balcony. A giant shadow being cast through the glass, easily visible from the kitchen’s adjacency to the balcony door.

   “Uhhhh…” Jace backed up a bit, eyeing the shadow with a slowly building fear in his chest. He couldn't make out what it was, it was just large and… monstrous?

   He then hears the balcony door slide open. A sound that prompted him to turn around and scramble for a knife or something to-

   “Jace…” a deep voice called out, interrupting his actions. Jace promptly squeaked in response, heart rate skyrocketing. He very slowly turns around to see the form of a golden-scaled musclebound dragon anthro staring straight at him.

   “Wh-what are you?!?”

   The dragon tilted its head, a spiky brow raised. “How undignified, I probably should've…” he shoved a hand in a pant pocket and pulled out a phone. “Please give me a moment.”

   Jace just stood there in fearful silence as he watched the dragon futz around with their phone, the sound of claws tapping on glass being the only thing fully heard in the apartment. Then after a few moments a look of satisfaction formed on the dragon’s face.

   “Here,” the dragon held the phone out, its wallpaper fully visible to Jace. The man’s eyes widened as he saw the image: a picture of himself and Hugo. This was Hugo’s phone.

   With a shaky step forward Jace began to verbally panic. “Where did you- what did you-”

   A look of realization then formed on the dragon's face. “Jace, my love, it's me. Hugo.”

   “Your love???” Jace exclaimed, eyeing up the golden dragon with some level of fury in his eyes. “I don't- you can't be! For one, Hugo’s a human!”

   “Was, I was a human,” the dragon corrected. “It would be hard to explain it all fully but,” he raised up a hand and tapped what looked to be an egg that was hanging around his neck. “This? This changed me into this glorious form.”

   Jace was far from convinced though. “Please, people don't just suddenly transform into dragons! You- you have to have done something to him-”

   “Our anniversary is in two months, the receipts for the bracelet you bought me for it are in the dresser next to our bed, and you’re still trying to reserve a date for that one restaurant with the shrimp,” the dragon listed out in rapid succession. He then stepped forward with his arms outstretched. “Now do you believe me, my love? Or must I go into your personal confessions?”

   Jace swallowed a lump in his throat. All those things the reptilian spoke of were correct, and there's no way he could've garnered that information unless he was somehow spying on the two of them. “I-I was hoping you wouldn't have noticed any of that!”

   “We live in an apartment, love,” the dragon, Hugo apparently, stated as he leaned over the kitchen’s island. “It's almost impossible to hide such sensitive information.”

   Jace just nods as he stared into Hugo’s eyes, and just looked at his draconic visage in general. He appeared so nonchalant, so calm, and his face seemed to look more tender the longer he looked at Jace. 

   “I'm… still trying to process this,” Jace began leaning onto the counter behind him. “How the heck did you get that… thing that transformed you into this, Hugo…?”

   “I'd like to start by saying I go by Ophion now. In truth I was trying to find an adequate gift for this coming Valentine's Day,” Ophion began to recount. “I found an interesting antique's store a few days back and decided to pay a visit today. Although in truth it seems that place is some kind of front for magical artifact vending but well…” a somber look formed on his face as he took hold of the necklace’s egg and held it into view. “Truthfully I've always felt like an inadequate lover to you. I was hoping to get you something that'd prove myself, and perhaps make up for my lackluster approach to our relationship. Once I picked up the Celestial Egg it resonated with my desires and made me into this. Transformed me physically, mentally…”

   The dragon leaned a little closer, a fervorous look in his eyes. “Perhaps it even deepened my love for you…”

   Jace let out a sharp exhale, then stepped forward to gently caress Ophion’s face. “Hu- Ophion. You don't have to give me some trinket to prove your love to me. And truthfully for me, I never found you lackluster at all! Perhaps a little neurotic but, you were always still a wonderful person…”

   He then gave the dragon a kiss on the snout.

   “...but I should really ask if you feel better about yourself?”

   “I do,” the dragon confessed. Ophion lifted his head out of Jace’s grasp and straightened himself up. His form from the waist up was visible from behind the kitchen island: strong muscles, glistening scales, those weird crystals embedded in his body. Jace couldn't even help but give a glance at Ophion’s wings, the man wincing at the thought of having to suddenly grow those. Nonetheless, the golden reptilian had a certain confident aura that Hugo seemed to always have trouble mustering.

   “I can't say I'm the same person I was as a human,” Ophion admitted. “The way this Egg works, it put so much into me to make me fit an identity I desired. But I will also admit a fraction of that was because I wanted to be able to better show how much I love you, my love~”

   “I don't think you had to change yourself into a literal dragon to show how much you love me,” Jace said with a laugh. “I'm glad you're happy though. I will admit I'm getting used to being called your love, it's so dignified!”

   He then paused. “Now how will we explain to the landlord that my boyfriend has become a real life scalie…”

   Ophion let out a hearty laugh. “We don't need to deal with that now…” he then walked around the counter to properly stand near Jace. “It's just me and you, today~”

   Ophion then brought Jace into a warm embrace. This mostly meant Jace was being pressed up into the dragon's meaty pecs as he was put into a hug. It made the man blush a bit…

   “Now then…” Ophion’s voice lowers to a whisper, and Jace could feel himself being lifted. “How about I show you how a universe can be made…?”

   Jace raised a brow. “What's that supposed to mean?”

   Ophion just chuckled, and Jace turned his head and found himself being moved out of the kitchen. It took a few more seconds for him to fully register what was about to happen as he realized they were moving into a hallway, and everything finally clicked.

   They were heading to the bedroom…

#character tf #tf #transformation #muscle growth tf #species tf #bara tf #male transformation #reptile tf

[skylermadness]

A Taste of Home (Asgore TF/TG/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: January 22, 2024)

Original Description:

As you can see this was meant to be a story to be released around Christmas but my brain combusted into flames around the time and so I had to put it off for multiple weeks. Still, here it is! This was actually an idea I've had in mind for a long time. Or well, the concept of an FtM Asgore TF was one anyway. FtM is already pretty underrated but FtM involving more hairy and dadly characters seems to be even more underrated in the community. So, y'know, be the change you want in the world! Plus it means I can finally take a crack at doing anything related to Asgore in general... Overall this was a pleasant story to write! I admittedly didn't have much of an idea on what to do while going into it at first, hence the post-TF was just me aimlessly writing until I could reach a satisfying conclusion in my head, but I'm still pleased with how it came out. Although I was not expecting a final word count of 5.3k but well, I guess I really got into things! Plus I get extremely anatomical with transformations these days anyway. Guess those classes I took in high school are paying off. I wish I could use some better artwork in the thumbnail though. But I dislike using fanart for thumbnails so... pixel Asgore it is. I do quite like the artwork I used as a reference though...

   Being alone on the night of Christmas Eve was not really in Jade’s plans for the night. Then again having your friends cancel at the last minute is the peak of unexpected occurrences. It also didn't help that she was alone at a bar, much less one that evidently didn't seem to have anyone else around.

   “Mmm, this just looks sad…” Jade muttered to herself. She had spent the past few minutes just looking down at her phone, the woman only breaking her focus on the object to glance at the bartender nearby. But she would always go back to her phone and pretend she had something to focus on.

   In truth all she was doing was staring at a group chat in her messaging application and eyeing the last few messages sent. A part of her was just hoping someone would backtrack or something. Just send a ‘hey, I was wrong and can actually head down to that nightclub!’ It was clear such a thing wouldn't happen though. Being alone on Christmas Eve was definitely the worst of feelings…

   “Yer doin’ alright there, ma’am?”

   “AH!” Jade shrieked, startled by the sudden acknowledgement of her existence. She proceeded to spend a few seconds trying to make sure her phone didn't tumble out of her hands, all while properly making eye contact with the person who spoke to her. That person being the bartender.

   “O-ough, sorry! Didn’ mean t’ startle ya like that!” the bartender attempted to reassure.

   Jade blinked a few times and regained her composure. “N-no, it's alright! Just… wasn't expecting someone to talk to me is all-”

   “Mmm,” the bartender nodded. Jade never realized in her glances just how much older he seemed to be. Larger body, thick beard, bald scalp.

   He then continued to speak. “First off, name’s Maurice. Second, I jus’ noticed you sittin’ here for the past ten ‘r so minutes. Reeeal long time to be alone.”

   “Yeeeeah,” Jade began smiling awkwardly. “Originally came here to hang out with some friends. Avoid the rush by going out on Christmas Eve and all! They all uh, canceled pretty unexpectedly though. Just me now!” a nervous laugh escaped her throat. She had really hoped to not have to recount this story to anyone tonight.

   Maurice seemed to pick up on the embarrassment however and proceeded to try and switch his tone of voice to sound more caring. “Ahh, huh- apologies for makin’ ya pour all that t’ me, eheh. I should be the one here pouring stuff out!”

   Jade smiled, letting out a light laugh at Maurice’s joke. “It happens, I guess. Just a little bit annoying and all to have it happen, y'know?”

   “Mmm, yep,” Maurice nodded, “But ey, at least ya got out? People ‘ere love t’ walk in the wint’r or somethin’.”

   “Eh, personally I'd rather not have to go out in the freezing cold if I don't have to. Then again I probably will have to in a few minutes so I can get home…”

   “Doesn’ have t’ be freezin’,” Maurice responded. “I have a nice Christmas menu lined up! Was hopin’ to test a few on some people tonight, but well… gettin’ some perspective on at least one ‘s fine.”

   Jade raised a brow. “Christmas-themed drink menu, huh?”

   Maurice had swiftly plunged a hand beneath the table and pulled out an ornately decorated, albeit small, menu card. “Yerp! Warm drinks n’ all! Might help those muscles of yours keep from frostbitin’ over!”

   Jade playfully rolled her eyes at the frostbite statement. “Fine, fine. I'll take a lot at it, see if anything interests me.”

   Maurice slid the menu over to her and Jade picked it up. It was a piece of paper with a fairly Christmassy design embedded within. Mistletoe outlining it, the top middle portion adorned with bells. In the background of the menu section itself was a Christmas tree. The menu itself seemed to just be titled ‘Maurice’s Festive Picks!’ though, subtitled with a statement saying you'll never feel lonely with one in your system.

   “Quite on the nose for my problems, huh?” she muttered to herself.

   Her eyes then finally lay onto the actual items on the menu. It was a fairly small selection of drinks, six to be exact, all with fairly interesting names to say the least. The Polar Express, Fireplace Frappé, Holiday Spirits, Sweet Snowy Success… Cookie ‘Nog?

   “Hmph, this makes me wonder what even makes a place be considered a bar anymore,” Jade joked. “Not a lot of this seems alcoholic actually.”

   “Eh, could put some in one for ya’ if you need,” Maurice offered.

   “Dear God no, getting home drunk alone has never been an easy feat for me-” Jade responded, remembering a fairly embarrassing time she woke up with a hangover in the middle of a park. “All of these do sound rather nice though…”

   “Any in particul’r catch yer eye? ”

   “Hmm…” Jade started to stare at the ingredient listing and pricing. Everything did seem pretty good, although she was worried that the content of the Polar Express or Sweet Snowy Success didn't really fall under warm drinks. And the idea of a Fireplace Frappé came off as mildly oxymoronic.

   After a few more seconds her eyes laid on the last item on the list. A Taste of Home, listed as a nice warm hot cocoa spiced with cinnamon and laced with butterscotch. On the surface it seemed like a bit of an overload of sugar overloaded, but she didn't mind too much. It sounded like it would taste rather good, and give her a kick of warmth while at it.

   “A Taste of Home seems like a good choice!” Jade said, handing the menu back to Maurice before turning to go into her purse to pay.

   The older man nodded. “Perfect! Bet with one of those you’ll be feelin’ warm n’ cuddly in no time!”

   “Cuddly?” Jade inquired as she took out her wallet. Maurice just looked at her with a knowing smirk though.

   What a strange, strange man he was…

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

   The door creaked open, a hand slipping through its opening to pat the wall a bit before touching the lightswitch and flicking it up. The entryway then fully opened with Jade properly stepping through it, twenty-five percent full pint glass in her hand.

   “Surprised he agreed to letting me keep the glass…” she commented as she walked towards the island in her apartment’s kitchen and set it down.

   As she took off her coat, Jade’s mind wandered a bit. She was still fixated on that strange bartender down at Oreum Sirius. The man got real cryptic when it came to her drink order, it was a bit disconcerting. At the very least the drink tasted good. Real good actually. It wasn't sugar-hopped as she was expecting it to be. Just some hot cocoa with extra flavor. Definitely did its job in giving her body some warmth on her way home.

   With her coat hung up and her purse thrown somewhere on the coach, Jade headed back to the kitchen to pick up the glass before returning to the couch to take a seat. Laying into it she let out a relaxed sigh, smiling. A random thought crossed her mind that made her laugh a bit. “If that bartender were any older he'd probably make a good Santa look-alike…”

   She then downed the last of her drink, savoring the beautiful taste it possessed. Although truthfully it felt like as the last bit of the beverage cascaded into her mouth there was a certain layer of nostalgia to it she couldn't pinpoint.

   Glass now empty, she leaned forward and placed it onto the small table in front of the coach. For a few seconds she felt pretty fine… and then in one sudden wave her brain started to feel strange. Fuzzy.

   “W-woah…”

   A warmth began to course throughout her body. One that felt nice, welcoming. A feeling that steadily dispersed throughout her form. A feeling that also came with something a bit extra. And that something was beginning to form in her hands…

   It started with what seemed to be a steady growth in size forming within Jade’s hands. Slowly each of her fingers were on their way to getting thicker and even a little longer. A bluntness was seemingly forming within the tip of each finger as well, her nails undergoing an opposite change as they instead were sharpening. Her hands themselves weren't unscathed from the size growth either as they were being stretched wider while a level of bulky meatiness was filling them up. This wasn't even a miniscule change either as after a while her hand went from its default size, to one-point-five times its size, to almost double it. Just swelling into a strong, firm level of thickness.

   Size wasn't the only thing that was growing however as another layer of changes was seemingly being introduced alongside it. Budding out of his skin was soft white hairs. A few at first, but it was evident they were quick in spreading across both appendages. Sheets of white fuzz just absolutely overtaking each hand in the pursuit of coating the backs and sides. Furthermore her palms were in the process of bulging a little as a layer of soft yet firm padding was seemingly being added to them. This was a stark contrast to the slightly rougher texturing they were garnering. They had also seemingly been altering in pigmentation with a whiteness forming into them that was similar in tone to her growing pelage of fur.

   The gaining of fur also wasn't stopping at her hands nor did it take long for it to move onto her wrists, now disappearing under the long sleeves of her sweater. But this hiddenness of her changes was only momentarily as the furry pelt layered onto her arms. Size was quick to accumulate within each limb as both her skeletal and muscular structures were being shifted, immense amounts of thickness yet again being applied to her form. This was rather prominent when it came to her muscles as they were developing drastically as if years of working out were being applied to her in mere moments. 

   The sleeves of Jade’s sweater would very quickly begin to attempt to contain her increasing mass, although it would seemingly appear to not be enough. Slowly they would move up her forearms as her arms in general were lengthening. The now thickening size of the region made her sleeve’s journal increasingly more taxing on the material as well. Something that grew more prominent as her muscle mass increased more and more, the region of her upper arm not unscathed thanks to her bulging biceps and densifying triceps. In the end it wouldn't be very long until the more flimsy material of her clothing started to split apart over her arms, white fuzz poking through various holes her muscles had tore open just by existing. After all, if her hands were twice the size that they were before then her arms would have to bulk up to compensate. Although it would be noticeable that through a few of the tears in her sweater it could be seen that sprinkles of almost golden fur had made their way across the back of arms. That sparse gold would only continue to form as fur made its way up each limb.

   More splits in sweater fabric occurred as her deltoids got more developed, shoulders not in the process of broadening as a low pressure emerged in her collarbone. This soon prompted her body to begin to widen. Although it would seem that her upper limbs hadn't been the only portion of her body that had been changing all that time. At least judging by what had been appearing on her face, anyway.

   The changes in this case seemed to be almost more gradual for Jade. Low amounts of golden fuzz lining their way across her jaw and above her upper lip. An equally as golden hue entering the tips of her hair as it seemed to have lengthened by a few quarters of an inch. There were a set of weirder changes however. A dull pressure building up at the top of her skull as a sharp and bony growth started to bulge on each side, even seemingly to already be beginning to extend some more to form what was only a small pair of horns on her head. Meanwhile a small amount of white fuzz was making its way onto the edges of her ears and seeming to prompt a slight growth in her lobes, one that looked almost a little floppy in appearance.

   At this point though the woman had been left… unaware? That wouldn't be the right phrasing. Her brain was blocking out the feeling that anything was fully different. With the exception of occasional tinges that something was off she was just unable to comprehend that anything was fully changed about her body for very long.

   That didn't stop her from raising up a hand and casually trying to move a bit of her hair out of her general eyesight however. An almost tangible glint of differing discolorations formed in both her irises as she did so. Meanwhile within her mouth she could still taste that drink from earlier, the mixture of cinnamon and butterscotch flavors that were in it seemingly oddly intense despite the fact she finished the beverage just minutes ago. Just a strong sensation of taste (and smell, weirdly) overwhelming two of her senses. And all of it was accompanied with this feeling of nostalgia that, at least for the time being, she hadn't fully connected mentally yet.

   “Urgh, what's this… feeling I'm having…?” she asks herself, the rolling fog in her mind just leaving her confused. Even more when the sound of the second half of that statement hit her ears. Even in her haze she could just momentarily register the differences in the two halves of the question. As if her voice had moved a little deeper halfway through it. Jade just sits back and groans, voice continuing to sound deeper as she did so.

   By this point the more overt changes in her physicality had been making their way to her torso. Waves of white fur spilled across her chest from their originally isolated positioning in her arms, the pelage now making its way to meet at the middle of her chest and back before it would eventually descend down the rest of her torso. And much like with what had happened in her arms the fur growth wasn’t the only change happening to her main body. As the fur had run across her chest, the fat within her breasts began to steadily melt away and cause them to undergo a process of shrinking in size. But it was already becoming evident that the size change wasn't a negative net amount as while her chest had shrunk her pectoral muscles grew and developed. Meaty slabs were pushing their way out of her chest, a firmness etching into the region as her upper body strength was improving. 

   The shift from fat to muscle almost gave the impression that her breasts were hardening into the pecs, although it wouldn't take long before it was getting proven that perfectly cut muscularity wasn't what she was getting granted. Especially with a significant amount of fatty tissue still remaining on her chest, melting and reshaping itself into a different form that evenly spread itself across her now thicker chest. Softness was still evident in the woman’s chest with the appearance now much flatter, flabbier. Something that was proven by the way her larger size was getting indented into her sweater. A rip had now slowly begun to form from the sweater’s neck, running down the middle of it as her increase in girth was getting more known. And as it got closer to her chest and closer to her cleavage, it started to show that a tuft of golden hairs had formed between her chunky pecs. And while it wasn't fully tangible, yellowish fuzz had been dusting its way across the front of her body as the white fur grew in prominence more.

   That hadn't been the only thing happening to her torso either. Just as her chest was morphing, so was her abdominal region. A low gurgle entering her stomach as a feeling of bloating entered her. With some musculature had began to make its way into that region, abdominal muscles slowly ripping outwards for a time, it was already evident that the transformation to this region was going to be more than that as any tangible muscle was smoothed out and her abdomen started to expand forwards. It was instantly clear that fat was formulating within her belly, it moving forwards more and more as each second passed. The hem of her sweater was pushed upwards as the size of her stomach got larger, unveiling the white fluff that was rushing down her gut while golden fuzz trailed down her midline. 

   Jade’s abdomen would only continue to churn and swell for some time as her gain in weight was proving to be sizable. Especially if her larger arms had been any indicator, whatever she was becoming was meant to be substantial in its size. So it was only natural that the amount of fat she was attaining within her stomach was going to be equal to that. Her sweater’s hem moved well above her belly button and only inched further upwards as her size had increased. Bits of fur poked out from rips forming within the material as it continuously failed to fit her fatter body. And soon enough, after about a minute, it would just get forced upwards as her gut made one final push forward and slightly spilled over the waistline of her pants. 

   “O-oh gosh, that feels nice…” Jade stated in absolute bliss. Her voice seemed to continue to deepen, a more masculine and older tone being embedded into it with each word she spoke. Her neck had also widened a bit while the internal workings of her vocal cords had shifted. Such an intricate change had left her voice becoming more than just wisened, an accent almost beginning to creep into it as well.

   With everything else about her changing, the transformation to her face had progressed even more. The golden fuzz that lined her jaw was becoming a little more plentiful and thicker, as was the bit edging the ends of her mouth, with what could only be a beard now forming on her face. Bits of gold continued to run up her hair as well as a significant portion of the hair on the back of her head was extending while almost thickening in its density and seemingly becoming almost fluffy in its appearance and feel. Meanwhile atop her head a divide formed in the middle of her hair and started causing a significant amount of strands to cascade down her forehead in a direction opposite to the split. All the while the newly formed horns on her head continued to grow in an upwards slant. She could also feel her now much fluffier ears folding and drooping as their size seemed to lengthen over the course of the changes, both already seemingly halfway down the ends of her head and still extending. 

   Perhaps the weirdest change that was happening now was what was happening to her face. The lower half seemingly began to push out a little as white fuzz was poking out evenly and symmetrically around it. Almost like the beginnings of some kind of muzzle, especially judging by the pressure she could feel from the beginnings of her skull restructuring.

   Despite it all though, Jade looked to be oddly content. She just looked down at her belly and gave it a nice pat, chuckling as she seemed to enjoy the nice warm feel of the fat she had gotten. Her mind was registering it all as being a part of her. Like she'd been like this for a long time… a very long time actually. Concepts of her body and age were now distorting in her mind as she thought about everything more and more. It didn't help that she couldn't get the taste of that drink out of her mouth, the nostalgia of it feeling just as overwhelming as everything else. Mental connections had still remained dashed however, her memories seemingly still in the process of adjusting and reformatting for this severely different identity she had been getting.

   Still, she leans forward a bit as she tries to readjust herself on the couch. Her mind was still flip flopping between just how used to the weight she had really been, but it was evident the seat she had taken hadn't caught the memo yet. “Urgh, I swear everything felt… fitting earlier,” she muttered in mild discontent, feeling her clothing continue to tear as she moved around. It also didn't help that she felt like her own innards were practically being rearranged beneath all that fat…

   Of course, among the clothing that was in the process of losing its ability to fit her, was her pants. A pair of standard blue jeans that were only equipped to handle her average size. But considering the button had already snapped off thanks to the pressure of the weight of her now much fatter gut on it, and now the increasing pressure across her legs as the changes reached the lower half of her body, it wouldn’t be long until her pants would be split apart.

   With much of the fat having accumulated around her belly it was clear that adjacent regions would accumulate substantial sizes as well. This was most evident around her thighs, muscle mass growing in her hamstrings and quads before fat quickly spread across them. This had caused the diameter of her legs to practically double in size, the sheer amount of mass each limb was getting forcing them to press up against the denim of her pants. The seams that held the edges together were quickly becoming undone as tufts of white fur (with gold sprinkled in) poked out from the tears. All the while a tinge of pressure pulled at the base of her spine, a feeling that was quickly followed by a bulge in the seat of her pants. This bulge was caused by a new growth: a small nub of a tail that was quickly growing amounts of fluff across it.

   At the exact same time as the upper half of her legs, the lower half of them were being affected as well. Splits in her jeans forming more and more as her calves ballooned back with muscle and fat as well. All the while fur had covered them, a sea of white with gold speckling itself at random. The bottoms of each pant leg had also seemingly begun to rise up her legs as the bones lengthened, Jade’s height altering throughout her form to fit the shape and proportions of her drastically different form. Taller, larger, thicker, wider, everything about her physicality and size had been significantly overwritten.

   Soon enough all that would remain of her lower half were her feet, and even then those didn't remain unchanged for much longer. The toecaps of her shoes already began to bulge a little with five bumps indenting into the material of each sboe. These bumps then proceeded to move and merged. Five became four, and those four quickly became three, and as the bumps merged they only seemed to get larger in size during the process. The source of all of this had obviously been her shifting toes, now changed to three chunky toes that had quickly been overtaken with fur. Her toenails had also begun to poke at the material of her shoes as well as they were in the process of sharpening, now protruding from each toe in a claw-like manner. The lining holding the top of her shoe together with its sole steadily began to split as the bottoms of her feet swelled with rough paw pads. All the while the rest of her footwear was put to its limit by the increasing length, width, and just overall size of her feet. And their limit was truly tested as her feet continued to grow and grow to meet with the proportions of the remainder of her body. More and more of her shoes got rended such as the backs snapping off against the pressure of her heels, or the top portion getting split in half with the strings tearing apart against the new width. Then, after a few seconds longer, her shoes exploded at the front with the rest of them blasting apart shortly after. Her feet had finished changing and were now practically doubled in size, covered in white fur (with bits of gold sprinkled on the top), and would probably now be more accurately described as paws.

   “Golly, I never did well with footwear!” she had exclaimed at the mere sound of her shoes being burst. The sound of her voice was seemingly settling at this point as well: clearly more suited for an older male with a tone that sounded so warm and inviting. This had been coupled with the settling of an accent, seemingly tinted with a Southern feel now that fit with the vernacular she had adopted. By this point it had all been because her neck had finished widening, fur having quickly consumed it.

   Her own mental state was also still continuously changing. The constant wave of acceptance that this was her body, that it feels like this has always been her body, it was oddly appealing. So much so that by the time her brain tingled and the feeling of something more elaborate began to occur, she had no real resistance to it. That's when a new identity started to take hold in her, shifting everything about her perspective about herself. Name, gender, his very life.

   It was now that the remainder of his facial changes had solidified. The golden hairs of his beard continue to grow out causing it to become much thicker and longer to the point it hangs off his face and covers his neck a bit. All the while his beard looked to maintain a well-kempt appearance during its growth. Golden fuzz continued to trail up the sides of his head as well, connecting with forming sideburns that had become visible by this point. This wasn't the only portion of hair on his face that was getting a brighter color either as his eyebrows garnered the same gold, all while becoming thicker in size. 

   The rest of his hair had also gained that same gold coloration as it had finished rising up the follicles and brightened the roots. Much of his hair easily cascaded down the back of his head, significantly dense and fluffy with length that flowed down to his shoulders. It wasn't fully straight either, his hair having adopted a look that could best be described as a gracefully disheveled mane, an appearance to showcase just how fluffy it had become. The hair at the apex of his head hadn't been left unchanged either as a pair of bangs now hung down his forehead at opposing sides, their own appearance straighter in comparison to the rest of his hair.

   The rest of the changes to his head were coming to a close by this time. The horns had extended to a sizable length, seeming to curve backwards a bit now while getting a defined point to the ends of them. His now floppier ears had finished dropping downwards, their own length reaching his shoulders as well while their appearance had garnered a roundness towards the ends of them. But perhaps the most drastic change came to his face itself as it had continued pushing out, skull structure continuing to shift into becoming something a little more animalistic. It had grown larger to fit his new size and became wider as well, and as it pushed out his jawline seemed to shift beneath his beard to become a little more chiseled. 

   As his muzzle had continued to form his nose had shifted into his face a bit, nostrils turning upwards until they could be visible on the muzzle’s tip while the bridge of his nose was widened in the process. All while a certain roundness was given the muzzle’s frontward appearance. A solid mix of human and animal features. The last change in his muzzle came with his mouth, his upper lip more specifically, as two portions towards the end that would align with his upper canines seemed to sharpen downwards by a little bit.

   The changes in the irises of his eyes had settled as well, the right one gaining a light blue color while the left one became orange. At the same time his new identity seemed to lay itself clearly and easily within his mind, the name Asgore Dreemurr practically fading into prominence. Such a drastic change in mental status had practically been overwritten, replacing his old self with little spectacularity. Not just in regards to identity, but personality, memories, connections as well.

   Such shifts in mentality had easily allowed a menagerie of changes to flow into reality itself. Changes flowing within his home as a simple apartment was overhauled into something much different, more accommodating for the person he had become. This had also meant that his clothing wouldn't be left in disrepair for much longer as it too was swept up in the changes. 

   The rips and tears that had formed across his sweater restitched themselves. One of the exceptions to this was the tear that had run down the middle of it, which would instead continue forming downwards as the signs of being torn were cleared away in order to make it a shirt split. As this happened buttons and eyelets formed alongside the split while the overall size of the article of clothing started to enlarge to better fit his form. This would allow the two halves of the shirt to reach over his belly and fasten itself shut, which it would continually do so until stopping roughly halfway up his chest. Meanwhile the neck of the shirt was extending, blooming upwards a bit before folding down and making it a proper shirt collar.

   All while this happened the color of his shirt was shifting to a gentle pink while the actual material was getting thinner, becoming less akin to what would make a sweater and leaning more towards the composition of a standard shirt. Blotches of white faded into the material as well, quick to gain a consistent shape of what seemed to be four-petalled flowers. The final adjustment came to the sleeves, routinely unthreading themselves until the length of them only went a little above his elbows. And in regards to the remainder of his clothing it had been a more simple job as his jeans seemed to just repair themselves while also enlarging to fit his thicker leg size. A small hole also formed in the back of them below the belt loop, allowing his tail to properly poke through with ease. The only piece of clothing that wouldn't be shifted in the transition was his footwear which would instead just dematerialize as the reality around him was changed.

   The alterations in the surrounding reality were a lot more drastic. What had once been a simple apartment was expanding with rooms separating from each other and the overall layout being shuffled and changed. The room Asgore had been in was divided from the kitchen and entrance, the room itself being retooled into a fairly standard living room. The remainder of the now former-apartment would also end up getting renovated into full-on housing as well; warm, well-furnished, and much more familiar to the fully transformed goat monster.

   Not like he would notice though. Asgore blinked his eyes a few times and looked around, the haze in his brain steadily dissipating as he was now coming too. “Uhh, mmm, what was I… doing…?”

   He rubbed the side of his head in thought, attempting to recall what exactly had happened in the past few hours. There were glimpses of someplace else, someone else, but they were practically less than a second long and he could barely piece them together. Although as he looked around the room he did end up laying eyes on an empty cup that was on the table in front of him. The strange smell of cinnamon and butterscotch was still emanating from it. Nostalgia was hitting him (again?) from that, his cheeks flushing beneath the fur from that.

   “A-ah! I had drunk that, hadn't I?” Asgore had seemed to ask himself with genuine levels of questioning. He hadn't remembered anything about doing that, nor does he really recall how he even got it in the first place. He can recall the taste though, almost like one of Tori’s pies… albeit an imperfect imitation, but a good one nonetheless. 

   With a nervous smile Asgore comes to some level of resolve. “Must've been a bit strong, huh…?”

   With at least a viable theory in mind he let out a deep sigh and sunk into the couch a little, gently rubbing his belly as he did. He had a feeling that he wasn't really going to get a full answer as to what happened, but it didn't seem like anything all that bad had happened. Truthfully he felt a bit content at all of this, whatever this was. So he presumed that was some kind of positive at the very least!

   With those thoughts in his mind he would continue to rub his tummy, leaning back in his seat and smiling. A wave of tiredness had entered him at this point and he wasn't going to give it an ounce of resistance…

#character tf #tf #transformation #furry tf #ftm tf tg #tf tg #age progression #bara tf #male transformation #weight gain tf #species tf

[skylermadness]

Casting Changes (Lucas Lee to Stephen Stills TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: January 15, 2024)

Apologies for disappearing, I was too lazy to fill up my queue. Woops.

Original Description:

My half of a trade with moltingscales of FurAffinity. Their half can be viewed here. My first TF of the New Year and it's probably something absolutely no one expected! Character to character TF isn't the most common thing in my repertoire, but I also couldn't resist the chance at this when the trade was being conceived! So much so that when writing I went past my set barrier of 2.9k words and wrote out almost 4k words instead. Woops! But that just meant I really enjoyed the idea and wanted to give it justice! Plus well...Stephen is really really hot. Although we did play with some headcanons in regards to his body type, but what's a TF without some creative liberties. So in general this was a very fun trade to work on, and I also heavily suggest checking out what moltingscales made for me! He also went all-out for his half and it was absolutely gorgeous~

   Lucas Lee was not someone to return to a movie set after leaving it, and his blatant carefree attitude made that quite tangible. Hiring him these days had always been a coin-flip on whether or not he would even appear on set. After all; he was already famous, he was already rich, and he was renowned as the best in varying ways.

   Emphasis on was.

   Maybe he still had the fame, or the renown, but his career had evidently tanked fast after the incident with the paparazzi just a few days earlier. Apparently the threats of California kicking him out ended up becoming true, the man having quickly landing himself on the Hollywood Blacklist. So this left him in Toronto, cut off from his riches and effectively jobless… or at least he would be.

   For once in his life Lucas had returned to a movie set after leaving, but it was clear nothing was the same as it was a few days ago. While he wasn't necessarily let go from the production of Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life he still had dropped off the set long enough for someone else to snipe the leading role of Scott Pilgrim from him. The director seemed to take some level of pity on the disgraced actor, however… okay well, not necessarily. Apparently they still didn't have someone to occupy one of the roles in the film and at this point in the production they were desperate for anyone to fill it.

   That's how Lucas landed a dinghy trailer, and in his hand was his new script that had highlights for his new role. That role being… the one of Stephen Stills.

   “Still don't know who that even is…” Lucas grumbled as he eyed the pages. 

   The lack of knowledge on the guy wasn't helped either due to the fact that the role felt so small. Having such a minor role also felt so foreign to a hot shot actor such as him. After all, he was always the starring role in the films he was in. Always the center of attention and always the person the action or romance followed. That was just how it's been since the start of his career! But now… now he's been given this. Sidelined with minimal scenes and very few things going for his character. He may as well have been given a background character at this point. 

   These thoughts alone are enough to cause Lucas to seethe in anger, yet he continues to eye the script. Although the actor would still be left confused as to what exactly he's been given. “How the hell am I meant to do any of this?” 

   Lucas tried but everytime he envisions a scene in his head or reads out a line in his mind all he sees is the pure tameness of the role. It was something he just was not accustomed to as an action star. Just standing around and talking? And all while Scott (the role he originally was meant to play) got the major battles and conflicts. It may have been counterintuitive but despite being an actor he doesn't feel like he could act in a role like this. Doing something that felt like it all amounted to nothing!

   His train of thought then paused for a second. Nothing. Is that what he was now? Downgraded to roles nobody will care about…? 

   “Pfft, no, I…” he stopped staring at the script for a moment, a fake smile on his face. He still had a chance to regain who he was! This was just a setback, his life wasn't over…! Those attempts at comfort made his smile lower though, Lucas not believing any of them. “Whatever,” he tries to shrug it all off. 

   The negative self-conscious feeling remains, lingering and slowly but surely starting to gnaw at Lucas’ confidence. And as his gaze returned to the words of the script that feeling would only continue to strengthen…

   Each word of each line lingers in the mind of the actor and as it does he can't help but dwell on the fact that he just felt like he wasn't given much with this role. There was no standing out to be done, nothing major for the name Lucas Lee to be put onto. His talents just felt incompatible with the role that was Stephen Stills.

   …or perhaps he just wasn't talented enough…

   The thought was foreign at first. One that was abnormal considering how he is. But maybe the prospect of the broken pedestal was just getting to him, a prospect that made the statement echo off his skull to the point he couldn't help but dwell on it. By this point everything was making him start to feel a little anxious. And born from that anxiety Lucas starts to do something he has never found himself doing before. Slowly his hand lifted up to his face, hand growing closer to his opening mouth until the end of his fingers could rest on his lips. His teeth then find purchase on a fingernail and he… bites down on it.

   He doesn't stop either. He was just idly biting his nails now, an action that had in mere moments felt instinctual to him now. As if this was just his go-to way to take out his anxious emotions. It doesn't even seem to click for him that he started to do this either. It just seemed like it was just integrated into his muscle memory.

   That isn't the only thing he wasn't noticing either. While he bit his nails it seemed that some level of wearing was etching into them. What was usually perfectly trimmed and cared for was rapidly deteriorating in appearance, a level of jaggedness being embedded into the keratin. Even stranger was the fact that this wasn't happening to just one hand. The nails on both hands were getting damaged, shown by their tips whitening from it while their roundness got increasingly uneven amongst them all. Almost like years of nail biting was being accumulated in seconds.

   His nails also didn't seem to be alone in the wave of physical changes as the remainder of his hands were seemingly getting altered to some degree alongside them. This was particularly more tangible at their front as the usually soft and pristine appearance of his palms steadily got rougher. A level of hardening creeped into the skin, especially on his fingers, as layers of skin were thickening. Repeated instances of friction just getting placed into his hands in the form of calluses.

   The back of his hands weren't left unscathed either. Lucas' bodily hair had not been the most visible, especially around his arms, but that was quickly changing as darker hairs started to sprout out the back of his limbs. It was small at first with a few stray hairs poking out the skin, but a level of coarseness quickly arose as more and more fuzz made itself known. Even weirder was the coloration seemingly being different from the actor’s usual by being brown instead of black.

   Furthermore the short sleeves of Lucas’ t-shirt made their increasing hairiness tangible as well. It was fairly concurrent with the changes in his hands with coarse brown fuzz making its way up his arm. The once smooth feel of his skin was quickly being replaced by an appearance that could only be described as rugged. And that wasn't the only change happening to his arms either as they were in the process of undergoing a much more drastic change, that being in his very musculature.

   There was a level of loss in Lucas’ muscle mass that was becoming quickly apparent. The pure thickness of his forearms shrinking away little by little with the overall diameter losing centimeters. The same could be said for his upper arms as well as the pure definition of his biceps and triceps were getting lost, atrophying steadily under the effects of this mysterious transformation. Oddly enough though it would seem he wasn't being made skinny. Where his muscles were leaving it would seem a new layer of tissue was growing in tangible to at least attempt to make up in bulk, and that was fat. Quite a bit of it actually with fat quickly growing in prominence within his limbs, wrapping around them and replacing the hard thickness of raw muscle with the bulky softness of chub. Although judging by the lack of tightness in his shirtsleeves it was clear that the thickness his fat was providing didn't make up fully for the muscles he had lost.

   Lucas had been oblivious of his changes, at least at first. There was a point after the first minute where he stopped biting his nails, wiping the hand off his shirt to deal with any saliva (and seemingly leaving a currently unnoticeably patch of blue discoloration on the all black fabric). He would then proceed to give his chin a scratch as he continued to analyze the script, unaware that the act was making his chin stubble seemingly get a little more sparse.

   “Urgh-” he grunted out of partial annoyance, and partial discomfort in his stomach. “N-no matter how I look at this I just can't get into the feel of Stephen! Maybe I'm just not cut out for this…”

   That anxious feeling within him had only grown more and more prevalent. That he just wasn't going to be good enough for this, that he wouldn't be able to pull through in what was expected of him. Lucas’ usually carefree attitude was seemingly fading as all he could think about was the inevitable possibility of failure. He was an action star, not a side character! Although in truth he didn't really feel like either of those…

   The discomfort in his stomach flared up again causing Lucas to lose grip on the script and drop everything. “Agh, damn-” he muttered, starting to hold an arm around his stomach as he could feel it churn and bloat. And the longer he did so the more he started to realize something about his belly felt off. Was it… softer?

   That was the moment he looked down at his body. That was the moment he noticed everything.

   “Wh-what the!?” he exclaimed, raising up his arm in front of him. The muscles were still in the process of shrinking by this time, and fat was gaining prominence, all while both his arms were noticeably getting hairier. “What's going on!? What's happening to my muscles, my-” his panicked statement was cut short by another groan, his stomach still churning. All he could do was take his focus off his arm and direct it onto his stomach.

   His growing stomach. His rounder stomach. “O-oh God…”

   This transformation was evidently a concurrent endeavor that was affecting his entire body in rapid succession. While some parts could lag behind in the end everything was happening at the same time. So even while Lucas hadn't been looking, his torso had been in the process of shifting this entire time, and it had all started at his muscles.

   The epithet of Best Chest on the Business wasn't a lie seeing as Lucas Lee indeed possessed a massive shelf that was his pectoral muscles. That wasn't the case now though as due to the usually tightness of his shirt it was noticeable his chest was shrinking. The usually massive size of his pectorals dwindled in size, and it wasn't long until the indent his cleavage left in the fabric. Just years of working out and enhancing his form being lost. And in its stead, as it did with his arms, fat began to accumulate in order to make up for the loss in size. As his muscle mass dwindled his amount of chest fat increased at the same time, the newly formulating softness pushing forward steadily. The amount of fat he'd get wouldn't be enough to create a sizable shelf equal to that he used to possess but it was still enough to give his form some amount of thickness.

   The real show of changes happened in Lucas’ abdominal region however. His usually thick set of abs had already been quick to shrink away, partially the cause for the churning that was in his gut. And the other cause was the fat that was bubbling up from the region, manifesting within him and amassing a feeling of bloat as his body was initially not acclimated to this. Then his belly proceeded to bulge forward with fat continuing to make it swell out more and more. The hem of his shirt steadily rose over his growing belly, moving up and up to unveil his chunky gut. And by now Lucas had started watching and witnessing his gut push outwards, his belly button becoming visible at this point as a sign of just how much weight he gained. It wouldn't take much longer for his shirt’s hem to just slip upwards and his belly to begin slightly hanging over the top of his pants. 

   Lucas placed a shaky hand onto his belly as he exclaimed, “What the fuck is happening to me!?”

   The change in weight wasn't even the end either. Beneath his hand he could feel a few hairs sprout from his skin, a triangle of fuzz rising from the bottom of his belly with its tip touching his belly button. Furthermore, a trail of hair ran up from his belly button and lined his midline before reaching his chest. Brown hairs emerged from his now much more shallow cleavage before spreading across the man’s chest. What was once void of any type of body hair quickly became covered with almost a forest of it, which had only continued to dispel his body’s smoothness. At this point a low pressure began coursing across his body (his bones?) as well, and Lucas noticed that the floor seemed to be getting at least a little bit closer. A loss in height, evidently.

   “O-oh jeez,” was the first thing he could muster, his voice seemingly sounding a little less deep and a whole lot less conveying of any form of confidence. “Why is this happening? What's going on?? Why is my body like- like this!?”

   His brain was just in full panic mode. Any semblance of calmness was thrown out the window as he just stared at his body, just comprehending the difference of it all. And the fact he was transforming at all was enough to make that panic become stronger. All of it has made his prior acting woes get pushed away, but truthfully this just felt so much worse! Especially because he didn't even know who or what he was becoming.

   Then came some feeling of dwindling self-confidence, followed by the man starting to try and push his gut back into his abdomen. “Come on, come on, just get back in there!”

   He tried to disregard how different his voice was sounding, or the weird level of familiarity of it. He just wanted to be Lucas Lee again, the famous actor!

   All while he was panicking the next phases of changes had been underway. His earlier loss in height especially, primarily because of how his legs were decompressing into a shorter length. In general his legs had undergone a process of changes that were quite similar to that of his arms. His pants getting increasingly baggy as his thigh muscles diminished, hamstrings and quadriceps losing prominence as yet again the years of work put into them faded away. The same could be said for his gluteus muscles, although his rear didn't shrink too much as the increase in fat made up for the loss in size quite well in that region. A similar event even happened at the crus of his legs as his calve muscles atrophied and fat billowed out the back of his lower legs to remedy it. All while his legs got increasingly hairy, so much brown fuzz accumulating around them that it was evident that these limbs belong to someone who didn't really shave their legs.

   At the same time as his legs changed his feet had been doing so as well. With his body now shorter it had resulted in a lot of his appendages to shrink down a bit to fit his new proportions, feet included. This resulted in his shoes not being too affected by everything as he feet underwent their transformation, shifting to be a bit thicker and softer with fat while perhaps becoming just a bit wider. Hairs were in the process of poking out the top of his foot while his soles gained very minor degrees of thickness and callusing (and extremely minor in comparison to the calluses on his hand).

   It wouldn't take very long for Lucas to give up on his crusade to push his fat back into his body as the man was now deciding to embarrassingly try and pull his shirt (which by now was getting increasingly bluer) down over his belly. “How is anyone going to believe I'm Lucas now??” he stated, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he fully realized just how different he was becoming. He was going to look nothing like the action star he was, instead looking like some background nobody!

   That statement could very well be the truth as well. Especially because his face wasn't that of Lucas’, no. All during the course of his bodily transformation his face had been slowly but surely shifting into the visage of a different man…

   It started with the scratching of his stubble earlier, that very act stimulating the follicles in a way that altered them drastically. It started with a brown coloration washing over the once black hairs, similar to that of his new body hair. At the same time however there came a shift in how his stubble had appeared. What once was a rugged and almost symmetrical appearance quickly shifted with bits of fuzz retracting and the overall well-groomedness dissipating. A patchiness was quickly manifesting within his beard as a result making it uneven. And while it was still relatively short it still had a level of disheveledness and scruff to it that didn't exist prior.

   All the while more and more changes overtook the man’s facial features. While his more rectangular skull structure remained there was a level of roundness that made its way into his facial shape, his jawline seemingly coming off as less chiseled as some submental fat descended from beneath his chin. Following that came more fat and more of his features filling, softening his once well-sculpted appearance. And while it wasn't on his face, it seemed that the stylized 2 tattoo that was on his neck had rapidly faded into his skin as well.

   It would only become increasingly clear that none of this would come to an end. The straightness of his nasal bridge inwardly curved and the overall size of his nose shrunk a bit, nostrils flaring as it all reshaped into a smaller size with an almost turned-up tip. The regions under his eyes darkened, slight wrinkles forming as he was given some noticeable bagging beneath each eye. And above his eyes the same wave of brown overtook his brows while the finely trimmed appearance of them was done away with. Hairs noticeably sticking out at the top make their appearance looking less pristine and more fuzzy. It resulted in a level of more overt thickness entering his eyebrows that was accentuated further by their almost disheveledly furry appearance.

   To truly solidify the differences in Lucas’ form came was changes in his hair. The same brown creeping up from his patchy beard and etching into his sideburns before running over the remainder of his usually spiky style. That spiked style didn't even last long as each follicle got browned, instead many of them growing a little bit longer and sticking out more. As his hair got longer, volume becoming thicker, the style of it became increasingly less neat and more sloppy. Clumps sticking out in any which way by going left, right, and behind his head. At the back of his head his hair noticeably grew to the nape of his neck before sticking slightly upwards and fraying. A fair amount of his hair even hung over his forehead, seemingly short yet still very messy in appearance. The only way to describe his new style was being practically adjacent to one’s hair when they get out of bed in the morning. Disorganized with ends sticking out all over.

   This all cycles back to the present with Lucas’ form having become, well, not Lucas. Even his mind didn't seem to be running off his usual mindset as the thought of being gone from the public eye made him unhand his shirt’s hem and grab the sides of his head in panic. Grinding his teeth together he just couldn't stop dwelling over every single thing that went wrong in the past few minutes- hours- days! Demotions and failures and inabilities and- and everything- Every part of his body lost the ability to shake all of this off with a simple whatever and let it be! It just didn't feel like he was him anymore and all these thoughts became overwhelming! And inevitably once everything becomes overwhelming, something has to give…

   In this case it was the mental aspect of Lucas that was Lucas. The anxiety was rapidly overriding all sense of self within the man, his own identity being overhauled at a rapid pace. Stray thoughts and memories overran his mind as the very prospect of action star was seemingly thrown out of a mental window. The word fame did stick inside his brain, but the word was seemingly shifted drastically. And while he could just barely grasp onto having been someone else for a few seconds with just the thought of ‘he was still a good actor, right?’ it still wasn't enough to register such a notion in a serious manner. After all, everything in his mind was spiraling into making him think he was just part of a garage band.

   Soon it all flowed into his personality. Even though his personality had been integrating a very anxious and panicky persona within his mind there was so much more to shift. Nigh self-absorbness being replaced with low self-confidence, intense desire for bodybuilding fading away to nothing, and any level of disregard for anything instead becoming a regard for too many things. There were even undefined aspects of his sense of self that had gotten shifted with one of the more prominent ones being his own sexuality. Something about it was being solidified (or perhaps unearthed?) as his changing mentality developed a taste in men. So in the end his perception of reality, his entire bank of memories, his entire life. All of it was being reconstructed under a new name and that name was…

   Stephen Stills.

   And all during the man's panicked breakdown there were two final surges of changes.

   The first of the two came with his clothing. Although the aforementioned shade of blue had spread itself across the fabric it was only now that the true result of that would come to life. It would start with a pair of breast pockets manifesting in the upper torso area of the shirt, one on each side of the front. This was followed up by a split running itself down the shirt’s middle, already fastened buttons seemingly manifesting from that split. As the split lengthened up and down the shirt the hem would drop down and cover his belly, the newly divided panels of the shirt seemingly not tucking themselves in. Furthermore the neck of the shirt extended upwards, making its way up the lower end of his neck before folding downwards and becoming a collar instead. The once short sleeves of the shirt also proceeded to lengthen, quickly running down his arms until they could reach his wrists before promptly rolling themselves into cuffs that were a little ways below his elbows. The last change that came to his shirt was an inverted wave-like seam that etched across the uppermost quarter of each end of the split, a shift that gave his shirt what could only be described as cowboy vibes.

   The rest of his clothing underwent a much less interesting change. The black hue of his pants was lightened to gray as they shrunk a little to fit his slightly smaller size. Meanwhile his shoes shifted to refit his feet as well with the white and black coloration being deepened to a plain brown tone.

   The second surge of changes though, that came in the form of the very reality around him being shifted. The small trailer that was on the set of a movie was warped with everything within it being reshaped. Objects disappear or reshape while the van-like internals expand and ground as it becomes more like an actual room. The set that was outside was also seemingly being morphed as well to fit this new development. It wasn't long until he would find himself in his garage that was surrounded by the neighborhood he resided in. And considering he was just coming to…

   “AHHHH, what's going on!?” he shrieks in panic before opening his eyes and finding… his garage. “Whuh, huh? I thought…”

   He paused. Wait, what was he thinking? He can't really remember. All he knows is he felt a severe level of anxiety that he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason behind. He circled around in place for a moment to find a source, but all he found was his garage with the Sex Bob-Omb band equipment originally behind him. 

   “Maybe I was just stressed about band practice…?” he tried to reason. But something about that statement felt off. Wrong…

   …

   “Ugh, this is too confusing to wrap my head around fully.”

   With a sigh Stephen walks over towards the couch located at the back of the garage and takes a seat. It would be nice to just clear his head and calm down before the others arrive for practice…

#character tf #tf #transformation #human tf #weight gain tf #bara tf #male transformation

[skylermadness]

I don't use this blog much but thought I'd reblog this because why not. Send 'em in.

Questions for TF fans

Send me a number, I’ll answer that question!

1. What’s your Favorite kind of TF? 2. Do you like Inanimate TF? 3. Would you rather Transform other people or change yourself? 4. What got you interested in TF? 5. Absolutely favorite TF art? 6. Absolutely favorite TF story? 7. Anthro or full animal TF? 8. Best part of transformation for you? 9. All good TFs need to have… 10. Willing or unwilling TF subject? 11. TG in your TF? 12. What other kinks do you have? 13. What excites you about TF? 14. What embarrasses you about TF? 15. Does anyone else know about your TF kink? 16. What other kinks do you have? 17. What kink excites you most, excluding TF? 18. Any kinks you’re embarrassed by? 19. Any kinks you didn’t think you’d be into but are? 20. What’s your favorite TF fantasy? 21. Favorite way to initiate a TF? 22. Mental changes to match physical changes, or a human mind trapped in an inhuman body? 23. Clothes ripping as the transformation progresses, or changing to match? 24. Favorite part of the body to watch transform? 25. Size changes? 26. Inflation? 27. If you could transform one person into anything you wanted, who would you change and into what? 28. Someone transforms you… what do they do with you after? 29. Who is your favorite shape shifter in media? 30. Favorite depiction of a transformation in media? 31. Permanent transformation? 32. Willing or forced transformation? 33. One part of your body you want to change? 34. One part of your body you’re really happy with? 35. What kinds of TF do you find a turnoff? 36. Magic or science? 37. Favorite thing to TF into? 38. Do you RP? 39. Ever act out a TF fantasy with a partner? 40. If anyone found out about your TF kink you’d…

[skylermadness]

Glitched-In Gator - Brok the InvestiGator TF/MC

(Original Date of Upload: December 20, 2023)

Original Description:

Secret Santa gift for my close friend! So this was a story I had planned for a few months, almost abandoned because I didn't feel it, then I went back to it because I had the perfect chance to do something for it! I originally wasn't feeling the whole VR shtick, but I kind of realized while doing rewrites that it was because I had no idea what I was really doing for it. Having an established OC like my friend's Parker character actually helped me do something more interesting besides 'generic non-descript person gets transformed randomly'. So I'm actually quite happy at the end result of this! Besides that though, I want to write out more Brok TFs some day. RJ's been on my mind for a long while too as well, but I'm unsure when or if I'll get to him.

   There was a certain level of eeriness that penetrated the room that Parker was currently in. It was large and empty with the insides of its hemispherical appearance only being illuminated by small lights that were embedded periodically within the geometrical platings of its walls. It didn't even feel like enough to light up the entire room. All of this made the young adult feel small when compared to the sheer size of the room, which was far from a pleasant feeling.

   The eerie silence of the room was then broken by the sound of some mechanical whirring coming from the middle of it. Turning around, Parker found a small rectangular pillar rising from the ground. Atop that pillar was a VR headset alongside its associated hand controllers.

   "Please remember that all of this is purely for testing purposes, Parker," a feminine voice rings out from an earpiece that had been in their right ear the whole time.

   "Yeah, I remember…" Parker responded as they stepped towards the small pillar. They were personally reached out to a few weeks back by the CEO of a company named ScyBr Essence Technologies, said CEO named Mrs. Wynn. That company has requested them to arrive at their facilities to further test their new VR systems. It was an odd request considering they didn't have any prior experience in game testing. And despite their profession as a video game streamer, nothing about the request or contract were laced with mentions of promotions or sponsorships to be done by them. It was just strange to say the least.

   They picked up the headset and placed it onto his head, then took hold of the hand controllers. "So uh, Mrs. Wynn, what exactly are the activation controls of this thing?"

   "I can have the testing program activated remotely from here,” she responds, "Just give me a second…"

   In one second following that statement, Parker's ocular senses were instantly assaulted as all of a sudden the supposed program was activated. They stepped back a bit as they found themself a little disoriented, especially because they had to get used to the… virtual brightness that was now being created by the endless expanse of pure nothing that headset was subjecting him to now.

   "I-is it meant to just be a white void!?"

   "Apologies, wrong program."

   The brightness suddenly died down as a different program was loaded. In a millisecond the white expanse was replaced with a room. In comparison to the room they were in in reality, this one was a lot smaller. More akin to that of an apartment space actually. The furniture around the place was rather standard: a door with a fridge to its left and a very messy sink to its right, another door on the wall adjacent to that sink. As Parker turned they found a rather lengthy bench behind him, and beside it was a bed. Lastly was what seemed to be a punching bag to the bed's left. Something about this room actually seemed rather familiar somehow. Before Parker could come to a conclusion however, they realized that a table had generated around their body.

   "Please step out from the table so we can activate the collision from our end. We don't want you getting bisected!"

   "Eheh, sure…" Parker responded with a nervous laugh. Something about the woman's comment was a bit too serious, but they complied with the request and stepped away from the table's insides and towards the dirty sink.

   A few seconds passed before the voice spoke again. "...okay, collision should be on now. For the time being this program is mostly meant to test the boundaries of a virtual world for a planned VR port of a game called Brok the InvestiGator. It's more proof of concept than anything else, but we want to at least get the world up and running before we move on to anything more complicated."

   That was when everything finally clicked for Parker. That's why this room was familiar, it was Brok’s apartment! Admittedly they didn't instantly jump to that conclusion, especially since they only did one or two streams of the game before life problems got in the way and they just never got back to it. For a second their brain drifted to adding it as an option for a ‘game to stream’ poll on their Patreon, but they wrangled their wandering thoughts before they could have a chance to think about it more intensely. Although they did have one question they wanted to ask before getting into this testing session…

   “Was there any reason in particular you guys had in picking me to test it?”

   Parker was given a rather lengthy pause before the CEO responded. “We at ScyBr Essence Technologies like to take in consideration our buyers, and one way to do this is to contract people who would be perfect fits to test our products. Seeing you are both a popular streamer and someone who has played these kinds of games before, it was only an accurate choice to pick you.”

   Parker hummed, deciding not to dignify that with a response. Something about the statement was definitely a manufactured corporate dialogue. It also made a part of them want a pay raise for this session. Sighing, they disregarded that thought and began to look around. They were rather impressed by how the models of the furniture looked life-like, so much so that the messiness of the dishes in the sink they were near was a bit too real to look at. Disgusting…

   Parker proceeded to spend the next few minutes exploring the room and trying to interact with whatever they knew they could. Pulling open the fridge and grabbing and moving around the fruit in it. Playfully giving the punching bag a few good jabs and watching it swing around as a result. They did try to interact with both doors, but the doors didn't really seem to react to them. Locked maybe, probably so the creators of this VR system didn't have to render areas outside the apartment yet.

   During the process of their exploration Parker came back to the table to inspect what was on it better. Mostly random objects like a fruit basket and a magnifying glass. The only object of interest that was on it was a small picture frame showcasing a picture of Brok, Graff, and Brok’s… wife was it? Parker couldn't remember due to how long it's been since that incomplete stream attempt…

   Their random interactions were cut short however as the silence of the room was yet again broken. However instead of it being the voice of their contractor, it was the sound of static crackling nearby. Putting down the picture frame Parker looks up to find where the crackling was coming from. The source was from a newly manifested object that was in the space between the punching bag and the fridge: a coat rack stand (and a hat that was hanging on one of its hooks) that was just glitching in and out of existence.

   "Uhhh,” Parker starts to speak into the earpiece, “There seems to be an object here that just appeared and started glitching…”

   It takes a few seconds for the woman on the other side to respond. "Hm. That might be some leftover code from an object that we had to remove. If the sound annoys you just touch it and it'll disappear. I'll make sure to have my technicians deal with it after this test…"

   Parker rolled their eyes. Just touch it and it'll disappear? Something about the flippant lack of protocol didn't sit well with them. They stepped over towards the glitchy coat rack and tried to wave a hand through it to dispel it. However the moment their arm touched the pole they, just for a second, felt the hardness of the pole meet their arm before they were given a sudden and rather violent shock.

   "AGH-" Parker yelled out, the young adult quite literally stunned by the interaction as they felt electricity(?) flow through their body.

   Their earpiece activates again with their contractor plainly saying, "I suggest immediate removal of the headset and vacating the-" before her voice got cut off, as if the connection got severed.

   Before Parker got much of a chance to try and do the few instructions they could hear, the object blipped out of existence and they were promptly sent flying onto the ground. And in just the few seconds they spent in the air the physicality of the space was made tangible as the feeling of the headset and hand controllers faded away. The initially virtual world around him was realized in a literal way, and their physical body seemingly manifested into it from the shock. They then fell onto their back, Parker groaning out in pain. It also seemed that the purple fedora that was perched on the coat rack remained in reality, descending onto Parker’s chest as they laid flat on their back.

   Slowly, Parker got up as they scratched the back of their head. "What happened there…" they asked to themself, the overall bizarreness of the previous chain of events making it take a while before everything clicked in their brain. "Wait a moment-"

   They stopped scratching their head and brought their arms forward, and then they slowly lowered their gaze to their body.

   "...did- did that thing digitize me or something!?"

   Ignoring the fedora that was perched on their chest they quickly stood up, slight panic starting to course through them. This shouldn't have been possible… right? They were well aware that strangely advanced technologies existed, especially since their whole channel was built on one, but something like this did feel a bit… much.

   “Aw jeez, how am I going to get out of this…?” they posited. While the idea of being in a video game sounded kind of fun, they weren't really sure if they wanted to be stuck in one. Much less without their permission!

   Parker’s eyes were brought to the front door of the room. Curious, they walked over towards it and gave the knob a shake. They could hear a series of clicks signifying it could open.

   "This isn't bound by the confines of code anymore…" they observed. Was he digitized or was this place made real around him? Were they placed in the game or did they somehow get transported in the reality the game had been based on? Lifting a hand up, they scratched their head in thought. “Jeez, this is getting confusing now.”

   Parker's mind begins to drift, thoughts of concern filling their head as they try to fully process what is going on and how they're even meant to interact with this world now. Was this the actual reality of Brok now? Or was this some strange empty space in a harddrive? It couldn't be that second thing, but even then what would this even be considered if they weren't digitized in the first place!? Their thinking left them distracted and unaware, something that allowed the true effects of the shock steadily become more tangible without Parker noticing yet. 

   A bright shade of green begins to creep in from the tips of their fingers, slowly but surely spreading across them with ease. This change in skin tone was caused by their skin itself altering, the softness of it getting tougher as it was steadily getting transformed into what seemed to be scales. This wave of scales continued to move its way down the fingers of both hands, a secondary change being added to them as they began to thicken as well. Each finger swelled up with size getting thicker and longer, and it didn't take long for them to get fat to the point of being almost sausagey. It would also seem two fingers on each hand got squished into each other, Parker now being left with only four-fingered hands. 

   Their hands themselves weren't left unscathed either as they too got affected by the scales overtaking them. The backs got consumed by the rough greens, meanwhile the palms maintained a level of softness as they got taken over by a brighter shade of green. Their size underwent the same types of changes as well, their once flatter appearance filling up and bloating to become of equal density with his fatter fingers. They were also stretching out in all directions and enlarging to a much wider width. It didn't take very long for both hands to garner a significant, almost cartoony plumpness that looked humorous when compared to their thinner arms and body.

   That disparity didn't last though. The cuffs of the sleeves of their jacket began to tighten as the changes in their skin started to cascade upwards onto and beyond their wrists, steadily increasing the diameter of each wrist in the process. The main site of importance was Parker's forearms however. Bulk began to pile onto them as an odd feeling of strength was coursing through them and their muscle mass was shifting as a result. Their forearms were thickening in size due to their muscle mass getting more developed. This all caused the lower ends of their jacket sleeves to get filled as a result.

   Their upper arms weren't left out either as they too began to quickly swell in size. Greens moved beyond his elbows and layered onto his flesh, and beneath it all their biceps bloated with their triceps increasing alongside them. The fabric of his jacket got indented with the ridges of their muscles, and it would seem that the short sleeves of their undershirt were quick to fill. This progressed further as their deltoids bloated up and got rounder, their shoulders now broadening as a result. The once lanky form of Parker’s limbs had already gained a substantial difference in size, now almost reaching a point that they were double their previous size thanks to this instantaneous workout. While the sturdy denim of their jacket just barely managed to hold their muscled arms, the much softer material of their undershirt wasn't faring as well and had already begun to split across their bigger biceps and shoulders.

    The sound of tearing piercing the air snapped Parker out of their spiral of confuzzlement. “Did my shirt just- whaaat the hell-”

   The sight of their arms was a strange one. What had once been unimpressive, average-sized limbs that allowed their jacket to hang off them had now been replaced with firm, muscular, stronger arms that practically stretched the denim of their jacket with ease. For Parker such a sight wasn't necessarily off-putting, mainly considering their usages of Change4Change on their livestreams, but the fact it's happening is a reason for concern.

   Parker eyes one of their arms, giving it a flex and watching as the muscles of it further press into the material of their jacket. “Maybe digitization isn't the only thing that's happening,” they then unflexed and held the arm out, inspecting their hand next. Green and scaley with such fat fingers. It was a sight that made deducing what was happening a rather simple task. They were transforming to fit this new reality they were shunted into it seemed, and the person they were becoming was the titular protagonist of the game the original simulation was based off of…

   “...fuck that sounds cool actually-”

   The air of confusion and concern had begun to fade in that instant as Parker came to some kind of internal ultimatum. Especially since the idea of becoming the InvestiGator himself was not an unappealing one by any means…

   Meanwhile, the changes had not halted during Parker’s form inspection. Especially since it didn't take very long for the scales to jump from their arms to their chest, their frame now widening beneath the shifting skin and formulating a broader appearance. And as the scales crept onto the front of their body, the appearance changed as the color shifted from a standard green to a more yellowish-green tone. This was more than a change in tone as well, the original hardness of the scales now instead becoming a median between the softness of human skin and the toughness of gator scales. Parker was effectively getting a reptilian underbelly, something that was also causing their chest to fill out substantially. 

   At first it began with a growth in muscle mass, Parker’s pectoral muscles steadily growing in size and muscularity with ease. Swelling out thicker and stronger, the core of their body heating up as the shelf of their chest extended forward with each passing second. It wouldn't take long for their undershirt to already get indented with Parker’s newly deepening cleavage. However it was evident that this wasn't the only change happening to the upper portion of their body. While the firmness of their chest existed, it didn't take very long for it to start getting shrouded beneath another layer of something.

   Formulating around Parker’s chest was a layer of fat, one that was quick to accumulate around their new muscles. This resulted in a significant softness forming in their chest, the previous raw meatiness getting melted into something more squishy and flabby. The upper body strength still existed of course, but it was accentuated with pudge that made their pecs absolutely squeezable in contrast to the scaliness of it. All the while their chest still grew in size a bit more, growing in tandem with Parker’s wider frame. Although for the most part it was causing their chest to press against their undershirt even more. It was a wonder that the torso section wasn't splitting as well…

   Concurrent with the changes of Parker’s upper torso, the lower half of it was undergoing a similar if not more drastic change. As the yellowish-green scales of their new underbelly grew more prominent, their abdominal muscles began to harden and solidify while strength coarsed through them with ease. However it was quick to garner a layer of fat, and in this region of their body it was quickly evident it wasn't just going to settle as just a layer. A bloating sensation was quick to fill their belly as it began to swell outwards. With each passing second, the hem of their shirt steadily rode up their stomach as it grew bigger, rounder, fatter. And it would only progress that way for a while. More and more fat just filling up the area, the sheer roundness of their belly getting increasingly more prominent to the point that it was easily becoming more of a gut than anything else. Ample size, soft yet firm, and hiding some level of muscle beneath it all. By the time this portion of the changes slowed their newly developed gut had pushed their undershirt completely above it, exposing it to the air and showing the scaley and segmented appearance of what was now their underbelly.

   Parker found themselves leaning against the door, feeling the weight steadily piling onto them thanks to both their muscle and fat. “O-ough. This-” they paused, a light tingle entering their throat and forcing them to clear it to try and dispel it. “This feels kinda good…”

   Blinking a few times, they register the throat tingle a second time. They also noticed a chance to their voice seeming to begin kicking in. It was beginning to sound a little bit… deeper? And the tone of it was a bit off. “It's getting to my voice too, huh?”

   Parker couldn't help but smile though. “Brok did have a pretty cute voice from what I recall…”

   With that they go from leaning to their side to leaning on their front, their forehead on the door as their gaze was fixated on their belly. They give it a nice rub with one of their hands, feeling up the softer feeling scales. By this point a level of grogginess was beginning to set into their brain. A light fog slowly rolled into their mental space, that lightness very slowly intensifying as seconds passed. It was steadily getting harder to focus on the transformation process, especially with this growing feeling of… something in their mind. Familiarity? Normalcy? It was hard to discern. 

   At the very least that mental haze made Parker unable to notice that their height had been altering all this time. Their back had already grown rather broad at this point to fit with Parker’s now wider form, and their trapezius muscles were already pushed up against their undershirt and indenting their jacket. And it wasn't very long until this already garnered wideness forced the back of their undershirt to split open, light blue cotton tearing to reveal dark green scales. Their spine had decompressed a bit with the discs of each vertebrae growing a little larger to fit their new proportions. All the while a pair of blunt spikes lined the region of scales above their spine, steadily forming down until they found their way to the base of it. Once it did reach the base however, something strange began to occur.

   At first it only felt like a tug. A small amount of pressure in their tailbone that only gave mild discomfort. But with the progression of time that small feeling got bigger. Pressure was constantly building up, a growing lump forming above their rear, and that lump growing larger and larger as the pressure continued to grow linearly. Parker could only grit their teeth as they felt this happening, the once minor discomfort now becoming a major one. They could feel the lump start to push against the back of their pants, pull against their belt, and in general just exert immense amounts of force on their legwear that it was not accustomed to. This tug of war would only continue for a few seconds more though, as once enough pressure finally built up…

   SHRRRP!!!

   THUD!

   “GRRAGHH!!!”

   Shards of denim fly from behind them as a massive, spiky tail unfurled its way out from the base of Parker’s spine. It lands on the floor with a mighty thud and its length still increases for a few seconds more. Although it would seem its impressive girth was shrinking, already tapering to a rounded tip. Nonetheless, Parker now sported the lengthy tail of a gator. One that they were checking out, the transforming adult seeming to already get a hang of moving it.

   “Heheh, quite the trouble you caused there, huh?” Parker said with a smile, their voice continuing to deepen more with each word. The tone had now been given a more masculine edge as well. They didn't seem to care though, instead choosing to give the base of their tail a nice rub. This distracted them from the fact they were now losing height. 

   The green scales were quick to find their way to Parker’s legs, now rapidly overtaking the skin of them. Beneath it all came another slew of physical changes not unlike the ones that happened in their arms. Leg muscles began to grow, quadriceps and hamstrings bulking up and easily making indents within the denim of Parker’s jeans. All while their muscles were maturing, they pressed up against the bones of Parker's legs and changed them. Where they gained some wideness they also lost some length. An event that had caused Parker’s initial height loss, something that gave them a more top-heavy appearance as a result. The same structural changes to their leg bones would also happen to their lower legs as they too were consumed by scales. This also caused the feeling of the crus of their legs starting to swell, calves ballooning outwards and their jeans continuing to strain over their legs in a futile attempt to contain their thickening form. It wouldn't take very long for a few tears to form to the sides of their legwear. Now the only area of their lower body that was not washed over by the sea of scales were their feet. This wouldn't last long however…

   Spreading across their soles was a pale green, meanwhile a standard shade of green was forming down from the sides and over the upper portion of their feet. Concurrently they were also growing in size, getting thicker, larger, longer, and wider. Unfortunately however, their feet were confined to their shoes. As their size increased it caused the material to bulge and strain in an attempt to continue to contain them. As their toes pressed into the toecap the amount of bulges in the cloth shifted from five to four, and then to three large bumps that were now just aching to get out. The sides of their footwear were expanding and steadily starting to split and crack, and they could feel their fatter heels dig into the back of them as well. The strings that held them together creaked and snapped with ease as the newly forming wideness of their feet was becoming too much. Then rips started to form at the front as their toenails sharpened, their composition shifting and hardening into something more boney, now poking out and becoming a triad of claws. Soon enough the bulges that were caused by his toes were too much as well, the fronts of their shoes splitting open and finally giving them some air. This then caused a chain reaction in the rest of his footwear with it steadily breaking apart and shattering in one large burst that sent pieces of blue cloth flying in the air.

   The sound of Parker’s shoes exploding took their attention away from their tail. Looking down at their feet they were greeted with the two being fully transformed and covered in shreds of cloth and string. Although all they really did was shake the destroyed remnants of their shoes off each foot. “Havin’ trouble recalling why I was even wearing those…”

   They cleared their throat again. The strange sensation from earlier was fading, and it was evident their voice was settling to that new tone. Deep and masculine with a certain quality to it. Caring, but able to switch to something more aggressive at the flip of a dime if need be.

   Perhaps the weird part however was the fact they were just… unable to view their voice as anything different now. There was a part of them that could just barely breach the topic to themselves that this was Brok’s voice and not theirs, but at the same time their brain just had trouble discerning their original identity. Like it was getting muddled beneath all the fog in their mind. And even then when they could think of something it was something different and more natural…?

   “Come to think of it, I'm having trouble recalling a lot of things right now…” they- he raised his hand and started to scratch his head in confusion. He could've sworn he was just thinking about… leaving a… something or other…

   As his mind drifts to another bout of confusion, the scales slowly move beyond his neck and onto his head. The yellowish-green scales were perhaps the first to make the transition by going from beneath his jaw to layering his chin, and then easily surrounding his mouth. As the scales in this shade gained more surface area around his lower face it prompted a dramatic shift in his skull structure. Slowly his lower face pushed out, lower jaw jutting forward as the region beneath his eyes followed suit. This was causing a gator-like muzzle to form out from his face, his jawline restructuring to fit this new animalistic appearance while it also gained a certain broadness that managed to grant him a more masculine visage from the jawline alone. Meanwhile as the upper portion of his muzzle grew forward, his nose steadily merged into the tip of it until there were nothing more than two holes at the front of it. The bridge of the muzzle’s upper half got consumed by darker green scales as it bubbled, getting rougher and bumpier in the process of the changes. Meanwhile within his mouth all of his started to shift, changing and sharpening while repositioning and misaligning. A few teeth even poked out from between his now longer mouth.

   While the lighter colored scales stayed at the lower half of his face, the darker colored ones made the remainder of his head their territory. The sides of his face extending a bit and rounding out, the anthropomorphic qualities of his appearances yet against being accentuated thanks to the fat accumulation around his cheeks. Despite that, the structure of his skull still shifted as the humanity of it was lost to the more reptilian appearance it was taking. As the scales reached the direct sides of his head they also consumed his ears, the process shrinking them rapidly until he was just left with small holes for auditory intake.

   Meanwhile he continued to scratch his head, the initial act now changing to him dealing with a major itch on his scalp. Something he was unaware was being caused by the roots of his hair getting pushed out by his scales. It wasn't even a slow experience as, thanks to his massive hands, large chunks of his long hair sloughed off with ease. Brown strands and follicles slipping away due to his touch, the side bangs dropping away while the portion of his hair that was above his forehead slid off his head in an instant. His bun wasn't even given time to unfurl as in one fell swoop it disconnected from the back of his head and dropped to the ground. It wouldn't take long for all of his hair to drift and fall off his scalp and onto the floor, now leaving him with the scaley dome of a gator.

   As his eyebrows succumbed to a similar fate, the ridges of his brows pushed forward and above his eyes while also getting thicker and more rectangular. Meanwhile his eyes themselves changed, sclera going from white to yellow as the blueness of his irises faded to black. Although it would seem the changes to his eyes represented something more significant.

   “Urgh, I- I had a job I was supposed to do, right…?”

   His thoughts and memories only continued to change beneath the haze in his mind. He could just barely recall the idea of a VR test supposedly happening, but the details were practically non-existent now. Something was pressing into that part of his brain, saying it was too early for something like that and that he had to do something else. He had other jobs he was meant to be doing that day. 

   Wasn't he called in for an investigation…? He could've sworn he was just hired for something.

   The gator let out a growl. “These memory lapses can't be getting… that bad, can they…?” 

   Right, he could recall he had the occasional loss in memory. But that usually came up with stuff from his past, not something that should've happened just a few minutes ago! Something about this just wasn't adding up. Maybe he should just check his phone again, try and shuffle through his messages or call history.

   He tries to shove a hand in one of his pants pockets, but quickly finds that he can't even jam in all his fingers. That's when the gator looks down at his body and notices his clothing. “W-wait, I didn’t- a-argh-”

   A piercing headache suddenly wracked his brain, the anthropomorphic gator shutting his eyes while squeezing the side of his head with a hand. The haze in his brain intensified and the rest of an entirely new identity was getting shoved into him.

   With his mental changes intensifying there was one last visible change occurring, this time to his extremely ill-fitting clothing. A single dot of dark coloring formed in the middle of his undershirt, and soon that splotch spread across the material at a rapid pace. Said shirt was growing as well, sleeves and back repairing and restitching while the hem unfurled and stretched over his stomach more easily. The dark coloring proved itself to be a simple shade of black that overtook the shirt’s original light blue and white coloration. In the end it was a relatively simple change though, his undershirt eventually settling into a black t-shirt that still was a bit small on him judging by the bottom of it revealing a sliver of his stomach and the top of it still having an indent of his chest.

   His jacket was mirroring the size changes as well, growing larger to fit his new proportions (and in this case seeming to actually fit them properly). Shades of reddish-brown etched their way across the once blue denim, and everywhere the brown touches changes material to a harder leather instead. While his jacket collar extends a bit, another part of his jacket split folds beneath it and forms a lapel. The pockets of his jacket seal shut to the point they've never existed, and a pair of leather epaulets bulge from the jacket shoulders. Lastly the sleeves of his now brown leather jacket roll upwards and cuff above his elbows. Additionally, the multi-colored bandana that was on his right arm unfurled itself and started to whisk itself to his neck. The soft material shifted and thinned dramatically, practically dethreading in mid-air until it was just a black string that tied itself around his neck. Then came a bright yellow glow above his chest, an almost silvery pendant materializing onto that string.

   The very last piece of clothing that changed was his pants. While they remained jeans, they also lengthened to fit his bulkier legs while fixing themselves of the damage they got during his initial transformation. As the legs of his jeans lengthened, they also rolled up and cuffed at the bottom of his own legs. As the back of his pants rethreaded to allow a tail-hole to exist in the seat of his jeans, the belt loop stretched above the very base of his tail that allowed for a brown leather belt to snake its way around his waist. A soft clink was then heard as its silver buckle fastened. The very final change came to his pockets where the four of them merged and bulged into thick and bulky gusset pockets, one of which now holding his new phone.

   A metal plate slapped itself onto the gator's snoot as the last of the mental changes were hauled in. A new identity and memories whirling around the reptile’s brain, filling in blanks and replacing what was originally there with ease. Thoughts of his original humanity were getting buried under a new perception of humanity. One that was more animalistic and diverse in forms. Meanwhile his own knowledge was getting overhauled, technological experience being dulled drastically. If anything he garnered a certain level of disdain for more complex works of technological advancement that he could never get working right. Although that may also be because he gained a little over ten years of age both physically and mentally.

   This all caused his previous job as a streamer to get flushed down the mental drainpipe. Instead all he could recall was his typical work as a handyman, the knowledge required for such a profession replacing the mental spot that his technological expertise had once resided. However, the most important aspect of his personhood soon followed. That being the justice-seeking desires of his detective work, and the slightly aggressive tendencies of his brawler persona. Such aspects of himself that mixed and meshed on a frequent basis, so much so that they were ingrained in his personality. Traits that made him Brok. Of course there were still multiple other personality traits that got overloaded into him though. Self-doubt and worry, a crippling fear of being alone, a slight hair-trigger temper that he has been attempting to suppress more and more. But despite all of that, he had an intense level of care and love that existed within his mind.

   Brok continued to hold his head in his hands as his brain was absolutely overladen with details and info, something that almost completely scrubbed whatever prior thought patterns he had had before this. It also left his attention almost completely dulled.

   “Ough, head… spinning…”

   “...rok?” a voice echoed from near the gator.

   “Whuh… who-”

   Suddenly the gator’s mental haze was shattered as a finger tapped his shoulder a few times.

   “What the-” Brok yelled out, the spirals in his eyes being blinked out as he was startled by the sudden touch. “O-oh, Graff!”

   Having been standing behind him for the past… who knows how long was his feline step-son Graff. Said feline had a slight look of concern on his face. “Woah- you looked a little zonked there.”

   “I- wuh…” Brok scratched the back of his head in confusion. “Admittedly I… don't remember what I was doing just about now,” the gator gave a nervous smile.

   Graff raised a brow in suspicion. “Oookay then. I just heard some yelling and…” The anthropomorphic cat began to trail off as he looked down to the floor and noticed what seemed to be brown fur(?) and shreds of hard blue cloth cluttering the area around Brok’s feet. “The heck went on there?”

   Brok looked down as well. “...I'm not quite sure about that either.”

   “...right,” at this point it just seemed like Graff was giving up on questioning whatever went on in the past few minutes. “Guess we'll just need to have the cleaning bot fix it?”

   Brok’s eyes widened at the mention of the cleaning bot. Nervously rubbing that back of his head he said, “O-oh, about that…”

   “You didn't get it fixed yet, did you?”

   “...no. I was going to have Shay do it but got distracted with… work stuff.”

   Graff just rolled his eyes, the sight making Brok cringe. An extremely strange stray thought at the back of his mind made him wonder how many relationship points he just lost. Weird…

   Brok still mustered a smile. “I'll make sure to try and get it repaired while out today! Consider that a promise!” 

   Graff didn't look convinced, but judging by his ears perking up a bit it would seem he was hopeful in his step-dad’s making it a promise. “Alright, alright… just uh,” he smirked, “Don't forget the hat.”

   Brok raised a hand to the apex of his head and gave his scalp a few pats. “O-oh! Where did…” his gaze wandered to the area of the room with the punching bag and found the fedora on the ground. Walking over towards it he commented, “How the heck did that thing get off me without me noticing!”

   He then placed the fedora onto his head and smiled. “Okay, now I'm gone!”

   Graff just gives the gator a nod as the reptile starts to make his way to the door and leave the apartment. Although he does smile at the sight of Brok pausing as he kicked some ridiculously large looking furball. Brok just sighed as he watched the furball roll into a corner. 

   “Seriously, how did this mess get made…”

#character tf #tf #transformation #species tf #weight gain tf #reptile tf

[skylermadness]

Whatever. (Lucas Lee TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: December 6, 2023)

I continue to be too lazy to fill my queue.

Original Description:

Make this Lucas Lee TF #3, now in the written medium! My boyfriend got me to watch through both the Scott Pilgrim movie and anime and it was pretty obvious that I was going to fall in love with Lucas. A bit of a jerkish man with a large physique and attractive face, pretty much the perfect bait for someone like me. This also meant that inevitably I was going to have to write a TF story on this guy! I wanted to go for something a bit simplistic here in terms of tone and plot, mainly because I wanted to jump straight into the transformation segment, but I think in general I'm rather proud of how this story turned out! I really wanted to give this man justice, especially since in the end he'll probably be memorialized in the hall of underrated TF figures. Also going to give some credit to my friend moltingscales on FurAffinity for a few description additions that I would not have been able to come with on my own! Rated Mature for vague bulge growth description.

   Truth be told, self-confidence was not something that Mike had an ample amount of. Especially in regards to how he viewed his physicality. That was always something he thought when he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. And for this evening that sense of low self-esteem was at an all-time high. The reason? Date night.

   He had always attempted to tell himself that these dates were just meant to be casual. There was nothing to really worry about since it wasn't like he and his boyfriend were going to some bougie five star restaurant or something. Unfortunately however, Mike’s mind never truly functioned that way and he had a tendency to spiral down a mental staircase of overcomplications. That coupled with the past two weeks he's had in regards to his job had sort of left his mind in a state of disarray. It wasn't fragile persé, but neither was it solid.

   That mental state is why he was in the bathroom mirror at 7PM in the evening staring at a sheet of temporary tattoos in his hand. Said sheet was just some three dollar cheapo set that he bought online a few days ago. Mainly because he was too much of a coward to get a real tattoo- that's beside the point!

   Although the cheapness of the purchase was definitely pungent as he stared down at the sheet. He didn't go for the more expensive and extravagant purchase, mainly because he didn't really want to draw too much attention to himself. In general he had just wanted something simple that also looked aesthetically appealing. However the more he stared down at the sheet he began to realize that he really went too far on the simple notion. Although that was primarily because the only selections on this fake tattoo sheet were simplistically stylized letters and numbers.

   Mike sighed. “What do they expect me to do? Spell out my name or something?” It hasn't even been five minutes and he was already regretting this purchase. It was fine though, it was fine, he might be able to settle on something at least.

   He had already crossed out putting in his own name, and he felt it would be weird to put in the name of his boyfriend. Would it be weirder to put in the names of everyone in his polycule? If anything that'd just look like a hit-list. Also he was pretty sure he didn't have enough letters for all of that anyway. For a second he also considered putting the name of a game or something he liked, but that option fell flat since the letters provided to him would look weird when tattoos of game logos legitimately exist.

   These mental gymnastics lasted for a good twenty or so seconds before Mike’s gaze wandered down to the number section of the sheet. There weren't a lot of numbers he'd say represented literally anything about him. Except…

   “...two?”

   Just two. He was the second person in his polycule with his boyfriend after all, and in general he had been the second to do a lot of things like finish college and move out. Although considering he was just doing this to boost his self confidence for a date with his boyfriend the former thought process was a much healthier one.

   Seeming to have come to a decision, the next couple minutes were a fairly standard order of events. Making sure his skin was dry, removing the film and isolating the singular number from the sheet. Mike did spend a good minute trying to choose a spot to place this temporary tattoo, but eventually settled on the side of neck solely so he could hide the thing if need be. He removed the choker that he typically wore, put it onto the sink’s counter, and placed the numerical icon onto the skin of the left side of his neck, then promptly wet up a sponge with some warm water before holding it onto where he was placing the tattoo.

   The moment the water met the backing paper that region of Mike’s neck had suddenly been given a slight burning sensation. It was only miniscule, but it was noticeable. “Eesh, I hope I'm not allergic to whatever is in these things…”

   He tried to hold out for the recommended thirty seconds, but that feeling of burning forced him to remove the sponge from his neck after twenty. He swiftly removed the backing paper from his neck, but found that there wasn't any kind of redness of the skin that would be the cause of any kind of burning. If anything the strange sensation had subsided, and now Mike had been granted a simplistic tattoo of the number two with a line going through it.

   He stared at his neck in the mirror for a few seconds and scrutinized the newly inked object on his neck. “...somewhat larger than I was expecting. Whatever I guess, it doesn't… look shoddy.”

   It did already look a little faded though. Mike had hoped once it had some time to dry it would actually look dark enough to imitate the appearance of a tattoo even though he didn't fully care about it looking convincing. With a sigh he moved his hand to the edge of the sink to pick up his choker and slip it back around his neck again. Although this time he loosened it a bit so it wouldn't rub up against the temporary tattoo too much. He apparently wasn't patient enough to let it dry before putting the accessory back on-

   With that whole routine dealt with, Mike made his way out of the bathroom. He was probably going to spend the next half hour sitting on the couch waiting for his boyfriend to arrive…

   However as he walked down the hallway he already started to massage the area the tattoo’s ink had been placed on. The burning was returning already and it felt a bit more intense now. “What are in those things?”

   He continued to gently massage the area of his neck with his hand, letting his palm gently squeeze the skin in an attempt to alleviate the sensation. Although it would seem as he continued in this act, a strange set of changes began to settle into his hand…

   There was a certain level of thickness that had begun to generate in both of Mike’s hands. His usually thin fingers steadily got larger, thicker, chunkier. As their size was getting altered their length was extending as well in order to fit their new proportions. The ends of his fingers also seemed to blunt a bit with initial the roundness of his fingertips dulling to a more straight look. At the exact same time the body of his hands was getting changed as well, both of them growing with each squeeze his left one did to his neck. They stretched out larger and wider, palms thickening as the entirety of his hands gained a significant level of meatiness to them that was already causing them to exude a level of strength that they had not possessed just moments prior. 

   From there it was a quick transition for the changes to jump past his wrists and onto his forearms. A small amount of heat began to arise in the lower area of his arms. With that heat came another swath of growths, the thinner physique of them steadily being lost under a swelling, bulking size. This was mostly because of the sudden increase in muscle mass he was getting. At an anatomical level, each usage of his extensor muscles by his hands was causing a practically impossible rate of growth. Like years of working out was being piled in the area in just seconds and giving his forearms a sizable muscularity. So much so that ridges were already forming, dividing muscle groups and accentuating the new size even further. A budding pressure had also started forming in his bones. Newly grown muscles practically massaging them, extending and hardening them further to better handle this larger size. It also wouldn't take very long for the exact same thing to begin to occur in his upper arms as well.

   It started with a squeezing sensation in his elbows, something that quickly intensified to yet another immense bout of pressure in the bones of the upper half of his arms. This was also accompanied by the same light amount of heat, which was then followed by even more muscle growth. The short sleeves of his button-up were quick to fill as the mass in his arms increased more and more. Biceps got bulkier and triceps matured tremendously, and it wasn't long until the diameter of his arms was practically doubled thanks to all of these changes. His shoulders ached as his deltoid muscles developed more, a certain roundness forming out from his once angular bodily shape. This roundness had also rapidly made itself visible from beneath the fabric of his shirt, his newly developed muscles firmly pressing up against the sleeves as they already began to look rather undersized.

   By the time this portion of the transformation had ended, Mike found himself at the threshold of the hallway and his living room. A few beads of sweat already began to form on his forehead as the heat was spreading from his arms to the rest of his body. “Uurgh, am I… having an allergic reaction to that thing…?”

   For a moment he stands in the doorway and unhands his neck, deciding to hold onto the threshold with a hand in order to stabilize himself a bit. He could still feel the tattoo burn against his neck, although he couldn't see it was significantly darker than it was before. What he did see, however, was his hand.

   “W-WHAT THE HELL-”

   For just a moment his mind was taken off the feeling of intense heat entering his body, Mike’s focus instead being directed to his larger hands and beefier arms. Flipping a hand around in a panic his first statement was, “O-oh God, this can't be an allergic reaction-”

   His eyes could only just trail down from his hands to his arms, the man only being able to behold the sight that was his recently obtained muscle mass. It felt so warm, and something about it was exuding pure strength, but despite that it all still felt uncanny. Bizarre felt like an understatement of a term, it was impossible!

   “What is going on?? Why is this- a-ahh-”

   His panicked statements were interrupted by what could only be described as the sudden feeling of a furnace igniting at the very core of his body. In just seconds his physical changes were transitioning from his arms to his torso, and Mike could instantly feel his chest push outwards and into his shirt with each breath the young man took.

   The best way to usually describe Mike’s chest was undeveloped. Flat with only minimal amounts of flab and fairly unimpressive from a physical standpoint. However, as his core was heated a fire entered his torso that caused a cascade of changes that practically tempered and sculpted his form. His chest pushed forward, his pectorals steadily swelling in size with each second that passed. It was small at first however, seemingly starting off as a slight growth that looked more like that of a novice who just started working out. But that appearance was temporary, one that lasted only a few seconds before they got larger and larger. With each ragged breath the man took his pectoral muscles only grew more, that novice feeling being lost into the size of someone more adept in gym-going. And that didn't last long as they grew even more into two thick and meaty slabs belonging to someone dedicated to refining their physicality.

   All the while his chest was pushing up against the front of his shirt. The size of his swelling pecs constantly indenting into the button-up more and more, their appearance getting more prominent beneath the fabric. But the only thing that held the halves of the shirt were buttons, and as the size of his chest increased it pushed his shirt’s placket to limits it just couldn't hold. Already buttons began to scatter, unleashing his chest more and unveiling the deep chasm that became his cleavage. A few more buttons were lost as his frame was prompted to extend as well. His collarbone and ribs pushed sideways, broadening and widening his form even more. Something that was causing even his back muscles to ache, a mighty need starting to form in them as well.

   “Urgh-” Mike grunted at the sensations, everything just feeling overwhelming. “M-my shirt- my chest it's so… it's so…”

   His cheeks flushed as all of a sudden Mike lost control of an arm. The free one that wasn't supporting him on the door got lifted up and, in just one quick moment, squeezed his right pectoral. He was given the sensation of just how soft yet firm they felt underneath his grip. Something that gave him just a single thought.

   Heh, you've got the best chest in the business~

   That very thought felt so foreign to Mike, already setting off mental alarm bells in the young man’s man. Yet despite that he couldn't swat it away, he couldn't stop his hand from giving his chest another squeeze and filling his brain with an almost erotic level of self-confidence (and perhaps self-absorption) that he didn't have prior. It was like his brain chemistry was beginning to get altered as well.

   The changes didn't stop at his chest though. His abdomen already began to ripple, skin and muscle bubbling and churning as yet more muscles were ready to sculpt themselves into existence. The fat around his stomach melted off, and rising from that were a set of abdominal muscles. They slotted forwards like drawers, just rows of abs sequentially unveiling themselves and hardening into yet more firm muscles to displace his once twinkish demeanor. Two, then four, then a six-pack set of abs, all finely built in a way that showed years of dedication. Although those were years that Mike had not toiled through. But as his sides burned, his abdominal muscles firmed up, and the front of his shirt continued to tear open even more, the sight of his more muscled form was causing more conflicting thoughts to form in his brain.

   His back continued to ache as the muscles in that region grew out. Yet again his shirt was filling up, and beneath that was a substantial formulation of mass that was forming in his trapezius muscles. Evidently that wasn't the only portion of his back that changed however as his spine was another major group of bones that got hit with the transformative pressure. A sensation that caused the discs in his spine to decompress and grow, elongating itself and granting Mike inches of height that would better work for his new proportions. This has caused the hem of his shirt to rise a bit and untuck itself from his jeans in the process.

   This sudden growth of height further disoriented the man, Mike having already been immensely discombobulated thanks to the intensifying fog that was forming in his brain. At this point he was already getting lost in the inspection of his body, his arm moving from squeezing his chest to tracing a finger down his cleavage. It further moved down to his abs, all fingers splaying outwards to touch and feel the strong six-pack that he had gained just moments ago.

   With all those years spent working out, it would be a waste not to feel those muscles you spent so long crafting~

   “Wuh… huh…?” Mike vocalized, eyes blinking in a daze. “I've never… worked… out…”

   For a second his brain registered his voice sounding different, sounding deeper, but his focus could only be on the statement said. How much of a contradiction it seemed to be. A fraction of him knew it was true, knew these muscles weren't here minutes ago or that he's never had the time or desire to gain such a form. Yet another growing part of him was telling him the opposite, that this is his body, his muscles, his everything. 

   Why deny such a form you've worked so hard on?

   “Mmmph…” Mike hummed, voice continuing to deepen and making it sound like a low rumble. His eye twitched a bit as he felt a bead of sweat roll near it and down his face. His hand trailed back upwards, not sure if it's himself controlling it or the unknown force, but it slowly moved up his abs and back to his pecs. And while he entered what could only be classified as a hypnotized state, the transformation continued the move its way downwards. His jeans tightened around his form as the diameter of his waist got larger, the first sign that it wasn't very long until the lower half of his body was consumed by the changes.

   The second sign was a stirring in his groin.

   Mike’s cheeks flushed as he felt the front of his underwear begin to fill out. A sizable bulge was steadily forming, his endowment increasing in size much like the rest of his body had. Such an occurrence was also forcing the zipper of his jeans to start to split open against this new bulge. At the exact same time, the seat of his pants was filling out as well. Gluteus muscles getting larger, some fat accumulating in the area more, all of which was making his butt a bit more prominent and round beneath his jeans. It strained the back of his pants a bit more which put more pressure on his jeans. A good few seconds passed before finally the button holding them couldn't last any longer and ripped itself out the eyelet, the fly of his jeans now fully open.

   That didn't end the torrent of pressure being put on his pants however. The transformation continued to cascade its way downwards, the man’s thighs being the next to thicken as heat surged in his leg muscles and forced his quads and hamstrings to grow in bulk and musculature. His calves practically burned as well as they practically ballooned out the back of the crus of his once skinny legs. Although at this point Mike’s lanky frame is now long gone, the last portion of it subsumed by muscle. The leg muscles of a man who knew how to train them, and who knew how to use them. This had also prompted another few inches to be added to Mike’s height as yet again the bones were shifted, strengthened, and extended beneath the muscle. The bottoms of the legs of his jeans steadily rode up his legs as a result, meanwhile the seams holding the sides together began ripping apart against his large muscularity.

   The last portion of his lower body that was left to change were his feet, that region already beginning to shift as the space in his shoes quickly got filled out. In mere seconds his feet grew in size to fit the proportions of the rest of his body, lengthening and widening at a rapid pace. It wouldn't be long until the toe caps of his shoes bulged as all his toes pushed forward into them and continued to do so more. The back of his feet dug into the heels of his footwear, meanwhile the sides rubbed up against the shoe’s sides. This had predictably caused a major discomfort in the area, Mike disorientatedly stepping forward a bit in some weird attempt to shake off the pressure. But it didn't end and his footwear continued to bulge, the leathery cloth of it creaking and splitting as his feet continued to grow inside them. The front was already beginning to split off from the sole at this point thanks to his feet’s longer length. However, in one fell swoop, the front of his shoes burst open with a loud rip piercing the air. His toes were now out in the open, their chunkier and almost blockier appearance now visible. But at this point the changes in his feet had come to an end, the rest of his shoes just barely holding on against the width of his feet.

   “Gghrrgh…” he groaned, his clothing feeling so uncomfortable against his larger body. “S-so small… unfitting… grragh…”

   He swallowed a lump forming in his throat. The burning at the side of his neck had almost faded at this point, the tattoo he had given himself having inked itself into his skin to the point of it being a real tattoo. Furthermore his neck was wider, diameter larger and the size thicker. It made his vocal cords tingle, his breaths continuing to get deeper and deeper before settling on a tone that was more masculine than it used to be. Rougher, tougher, and rugged sounding. Although it seemed due to the size of his neck the choker he wore snapped off and slipped off him.

   Show those strong muscles of yours, show that weak clothing of yours who's boss!

   Mike’s groping came to a halt at this point. The man lifted up his arm, a dumb smile forming on his face as he gave it a good fleeeeex and watched as the sleeve of his shirt tore against his bicep. “Awesome!”

   By this point the line of what was considered Mike and what was considered the strange force within him was blurring. The once foreign thoughts were becoming more proper, fitting for the person he was just about feeling he is. The new personality and mentality, one that felt more confident and stronger than he used to be. Although the concept of ‘used to be’ felt impossible. The more he stared at this strong form of his the more those earlier thoughts about this being his felt correct.

   “Heheh, this feels good!” he stated, no longer supporting himself on the doorway and giving his other arm a good flex to watch the sleeve on it shatter over his muscles.

   At this point the last set of physical changes were moving onto his face. As he smiled a pressure was wracking his skull, squeezing and sculpting his facial features into those of a completely different man. His skull structure got larger and wider, and with it his jawline reshaped and chiseled itself from the broadness. It almost protruded to the sides at this point. The way his jawline looked aided in shifting the way his skull physically appeared, the overall shape of his head looking boxy and rectangular. 

   With his jawline shifting, his once clean-shaven appearance got lost as black hairs poked out the skin of his chin. It started as a small amount rising from the tip of his chin, but that quickly spreaded across his lower jaw as a whole bunch more stubble dotted itself across the man’s jawline. Alongside that came more and more of his facial features getting shifted. The once rounded tip of his nose was getting pointier while the overall wideness of it narrowed a little bit. The brownish hairs of his eyebrows deepened to a dark black as they got thicker, bushier, and their appearance slanted until they gained an arched appearance. All of this had caused the previous appearance of Mike, the one that looked so worried and self-conscious, to be done away and morphed into the cocky visage of a new man that exuded raw confidence and self-assuredness!

   His hair was the very last part that turned. The browns of the follicles deepened to a perfect black. The length of it shortened and caused the overall messy and fluffy appearance to disappear at a rapid pace. In its stead came a more well kept, spiky style as clumps of his hair slicked back and jutted backwards. However, the hair at the back of his head jutted upwards, and all this spiking met at a focal point at a specific point at the apex of his skull. It gave his hair an organized look that somehow still appeared laid-back. All of this ended off with his sideburns thickening and trailing down the sides of his face before ending an inch or two above where his jawline would start.

   The same goofy yet confident smile on his face remained as he ran a hand through his hair and continued to admire a bicep. The man properly walked through the doorway and finally stepping into the living room. By now he didn't care about the discomfort in his clothing, and the questions of his identity were faded and buried beneath the knowledge that this is his identity. And for him he's always felt this way. So strong and assured of himself! He is talented skateboarder and actor, Lucas Lee!

   With that mental declaration in his head there came one last, albeit minor, change: his clothing. The cottony feel of his shirt hardened as a deep black oozed across the once pristine white. Everywhere the darkness spread on his shirt a leather feel was formed, and that continued to occur for the next few moments. The shirt itself grew in size as this happened, and the very appearance of it was shifted. Metal lined the ends of the button-up’s split as the remaining buttons slipped off and dematerialized. As the metal continued to form a bit of the shirt folded into a lapel that the metal continued to line the end of before teaching the peak of the lapel’s tip. 

   The shirt’s collar flattened and extended to better meet the lapel, and by this point the leather appearance had spread across the entire torso section of what was once a shirt. Although as the leather extended itself onto the torn sleeves and repaired them, extending them over his arms and snaking the sleeves so long until they were an inch beneath his wrists, it was proven that this was no longer a shirt. Instead it was a leather jacket now. The rest of his clothing had a much less impressive change however. His pants repaired themselves and grew to better fit him, the denim shifting from its rich blue to a deep gray. His shoes did exactly the same as well by extending over his feet, covering his toes and growing airier, before properly sealing themselves shut and recoloring from black to blue.

   With all of that finished the transformation had been solidified. All that was Mike was done away. His worries and concerns were cast, replaced with the confident persona of Lucas Lee. Although it was evident he got a lot more than just the persona.

   “Eh?” Lucas raised a brow, stopping his self-admiration as he realized where he was. “The heck am I? Whose house is this?”

   That question stayed important for about… two seconds before he decided he didn't care. “Whatever. Nobody’ll mind if I make myself comfortable for a bit!”

   He takes a seat on the living room couch, completely ignores the fact his pants were unzipped, and perches his feet on the small table in front of it. He was about ready to fold his arms behind his head and lounge here for a bit, but was stopped when he felt his phone vibrate in a back pocket. With a grunt he shoved a hand into it and pulled it out, although he noticed that the thing looked a lot different than he remembered it being.

   “Don't remember this having a gold case,” Lucas remarked as he pressed the power button to take it out of sleep mode. He would've realized the wallpaper was different from his usual as well, but his focus was on the singular message displayed on the screen.

Arti 💙 heading to your apartment now did you ever come up with someplace to actually go for our date??

   Lucas tilted his head. Date? Who the heck was this guy?? Come to think of it, whose phone even is this?! There were a lot of questions crossing the man’s mind, but in the end he decided to do the most logical thing and answer the text as if it were his own phone.

You nope

   With that Lucas put the phone back into sleep mode. He wasn't really sure who this Arti was or whose phone he was currently in possession of but truthfully he didn't really care all that much. He just felt like chilling out here for a bit before heading back out, probably for another late night skate session. Although after another few seconds a single thought crossed his mind.

   …who's to say that Arti fellow wouldn't be a good time?

   Lucas smiled. Perhaps he was going to be staying here for just a bit longer…

#character tf #tf #transformation #human tf #muscle growth tf #bara tf #male transformation

[skylermadness]

So you do request’s? If so do they cost anything?

Unfortunately, I don't have the time to do any kind of requests whether they be free or paid. Sorry!

[skylermadness]

Been too lazy to refill my queue.

Anyway, Lucas Lee from the Scott Pilgrim franchise is hot.

[skylermadness]

Empirical Mentality (Claude TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: December 19, 2022)

Original Description:

A story I wrote as a gift for a friend. I've basically been obsessed with Housamo for three months now, so it was about time I actually got into writing transformation content on the characters. Claude is ranked pretty high on my list of TF moods from this game, so it's quite nice to have been given the opportunity to write a TF story on him! I do feel as if the dialogue was a bit awkward here and there, but I'm rather proud of the end result. Although damn is Claude's costuming rather complex. I love ya man but you wear so many layers. Not like I mind though, when aren't Housamo designs complex... plus, suits are good clothing shift material!~

   Why was he here?

   That was the main question that Damien asked himself. The man had found himself in the middle of a store that he originally had no intention of interacting with. But something had urged him to do so. He wasn’t quite sure on what though.

   The store was mostly void of human presence, and the only person that was there was a heavyset, hirsute older man that sat behind the store’s counter who didn’t even realize Damien walked in until roughly a minute or so of Damien casually roaming around the place. Even then, the man’s only acknowledgement was a surprised greeting. Damien just assumed the whole situation to be nothing more than the evident fact that the presumed store owner didn’t get many customers. 

   The wooden floorboards occasionally creaked beneath his steps. Glancing at the very few shelves that were set up showed that the metal was looking to begin to rust, which further indicated the aged status this place possessed. His attention was quickly diverted though, his eyes being brought to what was actually on the shelves.

   Earlier when he was outside he was aware of the oddities this place seemed to possess. It claimed to be an antique’s store however it came off more as a very high quality cosplay shop. Damien’s eyes flicked around the place in a constant attempt to assess what exactly was going on here. The shelves had a sense of chaos as none of the items seemed to really fit. His gaze wandered to various objects: a black helmet, some kind of intricately designed mirror, a weird looking box. Interspaced between these objects was an assortment of realistic weapons. A dagger, a trifecta of rings, what looked to be multiple swords of various shapes, sizes, and blade types.

   “Is it even legal to sell that kind of stuff…” Damien muttered, constantly eyeing the array of weapons.

   “Eh, I got a large batch ‘f ‘em a few days back,” the storekeeper responded from behind, ignoring the question. This startled Damien a little as he didn’t expect a response. “They’re all auth’ntic though.”

   Damien raised a brow, curious what that even meant, but he didn’t fully care enough to ask. He didn’t even intend to buy anything here in the first place. Despite all of that, his mind still insisted on eyeing the place up and down. Or at least, that specific shelf he was staring at since he walked in here. 

   Some kind of chain whip, a disturbing looking staff with a skull atop it, another staff that in contrast was more ornately designed and bejeweled. Peculiar objects kept listing themselves in his mind as he constantly eyed the area up and down. It didn’t help that each object had a weird… aura? He couldn’t explain it, but it felt like everything he stared at was vying for attention. Although Damien attempted to chalk that up to… himself, probably. That made the most sense. He shook his head, letting out a sigh. He was beginning to resolve to just leaving, the man turning slightly and beginning to head out the aisle that he stood within. 

   It wasn’t even two steps before something stopped him. He caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral. Something that glistened just enough to catch his attention.

   It looked to be a laurel wreath, specifically one with a perfect metallic gold coloration to it.

   In truth it was a simple object. Unimpressive. He could pass it by easily. Extra emphasis on could…

   Something prevented him from doing so, though. He was filled with an odd compulsion. An overwhelming desire to just reach out and… touch it. Grasp a hand around it, feel the smooth indents that gave the laurel that leaf-like look. Let the cold metal brush against his skin. He submits to that compulsion in an instant, a hand seizing the object from its spot on the shelf and holding it gently.

   For a second, he feels an odd feeling well up inside him. An odd, fiery fervor welling up inside him. 

   And for that second, the red of his eyes glow an emerald green.

   But it all only lasts a second, flaming fervor extinguishing as quickly as it came. Replacing it was a new feeling. An obligation.

   He had to buy this Artifact.

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

   “Urgh, why did I do that?”

   Damien walks down a sidewalk, the man having left the store just minutes earlier. He holds a hand up to his head, a headache coursing through it. His other hand remains at his side, gripping onto the object that he just bought.

   He had also found himself having trouble remembering what happened in the short span of deciding to leave and actually leaving. He could at the very least get a mental glimpse of what occurred, but he could barely recall fully what the interaction was like.

   He sighs in frustration. “I guess I’m stuck with this thing now…”

   Stopping in his tracks, he repositions the hand containing the laurel and looks at the peculiar object. The design of it, the quality, it all exuded expensive. But it also possessed an extravagance to it. Elegance that he now possessed.

   It was a foreign thought at first. Typically he wouldn’t care about this kind of stuff, but he couldn’t help but think about how good this would look on him. A feeling soon begins to well up in his chest. It’s miniscule, a sensation of metaphorical burning etching itself in his heart.

   Compulsions and desires run around his head, spiraling in entropy. The clearest thought Damien can think of is a single string of words: Place the Artifact upon your head.

   A few more thoughts soon follow. Assert your power. Show everyone who you are. Show yourself how you can be someone stronger. Be someone better…

   A lump forms in Damien’s throat, and he is quick to swallow it. “Stronger… better…” he repeats in monotone, the burning growing stronger in his chest as he speaks.

   Fill yourself with passion! And a sense of pride that only an emperor could possess…

    “Pride… yes, that… sounds correct…”

   These thoughts captivated Damien, mesmerized him. A constant flow of wants and needs; strength and passion and ecstasy. Discernment on whether these were his or not wasn’t among these thoughts. He was committed to accepting each one as they came, accepting them all as truth.

   “I must… assert myself. Become stronger. Passionate…”

   His hands quiver for just a moment. “I… must put this on!”

   It's slow, as if his mind was interpreting this as some kind of coronation. His arms slowly moving upwards, both hands latched onto the laurel as he did so. Ten seconds stretch out to ages as they move, and even once they reach the apex of his head they take a moment before unhanding the Artifact. It's a long moment, but eventually his fingers waver before finally undoing themselves from the wreath. 

   The golden Artifact softly drops onto his head, effortlessly sliding around his skull and perching itself behind his ears. 

   An emerald green glow momentarily flashes in his eyes, and an emblem etches itself in the palm of his left hand for a single second. That burning sensation in his chest wells up even more, and the thoughts in his mind grow.

   You are a suitable emperor…

   A shiver runs down Damien's spine as he places both his arms beside him again. This sensation was quickly followed by a feeling of pressure spreading throughout his body.

   While the changes were concurrent throughout his form, it was evident that his hands had already started to function as some kind of focal point. A thickness was already quick in enveloping them. His fingers got larger, his hands themselves swelling in size as they got bigger to match the new proportions. An intense burning sensation was also forming in his left hand, causing Damien to curl it into a fist in an attempt to alleviate it.

   Things were quick to move upwards as the sleeves of his shirt were already beginning to tighten. His wrists were first to follow in the change in size, and were soon quickly followed by his forearms. The muscles in his arms ached, heat surging through them as they were given an instant workout. The mass in his forearms grew, ridges etching in his sleeves as their musculature became more defined.

   At the exact same time his upper arms were also expanding. Muscles were growing in mass, a brawniness engraving itself in his limbs. Biceps bulged outwards, his triceps maturing at the exact same time. Both arms were practically doubling in size as a result, his new musculature stretching out his shirt’s sleeves even more. Their form was steadily becoming more noticeable: large and significantly more powerful than they used to be. 

   Threads in his clothing started to tear, the skin of his arm becoming visible while his shoulders started to broaden. His delts were next on the list ballooning in size just like the muscles before them. The portion of his shirt that contained his upper torso was starting to strain as well as his form began broadening, his skeletal structure altering in its wideness as his muscles continued to grow in conjunction. A slight ache soon ran up and down his upper back, the muscles in that region stretching and growing with his shifting form.

   A shock soon ran down the man’s spine as well. Vertebral structure was forced to undergo a swath of changes as his height underwent an increase. A singular inch over five feet became two inches over, then three, then four. Slowly, steadily, height was easily being augmented.

   For yet another moment his eyes glazed, emerald flashing within the irises again. He groaned, shifting his arm slightly to stare down at the thickened limb.

   This is the strength, the power that he possessed. That he felt like he always had within him. Such power that a true emperor prided themselves in.

   There was something about that very thought that caused both his chest and his left hand to burn even more, causing Damien to grunt in pain in response. He could take it, though. 

   Damien’s newfound brawniness accumulated at his front to a point of visibleness. Swelling from his chest were a pair of thick pectorals. They emerged from his upper torso at a steady speed, bulging into thick and firm slabs of meat and strength with a deep cleavage bisecting them. Something about this seemed to further feed the flame that was kindling within his core. It also further strained his shirt, the buttons pulling at their corresponding eyelets as they tried to contain the pure strength of his chest. 

   His abdomen and sides soon followed, a fierce heat enveloping them instantly as his form settled into its new, broad and powerful state. Furthermore, bubbling and soon hardening from his belly came more fixtures to his constantly muscular form. Emerging from that region were rows of abs. Noticeably thick and divided into a six-pack by a deep crevice that etched into the newly acquired adage to his physique. Even more impressive came the almost sculpted formations that emerged in his obliques. His form was becoming nothing short of perfection.

   The tightness in his clothing was only progressing due to this unexpected change in size. Threads holding his sleeves to the rest of the shirt continued to rip apart. His sleeves struggled greatly to hold his bulging muscles, this struggle only increasing with his arms tensing due to the surging, burning heat of his body. And it was only a matter of seconds until the buttons finally snapped off the front and revealed his toned body.

   This was also communicated to his mind, the tightness greatly uncomfortable to the growing man. “This… this won’t do!” he grunted out, the second half of the sentence sounding oddly deep. His fists seemed to clench even harder. 

   Such clothing is ill-fitting of someone like yourself, after all!

   It was that very thought that seemed to cause the tightness of his clothing to alleviate, a new slew of changes washing over his shirt. What was once ill-fitting started to grow instantly, the hem moving downward to cover his abdominals more easily while the sleeves did similarly to nestle at his wrists. Adjustments were made in the fabric as the size of it increased to perfectly fit his bulky frame. Rips and tears and torn threads were perfectly put back together as well, restoring the shirt to a state that was as if it were unaffected.

   But at the same time more drastic changes came across it. The deep gray of his shirt was brightened, a clean white effortlessly being assimilated to it. The material was adjusted as well, a warm cottony feel from it now washing over his skin due to these changes. The buttons of his shirt seemed to enlarge a little as well as change color to match the fabric. As for the shirt’s collar, it seemed to raise itself and envelop the lower portion of his neck, shifting into a different type of collar.

  And slinking from beneath the collar, wrapping around his neck from beneath the folds and tightening perfectly comfortably, came a red tie. One that emerged, circled, then snaked downwards to elongate long enough to nestle itself three quarters down the way of his chest.

   This wasn’t even the end of the change in attire as more add-ons manifested. Once everything settled on his shirt, a second layer of clothing materialized around his body. Deep gray cotton that was buttoned at the center, a deep neck that showed off his new dress shirt and tie, and a lack of sleeves. It was clearly a vest.

   Instantly following after that came a third layer. More deep gray cotton unfurled around his thick form, sewing and stitching itself into existence. There was a clear split down the middle on this one as well with the ends of that split extending and folding into a lapel. As the material trailed downwards, the split came to a meeting point near his waist. A singular eyelet formed while a large button fastened itself within it. His arms were also quickly consumed, his dress shirt being obscured by this new layer of clothing. Once the cotton nestled closely to his wrists, two buttons formed at the cuff. The extension of this new piece of attire continued beyond his torso until it ended just halfway down his thighs, his new suit jacket now completely formed.

   If that wasn’t enough, one final accessory was added to the man’s upper bodywear. Unfurling from the space over his jacket came a luxurious red colored fabric. It first positioned itself around his shoulders, then steadily expanded its territory downward and around portions of his body. It seemed to be some kind of mantle as it extended down, partially covering his arms but remaining open enough to keep the rest of his body visible. Its steady growth progressed, down and down until it settled at a spot a little below the halfway point of his legs. At the top of the mantle a lengthy collar formed and folded itself, two buttons and eyelets trailed themselves downwards where the collar nestled itself. The final adjustment to this accessory formed at the bottom of it; a design of an erupted flame forming in that area.

   While his clothing was being shifted, the physical changes to his body were progressing, moving downwards to his legs. The button that held his pants together softly snapped as it grew unable to hold his now wider hips. The denim of his jeans started to bulge and become tighter, the muscles in his legs becoming the next part of his body to grow in strength. The musculature of his thighs grew to be quite impressive, his quads gaining a considerable thickness while his hamstrings grew dense. Creases formed within his legwear outlining these developments, all while the ends split due to their inability to contain his pure strength. The immense pressure on his legwear only seemed to increase as his calves swelled, practically bulging from his body in comparison to their previous size.

   All while his muscles altered, his skeletal structure shifted as well. His height wasn’t finished increasing, the bones within his legs getting denser and longer. More inches piled on him and extended well beyond five foot six, and it took roughly a few seconds for his height to settle at a perfect five foot ten.

   Swiftly following came the changes to his feet. His shoes were quick to grow tight due to the fact his feet were swelling in size, lengthening and widening to fit the new proportions of his body. His toes had also gotten larger, blunter, and were rapidly getting pressed up against the cap of his shoes. The footwear were trying to contain everything, but with the noticeable bulging of the cloth from within it was becoming evident that the shoes wouldn’t hold on for long. 

   Fortunately, the changes to his clothing were beginning to reach the lower half of his body.

   Much like with his shirt, the rips and tears that etched into his pants all started to fix themselves. His jeans expanded, growing larger to contain his bulky legs. Surprisingly, they had gotten large enough to be slightly airy. The denim was quick to soften, the roughness of what were once jeans steadily transitioning to a softer material that was exactly like the kind that made up the upper half of his suit. It was clear that his legwear was now a pair of suit pants.

   The tightness within his footwear was the next major discomfort to alleviate itself. Before they had a chance to explode under pressure, they expanded in size at a rapid pace in order to comfortably contain his larger feet. And while the brown color of his shoes were maintained, roughness was replaced with an elegant smoothness, quickly shifting from standard sneakers to a more refined pair of dress shoes.

   The intense burning in his chest began to die down, the changing man now being given a proper chance to look down at his attire. “Wonderful-” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Clothes fit for…” he cleared his throat, “Clothing fit for an emperor!”

   He was smiling proudly, his deep voice resonating within his mind. The ‘strange’ thoughts that filled the man’s mind before seemed to be on their way to being more than just thoughts. This is who he was meant to be, after all. Strong and commanding, yet perfectly elegant. All traits fit for the emperor that is himself.

   This very thought pattern seemed to intensify the only remaining spot of his body that burned: his left hand. But all he did was clench his fist even harder. He felt… used to this, oddly. Like it happens all the time.

   It is what happens with Sacred Artifacts, after all…

   The very thought seems to prompt the very climax of his changes. The wreath that sat upon his head begins to glow in tandem with the fierce burning of his hand, and that prompts the pinnacle of his unwitting transformation.

   Where the Artifact touched his hair an intense red quickly consumed the rich brown of the follicles. It was as if his hair was being set aflame as the bright reds rapidly expanded around the hair of his scalp. And as their color changed, the style he had possessed was being adjusted as well. His hair was shortening, especially at the front where it once stuck out in quite a lengthy way. As it shortened, the well-kempt look was maintained but altered drastically in style. It was all sweeping backwards with a unique mix of spiky and wavy. The only possible description of it was that it was almost like a literal flame. And yet it was short, tame, perfect. 

   Concurrently, his facial structure was also changing. His jaw was rounded slightly, and the size of his head enlarged and widened to better fit his new size and demeanor. His eyes got smaller, the irises keeping that same emerald glow they had before. The bridge of his nose smoothed as the nose itself widened and lifted into a more upturned structure. The same bright red that overtook his hair entered his eyebrows, the shape of them shifting into a slender ellipse as they changed color. Finally his ears pulled themselves back slightly, the laurel wreath better nestling upon them.

   The most egregious changes came to his facial hair. The flaming reds ran down his sideburns, overtaking the brighter brown seamlessly. However, bits of his facial hair dissipated. The hairs of his mustache retracted, the area above his upper lip being left bare. His beard was also getting segmented. All that would remain was his thick sideburns, which styled into a similar spikiness to his hair, and a triangular patch of hair on his chin.

   As the last aspects of his physical changes settled, the world around him altered greatly. Reality twisted and warped, everything around him changing with ease. The sidewalk's concrete and road's asphalt was changed into a marble-tiled floor with an elegant carpet. Arising from that carpet was a set of blue sofas with a large table keeping them apart. Walls of marble arose from that floor, and behind him a massive glass pane with blue curtains hanging in front of it formed. 

   More and more furnishings materialized around the area; bookcases, statues, and plants manifesting from nothing. Directly behind him another, smaller table and an elegant throne-like chair came into existence. Lastly, a ceiling finished everything off, and a chandelier bloomed from it with ease.

   The man shakes his head, trying to shake the daze of his mind off. The burning in his hand finally subsided, and upon his palm was an image of a flaming colosseum. 

   He opens his hand, eyes drifting down to it. The insignia is familiar. His summon mark. His eyes then drift to look out the window, a massive stadium of some kind visible from where he stood.

   "Ikebukuro Stadium…" he whispered to himself.

   A door then opens and shuts softly behind him. "Master Claude, I have brought you some tea," a deep voice spoke to him.

   Claude. Right. That is his name.

   Daze dispelling, Claude turned to face the person who addressed him. A large, white lion in an elegantly designed suit stood beside him, holding out a small plate with a cup of tea upon it. Smiling, Claude softly took the plate from the lion's hand and curled a finger around the cup's handle.

   "Thank you, Snow. Your tea smells quite exquisite, as always!~"

   Snow nods. "I am always glad to hear you say that, my darling Master."

   Taking a sip of his tea, Claude moved to sit down on the chair. A feeling was prevalent in the back of his mind. A feeling of… renewed strength and pride in himself, perhaps? It's a weird thought pattern to him, but it's not unwelcomed.

   Truthfully… he preferred it.

#character tf #human tf #transformation #bara tf #male transformation #muscle growth tf #tf

[skylermadness]

Constitution (Jawbone O'Shaughnessey TF/TG/PMC/AP)

(Original Date of Upload: June 22, 2022)

Yeah, I'm dedicating some uploads this week to the hot dads out there. I shall preface this by saying I love Jawbone very much and no amount of words can express how intense that love is. He's a werewolf, he's a dad, he's a school counselor, he's a dad, he's got a sick Irish accent, I can go on and on but if I did I'd hit the word limit of this description (if there even is a word limit, anyway). The general summarization of things is hot werewolf dad. Three words that I absolutely wish could be said more nowadays... This is also my first FtM TF in a while! I tried something a little new to this one too, based on a few personal headcanons and the fact that I want to try some new stuff in these TFs of mine! Also I hope someone gets the joke I made in the story title. If not, then I guess I'll just give ya the answer if you choose to ask-

   Ashleigh had never been the most hard on herself when it came to grades, but something about getting a C- on her most recent Introduction to Psychology test struck a nerve. There were perhaps a lot of reasons as to why she got such a low score. The trouble she was having focusing on classes these past few weeks, the sheer amount of information overload she seems to get when she does focus, the fact that cramming the night before had resulted in frustrated confusion over the material. She was trying her best, but it felt like her best wasn’t good enough.

   And that was only one brick in the wall that was her many problems.

   The past few weeks have been the arrival of many issues and hardships in her life. Finances were becoming harder to manage, mainly due to the fact that even one month’s rent at the dormitory was enough to slash a hole in her budget with very little hope of getting it back on just minimum wage alone. The balance between working at a nearby retail store and trying to keep up with college also wasn’t helping in that matter, with her focus being challenged even there.

   Her own identity was becoming something that was harder to understand. Especially when it comes to her own gender, as she’s been trying to grasp onto whether or not she was trans. Trying to test the waters on that was also impossible in her current situation, which was reinforcing a budding feeling of gender dysphoria.

  Many of her friends were already busy with their own lives. She was in no place for a relationship. Her mind was effectively a vortex of confusion and information that she felt unable to piece together.

   To say college was getting a little overwhelming to Ashleigh at this point would be an understatement.

   What was funny was, she thought she was ready. At first college wasn’t in the cards for her when she had first graduated high school with her being in a low income home, and the fact that applying to scholarships felt impossible to her due to their high standards. It took a little more than ten years for her to get in a spot of perceived readiness.

    Belief that she finally had the income to do so, a feeling that now was the time to move out of her parent’s home and into someplace else, a full grasp on who and what she was.

   That view of herself and the world was shattered in weeks.

   She probably could have caught onto that when she first applied. First seeing the amount rent cost at her college. The amount of time it took for her to even decide on a major she had wanted. Choosing a Psychology major had made her feel worse as the weeks went on, since she would find herself thinking on how she thought she could help people if she couldn’t even solve her own problems.

   It got to a point that after seeing that her grades had been falling, one of her professors had recommended she speak with the college’s guidance counselor. Although he seemed to have trouble remembering the counselor’s name. It resulted in her having trouble finding their office, except it seemed that no staff in the college could recall who the counselor was. Only the fact that there was one.

   Except there wasn’t???

   Just an empty office with a scrubbed name placard. 

   That was effectively Ashleigh’s breaking point.

   The next logical stop for her was to head to a bar nearest to her college and pour her woes to the bartender. Which is where Ashleigh finds herself now, downing a small pint of alcohol at a bar that was also within a nightclub. It was her fourth one and she was already tipsy. She had also just finished retelling her life’s story to the bartender, a bear of a man named Maurice.

   Ashleigh let out a little hiccup, then tipsily giggled. “Usually I wouldn’t turn to alcohol to run from all my problems, but damn is this some good booze…” 

   Maurice just hummed. “Migh’ have to cut ya’ off at sum poin’. Can’t have ya’ dyin’ of alc’hol poisonin’.”

   “It’s fine! My family’s been known for having good livers…” She drunkenly laughed again. 

   “Uh-huh.” Maurice said, unphased. He was used to that kind of response from the more… sadder patrons to his bar. It took a few moments of thought, but he found himself picking up another pint glass from beneath the counter. “Ah can safely say none of yer problems’ll be solved ‘ike this.”

   Ashleigh shook her head. “It still makes my head all fuzzy though… makes me forget how shit my life is.”

   “Ah wouldn’ say that,” Maurice tried to reassure her as he headed to the back of the bar. The back was lined with multiple kegs, most of which Ashleigh had assumed was filled with liquor. “This could jus’ be a ruff patch.”

   “It doesn’t feel like it…” Ashleigh said, folding her hands onto the table and placing her head in them. Everything felt like one hell of a trainwreck. Problem after problem, piling up and causing a storm in her head. The fact she didn’t really have any to talk to about it made it all the more worse. At least Maurice was willing to listen, although he didn’t provide much help besides the provision of booze. He’s probably paid to just sit around and listen, she thought to herself.

   Her eyes drifted over to the man himself, and Ashleigh watched as the man walked around the bar pouring various liquids from the kegs into the pint glass. She could hear him mumble something, but the music of the night club coupled with the low register of his voice made it incomprehensible to her. She did take note that the drink looked particularly… sparkly. 

   “Ah’ve been in th’s line of w’rk fer a while, bud. It nev’r lasts like that fer long. No matt’r how much ya think it does.”

   Ashleigh looked away for a moment. She couldn’t tell if it was the booze, or just her recently budding cynicism, but she found herself having a hard time believing that.

   She was pulled out her thoughts by Maurice walking up to her, sliding the drink he just made beside her arm. “Here, on th’ house.”

   Ashleigh lifted her head and looked around the bar skeptically. Come to think of it, she’s the only person here at the moment… Eh, whatever.

   She then took a look down at the pint. It wasn’t beer, liquor, wine, or any mixture that she could recall, although memory recall was a little muddled due to her current buzz. The drink was actually a soft, but sparkly, beige. It smelled kind of fruity too…

   “Ah call it th’ Reliever! It may help ya’ find what yer lookin’ fer.”

   Ashleigh raised a brow and smiled. “Are you sure you ain’t trying to roofie me?” she joked. Judging by the grimace on Maurice’s face, it wasn’t very funny. 

   “I happ’n to want to keep mah job.”

   “Right, sorry.”

   Ashleigh stared back down at the drink and shrugged. Taking hold of the glass, she downed the uncreatively named drink in one fell swoop. 

   “Hm. Tastes peachy. What’s in this?”

   Maurice only smirked. “Nothin’ ya’ could und’rstand, boy.”

   Something about being called ‘boy’ made Ashleigh feel something… warm.

   “Now ah’m afraid I gotta have to cut ya’ off.”

   Ashleigh slumped in her seat. “Alright, fine. Thanks for the new drink, I guess…”

   “On’y the best fer my cust’mers. Hope it does help ya’ in what yer lookin’ fer.”

   “I have a little trouble believing one fruit flavored drink is going to give me the answer to my problems, but I… appreciate it.”

   Maurice nodded and watched as Ashleigh got up from her seat and walked out the bar. He took note of her slightly disoriented walking and wondered if he should have offered to drive her home.

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

   The door to Ashleigh’s dorm creaked open, with the woman clumsily walking in after. Walking home while drunk is apparently not the best thing to do. Perhaps she should’ve taken that bartender’s offer to take her back here, but she felt perfectly content walking home by herself. It even allowed her to take a good look at the Moon, which she had found herself feeling oddly pulled towards during those ten minutes of walking.

   Ashleigh took a seat on the small, singular sofa that was on the side of her little apartment. It was nestled in the corner, beside her work area and window. The seat had given her the perfect look at the moon again, the celestial object now currently in waxing crescent phase. How she knew that she wasn’t sure.

   Ashleigh let out another hiccup. “Houh, still a little drunk…”

   She pressed her back up against the chair and closed her eyes, her only thoughts now being of that weird fruity drink, that bar, and that bartender. It did feel nice to vent all of her feelings out to him, even if he wasn’t very professionally trained. And admittedly he might be right about all of this bad stuff just being a ‘for the time being’ thing. Plus, now that she was relaxed and had the time to think about it, Maurice did look kind of hot. Well, in a scruffy middle-aged man kind of way. 

   Okay, weird to think about… she thought to herself. She did kind of envy him, though. Big, hairy guy; deep voice; slightly confusing accent. She… wanted all of that. Especially that hairiness. God, that man is quite the bear…

   She let out a small sigh. What time was it? It was probably pretty late. She should probably head to sleep.

   …although for some reason she felt really itchy now…

   It was miniscule at first with it being a slight discomfort in her hands, arms, and chest. It was something she would try and scratch, the woman shifting her body around the couch uncomfortably as she tried to reach every spot she could to relieve herself of this ordeal. It wasn't until she started feeling something coarse that she started to notice something was off.

   Taking a hand out from beneath her shirt, she found that it was hairier. Brown hairs were growing out of it at a rapid pace and quickly overtaking it in a thick, fluffy pelt. Curious, Ashleigh turned her hand around to see if a similar change was occurring on her palms. While fur was growing around her palms, the skin was also swelling; roughening and darkening into a paw pad. Alongside this came changes to her nails, the keratin lengthening and sharpening into pointed claws. She could even swear that her hand was subtly growing larger.

   Ashleigh raised a brow, a mix of intrigue and confusion forming on her face. She lifted up her other hand to check if it was any different, finding the exact same changes have come across it too. A large, wolfish paw instead of a small, human hand.

   "...cccool…" she slurred out drunkenly. Perhaps it was the fact the alcohol was still working through her system, but she didn't feel particularly worried about this. She rubbed a paw on her cheek, feeling the fluffy fur and rough pads brush up against her skin. It was great. Her body was still kind of itchy though…

   Placing her paw down, she rolled up a sleeve of her hoodie, along with the sleeve of the shirt beneath it, to try and scratch her arm again. This time she was being a little lighter so as to not scratch herself with her new claws. Her skin looked to already be growing out more hair, but it appeared that irritating it was causing the changes to pick up the pace.

   The patches of fur grew denser with each passing second, her skin now fading beneath the brown pelage. A feeling of power coursed through her muscles causing her arms to gain a little more muscle tone than they had before. It wasn’t an impressive amount, plus it was shrouded beneath all of her fur, but it was there. This was then accompanied by a brief lengthening of her arms.

   There was a feeling of contentment filling her as she watched everything unfold; a feeling that, for once, wasn't influenced by the booze from earlier. It was like something deep inside her was coming out, something that she so deeply wanted. 

   The fur growth eventually ran up her arms and beneath her rolled up sleeves, but judging by the slight tightness she felt in her shoulders (a byproduct of her thickening delts), alongside the feeling of warmth layering upon them, she knew where the changes were heading.

   She leaned forward and placed a paw beneath her shirt, proceeding to scratch away at her chest while feeling the brown fluff growing out of it. With her shoulders becoming larger, her frame had widened to match. While the fur trickled down her chest like a rushing waterfall, her torso flattened and her breasts shrunk away, and all that remained were some pectorals with a small layer of fat covering them. For a moment a horizontal scar visibly formed beneath each pec, but both got shrouded beneath the sea of fur just moments later.

   The intense itching began to dissipate as the pelt washed over her belly. Beneath it grew more small muscles, but those muscles quickly got drowned out by a medium sized gut. She found her hand slipping down towards it, unconsciously giving it a little rub and causing her tongue to fall out of her mouth for a moment.

   “This is… oddly appealing…” she whispered to herself. It took her a moment for her brain to register that her voice shifted at the end of that sentence, her voice now a little deeper and huskier. 

   The fur eventually flowed down to the lower half of her body. Her hips widened before a feeling of pressure started to fill at the base of her spine. Scooting up in the chair a little, something about her reaction felt almost instinctual. So much so that she lowered the back of her pants a little.

   “Forgot to wear the tail safe ones, huh…” she offhandedly mumbled to herself. Her voice was just getting deeper and deeper. Plus she could swear there was an accent getting in there…

   Slinking out from her rear came a tail; one that was big and fluffy with rich brown fur that had a lighter shade of it on the bottom. As her tail grew, her spine grew with it making her taller than she was before.

   Somehow knowing exactly how to maneuver it, she moved the tail to her lap before scooting back up to the back of the chair. Smiling, she softly stroked the long, furry extension of herself. It was already becoming evident that she was transforming into some sort of wolf creature. Fur, paws, weird enjoyment of having her tummy rubbed. The tail was just another addition to this experience, and Ashleigh was all for it. 

   She had to take into consideration other changes though. Her now flat chest, her deepening and clearly masculine voice, even in her mind she didn’t feel like a ‘her’. It was clear that this was some kind of sign, some kind of fulfillment of an internal wish.

   It’s about time he starts referring to himself as something he was comfortable with. 

   As revelations came to his mind, his legs and feet underwent their changes. Mirroring his arms, his legs got thicker in both fur and muscle while concurrently growing longer. He didn’t really shave them much before, but that would be a null thought now that they were completely covered in a pelt of wolf fur. The same happened to his feet, the two now becoming large paws like his hands. Claws, paw pads, everything. Although unlike the rest of his clothing, his shoes were getting particularly uncomfortable…

   He leaned his head back up against the sofa and closed his eyes. “Yer really gettin’ everything ya wanted…” An ear twitched as he instantly noticed that an accent had crept into his already deep voice. It was a little hard to tell, with it being deep in the guttural huskiness that werewolves had, but it was definitely an Irish accent. “I’m even gettin’ an accent too!”

   He smiled, although now his face was now starting to feel different. This was caused by a lengthening muzzle, his face now pushing out into a more animalistic shape. Nose melding with his snout; the skin of it becoming rough, black, and wet. Shorter brown hairs pricked out of his skin and ran all the way across his face, his eyebrows getting bushier in the process. Within his mouth his teeth sharpened and two of his canines poked out from beneath his upper lip. His ears twitched again as they lengthened to a point, soft fur rolling across the outside while even softer fur poked out from the inside. 

   Then came the changes in his hair. Previously a rusty auburn color; long, wavy locks shortened on scalp while longer bits of fur protruded from the edges of his head and the bottom of his neck. Growing out of his head from all sides was a long, fluffy mane, the red coloration of the hair fading beneath it to become a dark, chocolatey brown as it did so.

   The wolfman closed his eyes and drew in a breath, his vocal cords rumbling with a content growl. He felt at peace for the first time in weeks. That bartender was right, that drink did help him find what he was looking for. At least in one aspect, anyway.

   He eventually drifted off to sleep, smiling and unafraid of what would happen on the morrow. And in his sleep the world would shift around him…

   The small dorm room expanded; twisting and warping into a small, comfy home. The overall location switched to someplace near the edge of the campus.

   His clothes had also shifted. The hem of his hoodie lengthened, sleeves unfurling and settling over his arms. The material shifted from cotton to wool, the color dulling to a comforting gray as it did so. Buttons lined one of the ends of the split while the hood retracted and flattened into a nice shawl collar. Gone was a hoodie, now warped into a comfortable wool cardigan.

   The undershirt he wore beneath the hoodie altered alongside it. The sleeves shortened to make it a t-shirt, the color darkened to black. Emblazoning on the shirt was a simple hexagon with triangular eyes, four rectangles beneath it that emulated teeth, and a line that floated around the top four sides of the hexagon; triangles poking out of it to replicate ears.

   His pants were next with the portions below the knees magically tearing apart before stopping a little above his knee. The edges remained frayed, and the material shifted into a blue denim. A hole formed beneath the belt loop on the back, and the jeans appeared to phase through his tail in order to comfortably fit it in there. Once his tail was in, the changes to his pants were complete.

   His shoes underwent more subtle shifts, having only grown in size to alleviate the discomfort while the leather deepened in color to a dark red lined with white around the sides, soles, and straps.

   Deep in his sleep, the wolfman dreamed. Dreamed of a new life for himself, all of his goals fulfilled and him now helping others do the same. Dreamed of the perfect identity for himself. And dreamed of the happiest thoughts he could. With these dreams came a new name for himself…

   He was now Jawbone O’Shaughnessey, and these dreams would soon be revealed to be more than just mental conjurings…

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

   Jawbone woke up with a start, in part thanks to the alarm clock he didn’t remember setting. He walked over to it to shut it off, quickly finding out that his vision was a lot blurrier than he recalled. He instinctively pawed the top of the dresser his alarm clock was on for a few moments, then grasped onto something. 

   His glasses.

    “Heh, that’s new…”

   Placing his glasses on his muzzle, he began to think. Come to think of it, a lot was new…

   As he got up from the sofa he took a nice glance of the room he was in. Instead of a small dormitory room, it was a medium sized bedroom. It retained a fairly similar layout to his old dorm room, but with the new space came bookshelves lining the shelves (containing the many books he’s read over the years) and a few picture frames hanging from the walls (all of which had assorted images of him with students he remembered counseling).

   A warmth filled his chest while he stared at the various images. All of these were of him, and they were all of the people he’s… helped… 

   Faces, names, voices, memories, so much flashing in his head at the sight of these pictures. It filled Jawbone with a euphoria that feels like it’s been felt a thousand times before.

   “I guess those weren’t just dreams, then...”

   The rest of the morning was spent preparing himself for the day and checking out what else seemed to change. Jawbone was a little surprised to find that he wasn’t in his dorms anymore, and was instead in a fully paid for house! Along with that, all of his credentials seemed to have changed to fit his new reality, and judging by his new memories he was now employed as the guidance counselor at his old college. Things had truly changed for the better!

   However, he was truly able to settle into his identity at college. The students smiled as he walked past them, greeting him and giving him high-fives. He was seen as one of the most chill, kindest, helpful people in the college by-far. People entered his office to ask for help in both academic, social, and personal matters, and Jawbone seemed to have the right answer for everything.

   There were times he was alone in his office waiting for a student to walk in, the man given a small moment's time to look around and think about the life he was now in. He’d pull up foreign memories, strange and crazy tales from his past, sifting through his mind to better grasp who he was now. This is his life after all, he’d like to know everything it had to offer. 

   The day would go on as all days would go. Helping students; chilling in his office; doing some miscellaneous paperwork. Every so often he’d stare at the nameplate on his desk and drift into happy thoughts, a feeling of reassurance of who he is settling further within him. He even started to feel like this had always been his life even if that wasn’t exactly the case. But semantics were pointless in the end because this is his life!

   Eventually everything for the day would be said and done, and Jawbone would get off work with a smile. Another day fulfilled for the carewolf! 

   At first he had thought about driving back home and finishing up what paperwork he had left, but a thought had entered his mind while he turned the ignition.

   After a minute of driving through the city streets, Jawbone’s ears perked up as he heard the music of his destination. The Oreum Sirius Nightclub: the exact place he had been the day before.

   He winced as he stepped into the doors of the place. The music was a little too loud for his werewolf ears, but he would get used to it like he did back at the Black Pit. Plus his real goal was far enough from the club portion that it wouldn’t be too much of a nuisance.

   His eyes drifted to the man tending to the bar. The burly guy cleaning a shot glass while looking out at the club’s crowd, awaiting a customer. The one and only Maurice.

   Jawbone walked up to the bar, a coy smile on his muzzle, and let out a low growl to grab the bartender’s attention. “Yer quite the bear of a man, aren’t’cha?”

   Maurice seemed a little startled about the appearance of a werewolf (something was telling Jawbone that lycanthropy wasn’t very common around these parts), but quickly regained composure in order to respond. “Flatt’ry ain’t gonna get ya’ anything free.”

   “I think I already got somethin’ free yesterday…”

   The sight of the bartender’s eyes was enough to prove to Jawbone that he got the guy. 

   “Wait- yer- woah…”

   Jawbone’s smile widened even more at that reaction. The wolfman stared into Maurice’s eyes, causing the bartender to blush a little.

   “I don’t know what you gave me, but it did exactly what you said it would!”

   Maurice just nodded, although Jawbone could hear the man mutter something along the lines of ‘usually they never stay in this world’ under his breath. Jawbone chose not to question it though.

   Jawbone placed an arm on the table and leaned over to Maurice. “How ‘bout I buy us both a drink, and we can get to know each other a little bit more…”

   Maurice’s enter face flushed, the man beginning to stammer. “R-right! Ah-Ah’ll get us a menu soo we can… ord’r somethin’.”

   This was going to be one hell of a night!

#species tf #werewolf tf #furry tf #character tf #age progression #gender tf #ftm tf tg #tf tg

[skylermadness]

THE DIMENSION 20 TF ERA IS NOW!!!!!!!! RAUAAAAUAAGHHHGGH

Yes.

[skylermadness]

Epistolary Phase (Captain K.P. Hob TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: October 5, 2022)

Original Description:

I'M ALIVE!!! Now to disappear for another month- Anyway, today is the day the finale of Dimension 20: A Court of Fey and Flowers is released! Actually, at the time of uploading this it should be out now. Nonetheless, I wanted to write something in celebration of it, and here is that something! I'm quite glad with how it turned out, especially since I'm still trying to learn the way of the goo triggered TF. Seriously, those triggers are hard sometimes, which is ironic since goo is soft and squishy. Here's to another Dimension 20 season reaching it's climax! I look forward to seeing what else this show has up its sleeve~ ...I hate how these sites eat my formatting...

   To the churlish Captain K.P. Hob, venerated soldier of the goblin court…

   We hope you are in good health and, perhaps for once, in a period of downtime. We also wish to congratulate you once again for your extraordinary efforts in the war. While it may be a time long gone, your accomplishments are ones that live on in the hearts of all in the realms of the Fae.

   More importantly, we here at the Court of Wonder and Seafoam Court humbly wish to invite you and your court to celebrate this year's Bloom. While you as a court do not seem to harness magic to a notable degree, we see it fitting to invite you as a show of gratitude. The Bloom is a grand spectacle to not just celebrate the strengthening of the world's magic, but also celebrate the strengthening of the bonds of the innumerable courts of the Fae. While you are just a soldier, your acts are some that have helped forge the bonds we hold so dearly. So please, consider celebrating this year's Bloom with us.

   Sincerely,

   The Court of Wonder

   The Seafoam Court

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

   …

   What?!

   Antonio stares down at the letter, his eyes reading and re-reading the finely written words. An assortment of questions flow through his mind as he stands in his living room stunned. Who is this Captain K.P. Hob? What the heck is the Bloom? What is this letter even talking about?!

   He sighs. "Is this some kind of… roleplay thing?"

   If it is, it's pretty clearly sent to the wrong person. However, taking a look at the envelope seems to only prove it was meant to be sent to his address. That information made this more confusing…

   "Perhaps I was signed up for some kind of spam mail?" he says in an attempt to rationalize this. He takes a seat on the couch behind him. "This letter seems a little too fancy to be spam mail though."

   Antonio stares back down at the letter. The words all contained a curvature that made them look perfectly handwritten. The letters of each word bordered on being cursive. The overall message read out as something fancy, like it had a regal tone to it. 

   Maybe it being a roleplay thing isn't out of the question.

   Still, why would it be sent to him?

   He pulls the envelope from behind the letter and back into his view. Putting it further up towards his face he tries to inspect it for any indication of where this could've come from. He takes note of how intricate the envelope looks to be as well, it being a seafoam blue with spirals of gold rising from the bottom.

   He also notices how it breaks standard mailing conventions.

   There's a stark contrast between his address and the sender's address, mainly due to the fact the sender's address isn't an address.

   He repeats the sight to himself. "Castle of the Seafoam Court…?" There was something after it which he presumed to be the region it resided. However, trying to speak that out loud felt… impossible. As if he wasn't able, or perhaps even allowed to.

   There was also a noticeable lack of a stamp, but that was beside the point.

   All of this was just one big confusing mess at this point. Folding up the note he sighs in disappointment. "Perhaps I should just mark this as junk mail and run it through a shredder…"

   Something begins to change the moment he finishes that sentence.

   An odd warmth enters both hands as they hold the letter, the letter itself starting to glow. Antonio looks down to find the warmth's source. "Huh…?"

   He curiously opens the letter back up. The words are glowing a bright gold now, sparkles emanating off of them. The content of the letter seems to be the same, but something strange emanates from it. Something… magical.

   "W-what's going on-"

   Motes of light arise from the words, dancing in the air gracefully. They didn't really seem to do much besides that though. It just… confused him.

   He then felt something on his hands.

   A few fingers were currently on some of the writing. However, the longer they stayed on the more he started to feel like something was rubbing off of them. After a few moments he decided to investigate, removing a hand from the letter and inspecting it.

   Ink had rubbed onto his skin.

   "What the…" he cuts himself off and tries to wipe some of it into his shirt, but it only smudged the shirt and remained on his hand. "Uhhhh…"

   Attention moving back down at the letter, the ink of the writing seems to start bubbling. Gobs of ink begin to emerge from the sheet of paper, cascading downwards. Cascading onto the one hand that remained on the paper.

   "Ah-" he screamed meekly, quickly throwing the letter down onto the table in front of him in an attempt to keep it away from him. But the damage has already been done.

   He looks down at his hands to find the ink accumulating around the fingers of the right one. The left one looked unharmed at first, but the ink that smudged onto it seemed to begin rippling before starting to leak the same liquid.

   At first he was stunned. Antonio stared down at his hands, watching the strange inky goo twist around his fingers. It's a slow process at first with the mysterious substance dribbling down each finger. However it soon begins to speed up as it all starts to converge onto his palms.

   His hands tremble for a moment as he watches idly, but Antonio's senses snap back together as he starts to feel an almost glue-like feeling seeping onto his hands. The liquid flows around each palm, cascading down the back of each hand and encapsulating them. Antonio soon starts to try and pull at it.

   Webs of goo are all he can seem to grasp. Laws of physics seem to break as every attempt at pulling off the expanding fluid results in stringy tendrils forming and breaking between each finger and hand. Each broken tendril then seems to seamlessly integrate back into where it came from.

   "Damn it," he says dejectedly. "What is this stuff???"

   He still attempts to pull at it, but all it seems to do is continue its descent down his hands. It's not long until almost latexy mitts are around each one, moving downward to his wrists at a steady pace. His eyes then catch a new irregularity in the substance. Its color was shifting!

   Ink-like black seemed to be slightly brightening, a simple brown easily overtaking it. But that didn't seem to be the only change introduced as the fluid started rippling. A new sensation entered his hands as he could feel the substance pressurize, pushing itself into them. Itching then started to occur, Antonio watching as the strange liquid seemed to harden, morphing into…

   "I-is that hair??"

   It was actually technically fur. Dense brown fur embedded itself into each hand. Thick and fluffy with a noticeable roughness to it all. Goo seemed to consistently shift itself into fur at a rapid rate, solidifying into a new pelage. At the same time he could feel something else settling in each hand, massaging them to a larger size. Forcing his now furry fingers to grow longer. He even watched as some goo extended from each finger, ends becoming sharp and pointed as the substance transitioned into a hard keratin. Almost bestial claws had formed. Antonio looked for any remaining signs of goo, the man quickly finding that the boundaries of his wrist were crossed and his arms were next to follow in encapsulation. But he can't seem to fully get his focus off his hands. The soft fur and monstrous claws.

   "What is happening to me…?" he wonders to himself. Was this goo transforming him into some sort of monster?? Antonio was worrying about the prospect of what would happen at the end of this.

   Continuing to worry, he watches as the goo spirals up his arms. Latexy brown washes over his skin, tightly pressing, squeezing his forearms. His elbows are next to be consumed, then his upper arms. It was like having one big blood pressure cuff on each arm. It wasn't painful, but it was easily discomforting.

   Then there was the feeling. The feeling of squelching liquid that had the texture of melted plastic. Having all of that constantly pressing into his skin, trying to force itself in each pore of his arm. He wasn't even given the chance to feel the fabric of the shirt sleeves of his T-shirt, the goo quickly moving beneath each sleeve and taking over his shoulders.

   Another sense of pressure then tugged at each arm. The goo's influence was getting deep within his bones. It was hard to notice at first, but after a few seconds Antonio started to realize that both arms were lengthening. Longer than his usual arm length, perhaps even longer than a standard length. Multiple inches being added in a short amount of time. It did stop after about forty seconds, but it left him with arms of quite the abnormal length.

   This was then followed by a new pressure in his muscles, tugging them almost outwards while the substance pushed inwards. Goo became his new skin and beneath that skin was a new strength building up within him. His skinny arms were filling up with muscle, although the musculature he was getting wasn't extreme. It was enough to show a clear strength was building within the young man.

   Itching then started to occur again with a new pelt of fur started to formulate around his arms. Brown, fuzzy, and thick enough that it hid his new muscles well. Antonio placed a hand on one arm and gave it a squeeze, feeling the new fur and muscle. He could also still feel some residual gooeyness to it, as if portions of his fur hadn't fully hardened yet.

   Alongside this was a weird feeling. This new strength was… something. It felt empowering, but that feeling wasn't enough to subside his worries. It had become hard to articulate those worries, though. This entire experience was beyond his knowledge, beyond his control. He was becoming something else and he wasn't sure what to do about it all. He's just forced to bear witness to these changes. Forced to see what might be the outcome. 

   Beneath his shirt he could feel more of the goo do it's work. The feeling of fabric was subsumed, replaced by latex covering his chest and back. Breathing started to hurt a little as his torso was squeezed tightly. He could even feel the paunch in his gut be forced up against his body as his abdomen was squished by the substance, forcing his body to conform to a shape it currently wasn't.

   A bud of curiosity still formed, however. He placed a hand at the hem of his T-shirt and raised it, Antonio noting the odd length of his arm and the few droplets of furry brown goo that dripped off of it.

   The substance that encapsulated his body seemed to form a bodysuit. Crevices that formed noticeable pecs and a small six pack of abs could be seen within it, and he could feel as if his body was being squeezed into that shape. His torso easing into the new mold while his belly was squished, the small amounts of fat being redirected. It was a surreal feeling to endure as his muscles were transforming beneath the goo itself, all while the goo was pushing further into his skin. His shirt was even starting to fill out slightly, his form broadening at the same pace as his muscle growth.

   A slight sting entered his back, Antonio hissing a little at the pain. A new feeling budded as he started to notice his legs getting further from him. Aches and pressure occurred at random intervals across his back, but he could notice them around his spinal cord the most. Every so often he'd hear a small crack as he felt his body be forced to shift and readjust itself. Curious again, he dropped his shirt to find that his belly was getting more and more visible. He was getting taller too it seemed.

   The fur was the final piece of his body. The fur on his body seemed almost thicker than that on his hands and arms. Pulling up his shirt again, he could even find portions of it to be slightly darker. The darker colorations seemed to etch into a Y-shape, nestling beneath his pecs and coursing down his midline before stopping at where his belly button was. With his free hand he gave the fuzz a run through, feeling it in all of its fluffy glory. However, it still seemed to share the same problem of consistency as it did with his arms. This became evident once he found himself finished with his chest, Antonio dropping his shirt down and noticing a few spots darkening. Goo was slowly seeping from his body and getting into the fabric, it seemed. But Antonio seemed to be a little proccupied with the fact he was seeing a bit of muscle from beneath his shirt, which had now gained a new snugness on his frame.

   While it still lingered, his previous worry was slowly dispelling. Something about this strength, something about this warmth. It was easing his fears, giving him a sense of calmness. It was a peculiar feeling, but oddly it was not one he found unwelcome.

   He moved his gaze to his legs next. Strangely, the next set of changes started to occur in a different format as his eyes caught his pants starting to get covered in goo. His waist was widening as his skin was forced to rub up against the cotton of his undergarments which in themselves were being squeezed into the denim of his pants. It was quickly becoming an awkward experience as that entire area was squeezed together in a mess of skin and clothing.

   His legs seemed to follow the same example, although not in any more comfortable of an experience as the feeling of rough denim was forced onto the skin of his legs. Antonio sighs in discomfort. "Damn it, why did this part have to go like this-"

   It only seems to get more confusing from there.

   The goo continued to flow downward and compressed his legwear. It wasn't long before it overtook his thighs, then went beneath his knees and consumed the crus of his legs. Peculiarities started to stack up as fur was beginning to poke out of the substance before it even embedded in his skin.

   Instead, he felt his clothing push into his skin more. Cloth of his underwear shoving into his waist, the denim of his jeans squeezing more into his legs. And then, he was assaulted with the sense of the very fabric he wore phasing into him. 

   "W-what- are my… pants merging with me…?"

   It was hard to tell with all the goo shrouding his lower half, but he could sense it. His skin being melded with hard denim and soft cotton, merging together with his flesh. What was even weirder was it didn't hurt, but he could feel his legwear becoming a part of him. And the goo only seemed to continue to compress the form of his legs. His thigh muscles being bloated, noticeably thickening in size. In contrast, the area beneath his knees seemed to maintain its previous thickness. 

   Pressure then built in his bones. His thigh bones got larger, meanwhile the bones in his crus seemed to compress slightly. At the same time they seemed to extend in length causing his previous height to extend further. So much so that his feet seemed to get further from the couch he sat upon.

   Then, in an instant, Antonio felt the entirety of his leg pelt connect to his legs. Fur phased into legs, follicles integrating into his skin seamlessly. A sizable gob of goo also formulated at his rear, quickly hardening into a thick furry deer-like tail. Concurrent with the fur addition came the last change in the lower part of his body.

   Goo quickly consumed his ankles. It spiralled around his sock-clad feet and quickly encased them in brown latex. Globs of goo also dribbled to the ground as well.

   Similar to his legs, a pressure was applied to his feet. Socks pushed into his skin, melding with his flesh as the shape of his feet was forced to change. Unlike his hands his feet gained even more of a bestial look. Toes squeezing together until only three remained, claws poking out of each toe. The bone structure of his feet compresses slightly, gaining a rigid shape to it. 

   The most drastic change came to his heels. The structure of each heel elongated, bones lengthening and reshaping as his leg structure seemed to reshape a second time. Additional height was added with this new structural addition. His stance had become that of being digitigrade. Following this came another solidification in fur which finished the changes in his feet.

   Antonio shifted in his seat, trying to readjust himself in his new shifting form. He could feel goo begin to creep up his neck, warm latexy fluid twisting around his throat. He could also still feel bits and pieces of his form dripping off of him with globs of brown goo with fur in it dropping onto the couch and ground. There were even gobs still seeping in his clothing.

   Antonio looked back at his shirt, staring at the increasing expanse of goo getting into his clothing. Eyes widening in surprise he noticed that the goo seemed to be doing something with his shirt as well.

   The color of his shirt started to steadily darken around each area of increasing dampness. Its previous color shifted, darkening into a clean black. The shirt's size expanded with the hem lengthening, covering his belly and settling at his hips. The short sleeves of the shirt extended downwards, encapsulating his already lengthy arms completely. The ends even seemed to roll themselves up into cuffs. Cufflinks extended from the the insides of each sleeve and fastened their respective cuffs.

   Various add-ons proceeded to ripple from the shifting fabric. Erupting from each shoulder came golden epaulets, their tassels draping over the upper portion of his arms. From the right epaulet came multiple gold ropes that connected to a materializing metallic gold badge. Manifesting from thin air was a blood red sash that wrapped diagonally around his body, the various badges accumulating around his form pinning themselves to that sash.

   Various gold-colored lines formed around his shirt, splitting it and giving it a standard military garb look. This was reinforced by buttons lining themselves on one end of each line. A white belt then materialized, slithering and tightening around his waist before being buckled by a clean gold belt buckle. The last addition came around his neck, a large brocade collar rising from the shirt's neckline and nestling around his neck.

   Once the collar touched Antonio's neck the goo that was upon it became stimulated, starting to rise upward yet again. It wasn't as intense of an experience as the other changes, with only the neck being stretched to become a thicker size. But Antonio didn't care much about that. His main focus seemed to be in his new clothing.

   He couldn't help but feel the new fabrics. Nerves tingling as his fur met the oddly soft feeling material of his military garb. It was… strange. His original thoughts of transforming into a monster seemed subdued as he started to question what this was about.

   "Wait…"

   His eyes darted to the note. The very catalyst to his changes. He tries to snatch it from the table, but the new length of his arms resulted in some fumbling as he hasn't gotten a chance to get used to them yet.

   Ink continues to drip off the paper, but his eyes attempt to scan the document again. It was addressed to a venerated war hero. It was addressed to…

   "This can't be… can it…?"

   It's shifting him into its reciever. The very military general that it was meant to go to.

   His heart beat faster. How should he feel about this? There's no easy way to really determine that. The very experience of this entire transformation is enough to induce a swath of confusion. His plain humanity was fleeting, being replaced by the form of that of some kind of highly esteemed beastman.

   How is one supposed to take that in?

   It's a thought he can't dwell on for long as he begins to feel goop start to crawl onto his chin and the sides of his face. And judging by the feeling of pricks entering his skin, the fur seemed to be accompanying it rather quickly as well.

   The facial changes had quickly ended up becoming quite visceral. Skin becomes subsumed by brown goo, each and every inch of his face's surface area getting covered. Fur and strange substances swirled around at rapid paces with thick chops settling on his cheeks and sides while a lengthy beard started to drape from his chin. More and more fuzz continued to settle around his face, and soon enough fur started crawling further inward.

   Goo started rushing towards his mouth, cascading into it as the substances swirled around his facial area. Breathing was quickly becoming a challenge as goo rushed into his mouth and nose, and soon his sight became impacted as it entered his eyes.

   Assuming the goo was trying to seal his mouth completely, Antonio started to paw at it. He could feel strands slipping and disconnecting, settling into his lips as the skin around them darkened to black. As goo washed down his mouth, his teeth were coated in it and began to change. Previously omnivorous structuring shifted into a predominantly carnivorous one, each tooth sharpening into ferocious fangs. A couple teeth from the bottom row seemed to sharpen further than that of their top row counterparts, protruding from his bottom lip like some kind of tusks.

   As the goo continuously covered his face his skull structure started to change. The lower half pushed out a few inches, his nose widening as the goo surrounding it became a deep black. The bridge of his nose seemed to widen as well, a bestial, almost feline look settling into it. His jawline squeezed and squared off, and his facial shape became more boxy beneath the fur. The goo surrounding his actual face then started to fade into his skin, fur not showing itself as actual skin was being formed. Admittedly it was rugged, rough and scruffy, but it was still skin. The only goo that seemed to manifest into fluff was above his eyes where long, thick, bushy eyebrows extended above each one.

   Goo then started traveling upwards and back, running across his scalp and the back of his head. His hair was buried beneath it all for a moment before the latexy liquid started to sink away. The hair on his head was given a chance to rise and show its new scruffy and furry consistency that matched the rest of his pelage. Some goo did seem to remain, and that goo seemed to detach itself from his scalp and shift its own shape. It hardened into a slanted cylindrical shape, black in collar with a gold and red band and a protrusion extending beneath that band. A hat for a cavalry officer seemed to be what formed, one that covered much of his scalp with ease.

   Fur seemed to continue to rush out the sides of his head, thickening and growing even fluffier. It was rapidly becoming similar to that of a lion's mane. Goo would sometimes drip from these new follicles, falling onto his shoulders before slowly cascading down to the couch. Nonetheless, he was getting quite furry. 

   Blinking his eyes a few times, Antonio slowly tried regaining his senses. He could still feel goo running through his throat, splitting through the various paths and going down both his esophagus and his trachea. A severely uncomfortable tingling could be felt throughout it, the man swearing he could feel his own vocal cords being morphed. It was forcing him to cough a few times, each cough seeming deeper and deeper.

   Discomfort seemed to pile up once the goop reached his ears. He could feel the cartilage within them being tugged, pulled upwards with each ear being forced into a point. Inside each ear the goo quickly accumulated itself and large tufts of fur rapidly solidified and poked out of them. But within his ears the goo started to work its way inward, the structure of them softening and shifting. All sound deadened to Antonio for roughly fifteen seconds, and in those fifteen seconds the goo had managed to travel from his ear canals to reach his brain.

   In an instant everything was numbed. Touch, sound, sight, everything. All Antonio could feel was a weird sensation within his skull, like some kind of internal massage on his brain.

   At the same time his thoughts were broken. Coherency fell through quickly as his confusion and questioning of his situation seemed to get lost in a newly developing mental fog. However, as the goo spiralled throughout his cranium, flowing into the wrinkles of his brain, his mind was starting to get vastly influenced by it.

   First he was promoted to stand up from the couch as if to stand at attention to something. In the process of standing he ends up bumping the table in front of him, pushing it forward slightly. Residual goo seems to drip down from his body, cascading down his legs and dripping from within his sleeves.

   He wasn't even aware that the goo that was on the ground was shifting again. Gobs became dirt while grass sprouted out of them.

   His breathing became calm, collected and slowed. It was even quiet with the small exception of the occasional rumble that would escape his newly restructured throat. His standing form lacked movement as well, rigid and statuesque like a good soldier's stance should.

   What is he paying attention to? His ears can't detect anything and his vision felt rather obscured. Looking at anything felt like staring at an endless amount of floaters that swirled around one's eyes. But he still felt a need to stand like this for some reason, and what would it hurt to give into that need?

   With time progressing, more and more desires filled the former human's mind. An undying loyalty to his people was first and foremost, a thought that went alongside the firm military feelings that were welling up within him. Attentive, commanding, soldierly. Knowledge of warfare and battlefield; memories of the very wars he's fought in, the troops he commanded and the victories he's secured. All of these was what was settling within his mind, rooting themselves into his brain as his personality shifted into that of a churlish soldier.

   His identity was reshaping as well. Humanity was fleeting, buried beneath the thoughts that the substance was filling his head with. Any memories of his home, or even residing on a material plane were being replaced with residency in realms of the Fae. Normalcy was drowned out with extraordinary achievements to where he now resided. He is a soldier of the Goblin Court, and he is a large imposing bugbear.

   And more importantly: he is one K.P. Hob.

   Another residual mental changes such as fae knowledge and military process then started getting pumped into his mind, but for the most part the mental changes were coming to an end. Feeling was getting restored to the unwittingly newly made bugbear with the feeling of grass on his feet and the chill of the air in his fur. He could also feel some sticky wetness on his skin, which confused him slightly.

   …then everything broke when his sense of taste was restored.

   "Ough, gracious, what is in my mouth?"

   He blinked his eyes a few times, vision restoring as a bright yellow filled his sclera and his pupils slit. He ran his tongue over his lips, trying to identify the foreign taste.

   "Fur, mud… finely pressed military garb? And… an earthy aftertaste that-" Hob shivers, "-makes me reminisce…"

   Deciding he was done with that, Hob takes a few moments to take in his surroundings. He was in a tent within a temporary military encampment, a massive war table sprawled in front of him. It took a few seconds to fully recall what was going on here, but he remembered something about a temporary setup for a few days before his troops got back on the road to get back to goblin territory.

   His eyes then laid on a peculiar note on the table. That his memory could instantly recall. An invitation to this year's Bloom. A rather peculiar notice, especially for someone like him, but it wasn't one he was willing to turn down. With a clawed hand he picks up the note and gives it one more look through, the beast noticing running ink and the weirdly pungent smell of dirt and grass. That odor seemed to awaken an oddly primal instinct in the usually stiff bugbear as the moment he finishes the letter…

   He eats it.

   Gustation kicked up again as he was assaulted by the taste of paper and ink. One of Hob's ears also flicked in recognition as he realized that the ink shared the exact taste of what he was tasting earlier. Grass and dirt, military garb, even that earthy aftertaste that brings him back to times from the war. It sends another shiver down his spine as he savors the taste for another few moments, then fully swallows.

   "Hm. Appetizing. Now I'll have to bring all of this up with the court leaders…"

   He nestles a finger beneath his chin to ponder, but his thoughts can't seem to break from this other peculiar sensation he seems to have. After a few seconds he starts feeling something begin to roll down his cheek and onto his chin. He presumed it to be sweat, but as it reaches the peak of his chin and dribbles onto his finger, he can't help but try and inspect it.

   What he finds is a mysterious brown substance. The same rich brown as his fur. It even seemed to contain some fur as well. Hob tilts his head and raises a brow in perplexity. "Strange…"

   He shakes his hand to get the liquid off, then resolves to investigate another source of that feeling. He rolls up a sleeve to find a few gobs of substance starting to drop from his arm. The dripping seems to be slow, implying that it's coming to some kind of end. Partially satisfied, he rolls his sleeve back down. 

   "I'm… curious what kind of substance this is. But something is telling me not to worry much about it, and… I feel oddly compelled to comply…"

   Perhaps it was just another one of those Fae realm things. These realms always seem to possess weird and confusing phenomena that seem to function far beyond what anyone can understand. It was nothing to worry about, but if something like this were to progress he'd know where to get it checked.

   "Well, it's safe to say that's enough diversions." 

   Hob turns around from the war table and begins to walk to the tent's exit.     "GORBLADDER!" He yells out in a commanding tone, "TELL THE SALT GOBLINS IT'S TIME TO PACK EVERYTHING! AN URGENT MATTER MUST BE BROUGHT TO THE GOBLIN COURT AT ONCE!"

#character tf #species tf #furry tf #hobgoblin tf #transformation #tf

[skylermadness]

Something To Be Proud Of (Ragh Barkrock TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: May 4, 2022)

Original Description:

A work written in collaboration with two friends of mine. This TF also comes with a sequence drawn by ArticulatedArtisan. He also drew the art that is used as the picture in the cover. The sequence can be viewed here: DeviantArt / FurAffinity Another Dimension 20 TF, and one that has been a few months in the making. Ragh is a really great guy and honestly needed TF into him- so we're here to provide! Admittedly I dealt more with the drafting, so all of this is written by my friend as they handled editing. I've never really done a second-person POV TF before, but I feel like I could go all in and try writing one myself some day. It'll just take some work- I'm also really happy as to how Artisan's sequence came out. It is so good! Just about everything about it feels perfect. Overall, I'm glad that he was a part of this!

   You drew in a deep breath, steeling yourself, and pushed open the door.

   It didn’t stop the wave of high school sport odor from assaulting your nose with enough force to make the tacklers jealous, but you managed to keep from gagging. You really wished you were used to this already, being the team’s waterboy and all.

   Waterboy, Coach’s assistant, whatever- all it meant was that you had to suffer all the drawbacks, like staying after school for practice and having to deal with the gunk and smell of the football team locker room, and none of the benefits- such as, well, being on the team. The coach just put you to work, setting up the equipment for practice, getting fresh towels and water to be ready on hand, and just about anything else Coach or the players needed, but were apparently too wrapped up to handle themselves.

   To Coach’s credit, you didn’t think it was necessarily intentional on his part to put you through all this suffering with no perceived payoff. Back when you first approached him in his office near the beginning of the year, you had wanted to ask about joining the football team yourself. You’d long looked upon these cool, hot jocks around school, joking and jostling each other around, and wanted to play with them, or have an excuse to hang out with them at the very least- maybe you could even be one of the Boys someday, if you did. 

   But Coach had taken one look at you, with your scrawny, somewhat shorter than average form, and completely misinterpreted your approach as you volunteering for the assistant duties. And here you were now, having never moved from the position, because you never had the gut to correct him.

   It wasn’t great- but it could have been worse, surely. You probably wouldn’t have been actually good on the team, anyway.

   You did try your best to make the most of it, though. Being often in relatively close proximity with the jocks and players on the team, and using it as an excuse to talk to them or hang out, was sort of what you had been after the whole time- so you took the opportunities to say hi, and talk to them on occasion longer than a question or two relating to what mess you had to take care of next. Your assistant work more often than not actually cut you off from being able to stay talking for long and kept you busy, regrettably. Even when you did find the time to hang out for a little while, your heart sank, as the Boys were certainly friendly to you- but you never felt it reached the point where you felt you could call it you being friends.

   The raucous sounds of laughter and football practice and buddies and bros being bros in the distance cut quiet in an instant as the door leading back outside swung closed behind you, and you stepped further in.

   You were out on a mission, once again: one of the players, a tall, dark haired one that you wanted to talk with for longer, had forgotten his playing gloves somewhere, presumably left back in the locker room. Coach wouldn’t allow him to let up his reps to go grab them, so he needed to    ask you- and did sound apologetic, very clearly aware that it was something he could go do himself. It didn’t force down the light disappointment of being cut off from talking to and getting to know one of the Boys better for longer, but you did appreciate the sentiment.

   You made to breathe in and retched a little, very quickly wishing you had not let out that breath of fresh-ish outside air so carelessly. Sure, the Boys were generally nice to you and plenty of fun to hang around when you got the chance to, but you couldn’t say you were a fan of their… low-standard sanitary practices. Loose football gear left strewn about the room, over the benches and on the floor. Shoes and socks that anyone could recognize came from an extremely active high school athlete left out on the floor as well, their ripe odors wafting throughout the stale locker room air. Empty bottles of awful 3-in-1 shampoo littered around the showers, collecting near the shower drains, having long since been used or touched.

   Your stomach roiled again at the smell. At least you had somehow convinced them to put their dirty laundry away in the communal bin on their own.

   You hurried around the locker room, eager to find the gloves and escape back into fresh air as soon as you could. It was taking longer than you were hoping for, there was so much gear left sitting around to sift through- where were all the gloves? Half the players out there weren’t even in full gear, surely there’d be at least a few unused pairs that the Boy in need could at least borrow for the day…

   Frustration was beginning to set in. The smell was probably starting to get to you. You were considering calling it quits and apologizing to the Boy back outside for it, when you spotted them- a pair of gloves, haphazardly tossed onto the end of one of the benches. You hastily snatched them up and turned to hurry back out, having had enough of the locker room stink for now.

   Your eyes fell on your prize as you walked quickly, relief suddenly giving way to curiosity as you peered a little more closely at them. These gloves were a hardy brown, made of tough, thick cloth with the sleeves extending past where the wrists would usually end, instead running further up along the forearm than typically. The gloves were HUGE, too- you usually weren’t paying attention to the size of most players’ hands, but you could swear it felt like these gloves in particular could fit three of your own hands inside just one of them, and have space left over to spare. Over the palms and where the knuckleheads would be, were layers upon thick layers of wrappings- having likely once been white, but by now have long since faded and worn out to gray from frequent, rough use.

   Were these… really the gloves that player was talking about? You really couldn’t find any other gloves in the entire locker room, so they had to have been if the Boy was sure he left them in there. But then again- these didn’t look like football gloves in the slightest, and didn’t even have the team’s colors. They almost looked like they were instead gloves for shoving, pummeling, or crushing opponents in melee combat.

   Your vision swam as you blinked away from the sudden thought, feeling a bit dizzy. You were close to further questioning where the thought came from, before you toppled into something and tripped, landing embarrassingly splayed on the ground. Gathering yourself up and looking around to survey the damages, you groaned. Your worst fears had come back to haunt you- you had knocked into the community laundry bin hard enough to leave dirty, smelly athletic clothes strewn all over the floor in front of you. 

   And it was your job to pick it all up.

   You were reminded of the great pains you had taken to avoid having to handle the laundry by the intense, pungent odor wafting up from the scattered pile. You quickly swallowed the bile in your throat before it could rise any further, and grimaced.

   There was no way in hell you were touching any of it with your bare hands.

   Scooting backward, you clenched a hand and felt rough fabric brush against it. You almost ripped your hand away in the fear that you had already touched something from this awful mess, before you realized it was just the pair of huge gloves you had come in for.

   Glancing down at the gloves, an idea came to mind- one that you immediately felt guilty for thinking of. You could use the Boy’s gloves to pick up all the laundry, that was an option… but then again, you wouldn’t wish this smell on anyone- especially something the player would be wearing as soon as it was returned. The odor would be sure to linger on the gloves, and you weren’t keen on giving him a reason to dislike you.

   Although, since the smell came from the laundry bin, which in turn came from the players themselves, maybe they wouldn’t notice if you used these gloves for this, just for a little while…? Nodding slowly, having successfully convinced yourself, you stood up and reached for the gloves.

   This act of handling player gear wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for you- but something about holding them with the intent to wear them had you shivering a little. Not to be weird about it- but just before you put them on, you felt a sudden sense of… proximity? Like wearing these gloves brought you and the football players closer together, somehow. 

   And in a sense, it was, you laughed to yourself as you slipped the gloves on. This really was the first and probably only chance you’d ever get of seeing what being a jock would feel like.

   You felt a bit silly for being surprised when the gloves didn’t fit, once you had them on. Your hands were pretty average in size, while the tough-fabric gloves were big enough to completely dwarf your hands when you wore them. Your fingers weren’t long enough for the tips to reach the end of the gloves, and the palms were too broad for your hands to really fit your fingers into each respective holes- you ended up constantly bunching up the palms of the gloves in your hands to really get a real grip in order to hold anything with them. 

You withheld a sigh. The huge gloves were a bit annoying and uncomfortable to use, but they’d get the job done.

   You crouched down to get to work picking up the dirty laundry- and were almost immediately assaulted by that disgusting odor again. Athlete sweat and untreated B.O. mixed together in one atrocious concoction of stench, having left to fester in the laundry bin all week. You swore under your breath at the unrelenting attacks on your nose- but you steeled your resolve, and proceeded with picking up the clothing and putting them back in the bin.

   As you’d anticipated, the gloves felt awkward and cumbersome, the most efficient method of picking up the laundry really just consisting of you smashing your gloved hands together around a clump of clothes like the world’s worst sandwich, and depositing it into the now upright bin. You found your frustration dissipating, however, after a moment or two of picking up the mess- the need to constantly hold onto the gloves felt less and less, and you found yourself letting go of the bunches you had been gripping and letting them hang on your hands loosely. It only clicked when you tried smashing another clump of clothes between two gloved closed fists, and paused for an embarrasing three seconds, dumbfounded by the sensation of the motion, and why exactly it felt weird. You had the hang of these gloves now. Your face heated up a little, feeling a bit silly that you’d been picking up the clothes so strangely when you could have just picked them up and grabbed them with your gloved hands normally. The gloves didn’t feel like masses of rough cloth covering your hands, they just felt like gloves- why had you been so weird about it?

   Despite the worn gloves starting to feel a bit tight on your hands, you shook yourself a little to focus and pick up the pace. Now that that weird mental block keeping you from acting normal had cleared, you started picking up larger piles of laundry to put away, some so big your arms burned and threatened to buckle under the weight. You really weren’t expecting a workout when you came in looking for the gloves, but damn if you weren’t getting one right then and there. 

   You made to reach for a jockstrap that you thought for a moment was too far away- your arms burned- and you picked it up, without any trouble. You dropped it on top of the newest colossal load you had gathered, carrying and depositing it all into the bin without any noticeable strain on your arms. You stretched your arms high above your head as a quick rest, finding the feeling of stretching your muscles particularly pleasurable in that moment for a reason you could not pin down, and took a sniff. It was getting easier to breathe, the smell feeling less noticeable than before.

   But it wasn’t gone, and it was still BAD- you could swear it was actually clouding your vision, what with the tint of green your skin had taken when you looked down at your arms. Yeugh, better get this over with quick.

   The short sleeves of your t-shirt were already feeling tight, but that sensation had spread to your neck- and, hell, now that you were thinking of it it was everywhere else, too. It was probably the fatigue setting in, but with every breath you drew in the shirt felt smaller, like you’d put on a size medium you thought you could fit it that day but after the barest physical strain showed exactly how constricting it actually was and how dumb you were for thinking it could fit you. 

   A surge of power erupted from your solid, heavy core and rushed up to your burgeoning pecs pressing so desperately against your shirt, and you fought the sudden urge to wrestle it off of your body. This was the players’ locker room, not yours, and you didn’t have an extra change of clothes here to fall back on if you tore this shirt. 

   Another embarrassing five seconds passed before you realized something was wrong with that thought. Since when had you ever been worried about tearing your shirt? You wiped your sweating forehead with a gloved hand, and the sense of rough fabric dragging along your skin gave you pause. You brought your hands to your face to look closely, and saw two gloves fitting perfectly, if a bit tightly, on two massive, powerful, meaty mitts in the shape of hands.

   It took you a moment to realize, but these were not the hands you had walked into this locker room with.

   You looked down at your body, your brain working overtime trying its best to grasp the situation. You felt around your neck with your huge hands, and felt a short, thick, solid trunk of muscle there, which matched your deeper sounding breathing, you realized. Your scrawny chest and torso were expanding as you watched, the pecs and musculature growing and filling out first, before fat filled in after, greatly softening your pecs and pushing your stomach out into a solid, firm gut. You gave it the smallest of pokes, just to tell if it was real, and your shirt jumped at the chance to survive a moment longer by riding it up, letting your gut touch the open air. The sensations were there, of course, it was there and real and huge- and the skin was the same green as your thick, powerful arms, and deepening in hue by the second. You almost fell over, when your new gut shifted your center of gravity, but you managed to catch yourself and widen your stance accordingly. The things that felt right for your new body felt… really different from what you were used to. But… it was still your body, right?

   You bent down over the remaining laundry, getting back to work- something that you didn’t have to think too hard about, and that was something you needed. Your poor brain felt sluggish, too tired to really understand the changes as they continued. You picked up more dirty clothes, now almost completely oblivious to the lingering smell that you vaguely remembered was still there. You distantly registered the sound of your shirt finally tearing from the strain, and the itch of chest hair pushing out in a smattering across your chest and down your gut. Just a few more rounds, you were sure you’d be finished… with the laundry. Finished with the laundry.

   The lump in your throat grew larger, and your ragged breaths sounded even deeper- even gutteral, a little. Something about your face was tingling, changing, as the changes rose even further up your body. Your head split into a headache from how fast you wanted it to go, you didn’t want to be left behind with everything happening so much. You realized all of a sudden that your face was wrong and out of place it was hurting your brain because of it- then your skull shifted, the bone thickening and squaring off into something tough and not really human, but your lower jaw pushed forward and locked into place and everything felt right again. It felt good, and it really felt good too when two of your lower teeth grew longer and sharper, into the proud tusks of a young adult half-orc poking out of your mouth. 

   The ground grew further away from you as your brain struggled to work things out. Some things were starting to make more sense, and some things were making less and less sense to you- so much so that it hurt to try to think of them now with everything else happening. Instead of trying to think about why it was all happening and why it was- or wasn’t- possible, you focused instead on your legs, as they were up next. They grew longer and thicker, powerful logs of mass you’d forged yourself from pouring countless hours on the Bloodrush field, to be able to carry the mountain of mass and meat you were wherever you needed to go. Even despite the splitting pain cracking your head, you couldn’t help the surge of pride or keep yourself from grinning like an idiot at the thought. 

   Your shorts were barely holding together, looking so small and much shorter on your legs than before, but why? Gears chugged along in your brain and it made the connection- right, your legs were growing, weren’t they? A bit dizzliy, your brain kept flip-flopping between watching the changes in excitement and accepting your new normal. You felt a thrill heave in your throat at feeling your now-tiny shorts ride up your legs and the seat of your pants filling out and pushing up against the shorts, like a bike tire you’d pumped too quickly and was about to pop. Everything was different, but you weren’t scared.

   Why would you be scared? These changes were amazing.

   Why would you be scared? This was just your body, nothing new- but still fuckin’ great.

   You heaved another mountain of dirty clothes into the bin, and clapped your huge gloved hands together once, eyeing the remaining stragglers. One more round.

   Each step you take feels like pounding, stomping on the floor without meaning to. Your footsteps sound heavy, and your feet feel way too tight to feel good. Like you put on the wrong size shoes, these ones way too small… which would be something your dumb fuckin’ ass would mix up, wouldn’t it? Putting on the wrong shoes and not realizing through the whole school day… your powerful lungs let out a gusty disappointed sigh. Typical.

   Your tiny, wrong shoes seemed to think so, too- and with a shrrrrp of cloth, your heavy green feet finally had space to breathe. You tried to kick as much of it off your feet as you can, and turn back to the laundry- y’know, channeling your shit into something productive instead of wasting time being fucking useless.

   Your stomach turned as you bent down to scoop the rest up. It’s… hard not to feel like that, like an idiot who could never get your act together. Struggling in school, making all these dumb decisions, always blowing your top and letting your rage get the better of you… it’s no wonder you could never make the… make the team…

   You stood back up, and the surge of something throughout your body followed by the loud SHRRRRPing of shirt and shorts got you out of your head. You tripped backwards into the line of lockers behind you in surprise, distantly feeling the dented metal under your arms. Your brain registered the tight pressure disappear and what was left of your clothes hanging off your powerful frame, and finally began to catch up with your body. 

   You started to realize and finally understand, just so much has changed about you- and while it’s hard to put them together, all the pieces were there.

   The reason you were wobbling and feeling so unsteady on your feet was because your center of gravity was different from what you were used to. The reason you dented the lockers this badly from punching and elbowing them when you tripped was because you didn’t know your own strength- literally. The reason why your clothes fucking hurt so much and were too fucking small wasn’t because you wore small clothes and put on tiny shoes this morning like a dumbass- because you’re not dumb, yeah you know you’re not smart like the wizards or artificers or whatever, but you’re not dumb- it’s because your body is different! You put on smaller clothes that morning because you were smaller!

   Your thick brow furrowed and your face scrunched up as you mulled it over, as you became more and more sure in yourself. You rubbed your chin with a gloved hand, feeling the coarse stubble smattered across your chin, while you were lost in thought- unflinching despite the rank odor clinging to the gloves after handling dirty sports laundry for like, gotta be more than ten rounds by now. Honestly, you were losing track.

   "Wait- shit, I need to get changed." You blurted out the thought as it bubbled up in your mind, without bothering to think about it first- like the gap between your thoughts and your tusked mouth was getting smaller.

   As soon as that clicked, you felt fabric rustling and moving as it stretched to wrap around your much larger body, covering everything up. The bulging and straining shorts grew down your legs and darkened to blue and hardened into weathered denim, not without its scuffs and tears but still a good, solid pair of jeans. Finally the right size and not feeling like your legs were being choked out, a belt slithered around your waist to complete the look. 

   Your socks and shoes repaired themselves too- the fabric of your socks worn and holey, standing no chance against your massive orc feet, and your shoes concealing the rest of it from view, cutting off the stench suddenly wafting up from them, too. 

   You involuntarily wrinkled your nose, but it honestly didn't smell that bad. Not really any of this did, anymore.

   Your shoes finished off with a splash of red that quickly weathered and darkened from wear- whatever Mending spell was fixing your clothes didn't seem to be able to fix that part of it, turned out. But you didn’t mind, you began to smirk a little as you waggled your now warm feet in a good 17 and a half size pair of sneakers. A perfect fit, for the pair of stompers you’re packin’.

   But the main event was just getting started- you rolled your broad shoulders and thick, muscled neck in anticipation. You could feel it, your brain following the patterns as it sensed the scraps that used to be your shirt shiftin' around, and making the connections. Your shirt was next.

   The cloth rushed around your body, turning stiff and thick as it repaired itself into a shirt sized much, much larger than the size medium tee you had on that morning. The sleeves stretched long and smoothed out into soft white that felt good on your bare arms underneath, topping off with striped cuffs hugging your wrists and sneaking inside the sleeves of your gloves. You couldn't help the smirk of satisfaction cross your face as you flexed, feeling even these large sleeves strain to contain the solid blocks of jockish muscle and mass your arms had pumped out.

   Your eyes followed the middle of your shirt split as buttons popped out into view, suddenly becoming the things holding your shirt together over your bulky chest and gut. The shirt neck pushed up further over your skin- well, more jacket neck than shirt, really. And that meant it made sense that the soft, striped thing around your neck was probably a collar, jackets had those.

   A rich red color washed over the rest of your jacket, over your torso, filling out between the white stripes on your wrists and collar. A bright red that your heart leapt in pride for, even though you didn't recognize it yet- or at least, your head didn't. Your body processing things and acting on them faster than your brain could was becoming a habit, at this point.

   But even at its snail's pace, it was still chugging along- and the pieces were coming together into something that had you excited. With a duly stretched out tank top appearing just underneath, you were wearing a letterman jacket- just like the kind the jocks wore. Laying a hand on your letterman and feeling the hard, solid mass bulging underneath, it wasn't hard to put two and two… er, maybe one and one together, and realize- you'd fit right in with the team, and maybe Coach would finally take you seriously about wanting to make the Bloodrush team. A brown letter "A" stitched itself onto your letterman's breast, like the jacket itself was in full support.

   You didn't think that the team you wanted to join started with an A- or your school, either- but you brain managed to squeeze out the name "Aguefort", and your body relaxed, as if that explained everything. Your chest swelled up again, almost overwhelmed with the pride and team spirit just thinking that name filled you with.

   You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Augh, gods, you really needed to let your brain catch up again. The idea that your tiny fit had just changed into something larger and tougher and more comfortable, was fucking with your mind. Like, you never had the smarts to really get into casting classes, but this wasn't even something you had thought someone could do with magic. Man, maybe you should try taking a spellcasting class or something, see if you could pick anything up before the school year ended- that is, if magic was… real… wait, that didn't sound right…

   You let out a deep, involuntary grunt as a headache pounded through your skull, just behind your eyes, and threatened to knock you off balance. You managed to steady yourself in time, quickly grabbing onto things for support, and your gaze fell onto your gloved hand.

   Once stable, you brought a massive mitt of a hand in front of your face. You snapped it shut into a huge, meaty fist, feeling the powerful grip in your long, thick fingers, and the tough material wrapped around it tight, and then relaxed your hand. The gloves fit perfectly. Everything fit perfectly.

   Everything fit perfectly on your body- holy shit, this was your body now, wasn't it? Your head jerked around, trying to get the best view of the huge orcish form you had found yourself in as you could. No way the Boys on the team wouldn't be jealous as FUCK of your sick gains. And damn, didn't you agree. There was this Pride pushing up in your chest, too- like you deserved a bod with this power and magnitude. Like after all the hard work you put into getting here, training and working out and putting on mass like crazy, there was no way you were going to get a body different from the one you wanted- this one.

   But even as proud of yourself you were, and how pumped and ready to RUMBLE you knew this body was, it…

   Your spirits fell. It still didn't feel like you were one of them. One of the Boys, the Jocks, even with your new varsity jacket, or your huge, jockish body. You weren't part of the team, you were just the… the, uh… well, you just worked there. Picking up nasty laundry. And there was a sinking feeling, that a part of you knew to be true, that told you that's the way it'd always be, wouldn't it.

   You looked over to the stuffed laundry bin, having finished picking everything up, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel happy about it. You sat down on the bench with a gusty sigh, and looked down at your open hands again, huge and strong enough to crush rocks. 

   All that potential, gone to waste from not being put to use on the team, just felt so crushing. 

   You'd be fuckin' great at it, too, you were sure.

   Your fists tighten, open palms snapped shut into that powerful grip. YEAH you'd be fuckin' great at it, you could probably take every game home by yourself if you had to, even without the rest of the team you'd be playing with backing you up! What was Coach thinking, not letting what had the potential be a star Bloodrush player onto the team? Was he out of his MIND?

   You were onto something, it hit you. You stood up from the bench, creaking in relief as your weight lifted off of it, and you began to pace back and forth to give your brain the time it needed to catch up, almost knocking over the laundry bin again. Why wouldn't Coach just let you join? Your face twisted as frustration and borderline rage bubbled up, trying to push past the ache in your head and think a complete sentence for once. Fuck, this train of thought hurt so much it was almost worse than biting glass on accident again.

   In an instant, your head snapped to attention and your eyes darted around the room, suddenly remembering the danger at hand. Glass could be anywhere, and you wouldn't even know if you were about to bite some- it was literally invisible! Your gloved mitt of a hand clapped over your mouth just to be safe, your orcish nose having almost fully tuned out the musky laundry smell the gloves still carried. 

   Your eyes landed on the locker room mirror. That had glass in it- at least, uh, you were pretty sure it did- but it was stuck to the wall, so it was probably fine. Mirror glass was probably different from regular glass, anyway, since it wasn't invisible. 

  You nodded to yourself, relaxing and feeling safer, when your eyes caught on your own reflection next.

   You slowly stepped over to the mirror, the tension of danger all but forgotten as you took in the half-orc standing there, facing you. Now that it was allowed to work on its own time, your brain was finally starting to catch up with your earlier thoughts- just in time for the final changes to make their way up your face.

   You wanted more than anything to join the team, and were probably one of the students at the Adventuring Academy most equipped to be really, REALLY good at it.

   You lowered your gloved hand away from your mouth to reveal it growing, bulking even further, squaring off into a strong, masculine jaw, skin as green as the field turf, with two thick, orcish tusks jutting up proudly from your lower jaw.

   Coach would be crazy to not let someone join the team if he thought they could help them win and play better, and Coach wasn't that crazy. Evil alignment didn't mean crazy, obviously.

   Your eyes clouded over and the colors went inverse as your vision adjusted to naturally see in darkness better, white piercing pupils in pits of black sclera. Your nose and ears grew in turn, ears a bit longer and tapering off into points, and nose wider to fit your orcish face better.

   But even though Coach was Evil- better than the last coach, anyway, Pit Fiend evil didn't turn your stomach as much as abusive homophobic evil did- he wouldn't force someone into playing for the team if they didn't want to. He was nice like that, you knew.

   And then your hair, from the roots up was darkening to a deep, dark green, so dark it was almost black. It swept back into a wilder, slightly unkempt hairstyle over thicker looking side fades, like you'd let it grow out a little after a while without a haircut.

   That meant Coach must not have known how much you wanted to play, even though it was obvious how good you'd be for the team. But why, then? How the hell could he not know? Something wasn't adding up, you realized.

   You took in the tough, proud face of the half orc reflecting back at you in the mirror. It was solid and imposing, but there was a softness to your expression, too- like it was getting more comfortable in wearing things that weren't a scowl or a snarl contorted in rage. The muscles and fat set in your massive jaw rolled at the even the smallest movement, and the whole jaw was sent shifting from the tiny clenches you made with your mouth as you thought. It was still hard to believe that this all only just happened, and you were so different a few rounds ago. The thought of a scrawnier human figure with a much thinner frame floated past behind your now dark orcish eyes, and all at once it hit you.

   Coach didn't know you wanted to play because you never told him you did!

   You clapped a gloved hand to your forehead in understanding as your brain finally made the connection. You remembered first visiting Coach back when you looked like a human, and you hadn't had the nuts to tell him you wanted to join the team- and THAT'S why you'd been stuck as the waterboy ever since!

   Sizing up the massive, half-orc jock reflecting back at you, already wearing the team's varsity jacket, you couldn't help your face splitting into a grinning smirk. That version of yourself felt so far away from you now, as the confidence of a half-orc AND a jock- who was not only centered and assured of who he was, but deeply and unwaveringly PROUD of who he was as a whole person- surged through you, your heart thrumming and shocking your back upright into better posture, only adding to your height even more. Looking how you did, with the huge new body and all, you wouldn't have trouble getting Coach to let you join the team now, that's for fuckin' sure. You even got a letterman of your own already, too! You turn around with your head craned to get a good look at the back of your letterman in the mirror. It'd be easier to just take it off and look at it there- but nah, no way you're taking this thing off anytime soon.

   Even with the added effort of having to read words backwards like that in the mirror, your heart leapt in pride and already knew what the big block letters spelled over the piercing gaze of a snarling owlbear.

   "BARKROCK."

   Your heart already knew, deep down, but now your brain clicked, too. That was- that was your last name. Your last name, Barkrock! Well- it wasn't before, but like- it felt good to hear it. And it definitely fit the kind of person you were now, and maybe it'd be good to sort of start over again with the Coach anyway, too? You weren't sure how you'd explain it all anyway, so just pretending you were a totally different person would be easier, even though you were still the same but you'd just changed a little. Well, a lot. 

   So yeah, you'll keep the name, no sweat. You could probably pass as a foreign exchange student, probably.

   You turned away from the reflection, and headed out the locker room door back outside to the field. You were PUMPED again and ready to go, feeling it in every part of your body- first steps into the new life laid out ahead of you.

   It was a beautiful, clear day with a few clouds about, and you almost didn't realize how different the field and bleachers looked from how they used to, with how familiar everything felt to you at the same time. It was a bit hard to remember what colors the uniforms of the teams on the field had been before, but the red and white they sported now- just like your letterman- felt right, y'know?

   You spotted the team on the field, and were about to call them over and ask them where Coach was- you had a lot to talk about- when one of them spotted you first and waved you over.

   "RAGH, my guy! Where you been, dude?"

   The gap between your thoughts and your mouth was too small to realize the jock had just called you by a name you were pretty sure wasn't yours before you were already hustling over, grinning like an idiot, huge tusks out and proud for all to see.

   "I'm comin', dude, I'm comin'!"

   And you hustled down the field to meet him and all the others, the fat and muscle of your beefy body bouncing up and down in a way that felt so real, so right, so familiar as muscle memory of your favorite sport seared its way into your body. You were a Bloodrush player, through and through- your heart knew that, your head knew that, and now your body knew that, too, which sealed the deal. 

   FUCK that felt good.

   The other players had headed to the benches, taking a quick water break before heading back out to practice. You saw the other players already had their waters and everything, and THAT got you grinning to yourself. You'd never be stuck as Coach's assistant again- at least, not in the way you used to. The faces of the other jocks lighting up when you arrived, and the growing familiarity you had with each of their faces and then names and then who they were and what they liked, told you that. 

   You were also pretty sure that some of the Boys here had changed too, like you did, with pointed ears or flaming hair or fuller beards where you didn't expect, but you didn't care about that, didn't you. This was the team you knew, and that was what mattered.

   The player who called you over clapped you on the back, getting your head in the game with a jump.

   "Jeez, Ragh, you took your time," he laughed, elbowing you in the ribs, sending something fluttering in your chest- something that you knew what it was but you decided you were fine with not following- for now, at least. You were at practice, not prom. "Your gloves that hard to find? Dude, we need you for practice!"

   You glanced down at your rough, worn gloves that’d been with you for ages. You could barely remember what that player who sent you in to grab them in the first place looked like, and looking around at your team and best friends at the Academy, you didn’t recognize anyone that might have used to be him among the humanoids there… almost like he was never there at all. Your head was starting to hurt again- feeling sluggish like it was running on empty when you tried to think about it further, and you made a decision. 

   You held the memory close for a moment, of that nameless player who gave you this chance thanks to his gloves- your gloves- thanked it, and then let it go. Your head felt clearer in an instant, and you shook away the headache, feeling yourself settle back into being comfortable with your friends.

   “Sorry dude, knocked over the laundry bin in there and had to clean up. And fuck, dude, I swear- it took me like, what, 15 rounds to pick it all up. There was so. much. shit in there.” 

   Everything fell into place so easily, the rhythm you had with your friends felt so natural, it really did feel like you’d known these guys and played on the same Bloodrush team for years at this point- which, as far as everyone else was aware, you had. And damn, when you weren’t thinking too hard about how different everything was, it just about had you convinced, too.

   “And honestly? Dude-dude-dude-dude, dudes, can I be real with you?” You directed it to the rest of the team, this time. “Y’all fuckin’ smell, dude.”

   A firbolg teammate in the back called out, “It’s just the musk, dude-”

   “Dude, no, I know the musk. I know the musk, dude, and that laundry bin was like- BAD, dude, even for me. Holy shit. Like, take a fuckin’ shower, guys!”

   Sitting back, laughing and joking with your team for the rest of the water break- you were one of the Boys, one of the jocks. 

   Just like you’d always wanted. 

   Just like you’d always been. 

   Your head wanted to pick one of those over the other to be right so bad, but your heart knew they were both true.

   You stood up, stretching. “Alright, back to practice. I got the scrimmage drills.”

   That confidence, that pride you exuded that kicked your teammates into gear stirred in you something fierce- and hot damn if you weren't fierce- but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. That sort of authority came with you being the most senior member on the team- even though you weren't the team captain or QB, you knew all the drills, all the exercises, probably even better than Coach did, so you could pretty much run practice on your own when Coach Gorthalax got stuck in a ruby again or something. Getting held back a year or two was crushing back then, but did have its good side, you guessed. You were so familiar with the Bloodrush training stuff from playing year after year, you could probably become a Coach yourself eventually, if you didn't land a job as a star Bloodrush player or bodyguard or something.

   It took for when your teammates lined up for the scrimmage play for it to really hit you- you realized the future you had ahead of you. Before, you'd just been a scrawny human without real friends who could never speak your mind, and now you were a huge half-orc jock who had a team of friends and was proud of who you were. That went to the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, too- training teens and high schoolers in magical or fighting stuff to become adventurers and heroes, or at least learn whatever the fuck Principal Aguefort wanted them to take out of all this- a far cry from the boring ass school you used to go to. You had career options you'd never even heard of lined up ahead of you since you're close to graduating. 

   Fuck, you're close to graduating, too, huh… yeah, that was right, ever since that adventuring party of bad kids you became friends with invited you on a quest and finished it with them, you were on your way to graduation. Fuck, dude, that was something you hadn't though about for a long while, afraid you'd just get pulled back again. Getting through all your identity junk thanks to the school's guidance counselor Jawbone probably helped with that, too, being honest.

   More and more memories of being Ragh Barkrock, the half-orc jock who got your whole life turned around after getting your ass handed to you by the Bad Kids and then meeting with Jawbone to work your personal shit out kept filling your head in that moment- and honestly, you couldn't think of anything you wanted more in that moment. You felt solid, grounded. You knew for sure in your big, thumping, orc heart, of who you wanted to- no, who you were PROUD to be.

   The Bloodrush captain called the play, clear and sharp that cut through your mind like a greataxe through warm cheese, and your body instinctively sprang into action alongside your friends, your teammates. You grit your tusks and teeth, and called up that white hot feeling- in an instant your head, heart, and body finally all in sync. Not so much thinking of anything, or even really being able to think anything other than being laser focused on the play at hand that you knew by heart. 

   You thundered forward, letting loose a snarl and calling up that white-hot rage as you charged the poor humanoid player opposite to you, squeezing the last few thoughts through your head before going blank.

   Your name is Ragh Barkrock, and you're damn proud of that.

#character tf #species tf #orc tf #transformation #muscle growth tf #weight gain tf #tf

[skylermadness]

Hunter's Tales I: Bitten (Human TF/MC/AP/WG)

(Original Date of Upload: October 31, 2022)

Original Description:

Happy Halloween! I admittedly don't care a lot about this holiday. Personally I prefer the post-Halloween candy sales. But I do care enough to write something silly to commemorate the occasion! A few weeks ago someone asked if I liked werewolves or vampires more. Personally, I might like werewolves a bit more. I say this because I actually wrote this story out as part of a planned series I want to do featuring Argent and various monster hunting failures he endures. It likely won't be a very long series, nor a frequently updated one, but it's one I've been thinking of writing for a while now. Especially since I loved the idea of a werewolf TF but you're changing into the human form rather than the wolf one. Also just for everyone's information, fight scenes are fucking ass to write. I still don't think I did it that well, but I tried. Anyway, I hope people like this one! It is a bit different from my normal works.

Mission No° 479: October 31, 20XX

Target Name: Roland Forrester

Target Species: Lycanthrope

Hit Orderer: [REDACTED]

Reason for Hit: [REDACTED]

Agent On-Call: Agent No° 47 ~ Argent Chandler

Status of Mission: Unfulfilled

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

   The night is moonless.

   In the dead of this midnight a boot stamps on the ground of a muddy runway. Said runway is located within the bowels of a sprawling woodland. With the exception of the sounds of bootclad feet hitting mud, it is quiet. 

   Argent Chandler takes a deep breath as his eyes scan the site that lays in front of him. To a normal person they'd see a wooden cabin. Secluded and off the grid, in the middle of nature for none to disturb. With the exception of some creepy vibe to it, it seemed unsuspect. 

   Argent exhaled, nodding. This was the right place.

   His trenchcoat swished behind him as he continued his trek down the runaway. Judging by the small pickup truck nearby he could tell his target was obviously located in this place. Although that wouldn't be very easy to tell by the fact that any lighting inside the cabin seemed inactive.

   His trek easily shifted into a saunter once his now muddy boots reached the steps of the cabin. Each one creaked beneath his weight. Although at this point stealth was foregone a long time ago. Argent wasn't the kind of hunter that dealt in stealth, no. Especially since all his arsenal was silver. The creature within this dwelling likely smelled him before he was in a ten foot radius of this place.

   It doesn't matter though. It never does. He always gets the job done and has been since employment. There's a reason he's considered the best hunter within his Guild.

   Atop the stairs, he pulls out his gun and begins to twirl it in his hand. What would the number be now? Fourty? Forty five? At least half of those missions were probably some kind of therianthrope. 

   Wood continues to creak beneath him, Argent walking up to the door. The hunter stops carelessly twirling his weapon and extends his free hand to grasp the doorknob. After a cursory jiggle he finds it to be unlocked. With a nod, he confirms this to be a trap of some kind. Predictable.

   Doesn't stop him from kicking the door open anyway, following it up by a gunshot to the ground in front of him.

   "Let's see how your fragile ears handle that…" he whispers with a smirk on his face.

   The cabin interior was dark, but was actually pretty nice looking. He presumed himself to be in the living room, considering the furnishment was a couch of some kind. His original perceptions of the place being off the grid was disregarded at the sight of an old-fashioned box TV cushioned in the corner of the room, but at this point he didn't really care. None of these creatures worked in covertness now, did they?

   Another floorboard creaks, and mud begins to track into the place as he casually walks around. He holds an arm up, his gun in hand as he starts twirling it again. His other hand moves to the inside of his trenchcoat and slowly positions itself to one of his many daggers. There seems to be two major rooms he could enter. Left and right.

   His gaze slowly moves rightward, and he is greeted with the sight of two beads of glowing yellow. No doubt the eyes of the very creature he came here to kill. But his ears then catch a sound. Wood creaking from the leftward room instead. Smiling, he turns around to locate the source. The place was small, there couldn't be any way for anything in here to hide efficiently.

   He begins to walk to the room the sound was made in, his own steps being an obvious alert of his presence. "No use hiding, freak," he says aloud, voice filled with malice. Animosity. "We both know we're in here, so why don't you come out and…" 

   He stops twirling his gun right when it's upward and pulls the trigger, firing another bullet. He then finishes off his sentence with a smirk. "...play."

   He doesn't get a response at first, silence filling the area in the seconds after he fired his second round. Face lacking all emotion now he continues to stand at the room's threshold. Cold, calculating. 

   Frontward attack, dagger thrust. Left arm disabled, forgo gun and try to utilize the other. Both arms disabled, go for a groin kick. Multiple plans fire off in his head as he awaits his prey.

   What he didn't expect was the light in the room in front of him to turn on, revealing the room to be a kitchen. No one was visible within it for a couple moments, but then the sound of creaking wood pierced the air again.

   "I really need to get these things replaced!" a second voice says casually, the person whom it belongs to walking into view on the other side of the threshold.

   The being stood in front of Argent, smiling. The man looked to be in his mid thirties; rectangular face, scratchy beard, faint etchings of age beginning to crawl in his face. His hair was well kept with two lupine ears poking out of it. He also lacked a shirt, giving his musculature and hirsuteness visibility. Most of his hair, both head and body, was bordering between black and dark grey, although this was indubitably not because of age. The only clothing he wore was a baggy looking leather jacket and a torn pair of jeans. His tail swished behind his legs calmly. He was also barefoot as well.

   Argent's first reaction was to reposition his gun to point at the man. Smirking, he's the first to engage. "I'm taking it you're Roland Forrester."

   Roland nods, extending a hand and placing a finger on the bottom of the gun's barrel. "It seems you caught me red handed, Argent."

   In an instant a simple finger quickly switches to the man's hand cupping the gun's barrel, Roland using his supernatural strength to squeeze it into uselessness. He grinned, baring his sharp teeth and growling. His irises began to glow a bright gold. "So, I heard you wanted to play."

   Argent's mouth twists into a manic grin. He unhands the gun and begins to step back. "I see you're one of those kinds of fleabags…" He then moves the hand downwards and into his trenchcoat, grasping a second gun. "This'll be fun!"

   And in that very instance, a fight breaks out between the two.

   Argent is the first to break linearity as he repositions himself away from the front of the kitchen's threshold. Pouncing out the threshold was Roland, having shifted to wolf form in the past few seconds. Fangs bared, the creature turned its head to glare at Argent, its eyes filled with aggression.

   It proceeds to pounce and Argent quickly moves out the way causing it to bang its head on the couch. As the wolf begins to reorientate itself, the hunter starts formulating a plan.

   Six bullets, he needs to be sure he shoots to kill.

   Room size is definitely an advantage. Perhaps he could… DAMN-

   Caught off guard, Argent is pinned down by the lycanthrope. For a few seconds it growls, but Argent cuts it off by discharging his weapon. Its strength wavers for a moment as the noise of the firearm rings in its ears allowing Argent to give it a strong kick in the gut.

   It unhands him and he rolls out from under it, quickly pushing himself upright. Stupid mistake, won't happen again.

   The wolf quickly regains its bearings, although it's still noticeably in a daze. "Could've… gone for a finger there, hunter," it growls out.

   "Could've gone for the neck as well, filth!" Argent dashes to the creature's side and pulls out a dagger from his trenchcoat, priming to hurl it into the abomination's leg. But just as he hurls it the wolf pounces out of the way and back into the kitchen, the dagger lodging itself into the floor instead. Positioning both hands on his gun, the hunter then moves back into the doorway's view and haphazardly fires into the room. 

   He misses.

   Backing up a bit, Argent jumps over the couch beside him just as the werewolf pounces towards him again. The couch doesn't last very long though as the beast takes a moment to stand upright and hurl it to the other side of the room, which wasn't exactly very far.

   Argent is quick to turn around, eyes widening as he realizes the chance he's given. He lifts the gun again and fires at the beast. Unfortunately, his trigger happy tendencies cause him to miss the chest and instead he hits the being in the shoulder.

   It's still a win though as the creature backs away and forcibly deshifts back into its human form, holding a hand to where he was shot. The smell of blood and burning flesh begins to waft through the air as well.

   "Nice aim." Roland seems to taunt Argent. In retaliation Argent fires another round, but Roland is quick to dodge. His dodge is sloppy though and he tramples into the adjacent room.

   Argent's face shifts into one of annoyance and anger. He takes his other hand off the gun and rifles through his trenchcoat, pulling out a second (and his last) dagger. He then hurls it into the wall on a whim, hoping it'd be enough to perk up whatever instincts Roland had and force them to pounce prematurely.

   It doesn't work.

   At this point Argent is already tired of this bullshit. Usually his mission is complete by now and he's heading back home to clean off the stench of beast filth from his clothing. But no, for some reason he keeps missing his killing shots.

   Two bullets. Two more chances.

   …and why hasn't Roland left that room yet?

   Argent slowly skulks into the open again, eyeing the room that Roland tripped into.

   He can see Roland's glowing lupine eyes in the dark of the room. Cockiness overtakes Argent again as he presumed this would be his chance. Shooting the damned abomination square in the head!

   Argent starts to walk towards the threshold quickly, arm outstretched and gun lined to fire directly at the werewolf's head. For once in his life he doesn't take the chance for a one-liner. He just pulls the trigger and…

   …hears the sound of shattering glass.

   "What the hell?"

   Briskly, Argent walks into the room and investigates the scene. The very figure he shot at stands motionlessly, staring at him. Mocking him wordlessly. He goes to give it a good punch, but right as his hand meets its body he finds that it phases through the entity. The light of the room then turns on and Argent finds himself eye to eye with some kind of entity of shadows.

   "...fuck," he mutters to himself. He's done for.

   "You know…" Roland's voice begins to ring from behind him. The wolf man begins sauntering over to the hunter, prying the bullet out of his shoulder as he walks and disregarding it on the ground. "I'm going to have to reorganize this place again after this whole stunt. And blood is a bitch to clean…"

   Argent turns around, but is barely given a chance to react as Roland seems to pin him in some kind of bear hug. The lycanthrope's superhuman strength constricts Argent.

   The hunter tries one final measure. If he can at least escape, he won't have lost now. Would he? His finger twitches and one final bang blasts through the air, a bullet lodging into the ground beside him.

   Roland didn't let go.

   "That trick might have worked twice but I ain't one to get fooled more than that. Even if gunfire fuckin' hurts my ears."

   Argent grunts. "Why not kill me already, bastard."

   All he gets as a response is a smile from Roland before the older man instantly shifts into wolf form and picks the hunter up. The large beast lessens his constriction on Argent just enough to move him to a more comfortable position in his arm…

   Then proceeds to throw Argent across the room.

   Stings of pain run through Argent's body as the breath is knocked out of him, the man hurled straight into a wall. In contrast, his body collapses onto something soft.

   A bed…

   He shifts around, moaning out in pain as he forces his body to turn away from the wall. He tries to get himself upright, but can only shakily push himself up from the bed.

   "I was hoping not to get any blood on the bed," Roland says, "but this will have to be how it's done unfortunately."

   Argent is barely given any time to react. In the span of a single second he's pierced with a flash of pain as his right shoulder is given a single, gaping bite. His eyes roll upward as pain surges through his body, the only sight given to him being the visage of Roland's beastly form.

   Roland is quick to disengage from the scene. Once Argent was adequately bit, the lycanthrope steps away and shifts back to his human form. "Good God the taste of blood is atrocious…"

   Argent just huffs out a breath in pain as he rolls himself off the bed. It's a pitiful twenty seconds of pain and grunting, the hunter landing front first on the floor before he shakily stood up. "A-ahhh… but it's… not the full moon…"

   "I know, but something a lot of hunters seem to neglect is how other moon phases seem to work." Roland walks towards Argent again, the hunter taking a step back. To Roland, he could smell fear from the once supposedly fearless hunter. "Magic isn't a very common practice in these parts, so I wouldn't say it's surprising your guild never taught you about it."

   "It… it was a footnote- supposedly impossible to learn and function!"

   "To the average human, yes. Most of what you call supernatural entities can learn it pretty well though. It's just not the most common practice." Roland snips his fingers and the shadow entity that stood at the adjacent wall of the room dispels revealing a shattered window.

   Argent shakily tried to walk, but found the pain he was in a little too unbearable to move properly. He begins to tip over, but his fall is swiftly stopped by Roland.

   "The wounds should shut pretty quickly."

   "W… why are…"

   "Don't think of this as some kind of 'I care about you' bullshit. Frankly, I'd have ripped you apart ages ago. But you hunters seem so easy to fool, and I was getting a little lonely out here."

   Argent's mouth hung open. "E-excuse me?"

   "Hey, magic can do a lot of shit! I thought 'why not use it and get myself a guy!' Admittedly, it took months of preparing and learning how to enact such a spell that'd be done through bitten transfer. And then there was…"

   Argent pulled away. "What the hell are you talking about??"

   Roland let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, I think I'm done with this." He walks away from Argent and leans on the opposing wall, golden eyes piercing into Argent's green ones. "I'm just going to forgo any explanation. You won't remember it anyway once the transformation starts."

   At that very comment the pain in Argent's arm slowly begins to subside. Turning his head his eyes widened at the sight of his shoulder which was now visible through the rips in his clothing caused by Roland's bite. Blood was coagulating at a rapid pace, wounds quickly filling and scarring over. 

   "This… this can't be…"

   It only took a few seconds before scars dispelled and healing on the surface finished. Pain continued to fade as the bones in his shoulder realigned and healed as well, the region quickly looking good as new. He then started feeling a warmth in both of his arms…

   His hand trembles as he lifts it up into view, small spasms coursing through it. Watching fearfully, Argent witnesses his nails extend slightly into blunted points. They don't become claws, but there's a certain bestial tone to them. The back of his hand gains a similar tone as the smoothness of his skin begins to dissipate into a coarser look. Upon it sprouts deep brown hairs that trail across the back of his hand.

   Flipping it over doesn't give him any respite either. The skin on his palms darken slightly, getting puffier and rougher. A hardness forms within them as well, caused by the formation of calluses. At the same time the size of his hand seems to increase as well. Fingers got thicker and fatter, the hand itself swelling in size as it got increasingly meatier.

   His arms seemed to follow in an instant, Argent groaning as he started to feel his trenchcoat tighten around the limbs. "H-how-" he grunts out, feeling his muscle mass increase with each passing second. The rest of his clothing also felt like it was getting smaller as his entire body size seemed to fluctuate, although it was at a much slower rate than his sleeves. 

   "You wouldn't understand," Roland responds with a shake of his head. "All I will say is you aren't becoming a wolf yet. Just the man who contains it." Roland then smirks. "I also feel you'll grow to enjoy it~"

   And Argent was indeed growing. His forearms thickened, bulk and muscle laying on them where such amounts of it wasn't there before. He could feel his bones creak and pressurize as they extended alongside them, shifting into a size better equipped to handle his inevitable new form. His biceps and triceps bloated as well, the ridges of their musculature steadily etching into the fabric of the sleeves of his hunting attire. His undershirt was growing uncomfortable at a rapid pace, and his trenchcoat was following that example.

   Away from his eyesight beneath the stretching fabric came an additional swath of changes. Age creeping in his skin, hardening it and giving it an almost leathery texture to it. Arm hair grew plentiful on the back of his arms, starting off as a sparse growth before it blossomed into a thick forest of curly brown hairs. Grays also speckled these hairs, further showing his shift in age.

   His muscles continue to balloon, rips beginning to form in his undershirt as things continue to process. He could hear a chorus of tears ring from the left half of his trenchcoat as well as his delts followed swiftly behind, broadening his shoulders to a thickness akin to that of his arms. The arm holes of his undercoat began to constrict as a result.

   Aggression soon started to seep into Argent's emotions. He lifts up his head to look up at the creature that's done this to him. He shakily begins to try and walk over to Roland's position on the other side of the room, body trembling beneath its increasing weight both physically and emotionally. "Is this… vengeance?" he spits out, his breathing growing labored as the changes begin to enter his chest. The sound of one of the many belts surrounding his torso tightening, the metal creaking for a few seconds before snapping fills the air as Argent awaits a response.

   "You could say that. It's less vengeance and more… vindication? Justice? The right words are so hard to find these days."

   "Stop fucking dancing around the question and answer me you flearidden piece of-"

   "See, there it is. You hunters seem to have this whole issue with us for… no good reason? I could never tell. Perhaps it's some underground war caused by predecessors long gone. I'm just trying to subdue that!" Roland stops leaning on the wall and takes a step forward. "Us so-called 'monsters' are people just like you. And yet, so many of you seem so… obsessed with wiping us out."

   The sound of metal snapping as a second belt buckle on Argent's body breaks pierces the air.

   "I hope that's not silver…" Roland says with a hint of concern.

   Argent just growls as his balance finally destabilizes, the man stumbling sideways and banging his right arm on the wall. The meatiness of it mitigates whatever pain he would've gotten from it though. Even then, he's too focused on trying to breathe as he feels the belts and undercoat of his attire continue to constrict his body in what practically feels lethal.

   The zipper of his undercoat begins to move downwards as his torso barrels forward. Thick muscle swelled it in size, mass filling them out as he was given hefty pectorals. However, their musculature seemed to fade almost instantaneously as a softness accumulated around them. A tear quickly formed in his undershirt as fat bubbled into existence in his torso. A thick bush of hair was also growing across the area as well, overtaking the skin as a coarse fluffiness sprouted across his chest.

   The zipper of his undercoat continued to move downwards before it was stopped by his third belt, which was located on his abdominal. Both his third and his fourth belts were all that remained, stretching and attempting to contain his thickening form to the best of their ability. Argent began to slump, body sliding down the wall as his oxygen intake was beginning to seem insufficient to his body's needs. 

   Luckily, all of that was about to be alleviated.

   The zipper was the first to break apart as his abdomen started swelling in size. Abdominal muscles were the first to form, rippling outsides and etching into the fabric and leather of his clothing. His frame even was broadened to accompany this, the fourth belt being the next to snap and fall away. 

   His belly then bubbled. Much like his torso, his stomach was gaining weight as well. Fat filled the area, his belly going from toned to pudgy in seconds, then pudgy to chubby. Fat continued to accumulate in the area, constantly filling his belly until it was given a sizable gut that shattered his third belt and completely broke the zipper of his undercoat. It continues to extend beyond that, his undershirt riding up his belly to reveal thick hair growing across it. 

   The button holding his pants together was the next to snap under the pressure of his belly. Argent, breathing heavily now as he looked down at it. He was trying to keep it together, but there was obviously fear in his eyes. He then noticed the floor starting to get further away from him, a chill entering his legs as his height seemed to begin to shift. This was accompanied by the feeling of pressure in his back and legs. 

   That feeling in his back only seemed to build up more and more. Constantly and feverishly, it felt like something was trying to bust out of the base of his spine. 

   "A tail…" he whispers, the pieces falling into place.

   "Yup. I do suggest you lower the seat of your pants a little just to let the little thing flow out more freely." Roland nonchalantly advised, as if he's trying to help.

   Argent begrudgingly accepts, shakily moving a hand to his behind and lowering his pants a little. The building pressure seems to subside as he feels a more slithery feeling then come from the base of his spine. He didn't want to watch, but he knew what it was. The tail extended from his rump, growing and expanding as short fluff and fuzz sprouted from the flesh. It continues to extend until it reaches the length to brush the crus of his leg. Shortly after that the fur bushes out, thick in fluffiness and dusty brown in color. A proper wolf's tail.

   Argent's breathing slows, getting heavier and deeper. It was almost guttural. "What will you… gain from this…" he says between breaths. "Once this is over I could still kill you where you stand!"

   "Could, but not would." Roland says coyly, laying back on the wall he stood in front of. "There's a few things that still need to be put in still, but I think you'll be reconsidering those thoughts."

   "Shut up!" Argent yells, his voice noticeably deeper and more bestial. He momentarily regains the strength to heave himself from the wall and move forward a few steps, but his new weight throws him off balance again and he quickly stumbles to the other end of the room. He's prompted to hold the sill of the window he shot through. 

   The sleeves of his trenchcoat finally break apart as his skin begins to show, and his chest continues to gain visibility as his body continues to bloat and fatten. It seems to slow, though, as if it were finally reaching its apex. Thick hair carpets his chest even more, an almost furry look seeming to envelope it as brown and grays spiral around the region. It looked to be even thicker than what Roland possessed.

   He tries to readjust his legs, his pants tightening even more as the muscles within that area begin to bulk up as well. The seat of his pants filled out more and more, his rump plumping as fat filled it out. It was becoming big, round, and squishy. The expansion of his rear got to a point that the seat of his pants split rather quickly, his underwear struggling to stretch themselves over his buttocks.

   At the same time the seams of the sides of his pants started to tear apart, his thigh muscles swelling in size. Quads and hamstrings working out in tandem, thickening and bloating with increasing muscle mass. A softness rounded out the ridges as fat accumulation soon followed. And much like his arms, the bones in his legs shifted structure, lengthening and strengthening in order to support his weight better.

   Similar changes were being mirrored beneath his knees, his calves growing larger and pushing up against the leather of his boots. Their swelling pulled against the strings of his footwear, pulling at them and effortlessly snapping them. Thick hairs also grew plentiful around his legs as well.

   His boots were already pretty tight but as the final swath of changes reached his feet his footwear was pushed to its limit. The toecaps bulged, his toes pushing up to them as his feet grew even larger. He could feel pressure in his nails, no doubt them gaining the same dull claw feature as his fingernails. His soles itched, hardening with calluses and etching with scars. It wasn't long before his boots finally gave way, feet bursting out of them, crawling out the fractured brown leather and feeling the chill of the air. Dense, curly hairs grew upon the back of his feet as well.

   The remains of his boots easily slipped off as Argent started stumbling around again. He wasn't acclimated to this weight, this size. His pants tore against his moving legs, the sleeves of his shirt tearing apart as well. His uniform was in tatters at this point.

   His footsteps are heavy on the wooden floorboards of the bedroom. His mind races as he begins to realize only one part of his body is left unchanged. His head…

   "Here…" Roland says as he walks towards the worried hunter. Sharpening his claws, he grips onto Argent's undershirt and tears off a large chunk of it. He does the same to the hunter's overcoat, but leaves the trenchcoat on. "Consider this an exoneration of your sins, best hunter of the guild."

   Now Argent's newly formed, hairy chest and belly were mostly visible to the world. "That's a body I like…" Roland whispers lustfully.

   Argent lets out a shuddered breath, but tries to put up a front. "B… big mistake…"

   "I think the only one who's made a mistake here is you." Now Roland is the one with the cocky smile. Despite Argent's new height, towering over Roland by a little less than a foot, Roland doesn't seem to care. He doesn't seem to care that Argent could go toe to toe with him on equal footing. He doesn't care about anything at all. Instead, he embraces Argent in a hug, nestling his head into the hunter's burly chest. 

   "Wh- what the fuck are you doing-" Argent says with a literal growl escaping his throat. 

   Roland only gives him a single response. "Your voice is so deep. So sexy…"

   Argent's chest warmed at the… the compliment? What the…

   One of Roland's hands starts to slip downward, trailing down the larger man's spine. It's soft. It's sensual. It's…

   "Your heart is beating faster," Roland starts. "I can smell it off you as well. You can sense it too, yeah?"

   Argent just swallowed a lump in his throat. "I… I…"

   Roland's hand then dashes upwards and onto Argent's head. He begins to ruffle the man's hair. "Why don't we speed this up. Go on, hunter. Give in. Well, you won't be a hunter anymore after this…"

   Argent shuddered, but he was finding it hard to be afraid. He doesn't want to admit it, but he's… enjoying it. "Nngh, must… resist…"

   It became hard to do so, though. Argent's ears started to sharpen to a point, shifting in structure to become more triangular. Lupine. They pulled upwards and after a few seconds sat atop his head. Brown fur practically covered them in an instant after that. Roland then repositioned his hand and… started scratching behind one.

   "You love this, don't you Bertie…"

   "Mmph… yeah…" Argent's cheeks flushed. "W-wait, no… can't… nngh…"

   "Stop resisting," Roland uses his strength to grip Argent's body closer. His head positions itself to look at Argent's face. "Don't you feel it? Everything finally kicking into gear?"

   Argent's face itched, and from this itch came longer stubble. His previously light stubble grew longer, curling in on itself and getting denser. Thick hairs grew into a mustache above his lip. Thicker hairs conglomerated into a beard. Even after forming a beard it seemed to get thicker, denser, longer and fluffier. It has the same fur-like density as his chest hair, it had the same coloration and scale of grayness to it. It was a beard that felt so… so fluffy…

   "My… head's hurtin'..." Argent says. His voice seems to lower more, a husky tone gaining prominence than it did before. Roland then stops scratching his ear in order to reposition the hand under his chin and scratches that instead, stimulating the beard fur and his mind.

   "A good scratch always makes you feel better, Bertie." Roland's voice seems so filled with fondness.

   "That's not my…"

   "Oh but it is," Roland interrupts. "Bertolf Forrester."

   Argent's head slumps at the sound of the name. It sounds so… good. Proper. Correct.

   His head starts to restructure, face growing wider and rounder, cheeks filling with fat as it becomes squishier. His nostrils flare up as his nose expands, rounding out. His youthfulness also starts draining, skin gaining age as it gets rougher and older. Signs of aging crept besides his eyes and mouth, circulating around his face. His eyebrows become thicker. His eyes become a little wider. He goes from looking like a cocky young adult to a friendly older man. 

   His age has been shot up; twenties, thirties, fourties. His face, his body, settles at being in his early fifties with small amounts of gray etching into the hair on his head. As for the remainder of the hair on his head; the dirty blonde changes shade into a deep brown. The fringe style of it shortens, follicles twisting as it becomes a shorter, curlier style.

   "K…keep goin'..." the now older man whispers, almost pleasured by this.

   "Feeling any better, Bertie?"

   "I…" Argent squeezes his eyes. "I can't… I need to…"

   In a second the positions of Roland's hands switch. One remains around the body of Argent, but the other switches back to behind him and moves downwards to his butt. Roland then gives it a firm squeeze. "Let. It. All. Go."

   Argent begins to slump, something possessing him as his back arches and his face grows closer to Roland's. Resistance is getting harder. That urge to give in increases with each act Roland does to him. He wants to hate the werewolf but something in his mind was preventing him. He's getting filled with affection for Roland. To…

   A part of him tries to escape one final time. A futile attempt to pull away, but he finds himself confused. He finds his entire sense of self confused. Why is he… why is he so afraid? Why doesn't he want to give in? What stops him from giving in?

   Something shifts within him. He begins to move closer, his fears subsiding rapidly. Technically, his whole identity subsides. Years of hunting and killing unjustly. Years of satisfaction at the sight of bloodshed. They are washed out of his mind in an instant. The only hunting he seems to care about is going out into the forest and looking for a good deer to slay.

   His eyes snap away from Roland's, he looks to where his… weapon was meant to be. He doesn't know what to expect, but he finds a weird conglomeration of wood and metal that seems to be growing larger. It looked less like whatever it used to be. It looked like an axe.

   Something on his body shifts as well. Tightness alleviating, material getting slightly more comfortable. He doesn't look, but part of him knows what's happening.

   The bottom of his trenchcoat slinked upwards until it nestled at his hips. The buttons of it shifted from metal to plastic, growing slightly smaller. The material softens, thinning out into something more cottony and casual. Then there's the coloration, dull brown becoming a red, gaining a pattern as bold red lines of various shades criss-crossed around the new material giving it a plaid look. The trenchcoat's collar shrinks as it's lapel dissipates, and the collar itself folds downwards into a different kind of collar. He can feel shreds of clothing slink away from his arms as well, his new flannel being given a torn sleeve look.

   His pants are the only other article of clothing that shifts. Size altering to fit his new meaty legs, deep brown shifting into a dark blue. The material hardened as it altered, becoming denim as multiple pockets seemed to fade into the material with only two front pockets and two back ones staying. The bottoms of the new jeans wear and shred, the denim clearly having gone through many arduous experiences. All that remains is a belt, one of the only ones that remained on his body slithering around it and nestling around the loops of his jeans. It remains unbuckled, and the jeans unbuttoned. 

   Shreds of his former clothing still do remain, though, but all of the significance of them fades. All Argent can think of is Roland, love welling up within the man. 

   Roland uncups the man's butt and lifts his hand to the back of Argent's head. "Let's finish this…" he says with a smirk as he begins to lower Argent's head to his own. After a few seconds of leaning in…

   Their lips finally touch.

   Bertolf's eyes flitter as his head is filled with memories. New information was given to him at a rapid, near instantaneous pace. His life as a lycanthrope, his job as a lumberjack. Everything associated with that as fifty two years of information was shoved into his mind. His personality was altered, his emotions were altered. Everything was becoming this new being, the former monster hunter being erased completely from the mind of this man. This continues for a minute. And in that minute, everything is set in stone within Bertolf. 

   They then break away, both participants breathing heavily.

   Bertolf takes a few moments to take everything in, but once he comes to his senses he speaks. "Wh… what was I talkin' 'bout again?"

   Roland shrugs. "I don't think it'll matter."

   Bertolf tilts his head, a brow raising, but doesn't question it. With a deep laugh he says, "Can't even remember what we were doing!"

   He then takes a few steps back and looks around. "The heck happen to the window? And why do I smell… silver…"

   Roland just walks closer to him. "While you were out I had a little skirmish with an intruder. They were dealt with rather quickly, though…"

   Bertolf eyes Roland. "Rolly, please don' tell me ya' killed 'em."

   Roland rolled his eyes. "No, no! Just gave him a good bite. You know I hate the taste of human blood anyway."

   "Yuh, yuh, you always say that. Good thing it ain't a full moon or you woulda made a powerful new enemy, heh."

   Roland just nods before his stomach growls. One of Bertolf's ears flick at the sound, the man smiling. "Ough, guess someone's hungry!" 

   "Yup."

   "Then I'll start preppin' dinner! Should have some leftover deer meat in the freezer."

   "Heh, you always make the best deer, Bertie."

   "Awh, thank ya!"

   Bertolf takes a few steps, but stops when he notices his trusty axe on the ground. He picks it up and eyes it, sniffing an unfamiliar smell from it. "That guy who snuck in here tried to use this as well, huh?"

   Roland took a few seconds to come up with a response. "Yyyep. Shot- I mean, sliced my arm pretty good."

   Bertolf questions the legitimacy for a moment, noticing the lack of blood on the axe's blade, but chooses to ignore it. Turning around he heaves the axe onto his shoulder and smiles. "I'll find a better place to put this then. For now though: deer!"

   The older man then leaves the bedroom, ideas running around for how to prep dinner. Roland can hear an exasperated sigh as his husband enters the living room, presumably noticing the mess he made in there earlier. With a soft chuckle he says something before Bertolf could comment. "Sorry about the living room by the way! Things got feisty."

   "And I thought it was only us who got feisty in here!" Bertolf yells back, then follows up his comment with a deep laugh. It fills Roland with warmth. Amorous warmth.

   Tenseness drains from him as he truly calms down. He looks around at the bedroom. Glass shards strewn across the floor, blood pooling near and on the bed. Both are going to be bitches to clean.

   He then eyes a single hole on the floor, nose scrunching up as he smells the atrocious odor of silver. He walks over it and bends down, unsheathing his claws and digging them into the hole. He pulls out a single silver bullet.

   "We both took a gamble here. Seems like you were the one that lost."

   He stands back up and begins to saunter towards the door threshold. He deposits the bullet in one of the few things that remained upright in the room, a small trash can beside the doorway, and then walks out.

   His plan was successful. It likely won't be one that would be repeatable, but it was successful nonetheless. He managed to take down one of the most prolific hunters in the guild. The very thought made him shiver with pride. Spells like the one he used were always unpredictable, and that was if they even worked. He's not sure what he expected as a result, but a new husband was at the very least a desirable option.

   He peers into the kitchen, his golden eyes watching Bertolf pull a slab of deer meat out the freezer and stare at it in thought. The man was ignorant of who he was. Who his ideals used to be. Who his allegiance used to be to. 

   Was this result too much of a reward for the acts he committed? Maybe it was. But does it matter? Argent Chandler is just a faded entity now. Gone from this world. In his stead was someone better. Someone loving, someone caring.

   Roland inhales, then exhales. Then smiles. Loneliness is long forgotten now. He has someone he loves, and someone who loves him back, and…

   And there was no taking that from him now.

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

Mission No° 479: October 31, 20XX

Target Name: Roland Forrester

Agent On-Call: Agent No° 47 ~ Argent Chandler

Status of Mission: Unfulfilled [ICED]

Date of Icing: December 1, 20XX

 Reason of Icing: Agent No° 47 (Argent Chandler) was dispatched to take out the target at roughly 11pm on the date shown. His last message to any other agent was at 11:32pm. Since then he has gone missing for roughly a month. Agent No° 52 (Mariana Gigan) was dispatched to the location fifteen days after Agent No° 47's disappearance with the intent to locate a possible body. All she found was a cabin with two noticeable lycanthrope members. She did not engage and instead left unnoticed.

It should be noted that the cabin was stated to only have one inhabitant until fairly recently. We theorize that the original lycanthrope in question (Roland Forrester) managed to conduct a turning that seemed to shift Agent No° 47 in a different manner than usual. We are unsure how such an occurrence could happen, nor do we wish to investigate it unless we are prompted to by an orderer. As a result this case is now iced and will not be reopened further_

#character tf #transformation #human tf #bara tf #weight gain tf #male transformation #tf

[skylermadness]

Was looking through some folders and found some sketches I was doing two months back while trying to teach myself facial structures and stuff in regards to TF. I haven't done much drawing since, and I still have a lot to learn, but I still wanted to share some of them on some sites because why not.