comaandot

[comaandot]

Hi everyone. I'm back, for now. Still experimenting to see how big I can get guys to grow. Sorry about the dizzying camera movement though.

[comaandot]

Beast-out boy

[comaandot]

Gotta love this thick and cocky jock

[comaandot]

Spidey to an arrogant cop

Spider-Man -> Cop

Being a webslinger all day might be great for your public relations but makes your local PD very mad. It's easy for Superhumans, they can move faster than a train or punch harder than a bullet, but these men risk their lives.

That resentment led to the PD taking drastic action, taking in Spidey and giving him a make-over, mixing the collective essence of everyone in the PD. Now you're left with Officer Warrens. Hopefully he'll bring all the public relations that Spidey had.

[comaandot]

Hey recently come across your stuff great work how about wolverine is transformed into a cigar gentleman or silver fox businessman

Wolverine -> Silver Fox CEO

A big name corporation making millions in profits on its first day is already suspicious, but then on their next day they invite Superheroes for private meetings with their board of directors only for them to go missing? No we have a smoking gun.

Investigating the HQ, Logan finds an expensive cigar simply left around. Normally more cautious, the sheer lavishness of the cigar meant he wanted to enjoy it quickly.

After taking in the smoke and sheer capital excess, it seems his mind has changed on the Corporation's policy, and that he should enjoy the benefits and amenities of being an Ultra-Wealthy CEO.

[comaandot]

Wolverine -> Slime Werewolf

The scent of pine and damp earth filled Logan's nostrils, a familiar comfort in the ancient forest. He moved like a shadow, every muscle coiled, every sense alert. Suddenly, a sickeningly sweet odor, alien and cloying, assaulted him. A dark, viscous mass erupted from the undergrowth, moving with unnatural speed.

"What the...?" Logan barely had time to snarl before the living goo slammed into him. It was cold, clinging, and immediately began to seep into his pores, under his skin. His healing factor screamed, fighting the invasion, but this was different from any toxin or wound he'd ever encountered. It wasn't just attacking; it was merging.

The symbiote, a cousin to Venom in its hungry intelligence, began to constrict, reshaping him. His claws, already extended, felt alien, the bone-deep vibration replaced by a new, primal thrum. A guttural growl ripped from his throat, not entirely his own. The brown, shifting mass pulsed, forming coarse fur, elongated snout, and pointed ears. His vision blurred, then sharpened, colors more vibrant, shadows deeper.

Panic warred with a terrifying exhilaration. His adamantium skeleton felt like a cage, his human form a distant memory. The forest floor, once just dirt, now teemed with a thousand scents, a thousand whispers. He was bigger, stronger, faster. A beast. The symbiote had not just bonded; it had unlocked something dormant, something feral within him.

He threw back his head, a howl tearing through the quiet night. It was a sound of rage, of power, and of a terrifying, new freedom. Wolverine was gone. In his place stood a towering, brown-furred werewolf, eyes glowing with an unholy light, ready to hunt. "So much better." he hissed to the night, finally with a host that cannot contain it's appetites.

[comaandot]

Captain America -> Saiyan Warrior

The Saiyans were dying out and desperate measures needed to be taken. The humans seemed to be similar to a Saiyan in appearance, and choosing only the very strongest of the humans, they captured Captain America.

The first sensation was cold, a pervasive, clinging chill that seeped into his very bones, far deeper than any Arctic ice. Then came the throbbing ache, a dull drumbeat behind his eyes that slowly sharpened into a searing pain. Steve Rogers, Captain America, tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt impossibly heavy, glued shut by an unseen force. He was floating, suspended in something viscous, something that hummed with a low, resonant frequency.

A faint, sickly purple light filtered through his closed lids, painting the inside of his mind in shades of bruised plum. He struggled, a primal instinct to break free overriding the lingering disorientation. His limbs, however, were sluggish, unresponsive. Panic, a rare visitor to his disciplined mind, began to claw at him. Where was he? What was this?

Finally, with a monumental effort, his eyes fluttered open. The world was a blur of distorted purple. He was encased in a massive glass tube, its curved surface magnifying and twisting the sterile laboratory around him. Wires, thick as his thumb, snaked from the tube’s base, disappearing into complex machinery that pulsed with the same ominous light. And the liquid… it was thick, shimmering, and a deep, unsettling violet, completely engulfing him. It tasted metallic, yet sweet, and burned with a strange, internal fire.

Then, the transformation began. It wasn't gradual. It was a sudden, violent surge, as if every cell in his body had been ignited simultaneously. A jolt, like a million volts, ripped through him. His muscles, already peak human, began to swell, stretching his uniform to its absolute limit. The fabric, designed to withstand incredible stress, groaned and tore, first at the seams, then in ragged rents across his chest and shoulders. He watched, horrified, as his biceps bulged, veins cording like ropes beneath his skin. His shoulders broadened, his neck thickened, and his chest expanded, pushing against the confines of the tube.

The purple liquid swirled around him, reacting to the tempest raging within. Bubbles, the size of his fist, erupted from his skin, carrying away what felt like layers of his old self. His golden hair, began to stiffen and change. A primal scream tore from his throat, muffled by the liquid as a black creeped down across the golden locks. Flailing, his head made contact with the reinforced glass and a flash of white covered his vision. When the light subsided, his hair stood on end, a defiant ebony black.

But the physical changes were only the prelude. As his body mutated, so too did his mind. The pain, initially overwhelming, began to morph into something else – an exhilarating rush, a potent, intoxicating power. Memories, once cherished anchors, began to fray at the edges. His oath to protect the innocent? A quaint notion. His unwavering moral compass? A weakness, a burden. The faces of his friends, of Peggy, of Bucky… they flickered, losing definition, becoming indistinct shadows in the face of this burgeoning, glorious strength.

A new hunger ignited within him, fierce and all-consuming. Not for justice, not for peace, but for conflict. For the clash of titans, the roar of battle, the thrill of absolute dominance. The Saiyan within him, dormant for so long, had awakened, shedding the skin of the noble soldier. Captain America, the symbol of hope, was dying, replaced by a being of pure, unadulterated power, driven by an insatiable lust for combat.

He slammed a newly massive fist against the glass, not out of panic, but out of sheer, unbridled impatience. The reinforced material groaned, spiderweb cracks spreading outward like a lethal web. Another punch, imbued with power that would have leveled a building, and the tube shattered with a deafening explosion of glass and purple liquid.

He landed on the cold, metallic floor, droplets of the viscous fluid clinging to his blackened hair and newly ripped physique. His bare feet thudded against the ground, each step shaking the very foundations of the lab. Scientists, who had been observing his transformation were grinning each to ear, sharing the same black locks as their test subject.

The shield, his iconic shield, lay discarded in a corner, a relic of a past he no longer recognized. He glanced at it, a flicker of something akin to disdain crossing his burning eyes. It was a toy, a crutch for the weak. He had no need for such trivialities now. He was power incarnate. He was the Saiyan. And the galaxy, whether it knew it or not, was about to feel how great it felt to be one.

(This story was inspired by a post by @writer-ofstuff)

[comaandot]

Captain America -> Saiyan Warrior

Alt pictures:

This one was definitely much harder to do, but I was adamant on making it work.

[comaandot]

Captain America --> Werewolf

It was a hard fought fight, the Captain felt terrible. More drained than he'd ever been in his life but he escaped. It gnawed at him, how the beast seemed to let him escape. Now he sees why, and even as he calls out, the call of his pack is louder and all he can think is joining them and how free he feels for the first time in his life.

[comaandot]

Hi! Id love to see Captain America become an all American Surfer bro!

Your work has been really good! I constantly find myself scrolling through!

Captain America -> Surfer bro

The heat really has been a scorcher, and when heading to the beach you better pack appropriately.

A problem the good Captain found out when heading down to a beach in Florida only for the copious amounts of sun, skin and general bro-ishness gets to you and you find yourself ready to start surfing with the bros.

Looks like Cap's found his activity for the summer, though going by how dim he's become, maybe he'll have to stay.

(Thanks! I appreciate the kind words!)

[comaandot]

Spider-Man -> Venom

(As requested by many!)

The first whisper was a chill, a subtle tremor beneath his skin. Peter Parker, mid-swing through the concrete canyons of Manhattan, felt it – a strange, almost pleasant hum that vibrated through his bones. His spider-sense, usually a frantic alarm, was muted, confused. It wasn't danger, not exactly. It was… presence.

He swung down into an alleyway, adamant in figuring out the ominous feeling, no different than when a Storm approaches or when someone you know dies.

A tendril, thin as a shadow, snaked around his wrist. Caught momentarily off-guard, he quickly realised who it was. Who it must be. Only one person didn't trigger his Spidey-sense. Getting a good look, he saw... "The Symbiote!" he yelled, more in surprise of seeing it without its usual host, amorphous with him. It wasn't long before it had its slimy tendrils on him.

"Not this again!" he groaned in exasperation. He knew how to fight off the symbiote. It was simply wasting its time... or so he'd thought. From first contact, something immediately felt wrong. It wasn't the same bond it usually tried to make.

His muscles began to ache, a deep, satisfying throb. Not the burn of exertion, but the sensation of something growing. His biceps swelled, his forearms thickening, veins bulging like cords. He watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as his reflection in the window distorted. The lithe, agile form of Spider-Man was becoming… bulkier. More powerful.

A new voice, low and guttural, echoed in his mind. We are stronger. We are faster. We are… hungry.

Peter stumbled back, hitting the wall. "It's already in my head! No! Get out!" he flailed, but the words felt hollow, swallowed by the rising tide of the symbiote's influence. His teeth felt sharper, his tongue longer, tasting the air with an alien keenness. His eyes, normally wide and expressive, narrowed, the white lenses of his mask elongating into predatory slits.

He felt the bonding, aggressive and relentless. It was under his skin, thicker than blood, it pulled directly to his nerves and flooded his brain becoming synapses. This wasn't the usual mental bond, Venom was taking Peter Parker and making him over again.

The mental assault was relentless. Memories, raw and unfiltered, flooded his consciousness. Not just his own, but the symbiote's. A primal hunger for justice, for vengeance, twisted and warped. It fed on his anger, his frustrations, the times he'd held back, the villains who'd escaped. They deserve to suffer. We will make them suffer.

He clawed at his face and chest, but the black material had fused, becoming his skin, "Can't resist! So... strong!". His fingers, now thick and clawed, scraped against the slick surface. The red spider emblem on his chest began to stretch, contorting, becoming a jagged, monstrous white symbol. His jaw ached, his facial structure subtly shifting, becoming more angular, more monstrous.

The world outside his window seemed dull, muted. But the sounds… oh, the sounds were amplified. He could hear the distant cries of a woman in an alley, the frantic beat of a criminal's heart. And the symbiote urged him on. Go. Hunt. Consume.

A cold dread seeped into Peter's core, battling the intoxicating rush of power. He was losing himself. The playful quips, the moral compass, the inherent goodness – they were fading, replaced by a dark, insatiable appetite. His thoughts were no longer his own, but a gruesome duet between his fading humanity and the symbiote's ravenous will.

He felt a profound sense of loneliness, a desperate plea for help, but the symbiote crushed it, replacing it with a chilling sense of self-sufficiency. We don't need them. We are all we need.

A dark warmth spread through him. He wouldn't ever have to be alone again. He had some. They would become someone important. He would have power and control with no responsibility to limit them.

When the figure launched itself from the window, it was no longer Spider-Man. It was a hulking, terrifying silhouette against the moon, a creature of pure, unadulterated rage and hunger.

"Say it" he felt in his brain. "Say it.", and his slasher smile broke, revealing long shark teeth and a crimson, lashing tongue. "We are Venom, now and forever, Spider-Man!", and as the words were spoken, the reality of them was clear.

Spider-Man was gone for good. All there was, was Venom.

[comaandot]

Evan Wuzihao

[comaandot]

Evan Wuzihao

[comaandot]

[comaandot]

Making Up For Lost Time

Within the kitchen of a one-bedroom apartment, an older man nervously paced back and forth, every now and then eyeing a package sitting on a nearby counter.

“I can’t back out now…” He muttered. “It cost a fortune..” He moved over to the sink, splashing some water on his face. “C’mon, don’t be a fucking pussy Vinnie.”

Judging by his classic white T and boxer combo, it must have still been early in the morning. Even then, Vinnie was already starting off the day with a bit of an internal struggle, a great way to start one’s own birthday. As he sat down to wipe his face, his attention moved to the calendar hanging on the wall, with today's specific date taunting him. “HAPPY 55th” was written in bright red marker.

Vinnie never dreaded his birthdays. He celebrated them with flair in fact. Big parties, extravagant dinners, themes that ranged from the ridiculous to the nostalgic. The Magnum P.I. bash for his 46th was among his favorites. That really should have been everyone's first clue that he was gay.

This year was different. The first since his divorce from his wife. The first since coming out to his family.

For thirty years, fear kept him in the closet. Fear of rejection, of losing his family, of throwing away a life built on a lie. While he wasn’t necessarily unhappy all this time, he knew his life wasn’t what it could and should have been. Now he was free to be his true self, but at what cost? His prime years had slipped through his fingers. The bars he frequented were filled with younger men, their lives just beginning while he was starting over.

Hook ups were plentiful, that wasn't an issue. A good deal of young bulls in the city desired a night out with an older man such as himself. "A quick fuck", "one night stand", "friends with benefits", Vinnie would familiarize himself with these phrases very quickly. However none ever wanted a relationship that lasted longer than a night.

Vinnie tried finding men more his age, but that quickly proved to lead no where. The pickings were definitely slim.

As Vinnie looked at the calendar, a feeling ruminated in the pit of his stomach. Did he wait too long? Were his best years all behind him? What sort of life awaited a fresh out of the closet 55-year old man? These questions irked Vinny so much that he had to do something about it. That’s what led him here.

Late night web browsing and half a bottle of pre-birthday wine led Vinnie down a peculiar rabbit hole. An email got delivered to his inbox in the dead of night. Instead of dismissing it immediately, its contents captured his attention. The email knew too much, his name, his regrets, his wish for a second chance. It promised a do-over, all for a hefty price that is. Against all logic he responded. And now, here it was.

Summoning a bit of courage, Vinnie approached the package. It was a hastily wrapped box, scotch tape’d to hell and back, and didn’t look as expensive as he had made it out to be. Opening it up, Vinnie fished through the almost endless sea of packing peanuts until he finally pulled out a tiny glass vial. A note was attached:

"Happy Birthday. Use responsibly."

His hand trembled as he uncorked it, tipping the liquid into the whiskey he had waiting. Vinnie wasn't quite sure what would happen once he drank it. Would it de-age him? Turn back time? Would he find out he'd been scammed? There was only one way to find out. He hesitated for a moment, but afraid of missing another chance at happiness knocked it back in one swift gulp.

The liquid burned as it went down, partly due to the whiskey he figured. As he felt the drink situate in his stomach, he waited for something to happen. Vinnie looked at the bottom of the glass, frowning.

"A thousand dollars down the drain." He pouted.

The effects then took hold. Vinnie noticed a soft glow envelop his hands which eventually spread throughout the rest of his body. He walked over to the mirror, wanting to see what was about to happen with his own eyes.

Suddenly, a strange weightlessness overtook him, as if he were being untethered from his own body. His limbs tingled, the edges of his vision blurred. Feeling unsteady, he reached to place his hand against the mirror, but he was shocked to see his hand pass right through it.

“What the hell?”

Panic surged. He stumbled forward, phasing completely through both the mirror and wall and finding himself on the other side in his bedroom. He'd find himself still moving however, not by his own will, but as if something unseen was pulling him forward. Vinnie attempted to fight against this invisible force and for a moment it looked like he was able to stand his ground. That was until this force became too much for him to bear.

His stomach lurched as he drifted through another wall, this time into the neighboring apartment.

Roberto’s apartment.

Vinnie barely knew his neighbor beyond the muffled sounds that came through the thin walls they shared. Heavy metal, loud action movies, the occasional passionate night with a woman. Few words were ever spoken between the two, yet Vinnie still had a good idea of who he was. He was young, mid-20s, full of life and energy. Everything Vinnie was not.

Then Vinnie saw him, standing at the bathroom sink, unaware. The pull intensified. It was Roberto whom Vinnie was being pulled towards, like a black hole. He tried to resist, but it was useless. His very essence surged forward, colliding with Roberto’s body in an instant, a quick flash filling the room in that moment. Vinnie was gone. A deep, guttural grunt left Roberto’s lips as his body jerked.

Vinnie gasped.

He was hunched over the sink, breathless, gripping the porcelain with unfamiliar hands. His hands. Roberto’s hands. Slowly, he lifted his head. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t his own.

Dark, messy hair. A short beard framing strong cheekbones. Tattoos etched into tan, youthful skin. His ears were pierced, his body lean and firm beneath the black tank top and tight shorts Roberto had worn.

Vinnie turned his hands over, flexing his fingers, watching the muscles shift beneath the skin. He pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the steady, strong heartbeat. His heartbeat.

He ran his hands over his face, mapping the new terrain, the sharpness of the jaw, the fullness of the lips. He contorted his face into strange expressions, expressions he'd never seen Roberto make, and was surprised when the reflection followed suit.

His hands drifted lower, skimming down his torso, tracing the contours of his abs. He pulled the tank top down, getting clearer look at his pecs, decorated with a bit of dark chest hair. His breath hitched.

“This… this is real.” He smirked, and the reflection smirked back.

Vinnie murmured, rolling his shoulders, testing the newfound flexibility of his joints. There was no ache, no stiffness. Just boundless energy.

Roberto must had just gotten back from a morning run. His shirt was soaked his sweat. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Roberto’s cologne mixed with the musk emanating from his pits. Almost by instinct, Vinnie lifted up his arm and admired himself in the bathroom mirror.

Vinnie exhaled, gripping the edge of the sink again, his mind racing. This is not what he expected to happen. He thought the magical drink would turn back the years, make him younger. Instead he was pulled into the body of the nearest young man around.

And what of Roberto? Was he still in here somewhere? Vinnie's jubilation halted as he started feeling the gravitas of his situation. As much as he wanted to start life anew, live out the rest of his life the way he wanted to, he knew he couldn't do it without the guilt of what he did hanging over him.

"Vinnie, you need to set it right." The words flared with a deep Latin accent.

Vinnie had to get back to his own body, and give Roberto back the life he inadvertently stole. The first step in doing that was determining where that package came from.

[comaandot]

Superman