damienwoodhouse

[damienwoodhouse]

[damienwoodhouse]

[damienwoodhouse]

[damienwoodhouse]

[damienwoodhouse]

[damienwoodhouse]

[damienwoodhouse]

Game Changer

It was a crisp autumn afternoon in the heart of Texas, where the Friday night lights shone down on the roaring crowd of Clearview High School. The championship game was just a few days away, and the team’s star linebacker, Brick “The Tank” Thompson, was at the center of the action. Brick wasn’t just known for his bone-crushing tackles—he was infamous for something far more sinister. His farts.

Not just any farts. Not the kind that made people wrinkle their noses in mild discomfort. No, Brick’s farts were a different breed. They were biochemical weapons disguised as bodily functions. It was said that a single whiff could cause memory loss, temporary blindness, and an intense craving for cheap gas station hot dogs.

Brick had always used his “gift” sparingly, saving it for pranks or moments when he needed his personal space in the locker room. But on this particular day, something truly bizarre was about to unfold.

At the other end of the field, stretching by the bleachers, were two new recruits: Jason and Ethan. The two had just transferred from a rival school, and while they weren’t exactly football material, Coach Stevens had insisted on giving them a shot.

Jason and Ethan were inseparable. They had been dating for two years, and while they had little interest in sports, they figured joining the team would help them fit in at their new school. But Brick? Brick wasn’t having it.

“Football ain’t for fancy boys,” he muttered under his breath, cracking his knuckles as he watched them from across the field. “It’s about grit. Strength. The art of strategic flatulence.” That’s when he got an idea.

The Plan: Deploy the Stinkbomb

After practice, Brick waited until Jason and Ethan were alone in the locker room, toweling off from a light workout. They had been trying to run passing drills earlier, but their skills were… questionable at best.

Brick stomped into the room, his cleats clicking against the tiles. He had been preparing for this moment all day, consuming a potent cocktail of protein shakes, hard-boiled eggs, and expired chili from the gas station down the street. His stomach was a bubbling cauldron of pure destruction.

He positioned himself between Jason and Ethan, stretching his arms as if he were merely loosening up after practice. Then, with the force of a hydraulic press, he let loose.

PPPPPPPPPFFFFFRRRRRRBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTT!!

The walls trembled. The metal lockers groaned. The overhead lights flickered as the sheer density of the fart warped the very air in the room. Jason and Ethan had no time to react before the first wave of pure, unfiltered biological warfare hit them. The fart seeped into their nostrils like an invading force, burrowing deep into their sinuses, setting fire to every neuron in its path.

Jason staggered back, clutching his face as if he’d just been maced. His mind screamed at him to run, to escape, but his legs felt like concrete. Ethan gagged violently, hands gripping his knees, his stomach lurching. “What… is that?” he choked out, his vision blurring.

It wasn’t just a smell. It was an experience. It had weight, a presence, as though the air itself had thickened and taken on a personality—an aggressive, unshowered personality that drank expired protein shakes and believed deodorant was a government conspiracy.

Jason’s heart pounded in his chest. Something was happening to his brain. Thoughts he had never had before began creeping in, whispering, clawing at the edges of his mind.

Gotta run… gotta—

Then, a second wave hit.

PPPPPPPPPPFFFFFRRRRRRRRRBBBBTTTTTTTT!!!

The sound was inhuman—somewhere between a motorbike stalling out and a bear growling into a megaphone. The air vibrated with the force of it, the sheer density of the gas causing the locker room tiles to groan under the weight of their own suffering.

Jason stumbled, his knees buckling. His head swam. His thoughts were slipping. He tried to hold on—to remember who he was.

“I… I like art,” he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper.

A new voice, deep and stupid, growled back in his head. Nah, bro. You like lifting weights.

Jason gasped, shaking his head violently. “No, I—I like poetry, and, and indie movies with good cinematography.”

The voice laughed, cruel and dumb. Indie movies? What, like game film study?

Jason clawed at his temples. The stench was everywhere. Inside him. Changing him.

Ethan wasn’t doing any better. He had slumped against the lockers, his breathing ragged, pupils dilating as his entire world shattered and reassembled itself into something stupider.

“I love musicals,” Ethan groaned, fighting through the fumes, trying to ground himself in something familiar. But the gas was relentless. It seeped into his memories, corrupting them like a virus.

He thought he remembered sitting in a theater, enjoying a Broadway show… but the image warped. The stage disappeared. The actors were replaced by sweaty, hulking football players slamming into each other at full speed. The dialogue was gone, replaced by grunts and phrases like “GIT SOME, BABY!”

“No…” Ethan whispered in horror. “No, no, no—”

Another voice—deeper, dumber, louder—echoed inside his mind. Bro, what if… instead of musicals… you just watched highlight reels of bone-crushing tackles for three hours straight?

Ethan’s hands gripped his skull. “Stop—stop talking! This isn’t me!”

The new voice sneered. Ain’t about “you” no more, bro. It’s about the team.

Jason twisted on the ground, his body drenched in sweat. “Ethan—we gotta fight it!”

Ethan gasped, his breath ragged. “I—I can’t—I’m—”

Brick stepped forward, hands on his hips, grinning as he watched them writhe in football-induced existential agony.

“You boys holdin’ up okay?” he said, flexing his biceps. “Don’t fight it, man. Just let the game in.”

Jason groaned, his fingers curling into the tiled floor. His chest ached—not in pain, but in something else. His muscles… they were expanding. Tightening. His arms, once slim, were becoming bulky, carved like they had spent years in the weight room.

“No,” he muttered weakly. “No, I—I’m not like this.”

But he was. His fingers twitched involuntarily. He wanted to clench them into fists. He needed to hit something. Ethan gritted his teeth, still resisting, still clinging to the last shards of himself. He tried to recall his love for classical music, for literature, for deep, meaningful conversations. But all he could hear was the sound of whistles blowing. Coaches yelling. Helmet-to-helmet collisions. And farts. So many farts.

BBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRFFFFTTTTTTT!!

His stomach growled. A pressure built deep inside him, something alien, something awful.

Jason’s eyes widened. “Ethan… do you feel that?”

Ethan clutched his gut, shaking his head violently. “No—no, I won’t—I won’t let it—”

His body betrayed him.

PPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFRRRRRRBBBBBTTTTTTTTT!!!

The locker room shook.

Jason’s eyes went wide as the scent hit him. “Bro… that was…”

Ethan gasped, his eyes blank and empty, his mouth hanging open. He knew what had just happened.

It had begun.

Jason felt the pressure growing inside himself too. Something dark and terrible had awoken. His stomach churned, filling with unnatural gases.

No, no, no, NO! he screamed internally.

But the new voice in his head just laughed.

Let it rip, bro.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut. “I—I can’t…”

Brick patted him on the back. “You can, bud. You just gotta let go.”

Jason took a deep breath. His stomach contracted. The pressure built.

And then—

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAOOOOOONNNNNKKKKKK!!!

The sound was unholy. The locker doors rattled. A poster of an inspirational quote fell from the wall. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off.

Jason gasped. He felt… free.

Ethan looked at him, his face slack-jawed, his breathing shallow. “Dude… that was sick.”

Jason grinned. “Yeah… it kinda was, huh?”

Ethan stood up, rolling his shoulders. He no longer felt weak. His arms were huge. His brain, once filled with critical thought, now throbbed with primal urges: Tackle. Sweat. Lift. Fart.

Brick clapped his hands together, beaming with pride. “Welcome to the team, boys.”

Jason and Ethan nodded. They understood now.

Football wasn’t a sport.

It was a way of life.

And so was farting.

BBBBBBRRRRRRRROOOOOOFFFFFFF!!

Jason and Ethan laughed as their stomachs gurgled, ready for more.

They were home.

The night of the big game arrived, and Clearview High had never seen a more aggressive team. Jason and Ethan were now football-obsessed, tackle-hungry machines with no thoughts beyond scoring touchdowns and delivering nuclear-grade farts upon the opposing team.

By the third quarter, the rival team had collapsed on the field, their senses overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of Clearview’s combined stench. Paramedics had to be called. Gas masks were distributed to the referees.

Coach Stevens watched from the sidelines, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what happened to those boys,” he muttered, “but God help us all.”

As the final whistle blew and Clearview secured the championship, Brick, Jason, and Ethan stood together, arms around each other, basking in the rancid fumes of their own creation.

It was the birth of a new dynasty.

A dynasty of brotherhood, football… and farts.

[damienwoodhouse]

The King of The Locker Room

You and Nick were just trying to get out of gym class when it happened. One second, you were walking past the boys’ locker room, and the next, a huge, sweaty arm hooked around both of you, and you spun around to see the culprit.

Topher.

The stinkiest, sweatiest jock in school. The dude whose gym clothes were permanently soaked in sweat, whose socks were rumored to stand up on their own, and whose rank farts had cleared entire hallways. He grinned at you like a caveman who just discovered fire.

“Yo, losers,” he said, flexing one of his thick arms. “Hope you’re ready for a lil’… attitude adjustment.”

Nick stiffened beside me. “What do you want, Topher?”

Topher chuckled. “Relax, bro. Just wanna have a little chat. Why don’t we step inside real quick?” He gestured toward the empty locker room behind him.

Every instinct in me screamed no. I grabbed Nick’s arm. “We should just go.”

But before we could move, Topher lunged. He was too fast, too strong. With one rough shove, he forced us backward into the room. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him.

A thick, muggy heat clung to the air, the scent of sweat, mildew, and something even fouler saturating the space. My stomach churned.

Topher locked the door, grinning. “You know, I always thought it was kinda weird,” he said, stretching lazily. “Nick here? Dude’s got the perfect body for a real jock, but he walks around acting all soft. Clinging to you like some kinda lovesick puppy. That ain’t right.”

I swallowed my growing panic. “Let us go, Topher.”

Topher just smirked. “Nah. I got a way better idea.”

He lifted one foot and kicked off his battered old gym shoe. The second it hit the ground, a wave of sheer, unfiltered stench filled the room. The kind of odor that clings to fabric for weeks, that seeps into skin. A nauseating blend of sour sweat, damp socks, and something rotten.

I gagged.

Nick’s nose wrinkled. “Dude, what the hell—?”

Topher didn’t give him time to react. He picked ip the shoe and lunged, grabbing Nick by the back of his head and shoving his face directly into the open shoe.

Nick yelped, struggling, but Topher was too strong. “Breathe deep, bro,” Topher ordered, his voice dripping with amusement. “Let that manly musk do its thing.”

Nick thrashed at first, his muffled protests turning into weak, pitiful whimpers. His hands balled into fists against Topher’s chest—but then… they loosened. His muscles relaxed. His struggling slowed. His breathing deepened.

“Yeah, that’s it, bro,” Topher cooed, pressing the shoe closer. “Let that jock stink rewire your brain. Nothin’ to think about but gains, protein, and dominating the field, huh?”

Nick let out a weird, dreamy sigh, his arms going limp at his sides. You watched in horror as his whole posture shifted. His back straightened, but in a bro-y kind of way—chest puffed out, arms slightly flexed like he suddenly had a need to show off nonexistent muscles.

“Duuuhhh…” Nick mumbled.

Topher grinned. “Atta boy.”

Then came the changes.

Nick’s arms did start bulking up—his lean frame thickening with heavy muscle. His shirt stretched tighter over broadening shoulders. His legs swelled, filling out his jeans until they looked painted on. A riiiip sounded as his sleeves burst at the seams.

But the worst part? The smell.

A wave of raw, alpha jock stench rolled off of Nick, thick and oppressive. The air grew hot, heavy with the scent of post-workout sweat, funky gym socks, and something ranker—like a fart so toxic it could be bottled as a bio-weapon.

Nick groaned, rolling his shoulders. “Uhhh… my pits feel…powerful.”

Topher laughed. “Hell yeah, bro. Give ‘em a whiff.”

Nick lifted an arm and sniffed. His eyes fluttered again, but this time in pure bliss. “Ohhh dude… that’s ripe,” he rumbled. Then, without hesitation, he shoved his pit in your direction. “Yo, take a whiff, bro!”

You stumbled back. “Nick, what the hell?!”

Topher clapped a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Ain’t no ‘Nick’ anymore, dude. Not the one you knew. You’re just some nerd in his way.”

Nick blinked at you, his dopey grin faltering. For a second, you saw recognition flicker in his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he remembered you.

But then Topher farted.

It was loud. It was wet. It was the kind of fart that could knock a man unconscious.

Nick sniffed the air, his face lighting up like he’d just smelled fresh bacon. “Bruhh, sick rip! Lemme get in on that!”

You could only watch in horror as Nick grunted, clenched his fists, and let out a thunderous, beefy fart that made the walls shake. The air turned so thick with jock-stink you almost blacked out.

BRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPP!!!

Nick turned to you, all traces of your old boyfriend gone.

“Yo, nerd,” he said, his voice now a deep, brainless drawl. “Why’re you still here?”

Topher smirked. “Yeah, dude. Jocks only in this locker room.”

The two of them laughed, bumping chests in a stupidly macho way. The smell of sweat, farts, and raw jock-musk practically swallowed the room. The air in the locker room was thick with sweat, mildew, and something even fouler—a stench so ripe and overpowering it felt like it was sinking into my skin. My stomach churned, my eyes watered, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was Nick.

He stood beside Topher now, broad and muscular, his once-soft features twisted into a cocky smirk. His gym tank was soaked in sweat, clinging to his thick chest. He reeked—his body radiating a toxic cocktail of filthy B.O., old gym socks, and the unmistakable sour stench of a man who hadn’t cared about hygiene in weeks.

And he didn’t recognize me.

The boy I had loved—the boy who used to hold my hand like it meant everything—was gone, replaced by a dumb, sweaty, arrogant jock.

And now Topher and Nick were both staring at me.

“Yeah,” Topher chuckled, cracking his knuckles. “Something still ain’t right, bro.”

Nick nodded, grinning stupidly. “Yeah, dude. This one’s still all… soft. Ain’t right at all.”

Topher turned to me, his smirk stretching wider. “We gotta fix that.”

My heart pounded. I turned to run, but they were too fast.

Nick grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip, way stronger than he should’ve been. I yelled, struggling, but he only laughed.

“Damn, dude, you’re weak as hell,” he taunted, his breath rancid with the stench of protein shakes and bad hygiene.

Topher grabbed my other arm, and together, they forced me back against the cold metal lockers.

“Please,” I gasped, trying to wrench myself free. “Nick, please, you don’t have to do this!”

But Nick just chuckled, his sweat-slicked chest heaving. “The hell are you talkin’ about? I feel great, dude.” He flexed his bicep, grinning. “Been a long time comin’.”

Topher snickered. “Yeah. And you? You’re livin’ a lie.”

I froze. My stomach twisted. “No,” I whispered.

Topher leaned in, his rank musk filling my nose. “You ain’t a girl, dude. You’re just a soft little wannabe. But don’t worry… we’re gonna help you remember what you really are.”

Nick snickered. “A big, dumb, stinky brute, just like us.”

Before I could react, Topher shoved something against my face.

His shoe.

A battered, sweat-drenched, foul gym sneaker, its insides blackened with years of filth, its sole caked with grime.

The second it touched my nose, my entire brain went white-hot with stench.

It was indescribable—like fermented socks, like old, crusty gym gear marinated in sweat, like the very essence of unwashed jock rankness.

I gagged, thrashing, but Topher held me firm.

“Just breathe, bro,” he whispered. “Let it in.”

I gasped—bad idea. The reek flooded my lungs, thick and suffocating, seeping into my very being.

My body jerked. My head spun. My thoughts—so sharp, so clear just moments ago—turned sluggish.

My arms trembled. My legs felt heavy.

Nick grinned. “Oh yeah, dude. It’s workin’.”

A heat spread through me—deep, burning, primal. My skin itched, my muscles twitched, and then—

CRACK.

My shoulders broadened.

I gasped as my frame expanded, bones thickening, muscle ballooning. My clothes tightened, the fabric stretching over my rapidly swelling chest, my arms bulging with new, powerful biceps.

“No,” I moaned, my voice already deeper. “No… this isn’t… me—”

But Topher just laughed. “Oh yeah, bro. It is you. This is who you were always meant to be.”

Nick snickered. “Bet you’re gonna be even bigger than me, dude.”

I shuddered—and then, the smell hit.

My own smell.

A thick, gut-churning wave of pure, unfiltered B.O. rolled off me. Musky. Rancid. So strong it made my own eyes water. The scent of a man who hadn’t showered in days, whose pits stained every shirt he wore, whose sweat was a permanent part of his skin.

The fabric of my hoodie morphed, shifting into a gross, sweat-stained tank top clinging to my hulking frame. My jeans melted into loose, worn-out gym shorts. My sneakers—clean just moments ago—became battered, filthy, caked in years of grime.

I stank.

I reeked.

I let out a shuddering moan, my mind melting in the heat of my own musk.

Topher grinned, ruffling my now-sweaty hair. “Atta boy. Let that filth sink in.”

Nick grinned, slapping me on the back. “Damn, dude, you stink!”

I groaned, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth. I was dizzy—my thoughts were foggy, my brain slow.

Who… who had I been, again?

Something about… being different?

Something about… love?

Nick noticed my hesitation and grinned. “Forgettin’ somethin’, bro?”

Topher leaned in, his smirk filthy. “Yeah. Somethin’ about bein’ all soft? All girly? C’mon, dude. That ain’t you. Never was.”

I…

I tried to hold on to something—some distant memory, some fleeting whisper of another life.

But then Topher pushed me to my knees and Nick turned his back to me, lifted a leg, and let rip the nastiest fart I had ever smelled in my life right into my face.

PFFFFT-PFFT-PFFT-PFFFFFFFFFFFFT!!

It was horrific—a thick, rotten stench that sank into my lungs, that fused into my very being. My eyes rolled back, my mouth went slack, my brain shattered under the stench.

And just like that—

Everything else vanished.

My past. My old name. My old self.

All that remained was heat. Sweat. Stink.

A lazy, brainless smirk tugged at my lips as I took a deep, filthy inhale of my own rank scent.

“Fuuuck, bro,” I groaned, rolling my thick shoulders, my voice now deep, gruff, dumb. “I stink.”

Nick laughed, pulling me into a bro-hug. “Hell yeah, dude! Welcome back.”

Topher clapped me on the back. “Knew you’d come around, man.”

I grinned.

Yeah.

I didn’t know what I’d been worried about before.

This was right.

This was me.

And damn… it felt good to be a stinky jock.

The transformation had been total, irreversible. Whatever I had been before—some soft, weak, confused little nobody—was gone.

Now? I was huge. Ripped. Reeking.

And it felt so damn good.

Topher clapped me on the back, laughing as I let out a deep, content sigh, rolling my thick shoulders. My new gym tank clung to my sweaty chest, soaked in musk. The stench radiating off me was unreal—pure, unwashed jock funk, soaked into my skin like it had always been there.

Nick grinned, shoving me playfully. “Dude, you were holdin’ out on us, huh? Look at you—big, sweaty, dumb as hell.”

I chuckled, the sound deep, rumbling. “Yeah, bro. Feels… right.”

And it did. My head was so empty, my thoughts slow and lazy, but I loved it. No more worrying. No more thinking about stupid stuff like “who I was” or “who I loved.” Nah, man—I was just a big, stinkin’ brute now. A total gym rat, just like my bros.

Topher stretched, lifting his arms—and instantly, a fresh wave of rancid pit stench flooded the air. My eyes watered, but instead of gagging, I breathed deep, my thick chest rising as I took in the pure masculinity.

Nick did the same, groaning. “Bro, that’s rank.”

Topher just grinned, flexing. “Hell yeah, dude. Get used to it. You two are gonna be livin’ in this reek from now on.”

And I loved that.

Topher threw an arm around both of us, his sweaty armpits pressing into the back of our necks. “So, boys—what’s first? Pump some iron? Hit the field? Maybe just hang out here, marinate in our stink for a while?”

Nick laughed. “Dude, let’s gas out the locker room first. Make it so bad no one else can even breathe in here.”

I grinned dumbly, nodding. “Hell yeah, bro. Make this place ours.”

Nick stepped forward, smirking as he lifted a leg. “Lemme start us off right, boys.”

And then—

PPPPPRRRRRRBBBBBBTTTTT

A deep, vibrating fart ripped through the room, thick and toxic. It hung in the air, pungent with protein shake rot, pure jock filth.

Topher and I howled with laughter, fanning the air like idiots.

“Daaamn, bro!” I groaned, my nose twitching as the stench sank into my brain. “That’s nasty!”

Topher grinned, stepping up beside Nick. “Think that’s bad?” He spread his stance, bent low, and—

BRRRRRAAAAWWWWPPPPP!

The floor vibrated from the sheer force. The smell was instant—rotten eggs, sweat, unwashed ass.

I moaned, throwing my head back.

“Hell yeah, bros,” I groaned. “My turn.”

I grunted, clenched, and—

RRRRRRRRIIIIIPPPPPP

A thick, wet, nasty fart blasted out of me, the stench immediate. My brain melted at my own reek, my skin tingling with how rank it was.

Nick wheezed. “Dude! That was foul!”

Topher grabbed me in a headlock, laughing. “Welcome to the team, bro!”

I grinned, my mind buzzing with lazy, dumb bliss.

I belonged here.

I belonged with them.

And from now on?

We were the stinkiest, manliest, dumbest jocks on campus.

[damienwoodhouse]

Game Over: The Twinkening

Chad Dawson was the ultimate jock. Star quarterback, gym rat, and a certified ladies’ man. When he wasn’t crushing it on the field, he was at home, controller in hand, dominating the latest online multiplayer games.

One Friday night, he kicked back in his gaming chair, still wearing his sweat-soaked gym socks from earlier—because why bother changing? He popped open a protein shake, cracked his knuckles, and booted up a mysterious new RPG he had downloaded called “Legends of the Fairy Realm.”

“Weird title,” he muttered, but the game had high ratings, so whatever.

As soon as he pressed START, his screen flashed a blinding neon pink. His controller vibrated violently, sending tingles up his arms.

Then, the room started spinning.

Chad felt his body shrink. His broad, muscled frame deflated, his thick pecs and biceps slimming down into a lean, delicate figure. His baggy gym shorts tightened around his waist, morphing into dangerously short, pastel-colored booty shorts. His tank top shrank into a tight crop top, revealing a smooth, toned stomach.

His once-deep voice cracked and softened into a higher, more playful tone. His rough stubble vanished, leaving behind flawless, glowing skin. His blonde buzzcut grew out into soft, messy locks that fell just over his eyes.

And then—the smell hit.

Chad looked down in horror. His feet, once big and rugged, were now dainty and smooth… but absolutely disgusting. His socks had completely disintegrated, leaving his bare soles exposed. A thick, greenish haze wafted up from them, the stench so foul it made his nose scrunch.

“Dude… no way…” he whimpered.

His feet twitched, sending waves of pure, sour foot funk into the air. The scent was thick, heavy, and eye-watering—like a mix of week-old gym socks, fermented cheese, and pure humiliation.

As if that wasn’t bad enough…

BRRRRRAAAAPPPPP

A deep, wet-sounding fart erupted from his now plump, perky rear, vibrating against his tiny shorts. A toxic green cloud oozed out, swirling into the already rank air.

“Oh my god—was that ME?!” Chad shrieked, his delicate hands clamping over his mouth. His own gas was so thick and potent that his eyes watered.

His room, once the ultimate man cave, now reeked of sour foot stench and devastating farts, the green funk rolling over everything like a poisonous fog.

The TV screen flickered, revealing a message in glowing pink text:

“Congratulations! You’ve unlocked your true form! Embrace the stench, twink!”

Chad screamed as another violent FRAAAAAAAPPPP burst from his rear, completely drowning out his protest.

He had officially lost the game… and his old self.

[damienwoodhouse]

Masculinity’s Mishap

Liam loved his boyfriend, Noah—he really did. Noah was sweet, affectionate, and always up for a cozy night in. But if Liam was being honest with himself… he wished Noah was a little more. More confident, more strong, more manly. Instead of a soft, cuddly boyfriend, he wanted someone who could pick him up effortlessly, work out every morning, and take charge in all the right ways.

So, after some late-night scrolling through dubious forums, Liam found exactly what he was looking for: The Alpha’s Awakening Spell. It was simple—light three red candles, chant a few words, and picture the ideal version of the person in mind. Supposedly, the spell would unlock one’s true masculine energy.

Liam didn’t fully believe it would work, but that didn’t stop him from whispering the incantation that night. A strange warmth filled the air. The candles flickered violently before going out all at once. Liam shivered. Maybe it was just a draft.

The next day, Liam eagerly waited for Noah to come over. When he heard the knock at the door, he practically sprinted to answer it. The moment Noah stepped inside, Liam’s heart skipped a beat. Something was different.

Noah’s stance was wider, his energy more assertive. His face had grown stronger, more traditionally masculine. His usual soft smile was replaced by an easygoing smirk. His shoulders looked broader, though that could’ve been Liam’s imagination.

“Hey, babe,” Noah said, pulling Liam into a rough hug. “Man, I feel amazing today. Like, I got all this energy, y’know?”

Liam grinned. The spell worked!

But before he could celebrate, a loud, unholy PFFFFFTTTTTT erupted from Noah’s direction.

Liam froze.

Noah… laughed. Hard.

“Dude, what was that?” he cackled. “Oh my God, that was gnarly!”

Liam blinked, horrified. “Did you just—”

But before he could finish, Noah burped right in his face.

Liam gagged.

“Oh, man,” Noah wheezed between laughs, holding his stomach. “I swear, that one had layers. I think I taste last night’s mac and cheese.”

Liam’s soul left his body.

The rest of the evening was a disaster. Instead of confidently taking charge in a way Liam had imagined, Noah spent the entire time pushing his newfound masculinity in a completely unexpected direction. He belched between words. He stretched out on the couch with his legs spread obnoxiously wide. At one point, he tried to trap Liam under the blankets after another particularly loud fart, cackling about something called a “Dutch oven.”

Liam wanted to cry. Instead of a strong, gym-loving, responsible boyfriend, he had somehow created a boyish fart machine. At bedtime, Liam curled up as far away from Noah as possible, questioning every decision that had led him here. Meanwhile, Noah lay sprawled out, one arm behind his head, giggling to himself as he tried to burp the alphabet.

The next morning Liam woke up to find Noah nowhere to be found in the bedroom but the lingering stench of his farts still hung in the room. Liam went out to the kitchen to find Noah finishing up a protein shake.

“Morning baby” Liam groggily slurred

All that Noah said in return was “Fart check!” and let out a long squeaking fart as a surprised look spread across his own face.

[damienwoodhouse]

Diego’s Roommate

Cody struggled against the thick ropes binding his wrists to the back of the wooden chair, the coarse hemp cutting into his pale skin. His breathing was ragged, eyes wide and glassy with panic as he stared across the cramped, dim dorm room. The overhead light flickered intermittently, casting Cruz’s broad silhouette in twitching shadows across the walls. Cruz had always been a bit… off. Diego used to joke that his roommate was born in the wrong decade—that if it were up to him, every dorm would be one giant locker room. The guy stank like he bathed in his own sweat and wore it like cologne. Cody never liked him, but he never thought he’d end up like this: restrained and helpless, watching as his boyfriend was dragged toward something unthinkable.

“Let him go,” Cody spat, his voice cracking with desperation. “You don’t have to do this!”

Cruz didn’t even glance back. He stood in front of Diego, who was shirtless and breathing hard, his cheeks flushed with confusion and anger. Diego’s dark curls clung damp to his forehead, and his chest rose and fell like he’d just finished running. He looked scared, but not scared enough. Not yet.

“He’s still got that softness in him,” Cruz muttered, lifting one of his battered soccer cleats and pressing it to his own nose, inhaling deeply like it was the finest cigar. “But don’t worry. We’ll fix that.”

(Cruz)

“Diego, don’t breathe in. Don’t listen to him!” Cody shouted, writhing in his restraints. “You know who you are. You’re not—whatever he’s trying to make you.”

But Diego just stood there, staring at the shoe Cruz held out like it was… calling to him.

“It’s just sweat, man,” Diego mumbled, uncertain, but not pulling away. “It’s just a smell.”

“No,” Cruz grinned. “It’s the smell of manhood.”

He pressed the cleat to Diego’s face with a sudden, aggressive push, and Diego gagged—then coughed. Then inhaled. The change wasn’t immediate. It never was. That’s what made it worse. Cody could only watch, his stomach twisting in horror as Diego blinked slowly, nostrils flaring. His face contorted with disgust for a second—then something changed. His eyes unfocused, the pupils dilating just a bit too wide.

“Smells… strong,” Diego murmured. He tried to shake it off, but Cruz was ready. He pressed the cleat in harder, practically grinding the sole into Diego’s face.

“Breathe deep, bro. Let it in. Let it show you what you really are under all that fake polish. All that weak-ass love-boy crap.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Cody cried. “You’re not like that! You’re kind, you’re smart—”

But Diego had stopped listening. A low, shuddering breath rolled through his lungs, and his body trembled. He tried to pull away, but Cruz grabbed the back of his head and forced it back down into the cleat. The air was thick with the smell of dried sweat, mildew, and aged leather. Diego moaned—but it wasn’t just in discomfort. There was something else beneath it. Something closer to need.

Cruz leaned in, his voice practically a growl. “That’s it. Let that fog in. It’s already starting, isn’t it? The ache in your brain? The way things don’t matter like they used to? You think Cody matters? He’s just noise. What you need—what you are—is something better.”

Diego staggered back, gasping, but he didn’t fall. He stood there, wobbling slightly, eyes unfocused. One hand moved down to his waistband, shifting slightly as if—

No. No. Cody shook his head, tears in his eyes. “Diego, please. Look at me. You love me. Remember?”

For a moment, a flicker of something real sparked in Diego’s eyes. His mouth opened. “Cody… I…”

Then Cruz was there again, shirtless now, his glistening pit shoved right up to Diego’s nose.

“Round two,” he growled. “Go on. Breathe in deep. This is what being a real man smells like.”

Diego froze—then crumpled into it. Cody could only watch as Diego slumped against the wall, his chest heaving, lips parted as if struggling to suck in clean air. But Cruz was already there, one meaty arm curled around his shoulder like a vice, pinning him in place. The scent of his armpit lingered in the room like a thick haze—pungent, musky, and strangely sweet in its rot. Cody’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t just the smell—it was what it meant. That odor was doing something. Twisting Diego, seeping into him.

“You good, bro?” Cruz muttered into Diego’s ear, loud enough for Cody to hear. “Starting to feel it now? That burn in your lungs? That itch in your brain?”

Diego’s voice was hoarse. “It’s… I dunno. I feel hot. My head’s like… fuzzy.”

Cody leaned forward in his restraints, shaking his head. “That’s not you, baby. It’s not real! You’re just being drugged or—brainwashed or something, you have to fight it!”

But Diego didn’t look at him. He looked at Cruz.

“What’s happening to me?” Diego asked, voice trembling.

Cruz grinned, full teeth. “You’re just waking up, hermano. Shedding all that weak, soft crap. That boyfriend. That college-boy future. That tight little guilt you carry around.”

Diego flinched. But he didn’t pull away. Cruz leaned in again, letting a slow, wet drip of sweat slide from his pit down onto Diego’s shoulder. “And you’re gonna let it happen. You’re gonna let go. Bit by bit. You don’t need to think so hard anymore. Just feel.”

Diego’s body twitched. His back arched slightly, like he was stretching against invisible restraints. A sound escaped him—half grunt, half moan. He rubbed the back of his hand across his nose, sniffling. Still breathing it in. His abs flexed—not with effort, but with growth. Cody’s eyes widened. Diego had always been fit, sure—swam in high school, hit the gym casually—but this was different. His stomach twitched again, muscle thickening in slow pulses, veins rising under the skin like roots crawling from under the surface. His lats widened slightly, pushing his arms out just a bit further from his sides.

He stared down at his own torso, eyes wide. “What the hell…?”

“It’s the man-fog, bro,” Cruz murmured, voice like a prayer. “Ain’t just a smell. It’s change. It’s what you were meant to be.”

Cody screamed, voice cracking. “Diego, don’t let it win! That’s not you! You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re not—this!”

Diego flinched again—but he still didn’t look at Cody. His hand dropped to his waistband. Cruz saw it and laughed, low and rough.

“Oh yeah. You’re feelin’ it now.”

Diego swallowed hard. “I feel… weird. Like I wanna… stretch or fight or just… I dunno. Do something.”

Cruz’s grin widened. “Your brain’s getting lighter, isn’t it? No more overthinking. No more feelings. Just sweat, and meat, and need. You’re almost there.”

“I don’t… I don’t wanna hurt him,” Diego muttered, eyes flicking toward Cody just for a moment.

But Cruz was ready. He grabbed Diego’s face and shoved it deep into his pit. This time, Diego didn’t resist. The sound he made was obscene—wet, muffled, like a moan buried in a grunt. His fingers dug into Cruz’s side, clinging there as he inhaled again, and again, and again. Cody turned away, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the room. He wanted to scream, to throw up, to run, but he couldn’t do anything but watch as his boyfriend drowned in the scent. The muscles swelled faster now. Diego’s traps thickened, shoulders bulking outward. His skin glistened with sweat that wasn’t his a moment ago. His jaw clenched, sharpening. The softness in his features—the gentle, thoughtful glow—melted away under a sheen of testosterone-fueled hunger. He was panting when Cruz finally let him go.

Cruz leaned in, brushing a thumb across Diego’s cheek. “You’re gonna forget him soon. That little twink tied up in the chair? He’s just background noise now. You don’t date guys, bro. You don’t even like ‘em.”

Diego’s voice was different now. Thicker. Slower. “Nah, man… I don’t—” He shook his head. “I don’t swing that way.”

His eyes flicked to Cody. And for the first time…They weren’t eyes of love. They were eyes of confusion. Disgust.

“Why’s he tied up?”

Cody’s breath caught in his throat.

Cruz chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, bro. He’s just someone you used to know. Before you woke up.”

Diego nodded slowly. “Yeah… before I got fuckin’ real.”

Cody’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t speak anymore—not because he didn’t want to, but because the words wouldn’t come. His throat was raw from screaming, and no matter how much he begged, pleaded, or cried, Diego kept slipping further away. And now… now Diego was laughing.

“Bro, what the hell,” Diego grunted, holding his arms out and flexing. His voice was lower now—rougher, almost sluggish—and when he looked down at himself, it was like he didn’t recognize his own body, but didn’t care. “I feel jacked, dude. This shit’s wild.”

“You’re becoming you,” Cruz said, standing behind him, one hand on Diego’s shoulder like a proud sculptor admiring his work. “The real you. The one who doesn’t give a single fuck about anything except lifting, smashing, and stinking up the world.”

Diego snorted. “Yeah, man. I feel, like… free or something.”

Then Cruz grinned—and shoved Diego down, forcing him to his knees on the floor.

“You’re not done yet, bro,” he said, turning around and tugging down the waistband of his shorts. “You’ve still got the last piece to inhale.”

Cody’s eyes went wide. “Don’t—please, don’t—”

But it was already too late. Cruz hunched over slightly and ripped one—a deep, slow, bubbling fart that hissed out of him like a leaking gas valve, thick and sulfuric.

PFFFRRRBBBSssssssssst

The sound was disgusting, but it was the smell that hit the room like a war crime. Cody gagged instantly, jerking against the ropes. It smelled like fermented protein, swamp rot, and something sourer. Rancid. Diego twitched on the floor. His nose wrinkled—but instead of recoiling, he leaned forward. And breathed.

“Duuude,” he groaned. “That’s so rank.”

Cruz let another one out, louder this time, right into Diego’s face. “Yeah, man. Drink it in. This is what alpha really smells like. Raw. Brutal. Unfiltered.”

Diego moaned—and his body shuddered. The change kicked into overdrive. His neck thickened, veins pulsing just under the skin. His jaw cracked and widened, growing meatier. He scratched at his pecs as they ballooned, sweat soaking through his skin. His abs were now fully formed bricks, deep and grooved. A trail of dark hair snaked down his stomach. Then came the shift lower. Diego’s groin twitched—and then bulged. His crotch strained against his underwear, a visible wet spot forming as the musk worked its way deeper into him. He groaned again, louder, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Goddamn, my cock’s like… heavy, bro,” Diego slurred, dumbfounded. “And it reeks.”

Cruz laughed. “Yeah it does. That’s manhood, bro. Cheese it up. You ain’t some soft little boyfriend anymore. You’re a freakin’ jock beast. You stink like a god now.”

Diego’s face twisted. Something inside him cracked—and Cody could almost see it.

“What’s a guy doing tied up in our room anyway?” Diego asked, scratching his balls through his boxers. “That’s, like… gay or something.”

Cody’s heart shattered. He stared into Diego’s eyes—and saw nothing left of the man he loved. No recognition. No softness. Just heat, hunger, and haze.

“Please remember me,” Cody whispered. “You’re not… this. You were never this.”

Diego snorted, rising to his feet with a stretch, his pits now reeking on their own. He turned to Cruz. “Yo, let’s hit the gym after this. I’m, like, amped. Might blow out my back doin’ squats or some shit.”

Cruz slapped him on the back. “Atta boy.”

Then, casually, he ripped another fart—wet this time—and Diego laughed. Like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Like it was home.

Cody’s chest heaved in shallow, panicked breaths. He didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his face anymore. His wrists burned from the ropes, his lungs ached from the choking stench lingering in the room—but nothing hurt more than what he saw in Diego’s eyes. Nothing. Not even the way Diego smirked now. That same crooked smirk Cody used to find charming after long nights in bed. But now it was warped—emptied. The smirk of a man who no longer remembered why Cody ever mattered.

“Yo,” Diego grunted, flexing and sniffing his own pit, face twisting in satisfied disgust. “We can’t just leave the twink like that, bro.”

Cruz leaned back against the desk, arms folded, his own sweat-streaked chest rising and falling with lazy breaths. “Nah. That’d be cruel, right?”

He turned his head slowly, locking eyes with Cody.

“But not turning him?” Cruz grinned. “Now that would be cruel.”

“No,” Cody croaked, struggling again, more desperate than ever. “Please. I’m not like you. I don’t want this.”

Diego crouched beside him, still shirtless, drenched in testosterone-soaked sweat. The scent rolled off him like heat. His shorts were tented—he didn’t care. His grin stretched wider as he leaned in close, bringing that overwhelming stink with him.

“You’re gonna love it, bro,” Diego said, voice thick and sloppy. “You just need to… breathe it in. Like I did. Shit changed my life.”

“Changed you,” Cody spat, his voice breaking. “Killed you.”

But Diego just laughed and yanked the chair—and Cody—closer to the bed with a screech of wood on tile. Cruz was already waiting, one leg up on the mattress, arms lifted behind his head. His pit hair was soaked, glistening, the reek curling in the air like visible fog.

“You know what to do, Diego,” Cruz said. “Wake your bro up.”

Cody thrashed, screaming now, tears and snot smeared down his face as Diego climbed up behind him, locking him in place with thick, muscular arms. His sweat dripped onto Cody’s neck, into his shirt collar. It burned like acid.

“Don’t fight it,” Diego breathed. “It’s so much easier when you let go.”

Cruz stepped forward—and shoved Cody’s face right into his pit. The scent was instant. Like a punch to the soul. Thick, rancid, hot. It had weight, like Cody was being smothered by the very essence of rot. It filled his sinuses, coated his throat, burned into his lungs. His mind reeled. It was so wrong. So foul. So intimate in the most degrading way. He coughed, gagged—but Diego held him tighter. Another shove. Another breath. And the edges of his thoughts began to curl like paper near fire.

“You smell that?” Cruz grunted, voice smug. “That’s the new you. That’s what real life smells like. Not perfume and feelings. Just funk. Just man.”

“Y-you… can’t…” Cody whimpered.

But the fog was already in him. Cruz farted—loud, wet, toxic—and the wave of stink hit Cody hard. His legs kicked instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. The gas was in his mouth, behind his eyes, changing him. His brain screamed—but the scream got quieter. His skin tingled. His chest itched. Something stirred in his groin.

Diego leaned in, whispering, “Feels good, huh? Bet you’re already feelin’ your cock growin’. Gettin’ ripe. Jockified.”

Cody moaned—no. Whimpered. He didn’t want to enjoy it. But the scent kept pressing in, pounding at every barrier inside him like a hammer made of rot and sweat and dominance. Then he felt it.His abs flexed. Not much. But more than before. A faint ridge. A twitch in his biceps. His thighs clenched, tingling as if blood was rushing to places it hadn’t before.

“First pump’s always the best,” Cruz said, smirking down at him. “Now let’s blow the rest of your brain out.”

He turned, stuck out his ass, and let it rip.

PPPPFFFFRRRRBBBTTTTT

Cody’s scream turned into a gasp. And then…A groan. His eyes rolled back. And the first real crack in his identity appeared.

Cody was sweating. Not from exertion—but from exposure. From absorption. His pores were screaming, wide open, trying to fight back against the flood of rancid stink that was seeping into him from every angle. The room was a sauna of testosterone. A crucible of stink, where men were melted down and reforged. He could feel it in the air. Thick and humid and sour. It clung to him like grease—seeped into the fibers of his clothes, into his hair, under his tongue. And it was changing him. His head lolled forward, still bound tight, mouth parted as he gasped for air. But there was no clean air. Only the thick, unrelenting fog of Cruz’s unwashed pits, his protein-fueled farts, and Diego’s now jockified musk rolling off him in waves. Cody whimpered, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

“Still fighting, huh?” Cruz’s voice oozed through the haze like oil. “Your body’s not.”

Cody couldn’t argue. His chest—flat, smooth, once more aesthetic than athletic—was starting to itch. He could feel the skin tighten, like something was pushing up from beneath the surface. He looked down, horrified, as the slight swell of his pecs pulsed once… then again. Slow, throbbing. They weren’t sculpted. Not yet. But they were thickening. Meat growing under skin. He shuddered, sweat pouring down his temple.

“No,” he whispered. “Not me. Not this.”

But his body wasn’t listening anymore. His abs tightened—involuntarily. His core spasmed, and he felt something click deeper inside him. Muscle fibers waking up. Stretching. Gorging themselves on the stink like it was fuel. And then came the hair. It was subtle at first. Just a darkening at the center of his chest. But as he blinked, more spread across the plane of his torso—sparse but wiry. Around his nipples. Down his belly. It was spreading like moss, fed by the humid air.

Diego leaned down beside him, eyes glittering with jock-stupid pride. “Told you it’d hit good, bro. Gettin’ thick already.”

“F-fuck… off…” Cody tried to snarl—but it came out weak. Almost needy.

His thighs spasmed next. He felt them bulk. From the inside out. Like two logs swelling under his jeans, pressing outward. Denim stretched. The seams groaned. The skin under it burned with the heat of transformation, and with it came a smell—not theirs, but his. He was starting to make it. His own stink. Faint. Cheesy. New. Cody’s lip trembled. His cock, hard against his will, throbbed once—then twice. It pulsed with heat, and with it came another involuntary moan.

“Feels good, huh?” Cruz whispered, pressing his foot against Cody’s swelling thigh. “That’s your body telling you the truth. You were never a boyfriend. You were a bro waiting to happen.”

Cody shook his head, barely. But his shoulders rolled. A stretch. A twitch. And then another pop of muscle at his traps. He could feel himself getting heavier. And the smell… it was changing. No longer entirely alien. There were moments—brief, terrifying moments—where Cody caught a whiff of something familiar, his own sweat, and instead of gagging, he didn’t mind it. He wanted to mind it. He wanted to hate it. But his brain was lagging behind his flesh. And his flesh was humming. Buzzing with submission. The stink was in him now. Soaked into his skin. Feeding the growth. His arms bulged. Not dramatically. But enough. He could see the rise of muscle at his biceps. Not sculpted—just meaty. Heavy. Bro muscle. Thoughtless, gym-earned thickness. His jaw clenched—because his jaw was widening. He felt his tongue press oddly against his teeth as his face began the slow shift from soft to sharp. His cheekbones rose. His brow thickened. His nose twitched—and for one horrifying second, he liked what he smelled.

BRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP

A deep fart bubbled from Cruz—wet and brutal—and Cody’s whole body tensed. His cock jerked in his pants, and this time, he didn’t moan. He groaned. Low. Dumb. Needy.

“Shit,” he breathed. “That’s… nasty…”

Cruz leaned in close, licking his lips. “Told you. Your body’s ours now. Your brain’s next.”

Cody’s mouth hung open now, his head lolling slightly from side to side as if it were too heavy for his neck. His tongue was dry, lips cracked, and every breath he took felt like it pulled him deeper into the stink-soaked abyss. And for the first time… Cody didn’t answer. He just breathed. He reeked now. His own musk had joined the oppressive cloud of Diego and Cruz’s sweat, armpit grime, and weaponized farts. The room was a man pit, and Cody was just one more source of it. But now the transformation had shifted focus. Now it was going for his mind.

“Yo,” Diego said, nudging him in the shoulder with a thick, veiny arm. “You in there, bro?”

Cody blinked. Sluggish. Blank. For a moment, nothing came out. Not words. Not even a sound.

Then—“Uhhh… yeah?” It came out like a question. Like even he wasn’t sure.

Cruz laughed. “Fuck yeah, bro. That fog’s finally settin’ in. You feelin’ it now?”

Cody’s brow furrowed. “Fog…?” he repeated, voice slow, dazed. “Yeah… uh… head’s all… floaty n’… shit…”

He blinked again. Thoughts were hard. Words didn’t line up right. Every sentence felt like a workout. His brain was sweating just trying to think. It wasn’t just confusion—it was erosion. Like every deep thought, every emotional memory, every abstract idea was being ground down into dull thuds.

Diego crouched in front of him, grinning that idiot grin Cody used to love—before it had turned into something stupid and cruel. “You remember your name, bro?”

Cody opened his mouth. Closed it. His eyes went distant.

“Cuh…” he started. “Cuh… Cody?”

That was right, wasn’t it? It sounded right. But then Cruz leaned in—and ripped another one. A deep, nasty fart that vibrated the air between them. And just like that, Cody forgot what he was saying. All that came out was a dumb little laugh.

“Shiiit… that’s rank, bro…” he mumbled, drool sliding down the corner of his lip. He didn’t wipe it. Didn’t even notice it.

Cruz clapped him on the back. “That’s the stink killin’ the parts you don’t need, bro. No more overthinking. No more dumb feelings. Just horny, hungry, sweaty fuckin jock shit.”

And Cody’s cock—already half-hard—twitched at those words. He barely reacted. Didn’t question it. Didn’t even feel embarrassed. Diego leaned in closer, and Cody didn’t move away. His former boyfriend’s pit was right there—hot, wet, tangy—and Cody’s nose flared. He sniffed. Once. Then again. Then deeper.

“Smells… fuckin good, bro,” Cody slurred, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Like… like home…”

Cruz stepped behind him again, rubbing his own swampy pits with both hands and dragging the scent up under Cody’s nose. “Say goodbye to the old you, man. Say goodbye to… uh, whatever fag shit you used to care about.”

Cody tried to focus. Tried to remember. A voice in his head whispered, Boyfriend. College. Love. Literature. Self-respect. But the words were slippery. Soft. Weak. They melted in the heat of the room, in the musk, in the fart-saturated air. And what replaced them was a warm, thick nothing. A dull buzz. Like a gym locker room had grown sentience inside his skull.

“Yo,” Cody muttered, blinking slowly, a little smile spreading over his slack lips. “I think I wanna… lift or somethin’…”

Diego and Cruz fist-bumped.

“He’s almost there,” Cruz grinned.

Cody stared blankly at the wall. His jaw hung loose. His pecs bounced slightly with every lazy breath, chest rising and falling with bro-tified rhythm. He was still Cody, technically. But what was left? A name. A smell. A cock getting thicker by the second in his gym shorts. And a mind…turning to gas.

The room was so thick. Dense. More atmosphere than air now. Sweat clung to the walls like condensation. The musk of three bodies—soured, ripe, corrupted—filled every breath, and Cody’s lungs had long since stopped resisting. He was breathing stink like it was oxygen. His eyes were glassy. Mouth slack. His once-tight jaw now hung open in a permanent dumb bro gape, glistening with drool. His hair, matted with sweat, clung to his forehead. His gym shorts—when had he even gotten into gym shorts?—clung to his hips like a second skin, tented by the heavy, pulsing meat swinging beneath. But the real change now…was in his gut. A deep, grinding pressure had been building. Right at his core. A boiling, festering tension that felt like it had weight—like a storm brewing in his bowels. And it meant something. Cody didn’t know what anymore—he barely knew how to think. But deep down, some part of him knew: this wasn’t just gas. This was everything.

“Bro,” Diego said, fanning the air with one hand, grinning. “He’s loading up. Look at that face. He’s about to blow the last of his fuckin brain out his ass.”

Cruz cackled, pressing a hand to Cody’s shoulder. “This is it, man. The grand finale. Say g’bye to being Cody.”

Cody moaned. A low, wet sound. More sound effect than word. His stomach gurgled—loudly. Pressure shifted. His hips jerked slightly forward. And then—

PFFFRRBBBLLLT

A long, wet, noxious blast ripped from Cody’s ass, echoing off the wooden chair beneath him. His head snapped back, eyes fluttering, a dumb, blissed-out smile stretching across his dopey face. But that was just the start. The gas kept coming.

PRRRRT-BRRRAAAP—SPRRRRTCHHHHH

Each fart shook his body. Tore through what was left of his dignity, his identity, his memories. Each one was like a balloon popping inside his skull—memories of college, of books, of Diego—gone, carried out on a cloud of steaming, toxic jock-gas.

“Uhhh… what was… what wuz I…”

Another blast. Loud and lazy.

BBBRRRFFFFFT

There goes literature. There goes his GPA. There goes his first kiss. Gone.

“Fuck, bro!” Diego laughed. “He’s straight-up fartin’ out his whole personality!”

Cody grunted, abs flexing involuntarily as another bubble of pressure bloated in his core. His body loved this. His cock was fully hard, oozing, bouncing with each thunderous release. His brain was just static now—warm, sour, content. One final glorious blowout built in his gut. The biggest yet. The one that would take everything. Cody’s eyes rolled back. He leaned forward. Gave a dumb, guttural, “Hhhurrghh…”

And let it rip.

PPPPFFFRRRRRRBBLBLBLLLTKRRRRTTTTT

A seismic, unholy sound. The stink hit hard, like paint thinner and rotten cheese. His whole body shuddered. His mind emptied. When the sound faded, Cody just slumped back in the chair, arms limp, mouth open. There were no thoughts left. Just heat. Scent. Sweat. Hunger. He blinked slowly and scratched his gut. Then he looked at Cruz and Diego, eyebrows slightly scrunched like he was almost thinking something.

“…yo,” he said finally, in a dopey, lazy voice, “when’s, uh… leg day?”

They howled with laughter. Cody laughed too, not knowing why. Just knowing he was home.

[damienwoodhouse]

Nerd No More

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Chambers had never fit in.

At 18, he was the definition of an outcast—shy, awkward, and painfully thin. His curly brown hair always looked messy, no matter how much he tried to fix it, and his thrift store clothes hung loosely on his frame.

Being gay in his small-town high school hadn’t exactly helped either. The jocks ignored him at best and mocked him at worst. The girls saw him as harmless, like some kind of fashion accessory they could rant to about their boyfriend problems. The only place he felt comfortable was in online political debates, where he proudly argued for LGBTQ+ rights, feminism, and every progressive cause he could defend.

But none of that mattered, because tonight, Elliot was alone in his bedroom, celebrating his high school graduation in the saddest way possible—by watching Scream 6 for the twentieth time.

And, like always, his eyes kept drifting to Ethan Landry.

Ethan was everything Elliot wasn’t.

Tall. Muscular. Charismatic. A man’s man. He carried himself with confidence, the kind that made people listen when he talked. He didn’t stutter. He didn’t overthink. He owned every room he walked into.

And Elliot…

God, Elliot wished he could be like that.

As the final scene played, he muttered under his breath, "I’d give anything to be him."

The moment the words left his mouth, his laptop screen glitched. The audio distorted into a deep, warping sound. The lights in his room flickered. His stomach twisted like he was on a roller coaster—his head spun, his skin burned, and before he could scream—

Darkness.

Elliot woke up somewhere else.

His first thought? His body felt weird.

Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.

He blinked, adjusting to the light, and realized he wasn’t in his cluttered bedroom anymore. This was a sleek, college dorm room. The sheets were expensive. A faint smell of cologne and sweat lingered in the air.

Something felt off.

He sat up—and immediately noticed his arms.

Thick. Veiny. Powerful.

His chest? Hard muscle.

His stomach? Sculpted abs.

He shot out of bed, his movements effortless, natural, as if his body knew exactly what it was doing. He turned to the mirror on the wall, and when he saw his reflection—

He froze.

Gone was Elliot Chambers, the skinny, nervous high schooler.

Staring back at him was Ethan Landry.

Chiseled jawline. Piercing blue eyes. Broad, commanding shoulders. His once scrawny frame had been replaced with pure masculinity. His thick, wavy brown hair was perfectly styled.

His lips curled into a smirk.

Wait—why did I do that?

His heart pounded. His hands gripped the edge of the dresser as a wave of thoughts flooded his mind.

His old memories—the ones of Elliot—began to fade. His liberal ideals? Slipping away. His insecurities? Erased. His attraction to men? Warping. Changing.

Instead, new thoughts took their place.

Memories of hitting the gym, feeling his muscles burn as he lifted heavier and heavier weights.

Memories of locker room banter, laughing with his boys about girls they’d hooked up with.

Memories of dominating debates, not with nervous, overthought arguments—but with pure confidence, shutting people down with facts, logic, and sheer presence.

His lips curled again—this time, it felt right.

Liberalism? A joke.

Feminism? Annoying.

Being gay? A phase.

No—he was straight now. Powerful. Unstoppable.

And most importantly… he was a man.

His phone buzzed. Without thinking, he grabbed it, his large, veiny hands dwarfing the device. A text popped up from:

Jessica ❤️

Jessica? His brain rewired instantly. His girl. His property.

Later that night, Ethan strolled into the frat party like he owned the place.

Jessica was on his arm—a gorgeous blonde in a tight dress, her curves displayed perfectly. She clung to him, giggling, tossing her hair, worshiping his every move.

"Like, babe," she whined, "you totally ignored me for, like, two whole hours today."

Ethan smirked, gripping her waist. "You’ll survive, babe. I got business to handle."

Her pout disappeared as she melted into his touch. "Ugh, fine, but you owe me, kay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, barely paying attention.

He wasn’t here for her. He was here for the boys.

Spotting his best friend, Chad Meeks-Martin, Ethan broke into a grin.

"Bro," Chad called, clapping him on the back.

"Bro," Ethan responded, handing Chad a beer.

They leaned against the wall, watching girls grind on the dance floor.

"Man," Chad muttered, shaking his head, "these chicks pretend to be all independent, but get a few drinks in them and they’re begging for attention."

Ethan laughed. "Right? It’s embarrassing. That’s why I don’t take ‘em seriously, bro. They say they want ‘respect,’ but then they chase after guys like us—not some soft-ass ‘male feminist’ loser."

Chad snorted. "Facts. These woke dudes think being ‘sensitive’ is attractive. Meanwhile, we’re out here running shit."

Ethan smirked, taking a swig of beer. "Exactly. We provide, we protect, and they submit. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it always will be."

Chad raised his bottle. "To real men."

Ethan clinked bottles with him, smirk widening.

Elliot Chambers was dead.

And Ethan Landry was here to stay.

[damienwoodhouse]

The Scent of Rebirth

(All characters are 18+)

James Pritchard adjusted his glasses and tugged at the collar of his too-tight school shirt, already damp with nervous sweat. At eighteen, he had the physique of someone who had spent his childhood indoors, nose buried in fantasy novels and science textbooks. He was overweight, his rounded cheeks permanently flushed, and his thick brown hair always a little too greasy.

Today’s biology lesson was on body types—ectomorph, mesomorph, endomorph. A fascinating subject to James, but not to the other students in the class, a rowdy bunch of roadmen who had only turned up because they had nowhere better to be.

Mr. Patel, their weary teacher, pointed to an illustration of an overweight figure on the board. “This is an endomorph—characterized by higher body fat, a rounder build, and—”

“Bruv, they should just go gym, innit?”

Laughter erupted across the room. The comment came from Kyle, a broad-shouldered sixth-former in an untucked school shirt, a loosened black tie, and a Moncler gilet over his school blazer. His mates, a group of barely engaged, vape-smoking roadmen, smirked and nodded in agreement.

James slouched in his seat, cheeks burning. He felt their eyes on him. They didn’t have to say it. He was the endomorph in the room.

The day dragged on, and by the last period, James was waiting alone in an empty classroom. His friends—Tom and Aiden, two equally nerdy boys—had gone to grab something from the vending machine.

That’s when he heard footsteps.

The door swung open, and Kyle and his boys strolled in. James sat up straight, instantly wary.

“Oi, man’s gotta freshen up, yeah?” Kyle grinned, pulling out a can of Lynx Africa.

“Yeah, dis place stinks of nerd, fam,” chuckled another.

James frowned. “Uh… I was just waiting for—”

PSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Before he could react, the room was filled with thick, choking clouds of Lynx Africa. Can after can was unloaded into the air, the overwhelming, spicy scent clinging to his skin and clothes.

James coughed, eyes watering. His head swam. The room spun. He gripped the desk as a dizzy heat spread through his limbs.

Something was… changing.

James gasped, his voice cracking mid-breath. His stomach tightened, the excess weight melting away as if being burned off by the sheer force of Lynx Africa. His school shirt stretched, then loosened as his chest hardened, his arms thickening into lean, toned muscle.

His spine straightened, shoulders broadening, giving him a confident, dominant stance. His fingers tingled as they toughened, no longer the soft hands of someone who spent hours typing on a laptop.

His face sharpened—his jawline becoming chiselled, his baby fat vanishing. His thick, greasy hair shortened into a trim, textured fade, perfectly styled without effort.

His glasses slipped off his nose. He no longer needed them.

His mind ached as thoughts—intelligent, articulate thoughts—were scrubbed away, replaced by something simpler. Gone were the complex political debates he enjoyed. Instead, his head filled with vague opinions about “immigrants taking over” and “how the left ruined this country.”

His voice deepened, acquiring the rough, lazy cadence of a roadman.

His clothes shifted—his baggy, tucked-in white school shirt became tight and fitted, the sleeves rolled up to show his new toned arms. His school blazer transformed into a black designer puffer, worn over his shoulders instead of properly. His once-neat tie was loosened, and his polished shoes morphed into black Nike Air Forces.

James Pritchard was gone.

In his place sat Bradley, an 18-year-old roadman, lean and toned, with a dumbed-down mind and an arrogant smirk.

The door swung open.

Tom and Aiden walked in, laughing—until they saw Bradley.

They froze.

“James?” Tom stammered, eyes wide.

Bradley frowned. “Bruv, who the fuck is James?” He leaned back in his chair, looking at them like they were a pair of wastemen.

Aiden swallowed. “It’s you, mate. You just—”

Bradley scoffed. “Nah, I dunno what you man are on about. Man don’t know no nerdy James, yeah?”

His voice was filled with swagger, his old polite, nervous tone erased completely.

Kyle and his boys re-entered, grinning. Kyle clapped Bradley on the back. “Oi, my guy lookin’ fresh, you know. Man finally levels up.”

Bradley smirked. “You done know, bruv. These neeks tryna chat shit, yeah?”

Kyle sneered at Tom and Aiden. “Oi, bun these bruddas, fam. Man don’t need no nerds in his life.”

Bradley laughed—a cocky, dismissive laugh. “Real talk.”

Tom’s face fell. “You’re really gone, aren’t you?”

But Bradley didn’t hear him. He had already turned his back, walking over to Kyle’s table. Someone passed him a vape, and without hesitation, he inhaled, exhaling a thick cloud of watermelon-flavoured smoke.

His old life? Forgotten.

Later that day, Bradley sat with Kyle and the mandem outside the school, leaning against the railings, his blazer half-off his shoulders. He took another drag of his vape, exhaling slowly.

“So what you sayin’, bruv?” one of them asked. “Man used to be one of dem lefty neeks, yeah?”

Bradley squinted. He had been a proud liberal, hadn’t he? But that all felt… cringe now. Weak. Pathetic.

“Nah, blud,” he scoffed. “Man clocked the truth. Lefties are soft, fam. Proper wastemen, letting this country get taken over.”

Kyle nodded approvingly. “Real talk, fam. Man’s gotta back Reform UK, innit. Can’t be lettin’ the government keep taking man’s money for them benefits lot.”

Bradley grinned. “Straight, bruv. And real talk? There’s bare foreigners everywhere now. Can’t even walk down my own road without hearin’ some mad language, fam. Man don’t even feel like man’s in England no more.”

The group laughed and nodded, passing the vape around.

He belonged here now.

A few days later, Bradley was posted up outside a chicken shop, surrounded by his new mandem, sharing a vape and talking about nonsense.

Then, she walked past.

Georgina.

The fittest chav in school. Platinum blonde hair, thick fake lashes, tight crop top (despite the uniform rules), and the most insane back Bradley had ever seen.

She noticed him.

“Oi, you Kyle’s boy now, yeah?” she said, eyeing him up and down.

Bradley licked his lips, grinning. “You done know.”

She smirked. “Yeah, you’re kinda fit now, you know.”

Bradley pulled her close, hands on her waist. “You already know you’re mine, innit?”

She giggled. “Obviously.”

As he leaned in for a kiss, the last fragments of James Pritchard were erased.

He was Bradley now. Forever.

[damienwoodhouse]

Becoming a messy and sweaty bro

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” shouted Douglas from his room. “Probs my feet, you stupid dweeb,” replied Brady, who was focused on his game of call of duty. Douglas came out into the main room and was shocked as it was an absolute mess. Pizza boxes, beer, and soda bottles littered the floor. Socks and dirty clothes had been hanging from shelves and seats. “How the hell has this place become a tip again Brady? I literally cleaned this up last night? Like what the fuck do you do it?” shouted Douglas, who was now aggravated by his uncaring roommate. “Calm it, fag. You did yesterday, I’m sure you can do it again,” Brady responded calmly, still immersed in his game. “Again, again? I did it last week and the week before that, and you just fuck this up every day what’s the point? and on top of that fuck you, you stupid straight white douche!” Douglas had blown up and decided to go back to his room to read and calm down. “Straight white douche, but your white too, bro,” questioned Brady. “Of all the things you call me, I am absolutely not your fucking ‘bro’!” Douglas shouted one last time before slamming his door. He sat down on his bed and looked about his room. Douglas’s room was clean, everything was in its place, unlike everywhere else in the dorm. Where ever Brady went, he left a mess, and what made it worse he didn’t care at all. He lived in a mess and somehow coped, no he enjoyed living in it. Brady was quite dumb, which was probably a factor for being so lazy. However, he may have been lazy when it came to cleaning and at his work, but when it came to working out, doing his sports psychology course and partying, he gave it his all. He would be on time for them, strict at doing them and made sure he looked good doing them. When it came to Brady’s personality, he was very calm and relaxed most of the time. When he was with his bro’s, they would rate girls, watch porn, and play video games or workout together. They also complimented each other fit bods regularly and boasted about how much they could lift, in short, they were all alpha douche bags. They even wore the clothes to fit the stereotype, backward cap, t-shirts or tank tops with some sporty logo on it, sporty socks and studs. Douglas, on the other hand, intelligent, gay, and much more of a social activist. He enjoyed learning and discussing social politics with his friends. He wasn’t too into the whole gay scene as he didn’t have a cut body or any muscles. His body was pretty average, he could run and do most exercise if he wanted to, but he couldn’t do it excessively like his roommate. His fashion also made him feel out of place at parties so he avoided those too if he could, but sometimes Brady forced him out. He didn’t know why maybe he wanted Douglas to be more like him. Either way, it failed to make Douglas anymore excited or happy living with him. What also added to Douglas’s dislike was Brady’s insults, sometimes they were about him being a nerd; other times it was homophobic. Brady never really gave off a homophobic persona, but the insults stung none the less. All this had lead Douglas to his final solution, to move out. ———————————————— Next day

Douglas walked back to his dorm quickly as his last exam finished. The dorm moving forms would have been delivered today, and he would be able to sign and move out ASAP. No more dumb lazy Brady to ruin his time at college. He knew that Brady would be at the gym working out at the moment so all he had to was get the papers to take them to his room, sign them and he should be able to move out quietly in the next two days. Of course, he felt sorry for the next poor sod who had to move in, but they could always move out to, or maybe they’re the same as Brady. Douglas walked up to his dorm door, opened it, and looked on the floor, scanning for his letter. He looked and looked, but nothing was there. “Looking for something, fag?” asked Brady aggressively. Douglas looked up, Brady was sitting on the chair, a piece of paper resting on the armrest. “No… nothing Brady,” Douglas stuttered taken by surprise at Brady waiting for him. Douglas moved closer to Brady, who cockily sat there smiling at him. Brady was drenched with sweat; obviously, he had decided to go to the gym earlier. “Nothing? Really fag, you can’t play dumb with me, I know you want to leave. Only questions left, Why and is there anything to make you stay?” Brady intrigued. Douglas was taken aback by this reasoning. Was, Brady, asking him how he felt? Was he going to change to be better? No, it was just some ploy to make him stay and continue to clean up after him. Douglas decided to let out his rage, knowing Brady couldn’t do anything about him leaving. “You know what Brady, no. No, there isn’t anything you can do to make me stay. You are the laziest guy on campus; you treat women like shit, you call me names even though I do so much for you. I clean this fucking room constantly and all I ever get his a fucking grunt. I can’t take your shit anymore! Now give me that piece of paper so we can move on, you obviously want someone just like you, to revel in this fucking shithole of a room!” Douglas shouted at Brady, who remained quite calm throughout. Brady stood up once Douglas calmed down, he placed his hand behind Douglas’s head. Douglas tried to grab Brady’s arm, but the stench he began breathing in made him feel sick. “Is that it then? Well, your right, I wanted it someone more like me to share, but I also needed some faggy dweeb like you to clean up after me. That’s all you were, a fucking weak ass servant doing everything I asked, I wish it lasted longer between us, but you are getting boring now.” Brady explained. “So I can go then?” Douglas asked. “No fag, as I said I need a bro like me to hang out with. And since there’s no way to make you stay as you are, guess I’m, just gonna have to make you just like me,” Brady continued cockily. “Wait, wha…?” Douglas was about to ask what Brady was going on about, but Brady instead decided to slam Douglas’s head into his pecs. Douglas was confused, but the smell made him feel sick, his mind was spinning and his organs turning over, twisting inside. After a second of being stuck in Brady’s chest, Douglas could feel himself getting wetter? He looked down to see all of Brady’s sweat droplets slowly moving, like little insects. The droplets were all moving to the edge of Brady’s skin before hopping over onto Douglas. The sweat-drenched his clothes and hair, making them feel unclean. A lot of the sweat built up around his mouth, eyes,  dick, and ass before entering him and spreading Brady’s stink inside of him. Brady let go of his head and pushed him onto the sofa where he lay in agony.   “I told you fag, I want someone I can work out, play games and rate girls with and since your no use to me, your just gonna have to become me. Don’t worry though, I will make you slightly different, so no one mistakes us for the same person,” smirked Brady as he watched Douglas twitch on the sofa. Douglas felt his body begin to heat up as the sweat that covered him began entering him. The sweat on his face drained into his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. Small lumps started pushing out of his skin on his face before they began moving about all over. The lumps were painful and caused Douglas a lot of pain, but he felt it die down a bit after a while. Unknown to Douglas, it was because his face had grown and reshaped, becoming rounder and his skin whiter in complexion. His eyes had taken in sweat, changing their color to match Brady’s dark brown ones. His facial features altered as well, his nose thickened and eyebrows thinned down but becoming longer, making his face brutish. Light hairs began sprouting on Douglas’s cleanshaven chin; they spread in two thins lines moving around the bottom of his jaw and up to his ears connecting to his hair, forming a light chinstrap beard. His hair on top retreated back down a bit into his scalp, shorting his hair. The sweat then swept the hair off to the side and lightened the hairs to become chestnut brown like Brady’s. The sweat inside his mouth then collected more sweat that Douglas had produced from the intense heat it created, before trailing down his gullet. His skin only showed a massive wave that poked out, But as it went down, Douglas’s features, all grew larger and thickened to match Brady’s size. Douglas’s once thin neck, grew out to hold up his larger head. Once the wave hit his chest, it split in three, one main wave going down his chest and the other two traveling down his arms. The waves going towards his arms slowed down as they split and doubled the mass in his shoulders, eating away at his fat and turning it into muscle. The wave left his now broader shoulders and sped down his arms, again eating away at his fat cells and turning it into mass and muscle. Any excess sweat also turned itself into more muscle and size until he had big beefy arms.   The primary wave in his chest then swept down his man boobs, enlargening them. The fat within them was used to make them bigger, rounder, and harder. Once they became the perfect round pecs of a jock, the wave moved on sparing no part Douglas and ensuring he became as close as he could to look like Brady. “Haha fag, you half look like me now. Just wait until it’s finished, then you will be totally like me. We can do everything together and don’t worry; I’ve already got you signed up for my sports psychology course, you can join me there too. It’s gonna be great fucking every girl at a party, drinking beer until throw up, playing cod all day until we have to go and workout,” cheered Brady as looked down at Douglas who was slowly being cloned into Brady. “N…no, I am not… I will never become like you… I respect women… and I am far beyond your intelligence. I will never… lower myself to your level of ignorance… and misogyny.  I’m… just a bit hot at…. the moment that’s… all,” Stuttered Douglas, whose tone was slowly deepening into a Brady like voice. “You think you’re going to be ok, fag. Let me get a mirror to show you how fucked you really are,” Brady went moved a bedroom mirror and placed it down in front of Douglas, who was shocked at what he looked like. “See fag; you’re nearly just like me. Ya got the face, the arms, and the upper body. But, now can you see your stomach as it swirls about and forms the greatest set of abs ever. I know you wish you didn’t have to be exactly like me, but it’s my sweat, my DNA traveling through you, so you have to become me. Also means the next fag we eventually convert is also gonna be me, so I guess one of us is gonna have to get a hair cut or a tattoo. God if I wanted, I could walk into some fag club and just turn everybody in alpha like me. Sadly there wouldn’t be enough pussy for everyone, but they would all have the best DNA and bod ever,” Brady complimented himself in his usual self centered way. Douglas tried to ignore him, but his words were absorbed into his mind creating fear. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to become a straight alpha douche bag bro; it was a fate worse than death. To sit around all day and play games, jerk your dick to some bimbo’s and then work out your body.   Douglas focused his eyes back on the mirror watching as his swirling belly sucked in down, so the pecs were shelving them, before creating some well-defined abs. Brady lifted his tank top and laughed, pointing down at him as he saw that they now had the same body. The waves of sweat continued down, meeting with the sweat in his butt and dick. His butt slowly grew out, not quite becoming a bubble butt, but enough to fill his jeans and underwear. It then muscled out hardening his butt. The sweat in his dick then absorbs into his shaft lengthening it out to 10 inches long. The rest of his sweat then fell back down into the balls, enlargening them to the size of golf balls, and growing a bit more after that. Traces of the sweat then made its way into Douglas’s cum which turned from Douglas’s inferior nerdy DNA into Brady’s better jock DNA. The waves of sweat finally make their way down Douglas’s legs where they do the same, turning every fat cell into hard muscle and stretching out. Douglas’s thighs became thick like Brady’s. His calves strengthened out as muscle was added to them. Finally, his feet grew out ripping his shoe’s apart. Brady ripped them off his feet and lay down next to him on the couch. “Wow, you really do look like me. I mean your, not the first fag I converted but damn do you look good, cos you know, you are me, bro,” Brady taunted “No… I am not like you. I am still a ‘fag,’ and a 'dweeb’ remember. How can you live with a nerdy gay clone of you?” Douglas snapped back, trying to make one last attack at Brady. “Don’t worry about that; you will be a pussy smashing alpha like me in no time. Oh look here we go, you can be white cap bro, and I’ll be black cap bro,” Brady got a cap off the top of the couch and placed it on Douglas’ head before slowly spinning it around backward. In the process of spinning the cap around, it slowly expunged lots of knowledge and memory from Douglas’s mind. It was painful, but Douglas was helpless as he felt his knowledge be sucked out of his brain. His memories and knowledge were sent straight down to his balls which were filling up with more of the new Brady cum. Douglas’s mind went blank slightly, and he became confused at his situation, was he dreaming? Why was he so scared? He had no recollect of what had happened to him. He only remembered his name was Douglas, or was it? Douglas looked down at his clothes, his jeans were ripped and so was his shirt. But he swore he saw them change. Douglas’s vision went blurry, but he could kind of make out his red star trek t-shirt shifting from red into a light grey, and he felt as it lightened. His shoulders felt a breeze as the sleeves of his t-shirt retracted back. He felt another breeze on his legs as his jeans retracted as well, turning into white gym shorts. Sharp pain in his ears flared up as some last droplets turned themselves into some cheap studs. Douglas looked himself in the mirror. He nearly looked like a clone of Brady. He felt nothing as his nerdy self had been mostly wiped, and his jock self hadn’t come. “Hey, bro, how you feelin?” asked Brady. “I… dunno, I feel kinda empty. Like I don’t really remember much,” Douglas said, confused. His mind may have lost most of his memory, but a small fragment was trying to reconnect to his conscience. “Don’t worry bro, I can help you out,” Brady said enthusiastically. Brad set up his favorite video to jerk off to. It was some hot bimbo getting absolutely fucked by a guy who looked a lot like him, which is why he enjoyed it so much. But while he set that up, in Douglas’s head the remainder of the sweat built up around his brain and prepared to absorb itself into it. Douglas could feel his mind connecting his remaining memories, but before they all came back to him, the sweat was absorbed into him, and Brady’s douchey alpha mindset started breaking in. His connections to his all memories broke, and Brady’s mindset now fought to kick out Douglas’s memory from his head. Douglas’s memories were pushed to the edge of his mind. The alpha douche bag thought, memories, and personality then began settling in Douglas’s mind. Gym routine’s, drinking and video games then replaced his nerdy hobbies. Finally, his social activism was replaced by objectifying females and homophobia. He only saw sexiness in women and only desired to fuck them, or as he thought 'conquering them.’ On his homophobic side, he didn’t like gays, thinking they were weak and should serve him until they refused, then he would convert them into a straight alpha like him to go around and fertilize the many bimbos in bars and clubs. He also had a dislike for lesbians as he knew they were the only women who wouldn’t be interested in him at first, but he felt that his big dick could turn them easily enough. Brady then began the video, and two people appeared on the screen. It was a man and a woman. The woman didn’t do much for Douglas at first, but the dude started peaking him. “What do you think, bro?” asked Brady. “I dunno, it’s ok I guess,” Douglas replied. “Ok? O…k? Bro, look that guy is basically you, and you’re fucking that sweet hot blonde chick,” Brady re-affirmed. Douglas’s mind then clicked as the first parts of his new douchey mind kicked. 'What the fuck am I thinking? I’m not a fag, that’s the hottest shit fucking ever. Why the fuck am I not jerking off to this?’ thought Douglas his mind-altering and his homosexuality being overwritten. Douglas got out his dick and started jerking off to the woman’s bouncy tits and fit body. Douglas’s last bit of memory screamed when it saw him giving in to this new personality and heterosexuality. 'No I must try and get back’ it thought, trying to fight Brady, but Brady had already settled lots of himself in Douglas’s head. Douglas was becoming straighter the more he jerked his dick, his homosexuality was being flushed away into his balls along with the last of his memories which screamed to remain. Eventually though the last of Douglas was lost to Brady. Douglas began Jerking his dick harder and harder now. “Ah fuck bro, I’m gonna cum,” Douglas screamed. “Don’t worry bro, it’s ok just make sure you get it all out of you,” Brady said in a relaxed manner. 'Come on Brady, that’s who I am now, gotta cum to those titties. They are so bouncy 'Oh god, don’t do it Douglas, don’t let him win’ thought the last trace of old Douglas. 'Fuckin tits man, so bouncy, so good’ thought Douglas staring at the boobs that had conquered his gaze. “Oh, fuck… I’m gonna… cum,” Douglas moaned in pleasure. Suddenly Every part of the old Douglas that was swimming about in his balls was shot out onto his chest. It instantly evaporated into air and Douglas was gone for good, he was Brady now. “Thank’s bro, what’s your name?” asked Douglas, his mind starting afresh. “I’m Brady, lil bro,” replied Brady “Woah, bro I’m Brady too and why am I lil bro?” asked Douglas “Nah lil bro, you’re my lil bro from the course and your name isn’t Brady its… um… Sean, bro,” Brady confirmed. Douglas’s mind twitched slightly and altered his mind to him, Sean. “Ah, I guess your right big bro, hey what shall we do?” He asked. “Wanna play CoD for a bit, then go to a party. There’s gonna be plenty of pussy for the both of us,” said Brady “Ok, sure big bro. But what about this room like who’s gonna clean it?” Sean asked again. “Don’t worry, we can get some fag to move in and do that for us,” Brady explained. “Sweet,” Sean shouted, high fiving his bro. Sean was now an alpha douche bag bro who didn’t do shit for anyone except Coach and Brady. The boys got a new faggy dweeb within a week and tormented him. But after two weeks, Sean came back from a night out hot and sweaty and mistook the new kid’s bed for his own. When he woke the next morning, 'Bradley’ the alpha was there instead of the nerd. Guess they’re gonna need another dweeb, and be more careful or maybe Brady’s gonna have to start his own Frat house, full of alphas just like him.

[damienwoodhouse]

TOKE 'N STROKE

"Ads are getting so damn invasive." Lucas thought to himself, clicking skip on yet another pointless car commercial interrupting the video essay he was watching. "You think the algorithm would know its audience by now, I'm too gay to drive!"

He laughed a little bit at the joke, running a hand through his soft, bleached blonde hair. He was the epitome of a high-maintenance twink, with his smooth, hairless body and perfect sense of style. He was smart too and liked to boast about it, with a scholarship for his English Lit degree and being made President of his university's LGBT Chapter, which he was hoping to use as a stepping stone to become Student Body President next year.

Leaning back again in his chair he reached for his cellphone, seeing a text from his boyfriend Alex.

Alex: "Hey cutie, still busy with finals this weekend, but have time for a dinner date Sunday night?"

He smiled to himself, giving an eager text back to set it up, and to wish him well on his upcoming exams. "Ugh, I need to start studying too, Monday's going to be one hell of a final... I'll focus on it and head to the library after this video and-"

Just like that, his train of thought was interrupted again by a stupid ad, this time some obnoxious psychedelic visuals and a bad electric guitar riff blared out of his monitor. It startled him so badly that he seized up for a second, accidentally clicking the ad and being brought to their store page. "Broski's Bud's, one stop ship and shop for weed strains to fix your brain..." He rolled his eyes at the cringe marketing, getting ready to close the tab when a pop-up opened trying to tell him all about a deal he 'wouldn't want to miss out on'. "No thanks, stupid site, you can keep your Bro Buds or whatever to yourself." but every time he hit X on the popup another would open, being more and more insistent each time about new deals, until finally a desperate '90% OFF AND SPECIAL STARTER KIT AS A BONUS WITH YOUR FIRST PURCHASE' filled his screen. "FINE," he scoffed at his computer, "I'll take a look at the stupid site. My therapist suggested I try out weed to help lessen my anxiety anyways, so might as well get a good deal on it..."

Clicking the pop-up added the 'starter kit' to his cart, it was a pack of pre-rolled blunts and some sort of mystery box, but the description didn't help him understand it much either. "Get ready to step into the zone and open ur mind with this one bros, Broski's Buds bestselling strain, Toke 'n Stroke, is sure to change your life by stimulating a high never felt before! This isn't your sissy uncle's strain, this shit puts hair on your chest like a real man!"

"God this is so cringe, I bet they get all kinds of business marketing to the dumb jocks in town, no wonder their brains are mush. Still, it's just weed and for $20 I might as well give it a try, I probably won't find it cheaper anywhere else..." sitting in thought about it for a few seconds, Lucas finally filled in his payment info and placed his order, getting a free upgrade to same-day delivery since they seem to have a storefront a few miles from his apartment.

"Well, there goes my library plans I guess, I'll have to wait around for delivery since my package will probably get swiped otherwise..." Lucas sighed, turning off his computer and plopping down onto the couch, picking up his Switch to play Animal Crossing and kill time.

A few hours passed and the sky got dark before finally a long buzz came from his intercom. "Took them long enough, it's nearly 9pm!" he complained, putting his jacket on to head downstairs. When he got down there the delivery guy had already gotten into his car again, driving away and leaving Lucas to carry the package back upstairs all on his own. It was bigger than he expected, taking both hands to lift it and keep it stable. "Jesus, this thing must weight like 40 pounds! What did they put in here?"

After a bit of struggling and the occasional break to catch his breath, Lucas pushed his package into the living room, collapsing on the floor next to it for a while. "After that workout I'm surprised I don't look like the douchebags around campus." he laughed to himself, bouncing up to get a box cutter and pry his package open. After taking the carton of pre-rolled blunts out, he started into the box with a bit of confusion and disgust, pulling things out one after the other.

"A sleeveless tank top that says 'Toke 'n Stroke Bro'... A pair of douchey sunglasses... Some red gym shorts, socks and slides... Ew, a snapback saying 'Who ate all the pussy?', why the fuck would anyone wear this!... And 2 dumbbells, no wonder this thing was so heavy! All of this is useless shit that's gonna end up in a donation bin now, I'll have to drop this trashy stuff off tomorrow on my way to the library... But hey, at least the weed seems fine, smells... potent." He said, tossing everything back into the box and taking a whiff of one of the blunts.

Kicking back on the couch again, he played with the blunt in his hand for a while before finally having the courage to light it up, taking a hit. Immediately he started coughing, not used to the sensation, but it did make his brain start to feel... fuzzy. "Damn, okay I need to push past it and get used to it." he said, lighting up for another hit of the blunt, this time barely a cough escaping his throat, feeling suspiciously more used to it. Then another, and another, until finally the whole blunt was gone. Sitting in his daze for a while, he enjoyed the sensation of his mind drifting around experiencing the high, his anxiety melting away as if he didn't have a care in the world. Eventually he decided to try and get up, but his body slumped over off the couch and hitting the floor, the room fading to black...

...

When Lucas finally came to again, the first thing that hit him was the strong smell of weed floating around in the air. "Damn bro, did I smoke the whole set or what..." he laughed groggily, getting ready to stretch out and get back to laying on the couch before he was startled by the sound of moaning blasting from his TV, eyes shooting open in confusion. On the screen, two busty lesbians were making out, them taking turns groping each others boobs and fingering each other. "What the fuck bro, how long has this been on?" he cursed, nervous that the neighbors nextdoor might have heard it playing as he started desperately looking for the remote.

When he couldn't find it in the cushions, he got up from the couch only to be met with his feet kicking a bunch of empty beer cans. "Dude, there's gotta be 2 dozen thrown all over the floor, did I have a party or something? I don't even know anyone who drinks beer..." he mumbled, going to scratch his head in confusion, but was even more confused when instead of his hair he felt a hat on top of his head. "Huh?" he thought, as he looked down at the floor again, noticing that instead of his skinny jeans and converse he was now wearing the socks and slides from the box, along with the sleeveless tank top and the shorts too. He stumbled his way to the bathroom door still baked out of his mind, mouth dropping open at his reflection in the full-length mirror in front of him.

"Broooo, am I dreaming or what the fuckkkk is going on" he said in disbelief. No more was the cute, pale twink he used to be staring back at him. Instead, a douchey bro he didn't recognize was standing face to face with him. Tanned skin, pillowy muscles, his once blonde hair turned into a brown buzz cut and with that stupid "Who ate all the pussy?" hat slapped over it. He touched his face, feeling along his chin where his once smooth skin now had a rougher texture, and a trashy chinstrap sprouted from his jawline. He slapped his face a few times in his daze, trying to wake up from the dream and growing more confused each time nothing changed.

Turning around and staggering back to his living room to try and make sense of what's going on, it hit him that he barely recognizes the room anymore. His apartment used to be perfectly maintained and well-decorated, now there was beer cans all over the floor, along with dirty socks and cummed-in underwear, greasy pizza boxes and chip bags all over the table and counter, the decorations on his walls had been torn down and replaced with posters of chicks in bikinis and sports teams, his Switch replaced with an X-Box and a stack of COD games next to it, DVD cases of trashy bro-comedies were thrown around near the TV too... Then the smell hit him, it STUNK in here, like a sickening mixture of weed, cheap body spray, and sour BO wafting in a heat around the room. "Bro, it fucking reeks in here... Or wait..." he mumbled as he gave himself a whiff, "I fucking reek!"

After a bit of stunned silence he finally started to process things in his brain again. How the fuck did he get like this, was any of this even real, and how does he get back to normal? He plopped back onto the couch, picking up his phone to see he had a handful of missed texts and calls from his boyfriend before noticing the time... 2:00pm. On Sunday. He had somehow been blacked out for 2 whole nights, with no memory of anything that had happened. While getting ready to call his boyfriend back, Lucas felt his insides rumbling and at first he thought it was from the munchies because of all the weed, but then he realized "Oh bro, all that double-cheese pizza is really gonna fucking..."

*PHRRRBBBTTT!*

His body instinctively lifted its leg as it pushed out the loudest and most obnoxious fart he'd ever ripped in his life, as his body seemed to react on its own, letting out an immature laugh and wafting the air before muttering "Fuck yeah bro, smells like victory!" He leaned back into the couch, remembering he needed to call Alex, but the loud moaning on the TV caught him off guard again. This time he locked eyes with the screen, the cock in his shorts immediately bulging and straining at the sight of the lesbian porn before him. "I really need to turn this shit off and get whatever's going on sorted out..." he thought, but he realized he couldn't move his hand to reach for his phone, instead it reacted on its own, reaching down his waistband to pull out his cock and start stroking for the busty babes on TV.

"All I do is Toke 'n Stroke, bro..." a voice in his head seemed to say, except it didn't come from within, he spoke it directly out of his own mouth.

"Wait, I didn't say that bro, it's-" he tried to talk, realizing that his thoughts echoed around stuck in his own head, not even leaving the lips of his own body. He was just stuck there, watching in a dazed horror as he went on autopilot.

"Toke 'n Stroke bro, I'm such a loyal customer Broski's Buds will HAVE to take me as a hype boy this time haha!" his voice spoke again, continuing to stroke for the porn on TV, Lucas's eyes stuck fixed on the screen. Suddenly though, he was interrupted by his phone vibrating, a text from his boyfriend coming through.

Alex: "Hey cutie, I hope everything is alright? You haven't answered my calls or texts in a couple days, I know it's busy with all your studying but we do still have dinner planned for tonight. Still on for me to pick you up at 5?"

"Oh thank God," Lucas thought, reading the message, "I can tell him what's going on and have him come over to help me fix this shit!" Unlocking his phone, Lucas let out a sigh of relief as he got ready to reply, only for his body to still be taken over by whatever douchey daze it was stuck in.

Lucas: "dont u ever come around me u faggy creep, if me or my bros ever catch u within 100 feet of us we'll give u the beating of a lifetime! fuck around n find out if u dare to show ur face here."

Lucas screamed internally as the message was typed out and sent in front of his very eyes, before his hand moved to block his boyfriend's number and turn his phone off. "Something is seriously fucking wrong with me bro, I need to-"

*PHHRRRRBBBTTTTTT*

Another obnoxious and sickening fart blasted out of his ass, filling the room and breaking Lucas's thoughts down into a daze again, as he felt around under the couch for something before pulling a sweaty, well-used fuck toy of a girls ass and pussy up from the mess.

As Lucas once again locked eyes with the TV, he took another hit from his dwindling blunt stash, finishing up the last one. After throwing what was left onto the floor, he prepared the fuck toy and slid it right down onto his cock, starting to bounce the toy up and down as he edged himself closer to finishing.

"If I can't figure out a way to snap out of this, I'm so fucked..." he thought, as his voice spoke again. "Toke 'n Stroke bro, this chick is soooo getting fucked!" He moaned, as he shot his thick load into the toy, feeling some of his braincells permanently shoot out with it, sloppily wiping the mess on the cushion next to him as he laid back, feeling his insides start to bubble again.

Lucas had a lot of Bro Time to catch up on, but luckily his new favorite weed strain was making sure that he was a captive audience until he was fully converted and assimilated into just another Bro.

[damienwoodhouse]

A few years ago, he was like all about that nerd life. But now, after binging some epic trash TV and hitting the gym three times a week, he be totally slaying it!