#military Tf

[bigification]

Jealousy Jealousy

Strong, loyal, dedicated. All words used by the boss to describe me, and every word seemed like a knife in the back of my roommate. I can hear it in the way he talks to me, ever since I joined the military all he ever seems to be is jealous. I've always been stronger and more dedicated than him, he's smarter but that doesn't even matter that much.

The walk back to our room is awkward. It is completely silent and I can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. I wanted so badly to be friends with him, but he makes it impossible. I've always worked out and kept my body in good shape, and apparently that's unforgivable to him.

We get back to our room and he immediately goes rummaging through his stuff. I pace back and forth, debating whether I should talk to him. It's hard living with him and I just want things to be civil between us.

"Hey man, I wanted to ta-" I'm interrupted when he quickly swings around and jabs something into my stomach. I look down and see a needle sticking into the side of my stomach. I feel frozen with fear, I can't talk, almost as if there is something stuck in my throat. I let out a groan as he pushes the end of the needle, injecting a green liquid into my body.

"I'm tired of being in your shadow, let's see how long you'll last after this." He monologues like some cartoon villain. What does he even mean by that, was that some kind of poison? Is he killing me just because the boss likes me more.

I stumble back against the wall, I feel weak but it hurts less than I thought it would. Although my stomach feels like it's boiling.

Am I dreaming... It feels more like a nightmare. But it must be a nightmare. I see a lump form under my shirt, and it seems to grow every time I blink. It can't be real, but it feels so real. The lump grows until it looks like I have a little belly. Do I have a belly? It's growing faster and faster until my shirt becomes untucked. It finally stops after growing into a sizable beer belly, making it impossible for me to see my feet. Maybe he gave me drugs, maybe this is just a bad trip. But it feels so real.

It doesn't end with the beer belly. Next my pecs start to swell. Something I worked so hard on is gone in seconds. I see them soften into a pair of man tits, growing until they press against my shirt. I always swore I would never let myself go like my father did, but I guess that's a lie. At least it took him until his thirties to get fat, I can't even make it to my late twenties without pigging out.

I still have no idea what's happening to me. It's getting harder and harder to think. I was thinking about... Something about pigging out. It must be because I love pigging out, that's how I got this belly.

As I'm trying to think, my body continues to grow. I hear the button on my pants pop off and feel the pressure release. I think my ass is growing, not that I mind. I feel my body being pushed further and further away from the wall as fat spilled into my ass.

Why does my crotch feel so tight? I could have sworn it didn't feel this tight a moment ago. I don't really care anyway, I can't even remember why I should care.

My pants strain against the fat filling my legs, I think I can even hear some rips tearing through them. My arms follow suit, softening up my defined muscles and fattening up my hands. Better off that way if you ask me, fatter hands means better belly rubs, and I like belly rubs.

I feel an itchiness engulf my body as a thick pelt of hair covers my skin. My arms, my legs, my chest, and most importantly my belly become a forest of sweaty hair.

My body finally relaxed and I let out a loud burp. Oh... I'm so hungry. I rub my belly trying to get any relief. It's all I can think of. Wasn't I stressed about something? What would I have been stressed about, maybe I was just hungry.

"How ya feeling big guy?" My roommate asks me.

"I'm so hungry." I cry out.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a diet?" He teases me.

"Why the fuck would I be on a diet. This is the mark of a true man!" I say as I slap my gut.

"Well I'm sure this box of donuts won't hurt your fitness assessment next week, and they won't eat themselves." He pulls out a dozen donuts. It feels like I lose control of my body as I instinctively ravage the donuts.

I lean back after finishing off the last donut and let out a loud burp. God I'm stuffed, but I want so much more. I rub my belly, trying to process the snack I just had, so I can make room for more.

"There's plenty more where that came from, big guy."

Credits to bulkgainer92 for the video and for inspiring this story.

[hairyjocktf]

New Recruit

Luke was at a low point in his life. He’d graduated high school but wasn’t smart enough to get into college. He had tried working some retail jobs around but he never had the work ethic to last long in those. He had similar problems in other gigs. It had been months of him bumming around and his parents had finally had enough, he was officially out of their house. With few options left, he was desperate. While walking down the street one day he saw an ad for the military, boasting stable careers and plenty of benefits. He’d played a couple seasons of sports in school and felt like he might be able to at least pass the initial evaluation, and out of near desperation he decided to try and enlist.

He made his way to the army office nearby that had been listed in the ad, and to his surprise there was no trouble. They did a quick physical evaluation and he was good to go, ready to sign up for boot camp. Luke was nervous; there was no coming back from this point. He thought about it for a couple minutes while being stared down by the recruiter, realizing he really couldn’t think of a better option. And so he signed the contract, unsure of what was to come. 

Two weeks later he was on a bus out to the base to start his boot camp. Luke didn’t know what to expect; he’d heard numerous stories about how brutal this training would be to weed out people. The bus was filled with the strangest mix of people he’d ever seen. Some guys looked like they’d been using steroids since they were 12, some looked like they belonged in an accounting department, and some he just couldn't pin down. Regardless of who surrounded him, Luke felt out of place, and he was only growing more nervous as the bus sped through the dense woods. After what felt like hours they finally cleared the trees and he saw the huge fences that would enclose the next few months of his life.

The buses pulled into a large dirt clearing at the center of the base where they forced everybody out. A huge and built man addressed the new recruits with his booming voice.

“Privates! Welcome to Fort Eagleton!” he shouted above the noise of disembarking men. “I am Drill Sergeant Thornton, and I’ll be in charge of whipping you lot into shape!”

Luke gulped, it looked like those rumors had been true. He was in for a world of hurt.

“You’ll be under my watch and command for the next ten weeks, learning what it takes to be a soldier. First, I want to see what I’m working with. Privates! See those chalk markings on the ground? Space yourselves on them for inspection!” 

His loud voice echoed across the clearing. The men all scrambled to stand in position, each on a chalk marking that were spaced four feet apart in a grid. Luke found an open one unfortunately near the front of the pack. He glanced nervously around at the others. Some were standing at the ready like they had been born for this, but the rest also looked around with worried looks on their faces. Their attention was brought back to the front by the thundering voice of the sergeant. 

“Listen up, privates! Here with me I have Corporal Evans, a prime example of what you should all strive to become in the next ten weeks!” The sergeant gestured to a tall and strong looking man next to him. Evans was at attention in full uniform, but Luke could tell the man was absolutely jacked underneath. He could see how the coat was straining against his huge, broad shoulders.

“He is the epitome of a soldier, and what all men should model themselves after,” the sergeant continued. “I will make a real man out of each of you! That is my promise as your Drill Sergeant. However, some of you may take to that easier than others.” He began walking through the rows of men in plainclothes, observing each of them with scrutiny. Luke’s eyes went wide as the sergeant stopped directly in front of him.

“You, boy. What’s your name?” The sergeant did not quiet his voice even when right next to him. 

“Luke,” he said shakily, “Luke Peterson.”

“Private Peterson, you may have passed the exam to get here, but I hold doubts that you are up to the challenge that is basic training,” the sergeant said while making intense eye contact. “Do you think you have what it takes to become a soldier?”

“Yes.. sir,”

“Well! Let’s put that to the test,” he boomed again. “Evans! Bring me this private’s new uniform.”

Within seconds, the man was at his side holding a folded army uniform. Thornton took it and handed it to Luke.

“Put this on, boy! Let’s see how you’ll fit in here,” he said with an almost sinister twinkle in his eyes. 

Luke had no choice but to then strip down to his underwear in the middle of the crowd. The eyes of the dozens of men he had entered with were burning holes in him as he changed into the fatigues. They immediately felt too large for him but he continued as the sergeant watched impatiently. He pulled up and belted the pants before buttoning the shirt closed. They were at least two or three sizes too big, Luke thought, and he looked ridiculous in the oversized fatigues. He laced up his boots which were also excessively large and stood back up to address the sergeant’s burning gaze.

Out of nowhere, Luke suddenly felt like he’d taken a punch straight in his stomach. He collapsed to the ground on his hands and knees, gasping for air as the pain in his stomach did not lessen, but began to spread. His torso felt like it was on fire, and he groaned in distress as his body was overwhelmed. Everyone else in the clearing was watching in awe as Luke’s body began to grow. His spine lengthened slowly, back widening and shoulders broadening. His legs began to stretch and grow longer, adding a good eight inches to his height. He began packing on muscle like he’d been working out for a decade, limbs inflating in seconds adding strength and size. His chest pushed out into two meaty pecs, which finally caught Luke’s attention from the incredible soreness he felt as his body exploded in size. His eyes widened as he watched his own body fill out the fatigues that had moments ago been far too large, arms swelling to fill the sleeves and chest pushing against the now tight shirt. His legs also bulked up, adding 20 pounds of muscle as quads and hamstrings grew in and thickened. His feet expanded, pushing against his large boots. He felt a sharp pain shoot through his jaw as it widened, giving him a square and masculine face. The pain began to subside and Luke managed to stand back up, this time matching the sergeant in height. 

The drill sergeant addressed him, “Good start soldier.” He had a hint of a grin on his stern face.

Luke was angry and confused, “What the hell was that? What did you do to me? What do you mean good start…” His sentence trailed off as he felt an intense tingling feeling arise on his chest. Underneath his tight uniform shirt, in the center of his massive pecs, tiny brown hairs began to poke out of his skin. The hairs started out thin and wispy but quickly thickened as they grew longer, spreading out across Luke’s mountainous chest muscles. The hairs erupted across the expanse, burying the skin under a dense layer of fur as they grew thicker, longer, and tangled together. Especially dark hairs sprouted around his sensitive nipples, causing Luke to let out a moan as he brought his hands up to massage them. The crowd watching Luke was stunned at his actions in front of the sergeant. Some of the men closest to him could see what looked like thick hairs beginning to poke out from above his shirt collar. The fur on his chest had spread up across his collarbone and had started peeking up onto his neck, where it was finally visible. The sergeant stood watching with a smirk as Luke was lost in a world of pleasure, rubbing his nipples as hair began taking over his body. The hair was not confined to just his chest, and shot down south across his stomach, coating his new abs and muscle in the same thick rug. The hair was growing in so densely that it started to push out through cracks and seams in his uniform. 

The other privates were speechless watching this erotic display in front of them, not knowing what to do. A few noticed Corporal Evans, who was standing behind the drill sergeant, subtly mimicking Luke’s actions, seemingly lost in his own bodily pleasures as his hands roamed his body. Luke’s breaths grew louder as the hairs continued climbing up his thick neck, creating a river of hair traveling up from his chest to his square jaw. He’d never had much stubble before, just some light peach fuzz, but that was changing. The soft hairs were overrun with thick, wiry, testosterone-fueled growth that coated his jaw in an incredibly dense beard. His upper lip was next, first darkening with the shadow of thick stubble before the hairs pushed out and completed the full beard on his face. Luke’s hands moved upwards, stroking his fingers through the long wiry hairs that now covered the lower half of his face. His eyes closed as the pleasurable sensation began to control his actions, wanting to experience every ounce of this growth. The beard growth was very noticeable to the crowd as well, as men further away began to break formation and inch closer to see what was happening to Luke. Evans was in the back, feeling the scratchy stubble on his own face as it pushed out a couple millimeters, just enough to leave a dark five o’clock shadow.

Unbeknownst to the crowd, Luke’s body was continuing to change under his uniform. Luke could feel every new hair sprout out of him as the hairs spread, conquering more of his newly buff body. His armpits tingled as the follicles there went into overdrive, pumping out hair after hair. What had previously been a sparse grouping of hairs quickly became a thick tuft of sweaty, musky hair. Dark and wiry hairs pushed out of bare skin, spreading out and covering his pits in a full manly bush, already dense enough to trap his body sweat and stench. Luke stuck one hand into his shirt to scratch the growing forest in his pit before pulling it out and smelling his fingers. He shivered from the euphoric smell of his own musk that was only growing more potent. The pit hairs continued to spread and even connected with his chest hair, creating a seamless rug across his whole upper body. 

The wave of hair growth continued advancing across his muscular body, with hairs beginning to pop up across his broad shoulders. They were joined by more and more hairs, giving Luke a thick coating across his traps. The hairs began to crawl down his brawny back, knitting a rug as they grew thick and tangled across his shoulder blades. As the hairs advanced down his spine they also began covering his arms, where long dark hairs were pushing out across his triceps before utterly engulfing his forearms in dark fur. Luke watched as the thick hairs poked out of his sleeves, ensuring anyone would know even in full uniform how hairy he was under there. That is, if they didn’t notice his large, calloused hands, which had their own small carpet of hairs sprouting across the backs. Luke could feel as the hairs creeping down his back reached the bottom, where a bushy tuft sprouted up just above his waistband. He subconsciously knew what was next, and moments later he was overcome with bliss as his thick ass cheeks sprouted their own rug of dense curly hairs. He could feel how the thickest, longest, and darkest hairs were pushing out of his crack, and he reached his hand into his pants to feel the silky fur that filled the gap. As all eyes were on Luke, Corporal Evans was still engaged in his own stimulation, feeling his pit hairs push out a little more, his back get a little more hairy, and his ass plump up just a bit more.

Luke felt his now size 16 feet heat up in his boots, beginning to grow itchy. Hairs were crawling out of the tops of his massive feet, popping out of his thick toes shortly after. The hairs climbed up his thick legs from his feet, coating his calves in dark hairs before engulfing his massive thighs. The hairs came in thicker and darker as they neared his groin, where his formerly modest bush began to double, then triple in size. Thick pubes were sprouting up all across his crotch, enveloping the area in a dense forest of curly hairs. Luke let out another moan at the sensation and shoved both his hands into his pants. He felt the coarse hairs sprouting through his fingers as his bush continued to spread outward. His cock began gushing precum before it too began to grow. It had almost been swallowed up by the immense bush, but now it hardened and pushed out, growing longer and thicker. Luke grasped his growing member and felt the hair climbing up the shaft as it continued to push further out of his bush. He felt his balls swell in size and drop a little farther down, becoming coated in hairs just like the rest of his groin. 

Luke was overcome with euphoria, and the animalistic instincts took full control as he began stroking his nine inch cock with both hands, each pump blasting his brain and body with pleasure. The sergeant and everyone else watched as Luke jacked off to his own transforming body right in front of them, stunned into silence. Corporal Evans, still unnoticed, slid his own hand into his pants to deal with his rock hard problem. Luke kept at it, moaning louder and louder as precum poured out of his cock. Every stroke seemed to make him grow just a tad bit larger, just a little hairier. Finally, after a few minutes of being overcome by pure ecstasy, he erupted, a fountain of cum spraying out covering his new uniform in sticky white semen. Some of it even got on the sergeant, who seemed unfazed. Evans grunted quietly as he pumped a massive load directly into his jockstrap that he had on under his uniform. He wasn’t prepared for quite how large it would be, leaving a wet spot on the front of his trousers and leaking down his leg. Luke panted as his mind returned to his body, finally taking stock of the situation and realizing in a moment of panic what had happened.

Before he could say anything Sergeant Thornton started to laugh. His roaring laughter pierced the awkward silence that had overtaken the space for the last while. He walked over to Luke and slapped him on the back.

“Atta boy! That’s what I like to see,” He said to Luke with an uncharacteristic smile. The crowd was shocked. That was not the response they’d expected in the slightest. 

“You’re fit to be a real soldier now, and I trust you’ll serve us well. A fine specimen!” he turned to the crowd. “Look here, privates! This is a real man, a bastion of strength and masculinity who can take a beating and give some hell.”

Luke too was stunned. He was scrambling to process what had just happened to him, and that it was seemingly planned by the sergeant the whole time. His thoughts were cut short by the sergeant addressing him again.

“Well son, you’ve done good today. We’ll have to clean up that scruff of yours to get you in regulation,” he stroked Luke’s new beard with his hand, sending a bolt of lightning directly to his still semi-erect cock. “Corporal Evans will help you out with that, and with cleaning up your fatigues,” he said as Evans approached from behind. Luke noticed the darker stubble on his face and the dark splotch in his bulging crotch. 

The drill sergeant once again spoke to the crowd, “The rest of you will be assigned living quarters and shown the areas for training. I want you all back here at exactly 1300 hours!”

Evans ushered Luke away from the grounds and into his own private quarters, where he stripped out of his cum soaked uniform and finally got a look at himself. He was taller, absolutely built, and incredibly hairy. It turned him on in a way he never knew he could be, his cock once again rising to full mast. He rubbed his hands through all of his new fur, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“I was in your shoes when I enlisted,” Evans said to him. Luke turned to face him and saw a slight blush in his cheeks, and his bulge was even more noticeable. “I’ll make sure you get cleaned up and everything, but how about first we just enjoy the new you in its raw form,” he said, stepping right up to Luke and wrapping his hand around Luke’s cock. Lost for words, Luke pulled off Evans’ hat and leaned in for a kiss, grabbing his bulge and pushing him against the wall.

Maybe bootcamp wouldn’t be that bad.

This was my longest and most ambitious story yet! Hope y'all enjoy it and thank you for nearly 400 followers in just a month! Feel free to dm or send an ask if you have ideas for future stories.

[occamstfs]

Coast Guard Compensation

Here's another military TF, delinquent disrespects the Coast Guard and finds definitely sub-standard civilian processing -Occam

Marcus was being issued a simple ticket for drinking while driving a boat. That would’ve been the end of it if he had just shut his mouth. Unfortunately his brother was not quick enough to prevent him from tearing into the officer. Before he even begins to return to his boat Marcus is shouting at the officer swearing that he shouldn’t even have the authority to issue tickets. That he knows better than some doofus elinstee. He tosses the ticket into the sea as he continues to shout, “this is just bullshit dude! You’re just taking it out on us to feel like a man huh? Couldn’t even do well enough in boot camp to make the Army so you’ll make it all our problem!”

Ensign Harrison’s eyes followed the litter as it blew into the ocean before returning to the still shouting man. Harrison’ smirks as he approaches Marcus who despite being at least a foot shorter continues on his tirade. Jacob has seen his brother get this fired up before but nothing like this. He could only gawk as brother continued to shout vitriol as the officer approached to tower over him, Jacob could not even think to move or intervene. 

Harrison lifts Marcus by the collar and simply states, “on top of driving while intoxicated you have also littered into the fine blue sea, and verbally assaulted an officer. Under the authority invested in me by the US Coast Guard I am going to take you back to the station.” Marcus rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to retort but is tossed like a sandbag into the USCG boat. The Ensign briefly scowls at Jacob, who despite being sure this is not appropriate, can not bring himself to take any action against the man who is by all intents kidnapping his brother. 

Having established his dominance he returns to his boat to accost the problem at hand. He speeds away in his boat hearing nothing but the boat cutting through the wind and crashing through the waves. The toss seems to have knocked Marcus unconscious, to the sick pleasure of the man driving the boat. Though as they near shore, he comes to and begins anew the derision of his captor. He groans out a “you fuckin’ glorified beach cop…” To which Harrison just smirks in retort, grabbing the only barely conscious Marcus into his patrol car and starts driving back to the station.

He stares at Marcus in the rearview mirror and once he sees the glimmer of conscious return he finally offers a reply, “you don’t know what yer talkin’ about kid.” Marcus squints his eyes at the officer driving his car, knowing something weird was occurring. Something so far out of his hands was happening to him and he needed to use everything in his power to have some curve on the ball. The dick in front of him was arresting him against his will and he was not going to go down without a fight. He is going to use the only weapon afforded to him and use his mouth.

“Really, you must’ve done pretty bad to flunk out of the naval academy right? Their best guys are absolute dullards and you didn’t even make it to step one I bet.” Ensign Harrison’s scowl grows deeper as he pulls the car over. Marcus, refusing to let the chance slip by, turns it up even more. If he can get Harrison to open his door he just needs to bolt. “Oooh scary, bet you feel like a big guy huh! You got a five foot flat guy ten years younger than you in your backseat. I bet you’re just fantasizing about what you can do to me, you fashy pig! You fuckin-” Harrison clears his throat interrupting as Marcus sees veins start to bulge out of his neck and his eyes darken in the rear view mirror. He starts the car going once more and says, “think it’s best if you apologize kid. Ain’t nuthin’ good gonna come out of you talkin’ shit.”

Marcus scrambles to think what his next move should be. Obviously, fashy pig he may be, but Harrison was correct in that the only rational thing to do would be apologize. Harrison even wants to, but any time he even starts to open his mouth to do so his entire throat goes dry and his head burns hot. It distracts him. It angers him. He was going to? What was he? No, he certainly wasn’t going to apologize. To the asshole who ruined his fishing trip, absolutely not.

Harrison’s eyes continue to glower as he exits the car to retrieve Marcus, who in turn observes everything he can about the Coast Guard Station before he’s pulled out. Seeing cameras he starts to hatch a plan before he hears the door slam open and the thought of Harrison disrespecting their equipment is suddenly the only thing in his mind. Jesus that oaf, he’s making them look like even more of a joke than they are. Harrison’s face burns red as he reads nothing but a look of derision in response to this blatant attempt at intimidation.

Marcus quickly tries to escalate, taunting the trooper, “we’re on camera now fash! What’re you gonna do huh, hope you’re ready to-“ He was cut off as a hand is quickly thrust on his neck, a move he was all too familiar with, though he would vastly prefer to be on the other side. He struggles out a performative moan as the hand grows tighter moving up towards his jaw, before breaking out into coughing laughter.

True rage appears in Ensign Harrison’s eyes as he pushes Marcus’ head down into the seat, spitting on his face before letting him go. Still leaning over Marcus, he talks through his teeth, “That’s it you fucker. Hope your little jokes were worth it. You’ve had every chance and you’ve run your fuckin’ mouth. Clearly someone needs to set you straight.”

Finally getting out a sentence without being interrupted, he looks to see an expression of hunger on Marcus’ spit-covered face. Not what he expected and certainly not what he wanted, and as he glances further down he sees an even less pleasant sign growing in Marcus’ swim shorts as a boner swiftly becomes impossible to miss. As Marcus regains his breath he chokes out a “that’s all you got?” To which Harrison begins to feel a heat in his own crotch that is met with both self-derision and an eagerness for the kid to be gone.

Starting to feel out of his depth, despite ostensibly being in charge, Harrison leads Marcus in, taking great care to hide the growing cock in his uniform, which Marcus neglects to attempt, letting his own swing in his shorts. Upon getting inside he leads Marcus to an unoccupied office and locks the door behind him, demanding he stay there and keep his hands off everything while Harrison finishes processing him.

This was beyond irresponsible, but he cannot stand being near the delinquent one second longer, and something about Marcus now makes him think that it’s fine if he’s in this office. Marcus rolls his eyes and agrees though as soon as the lock turns his hands are in a desk drawer. Before he snoops though he wonders about how empty the station is, weird that he didn’t see a single other soldier right? Must be why the pig was trying to flex so hard on him and his brother, trying to hide what a pathetic joke this operation is.

He also briefly thinks about making a break for it, before remembering that Harrison has a gun on his belt. He hasn’t pulled it on him yet but surely as soon as he got the chance to shoot at a runner he’d probably blow his load. He rolls his eyes thinking how Harrison must be compensating. He’s sure all soldiers are, anyone so obsessed with guns and power clearly has something going on.

As he continues this line of thought though, he can’t help but feel that, well, but wouldn’t he want a gun too? Just to have that power? Or just in case? As he thinks about the weight of a gun in his hands he finally remembers that he is rooting around in a desk, as his hands find purchase on what can only be a weighty wallet. He smirks as he palms it thinking of the schmuck Navy flunkee whose credit card is gonna buy him and his brother lunch once he’s out of here. Marcus starts to go through it looking for anything particularly juicy to nab. He hunches over the wallet, conspicuously hiding something, though no one is there to see him.

He shoves the cash into his pocket and finds a license, his eyes glaze over as he tries to look at the name and photo of the man. Not that he cares really though, soldiers are all the same. He continues to hunch and as he does so his back begins growing wider, as if he’s willing it to hide his deeds better. His button up starts to get in the way of his movements so he starts to unbutton it as he feels an itch on the face. He realizes, god, he never wiped that pig’s spit off his face.

His shirt now hanging unbuttoned on his wider shoulders, he raises his arm to wipe whatever surely steroid-filled dried spit remains on his face and finds nothing but a face that is decidedly rougher than it should be. Day on the beach must have been pretty rough on his skin. Maybe he did overdo it today? I mean what was he doing drinking on the job anyway. He pauses before correcting himself, fishing, he was just fishing today. He groans and spins in the desk chair, fuck he needs to get back out there. This room is giving him a headache or something.

It’s kinda hot in here too? Bet that fucker turned up the heater to torture me. Marcus shoves the wallet in his back pocket and goes to stand and inspect other parts of the room before immediately falling over. As he lies on the floor his sweaty chest grows even larger, his traps expand to strain the now unbuttoned shirt as sweaty pecs force themselves into existence pressing into the cold tile floor. Then greater than anything else he feels the wallet pressing against his ass. He might not have noticed how much his upper body has grown, but his legs certainly have and if they want to support it, they need to grow.

He moans to himself. His thighs fill his swim trunks enough to make one wonder how he could even get them on. His ass grows enough to make it clear that the only way they’re coming off is to be ripped off. His bulge on the other side endeavors to make headway to this end as his cock forces its way down his pant leg and his balls swell over twice their size trying to keep up the testosterone production this body demands.

He struggles to his feet, making careful movements as to not burst open his pants then and there. Not to be deterred from his M.O. he hobbles over to a bookshelf and continues to investigate. Marcus sees a bunch of dusty tomes that feel vaguely familiar, though he of course would never want nor need to read whatever droll garbage lies inside of them. Finally he remembers just how bizarre his situation is. What the fuck is he doing? He’s literally being processed for an arrest, or whatever these knock-off cops are gonna do, and he’s just gonna steal some actually important guy’s wallet?

Neglecting to inspect how knows the importance of whoever’s office this is, he instead trains his eyes on the bookshelf. Marcus finds himself eye level with the highest shelf which he knows was not possible when he walked in. He would’ve had to jump to grab any of these books and now he can reach them flat footed. He starts to look down and see just what is happening but as he does there’s another hot flash and he leans against the shelf in pain. God! This fuckin’ place, needs to fix the fuckin’ AC or something. He pushes back against the wall not noticing he stands even taller now as a breeze wicks sweat off his ever more exposed midriff and torso and he sees a conspicuously not dusty manual.

Weird, he’s up to date on all his regulations yeah? He pulls it off, knocking dust loose from the surrounding tomes, causing him to sneeze, his neck bursting wide enough to tear shirt open were it not unbuttoned. His vocal chords thicken as he clears his throat and returns to sit down at the desk. He opens the book wondering what’s so special about this manual, causing a picture to fall to the floor.

He laughs as he grabs it and finds it is a compromising picture of Ensign Harrison. He smirks wondering just what he has stumbled into as he finds himself absorbed into the image. His eyes can’t help but trace the strong curves and powerful muscles of his, the Ensign’s body. His cock gets the messages and finally grows enough to tear a hole in the side of his swim trunks and hsi free hand immediately goes to paw it. God, he needs to see Harrison like this in real life. Drool begins to pool in his mouth as he continues to drink in the image. It spills down his chin as he sees the look of begging in Harrison's eyes, when there is suddenly a scuffle at the door.

Mark takes the second he has to hide the photograph and rip his hand off his painfully erect dick, as Harrison bursts into the room. Nonplussed as ever he looks with a sneer at Marcus with no reaction that he looks any different than when he was booked. Under his breath he complains that Mark’s clothes are far too tight for any respectable man before. He can’t hide the blush on his face though as he asks Mark to button up his shirt before getting to the real purpose he came in, “You didn’t give me your ID uh, kid?” His eyes glaze over at the incongruity of calling the man before him kid and he blushes as Mark sneers at him in return. Raising his sharpening jaw in disdain he produces the I.D. of the Coast Guard officer in his pocket without a second thought and offers it to Harrison.  

The Ensign goes to grab it, sniffing the air as he does so and making a clear face of discomfort. Marcus doesn’t notice how he smells, not his problem, if lesser men are bothered so be it. But Harrison makes haste to leave the room, on his way out saying “You better not get your stink on the furniture, ki-, uh, Sir.” Angry at himself for calling that delinquent sir he slams the door and locks it once more, leaving Mark alone in the room, his erection pulsing even larger at being called Sir.

That ball buster needs to learn his fuckin’ place, Mark thinks, I’m in charge here after all. Or? Hm. I mean I pay his wage right, tax-payers and all. Something like that. He rubs his scratchy, sharper jaw as he feels his clothes near their limit. He pauses to decide which drawer to raid next. He settles on the top left drawer and as soon as he does he slams it open only to jump back in shock, his body flexing and tensing as he hears something heavy loudly slam into the back of the open drawer. His biceps rip apart his sleeves as reaches into the drawer and feels ice cold carbon steel. His left arm burns as tattoos he doesn’t remember getting begin to stain his whole arm. He pulls out a gun, His Gun, and begins to inspect it.

He feels a regulation mustache push out of his upper lip, the one he’s always had right? He feels the burn of more ink appear on his torso as it begins to grow shredded. He feels the lengthy hair cut he has always been proud of pull into his head, leaving nothing but a high and tight that can only display the void of a personality that the military demands. He feels the weight of the gun in his hands not noticing as his clothes begin to reform around him. Good thing he got those stupid dress clothes off, he’s at work. He needs to be in uniform.

The scraps of his dress shirt cling back to him and turn into the same respectable military green of any branch. He feels a nylon shirt cling to his sweaty pecs as a thicker top slides over his biceps, struggling to keep them contained. His attention is drawn, as it often is, straight to his cock as he feels his torn swim trunks grow into silkies that are only just able to hide his impressive bulge. He is able to stuff it down the leg of his trousers as they form around his impossibly thick thighs, though even a passing observer would be able to see the beer can running down his leg. His pants are already custom made to fit his ass and thighs, it’s not like he can, or even wants to, hide his masculinity any more. He is thankful though that his, may as well be kevlar, boxers keep him from constantly staining his pants with pre.

Still rubbing his cock through his pants, he releases the unloaded magazine of the gun and moans as wrinkles begin to form under his steely eyes. He absolutely fills his pants with pre and nearly finishes the job before there is another knock at the door. He groans as his body grows once more in agitation, his veins bulging out in aggression as a definitely not regulation beard pushed out of his jaw. But he’s in charge here. He’ll get it back to reg as soon as those fuckers start giving him some respect.

Before waiting for an answer Harrison bursts in, preparing to continue his little power trip, though as he sees the man sitting at the desk, gun drawn and more importantly now in uniform, he can do nothing but salute and shout “Captain, uh! Sir!”

Absolutely not ready or willing to set him at ease Mark gets up and begins to walk over. Captain huh, he likes that. The Captain walks up to Harrison and starts to tease his Ensign. His already deeper voice grows gravelly and gruff as he rubs his thumb across the saluting soldier's jaw, “Now Harry, I don’t believe I gave you permission to enter, did I?” Harrison gulps as The Captain continues, “Now are you here now on business, or is there something else I can do for you?” Harrison glances down to the impossible bulge in his captain’s pants, causing Mark to smirk and all-too-familiarly launch his hand to his Ensign’s jaw. He forces Harrison to make eye contact with him. He gulps once more as he hears the fabric stretch in The Captains pants and his face grows red. He shuts his eyes, feeling his own cock instantly surge into an erection. “I- uh, there was a call, sir!”

The Captain’s look of hunger changes slightly and he grins, “a call hm? At ease, Soldier.” Harrison collapses against the door, his eyes still closed, lest he cum on the spot from seeing The Captain in front of him. Mark then leans over him to whisper to him, his breath tickling the neck of the Ensign, “Now, why don’t we go show these fuckin’ delinquents just what business the US Coast Guard means hm?” Harrison’s eyes open as his body convulses, cumming as he slides down the door, moaning in shame. In turn The Captain stands and prepares to go gather some more recruits, the station has been awfully quiet recently. Just him and pathetic little Harrison, they could use some fresh blood, which he will inevitably gather at whatever bonfire or fishing crew they are about to raid...

[transformation4life]

Army, Man

Juan was your average guy before his life was changed forever. Decent grades at his dream college, but no friends to speak of. So when he received a letter to join the US army in his assigned mailbox Juan was very confused. "The army? They must joking." Juan spoke as he looked at the recruitment flyer in his dorm room.

Juan and being enlisted in the army sounded like a twisted joke to him. He was scrawny and could barely do one pushup in gym class. Either way, Juan noticed a number at the bottom of the flyer in big bold letters and some voice in his head was nagging at him to call it.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll be fun! Who knows!" So Juan grabbed his phone and dialed the number.

Some rings later and it sounded like a guy picked a phone. "Hey there, Name's Gruff, I'm assuming you're calling cause of the flyer you got in the mail, yeah?" Gruff's was deep and masculine. Definitely Juan's type but I bet he was straight.

"Y-Yeah! I thought I'd give it a shot since it's not like I got anything better to do!"

"That's the spirit man! Our army count has been real low due to... events so even one guy joining is great! But first I just need to ask you a few questions..." "A-Alright. Go on ahead..." Juan had to wonder what they would ask. "First question! Are you sure you want to join the army?" Gruff's tone was dead serious on this one and it shook Juan up a bit. "U-Uh... Yeah!" Juan was too far in to quit now at least that was his reasoning.

"Wonderful! Next question. How muscular are you?"

Juan frowned. As mentioned before, he barely had muscle and never went to the gym. Still, he felt the need to answer honestly.

"N-Not really sir. Sorry." "Haha don't worry about it! Alright that's all see you soon!" Gruff hung up before Juan could even say bye.

Juan was a bit shaken but that wasn't too bad. Juan pondered the interaction and something hit him. "Wait... I didn't tell him my address and he said he'll see me soo-" A wave of pain immediately hit Juan and he fell to the floor.

It wasn't before long Juan's body began to grow and get more muscular. Juan's arms became much beefier as his biceps were the size of sports balls. Six perfect abs popped onto Juan's stomach as his nonexistent chest began to inflate and become thick poppable pecs as his back expanded to support his new musculature making his tshirt real tight. Soon after, Juan's neck got thicker as his adam's apple was now ever more prominent than before as he gained some facial hair around his mouth. Juan's legs were next to grow as his thighs became much larger and his legs more defined as feet increased some sizes. Luckily Juan wasn't wearing any shoes but Juan's socks definitely didn't survive the growth. Some more minor changes appeared like a bigger dick and Juan's body aging physically. It's a miracle none of Juan's clothes ripped apart but it's not like it mattered anyway as Juan's apparel began to change.

Juan's graphic tee became more tough material and more generic as it became a dark green. It was still tight around Juan's figure though. Next up was Juan's pants as it gained a camouflage pattern and became cargo pants. A belt magically appeared and looped around the belt holes of his news pants as well as an army hat wrapping around Juan's head. Juan's socks were stitched back together and went a dark black and suddenly army boots were now being worn by Juan. The last change was an army tag appearing around Juan's neck saying "Juan Graham". Juan was now the definition of a buff army man.

Once the pain subsided and Juan regained his bearings he readjusted his glasses and looked at the mirror nearby. "What the- WHAT THE FU- Oh god, my voice... my EVERYTHING!" Juan was amazed but also scared. He gained muscles in seconds but how?

And before Juan could question things further, Juan's phone rang once again. Juan saw that it was the army recruit number. He concluded they must be involved so he answered the call.

"Hey Juan, ready for your first day?" It was Gruff again "First day? You did this to me, didn't you?"

"Not sure what you mean, but you agreed to join the army and we need you now." "But I don't even know anything about how to do anythin-" One more sound of pain hit Juan as memories of years of military training and gym workouts filled his mind. Everything he could ever need to be in the army was now in his brain. Juan now much more confident started a new sentence. "Nevermind. When does the car get here?"

"That's our Juan! Should be there soon. You can walk out and wait already." "Perfect. See you soon." Juan hung up and left his dorm and old life behind. It was probably for the best anyway. He much preferred being a beefcake army man than some twink in college.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Apologies for not posting for a couple months. I got major writer's block but here's a story for you guys hope you like it!

[derekhighwaytf]

Eli had sparked quite a reputation as a college sophomore. His infamous university-wide anti-military protests had piqued the attention of Professor Frank Marshall, an American History professor who was once a marine himself. When Eli's final essay, a biting, yet flawed case for slashing the American defense budget landed on Frank's desk, the professor felt compelled to bring him in for a heart-to-heart during office hours.

Eli, however, was as tenacious as he was stubborn. He sat across from Frank in the oak-lined office, launching into an impassioned tirade about banning military recruiters from all school campuses in America. Calmly, Frank handed Eli a faded photograph from his own youthful days in basic training at Parris Island.

Suddenly, Eli's art-trained eyes, usually tuned to distinguish the finest nuances in Van Gogh portraits, refocused into the unfiltered reality of a soldier's perspective. His delicate fingers, usually smeared with paint from making picket signs, hardened and darkened with dirt, pulsating with a strength he had never known. He tried to shake off the sensation, but it was no use; his body was being reformed, repurposed.

With each passing second, his scrawny physique began to shift, muscles emerging and hardening where there was none. His chest broadened, shoulders squared, and his twinkish form swelled into a formidable figure. He could feel his clothing tightening around him as he grew from a wiry 130 lbs to a solid, imposing 190 lbs of pure, hardened steel.

A savage hunger replaced his usual vegan diet, his body now craving meat and potatoes. His earring evaporated into thin air, and as his hand instinctively reached for it, he felt his free-flowing, untamed locks disappear too. His messy mane shrank into a sleek undercut, and then to a neat crew cut, and finally, a bare-bone induction cut, revealing a chiseled jawline and a gaze as sharp as an eagle’s. He reached up to feel his new haircut, rubbing his sandpaper head, his growing eight inch plank of wood grinding up against his camouflage uniform.

Eli tried to resist the transformation as best he could, his spirit rebelling against this sudden sense of discipline and masculinity. But every attempt was futile; he was no longer the one in control.

His memories of avant-garde performances and wine-soaked nights were replaced by grueling morning drills and punishing workout sessions. Deep down, he wanted to reach out for his paints, his brushes, but his hands instead found the photo of young Frank Marshall morphing into a snapshot of a young soldier, one of himself—no longer Eli, but Elijah. A proud American willing to do anything to protect his country.  His artistic aspirations were relegated to the backburner, the space in his mind taken over by his new military identity.

Frank watched as Eli's rebellious spark was now smothered by the spirit of a Marine. Now, there was only Elijah—a paragon of strength, duty, and masculinity. Despite his desperate efforts, Eli had morphed into the one thing he had sworn never to be. His rebellious spirit was finally tamed, replaced by the steady, dutiful beat of a Marine.

[octuscle]

We just had Veterans Day here in the US. My grandpa was in the navy and I was wondering if there was a setting that could make me a big muscular sailor to honor his legacy.

You are in the process of taking family photos. For the Christmas cards. All of you with funny sweaters. You hate that. You look terrible. And the sweaters are itchy as hell! Thank goodness it's your grandmother who suggests you wear your uniform. You have to think for a second. What uniform? Damn, this Christmas shit is driving you crazy. Your navy uniform. It's understandable that your grandmother insists. She's so proud of you for upholding the family tradition.

Your parents, your siblings, your grandmother, all in the silly green, red and gold sweaters. You in between in the immaculate white parade uniform. How you would love to fill it out like your grandfather. He was a real beefcake and jarhead. You're still missing a few kilos of muscle.

The whole family breathes a sigh of relief when the photographer says that he now has enough pictures. But he asks you if he can take a few more pictures of you. Even in combat gear. And if you'd like to earn a few more dollars, you're welcome to do so without your combat gear. He grins almost insolently.

You've wanted to join the Navy for as long as you can remember. To make your grandfather, whom you loved so much, proud. He would be so happy if he could see you today. And even if the photographer would certainly like it otherwise, your pants stay on. You are a soldier. And not a nude model. Even if you could be a damn good nude model or porn actor. But you don't show that to the crisp fellow until the camera is off.

Picture from the photo shoot found @steelblade

[user211201]

Identity Death

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

As directed by @mrrharper

“Endless war will end our world!” Alan shouted.

“Stop funding our military!”

Alan was amongst the hundreds of protestors at the courthouse fighting against the proposed budgetary reforms. Schools, roads, transportation, parks, environmental protections agencies–they were all on the line. Through the presented bill, thousands of institutions would be shut down as billions of dollars would be rerouted towards a single entity: the military.

“The military corrupts! Stop the brainwashing!” Alan spat. He had organized this event under his alias, a popular political blogger on multiple social media outlets. Although his voice was loud and aggravated, Alan's physical appearance was anything but. He wore a baby blue tee and white-washed skinny jeans. 5’7 with bleached hair. All he needed was a rainbow somewhere to perfect his twink look. But he was not here to make that kind of statement. He was at the protest to make another form, something that could gain traction. Peering across the crowd, Alan saw his chance. 

A few of Alan’s fellow protestors were bombarding one of the towering guards with jeers. They scrutinized him, although it appeared none of their words got through the soldier’s heavy artillery padding. In fact, the solider stood proud in his position, dominantly poised with his chest puffed up in pride. Alan approached the guard slowly, noticing he remained perfectly still as the protestors continued to insult him. Without thinking twice, Alan approached and made his move. 

“How about you show us what they’re really funding, dickhead?”

Alan threw a fist at the soldier, putting all his strength behind the movement. Due to the crowds, the soldier did not recognize the motion until it was too late. Alan’s knuckle dove right into the much taller man’s neck, ricocheting into the muscular, masked chin. Instantly, there was a cheer from the crowd at the successful blow, but it was quickly hushed.

“You pathetic cocksucker,” the soldier growled. In a flurry, the once peaceful statue became a merciless brute, swinging down and dragging Alan out of the crowd. Before he knew it, Alan found himself handcuffed with the soldier escorting him off into the enemy’s territory.

“You can’t do this! This is illegal!” Alan cried out. 

“Shut your whiny mouth.” As soon as they were out of public sight, the soldier slapped Alan hard across the face. The warmth of blood soon filled his cheeks where the bruise began to bloom. Alan made sure not to react, but he could not hide the worry in his voice.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The barracks, you fairy prick.”

The soldier brought Alan to a building not too far from the protest lines. He guided them down numerous hallways, Alan losing track before they even made it halfway there. There were checkpoints, various nods, and some curt conversations with other soldiers, but nobody questioned about Alan or the situation. Eventually, Alan was tossed into a small makeshift bedroom, only holding a cot and a pile of unwashed clothes.

“Get undressed,” the soldier demanded.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Alan was met with another forceful assault, this time a punch to his gut.

“Cause I’m First Sergeant, maggot, which means out of the two of us, I’m in charge.”

Alan scoffed. “Is that your name: ‘First Sergeant’?”

“First Sergeant QF24,” the soldier gruffly shot back.

“That’s not a name either,” Alan replied. 

“Been in service so long I don’t need a civilian name.”

Alan wanted to jump on this, make a point about how this was evidence of the dangers of the military, but First Sergeant continued.

“While my identity is real, I assume the one you were about to give me is not. What do you go by, something like that 'AlanActivist' snot?”

Alan blushed, believing that his pseudonym had been cool and unique.

“It’s about time you considered that maybe it is not the military that enforces this ‘identity death’ you all are so worried about, but your own belief system.”

“You can’t be serious,” Alan snarked, surprised at the soldier’s intelligent argument. First Sergeant was however humorless, once again pointing to the pile of discarded clothes.

“Get dressed, degenerate.”

The soldier placed one of his giant, gloved hands behind the twink’s back and pushed him towards the pile. It appeared to Alan as a giant heap of army green and camouflage. Slowly but hesitantly, he began to strip himself of his clothing, hoping to avoid any further hazing. Once down to his underwear, he silently pleaded that he would not have to drop anything else.

“Soldiers go commando, sissy.”

First Sergeant quickly appeared behind Alan before ripping his underwear clean off, exposing the twink’s bare bottom and small package to the world. Alan quickly covered himself up with one hand before leaning down towards the pile. He grimaced, his fear no longer overriding the powerful musk seeping from the military cloth. First Sergeant chuckled at his disgust from behind.

“Aren’t homos supposed to like that kind of thing?” he asked, before grabbing the back of Alan’s head. “Go on, get a better whiff of it!” Amused, First Sergeant plunged Alan’s head into the musky pile of clothes. Alan’s oxygen supply was cut off, forcing him to inhale the overpowering masculine fumes.

“You idiots never consider that being in the military is hard work. It’s not all fun and guns.” First Sergeant smothered Alan’s head further. “‘Bout time you realize what it’s like, standing on the front line all day, hot and sweaty and random strangers berating you for protecting their country, their freedom.”

The military body odor seeped into Alan’s system, numbing his body and clouding his mind. By the time he was pulled away, the naked twink struggled to form a coherent thought.

“Much better,” First Sergeant noted the lopsided smile on the twink’s face. “Now, fit yourself into some tactical gear.”

Without questioning it, Alan followed the soldier’s command. He did not know every single piece of equipment that went into the common soldier’s uniform, nor did he understand the procedure to follow, but somehow Alan managed to get the attire onto his body.

Combat pants, military-grade socks, gore tex boots. Camouflage button-up, hardshell jacket, belt with holster and magazine pouches. Shooting gloves, army print hat, face mask. It took a minute longer for Alan to place every minor piece of tactical protection onto himself, but finally his smaller frame was completely covered, dwarfed by the oversized gear.

“Looking like a real soldier there,” First Sergeant mocked. “Now let’s actually make you one.”

Already covered in the musky clothing, Alan’s intellectual ability had been dulled considerably. But when First Sergeant approached, clutching Alan’s head once more before shoving it into his wet armpit, his brain completely halted. Coming straight from the source, the soldier’s stench wafted past all Alan’s barriers, taking control immediately. Its first instruction was to keep sniffing, its second was to conform.

With a chuckle, First Sergeant watched as Alan’s body began to expand underneath his hold. The shrimpy twink grew inside of the tactical gear, filling it out properly in every direction. Muscular arms filled the sleeves of the jacket, meaty hands stuffing the crevices of the gloves. The vest became as padded on the back as it was in the front, juicy pectorals and rigid abdominals forcefully pushing against the fabric. 

Thicker thighs padded the pants, bloated feet crowded the massive boots. Two muscular buttocks crammed the seat of Alan’s pants. A lantern jaw and cleft chin became prominent underneath the face mask. Buzz cut hidden by the cap, deeper voice waiting to confirm with “Sir, yes sir!” First Sergeant even noticed the prominent padding his new soldier was developing beneath the belt. When he ultimately removed Alan from his hold, the man before him now stood at the same domineering height.

“Good, now just stand still for one moment.”

Even if he wanted to, Alan could not move. The musk was still lingering in his mind, holding him steady as First Sergeant deposited an obnoxious military headset onto Alan’s head. He then plugged the headset into a walkie-talkie before tuning it to an empty channel. A robotic voice began looping into Alan’s ears, along with a few simple tones to open up the receptive pathways in his brain.

“Ready to get back out there?” First Sergeant asked, knowing his fellow soldier could not hear him. With a smirk, he escorted the dumbfounded subordinate out of the room, pacing slowly as Alan absorbed the propaganda. It was simple phrases, nothing too complicated but through repetition effective on the psyche. “Military good,” “pacifism bad”. “Nationalism good,” “multiculturalism bad.” “Masculinity good,” “progressivism bad.” The messages were rudimentary, but deliberate.

Once they stepped back into the open, fresh air, Alan’s consciousness resurfaced. He tried to fight back against the rampant messaging, doing his best to tune out the audios as the First Sergeant led him back to the front line. Alan was being attacked on all fronts: his morals, his identity, his sexuality. Every time he turned away to defend one trait, it was like he lost another. He felt himself dwindling, chipping away.

Before long, the two stood directly in front of the courthouse, mere feet away from their first encounter. First Sergeant loaded the new soldier up, arming the man with a weapon and other items necessary in case of an emergency.

“Let’s see if you’re done cooking yet.” First Sergeant looked directly into his subordinate’s eyes, pleased with their reflective quality. He then removed the headphones.

“Name and rank, soldier?” he saluted. The other man fell into place, mirroring his actions.

“Private Aaron Steel, MH36 sir!”

First Sergeant smiled. The name change was a good sign of transition, but complete removal would have been preffered.

“Ready for the task, soldier? Will you be loyal and obedient to the greatest nation? Follow every instruction in the name of tradition?”

The soldier nodded his head quickly, “Affirmative, sir.”

“Alright then.” First Sergeant replaced the headphones back onto the private’s head, knowing a little more time would do the trick. “Dismissed. Get back to work, private.”

“Sir yes sir!”

First Sergeant strolled back to his command at the front line. The new private monitored the crowd, absorbing his commands as he scanned for any disturbances.

[sonofamarine]

As a recruiter, he was the best. His specialty was tracking down sensitive shaggy-haired types and convincing them to enlist. Musicians, poets, artists: after a few minutes talking the hypermasculine recruiter and they were ready to give up that artistic bullshit and become REAL MEN. They’d enlist, cut their shaggy dyed hair into a truly masculine flattop, and ship off to basic to be made into masculine marines.

Wherever he went, the local art school would close as the students decide the masculine military life was the better option. Luckily, the military was ready to snap those art schools up and convert them into military academies. And the local salons that offered hair coloring and fancy cuts were driven out of town as old school military barbers moved in.

Once a town had been converted into a masculine, patriotic population, he would get shipped off to a new town, eager to get to work on the men of the town. Maybe he’ll come to your town next.

[hmmmmmmmmmmmmm1]

Who wants to swap bodies with him? Click the link to find no it how!

[ravings-of-a-mad-scientist]

Math

Geologist: I do more math than you might think

Chemist: I mean, chemical equations are basically mathematical equations. If you think about it (I also do math math)

Physicist: Oh, yeah, it’s all math but we just handwave it

Mathematician: YOU DO WHAT!?

Quantum Physicist: *regularly does math that is literally beyond human comprehension* *now resides in a higher plane of existence*

Engineer: If I don’t do this math correctly PEOPLE WILL DIE

Military Scientist: If I don’t do this math correctly PEOPLE WILL SURVIVE

Topologist: If I don’t do this math correctly PEOPLE WILL BE MOSTLY UNAFFECTED

Philosopher: But what even IS math, really? No seriously, what is it?

Organic Chemist: I kinda forgot how to do math, to be honest

Biologist: I literally only chose this field so I wouldn’t have to do as much math. I love stamp collecting

Biostatistician: wtf

[snekdood]

so uh

for 1. most people are gonna take advantage of black friday and wont see your specific niche tumblr post, I hate to say it

2. the us isnt running out of money for war any time soon, so...

3. this is just antisemitism???????? all we need is some (((echoes))) around the us and israel and then I'd have no reason to suspect otherwise from op...............

[hard-like-fella]

seeing your work; turning people into rubber skinheads, chavs, etc. has really made me realize how nice it would be if something similar were to happen to me. What would have to change in order to become a rubber soldier?

Indeed, envisioning yourself as a rubber soldier conjures up images of a striking figure clad in shiny latex and PVC, with every muscle accentuated to perfection.

However, the magic of such a transformation lies in the precision of your words. A 'rubber soldier' might not just entail a shiny uniform but could literally mean becoming a RUBBER soldier.

As the transformation begins, you might first notice your compression T-shirt hugging your torso a tad more snugly than usual. Then, a peculiar sensation sweeps over you as your muscles stiffen, your skin takes on a glossy, green sheen, and you feel both powerful and constrained simultaneously.

In the blink of an eye, your uniform and boots seem to dissolve, melding into your very being. Now, you stand not just dressed as, but truly embodying, a toy soldier - resolute and unyielding.

Your every movement resonates with a surreal, rubbery echo. As you move, the stiffness of your body becomes apparent. Each motion is deliberate, almost mechanical. The most immediate and striking change is the pervasive scent of rubber and plastic mixed with sweat that now seems to emanate from your very pores. It's a constant reminder of your transformation, a heady and unmistakable aroma that clings to your newly glossy skin.

Isn't this what you asked for?

[octuscle]

Yet another Christmas wanting to fit in with my marine family. Me, the shaggy haired skinny twig nerd, surrounded for a week by people I can’t relate to. I wish I’d joined the Corps instead of running away to college. Please, support, can you transform me for good?

You need some rest and fresh air right now. You're especially sick and tired of your hollow-headed brothers. So you put your cap over your shaggy hair, put on the old army parker with the climate and peace movement patches and go outside. Your eldest brother follows you and asks if he can go with you. You smile painedly. And off you go. Of course he's wearing his running gear. And challenges you to a race down to the river. You, completely untrained and in normal street clothes against your super sporty brother in running shoes. Very fair. But suddenly ambition breaks out in you. You start to catch up with him. You overtake him. He gives it his all. But you win.

He is both leaning against the railing on the riverbank, breathing heavily. You take off your cap and wipe the sweat from your forehead. The long, sweaty hair of your fashionable undercut falls into your forehead. You take off your parker. Underneath is an Under Armour running jacket. Your brother gives you a fist bump, says he's proud of you and challenges you again. Not a sprint this time, but the big run. The ten miles to the war memorial and back again. Sure thing, Sergeant, you say with a grin, lace up your running shoes again and then you trot off. You are not men of big words. But you are brothers. You run in step. It's fucking cold. You have hoarfrost in your eyebrows and in your hair. The few hairs you have. Both of you have shaved sides and necks. You wear your top hair just a little bit longer. You don't talk much between you. But you start singing Christmas carols as marching songs.

When you come back, your other brothers and your father are already sitting by the fireplace in their blue dress uniforms. Your mother is in the kitchen and tells you to hurry up, they're about to toast the holidays with eggnog. Bloody sweet stuff. But it's a family tradition. And every form of tradition is sacred. Nevertheless, Christmas is no reason to forget your sense of duty. After dinner is ready, you make your way back to the gym. You don't want to go to bed with any calories converted into muscle mass.

You could have bet that your brothers have noticed that you've left the house. No one is unobserved in your house. The military drill has shaped you all. And when one person goes to work out, everyone works out. Everything for the family and everything for the country!

I found the picture of you when you noticed your brothers entering the gym @militarymenrbomb

[keegansgurl]

Summary: The reader gets captured by Graves during his siege of Las Almas. And the commander has certain ideals about what's in store for her.

Warnings!! Gun violence, wounds, implied sexual content, Kidnapping, being held captive, 18+ themes

Thunder cracks in the distance as you step out of the hummer with Soap, Ghost, Alejandro, and Rudy. It's dusk, and the air is starting to get heavy with moisture as the thunderstorm in the mountains grows near.

"Is that Graves' guys posted up at the gate?" You nudge Ghost when you spot the armed guards standing at the gate leading into the base.

Alejandro and Rudy share a look before Alejandro steps forward toward the gate. You hang back with Soap and Ghost while the Colonel searches for answers as to why a bunch of hired guns are guarding his base.

"What's Graves doing?" You ask Ghost as you watch Alejandro get up in his face.

"I don't know." Ghost replies in a gruff and cautious tone. "But I've got a bad feeling." He adds.

You nod in agreement, your dominant hand hovering over the pistol holstered at your thigh. Alejandro and Graves continue to but heads until all hell breaks loose. Alejandro gets taken down swiftly by one of Graves' men. Shots begjn whizzing through the air and Ghost grabs your arm to pull you behind cover.

"It doesn't have to go down like this, Ghost!" Graves shouts from his spot in front of the base gate.

"We need to get out of here." You crouch down next to Ghost with urgency.

Ghost nods in agreement and begins coming up with an escape plan. Graves' men begin to fan out and come towards the group. You and Ghost make a break for it but one of Graves' men manages to clip you with a shot to the shoulder. A searing hot pain shoots up through your shoulder and you crumble into the dirt.

Ghost stops and turns around to pull you up, but you wave him off with the hand that isn't clutching at your shoulder.

"No! Ghost, go! Get out of here!" You shout at your commander, the sound of Graves's men closing in growing louder in your ears by the second.

Ghost nods in understanding and takes off before your enemies descend upon you. One of them trains his gun on you while the other one grabs you by the injured shoulder and hauls you up to your feet.

"Ah!" You yelp in pain from the contact to your bullet wound.

Graves' men drag you back toward the gate and right up to their commander. Graves cracks a smug grin as you are dumped into the dirt at his feet.

"Well well well, if it isn't the infamous Spectre of the 141." Graves leans down and grabs your chin harshly in his hand.

You glare up at him as Graves holds your chin in his calloused hand. You grit your teeth as he smiles down at you with a sinister look in his eye.

"Boy who'd of thought that such a pretty thing like you could have all that rage and violence locked up inside." Graves chuckles at you. "You know? I'm glad it was you that my boys managed to catch first. Means that I get to have a little fun before work." He grins and signals for his men to take you away.

"You won't get away with this, Graves!" You kick and shout as you're dragged away and into one of the buildings on base.

You get tossed into a small barren room harshly. Your knees scrape against the floor, head hitting the corner of the doorframe as you get tossed down to the floor. The door slams shut and you hear a click followed by the sound of heavy boots walking away from the door.

You suck in a breath and manuever yourself into a sitting posistion on the cold floor. Graves' boys secured your hands behind your back with zipties after they got you inside the builging, so your movement is severly limited.

"Fuck." You groan to yourself as you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down.

You glance at your shoulder where you got shot. Blood has completely soaked through your shirt and beginning to dry into the fabric. The tendons in your shoulders burn with every little movement, making you wince in pain.

You scoot yourself over to the far corner of the room and lean against it. Graves's men pulled the zipties around your wrists pretty damn tight. But if you can somehow dislocate your thumb on one of your hand. Then you think that you can manage to slip your restraints.

You keep your back almost against the far corner of the room as you work to dislocate your thumb. While you work you keep your eyes fixed on the door on the other side of the room. You can hear footsteps and muffled voices on the other side of the door. Graves' men no doubt. But if you can pull this off then you'll be ready for them next time they come through that door.

"Come on. Come on!" You mumble to yourself as you work. "Fuck! Yes, that should do it." You wince quietly when your thumb grinds against bone and eventually clicks out of place.

Your hand aches now as well as your shoulder. But now there is just enough leverage for you to dig your hand free from your restraints. The zipties dig into your skin, scraping away at the first layer of your dermis as you go. But you've got to get free.

After some effort, your left hand finally manages to slip free. You breath a sigh of releif as you move your arms back into their normal posistion. Your wrists are rubbed raw and bleeding at this point. But you're free.

"Okay. Stay calm, YN." You calm yourself down now that you're free.

You tear a strip off the bottom of your shirt and wrap it around your shoulder into a makeshift sling. The sling takes some of the pressure off your shoulder and you allow yourself a little bit of time to rest and recover. You think about Soap and Ghost while you rest. Surely the two of them managed to get away and are coming up with a plan to come rescue you and Alejandro right now.

The heavy sound of footsteps approaching the door switches you out of relaxing mode. You quickly pull your arm out of the sling and wrench your hands behind your back again. If your captor doesnt know that you've free'd yourself. Then you've got the element of surprise.

The door creaks open and Graves steps into the room. He closes the door behind him and grin at you. "Well, aren't you a sigh for sore eyes, sweetheart? All hunched up in the corner, cowering in fear like a meek little bunny." He chuckles to himself and approaches you.

You watch Graves come towards you. You could spring on him right now and take him down. But you know that it's better if you wait until he's closer and more off guard to strike.

"Fuck you!" You growl at Graves with fire in your eyes and venom in your tone.

Graves comes to a stop a few feet in front of you. He smiles at you before gesturing for you to get up.

"Come on! Let's see it." Graves prompts you. "I'm not stupid, sweetheart. I know that you've found a way out of those retraints by now." He insists.

You grit your teeth and begruginly move your arms back in front of you. It'll be no use in trying to attack him now.

"Atta girl." Graves muses and reaches behind him. He pulls his arm back out in front of him with a bottle of water in hand and offers it to you. "Go on. Take it."

You scoff and turn your nose up at the offer. "I don't want shit from you, traitor." You spit at him.

"Suit yourself, sweetheart." Graves shrugs and pops the cap off of the bottle.

You watch Graves place the bottle to his lips and take a large swig of water from it. You become acutely aware of just how dry your mouth and throat are as you watch little droplets of precious water drio out of Graves' mouth and dribble down his chin.

"Ah!" Graves smirks and screws the cap back onto the now half-empty bottle. "Refreshing." He taunts you.

"If you're going to kill me, can you get it over with already?" You stare up at Graves with disdain written plainly on your face.

Graves laughs and crouches down to your level. "Kill you?" He scoffs. "Now why would I go and do something as stupid as that?" He asks you. "Shepard gave me a look at your file, you know?"

"General Shepard?" Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

"Mhm." Graves grins. "You are quite the soldier. Long list of skills that could be useful for a man in my business." He adds. "And all wrapped up in an enticing package too."

You reel back as Graves reaches a hand out to caress your face. You breifly think about biting down on his hand as hard as you can. But you know that he'd just overpower you if you did.

"Come on, sargent." Graves coos at you. "Think about all the trouble we could get into if you teamed up with me, huh?" He paints a picture for you. "Think about all the fun we could have. All the money that we could make." Graves drones on.

"I'd rather die than ever work for a scumbag mercanary like you." You growl and turn your head away from him.

Graves doesn't seem to falter any at your harsh words. He steps forward again, backing you further into the corner. Both of you are standing up now. But Graves is at least half a foot taller than you are. He watches you with intense eyes as you try your best to turn away from him.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, YN." Graves scoffs. "Don't think that I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at me these past few days." He reaches forward and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "Hmm? All those stolen glances at breifings? Or that cute little smile being directed at me when your meathead 141 buddies aren't looking?" He teases you.

You turn your head in shame, knowing that everything Graves is saying is true. Graves chuckles and grabs your shoulder where you got shot. You gasp in pain and turn to look at Graves again.

"Let me go!" You huff a breath out at Graves and try to pull away from him.

Graves doesn't budge, and instead steps closer to you. His body traps you between himself and the wall and you can smell the mint on his breath as well as the cologne he wears wafting off of him.

"Come on sweetheart, just give in." Graves leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers in a husky tone to you.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you freeze in place. It's like your brain is short circuiting right now. All those dirty thoughts that popped into your head 24 hours ago when Graves first introduced himself come flooding back all at once. All those thoughts about how handsome Graves looks in his tactical gear. About how that damned Southern American accent ignited something inside of you when he introduced himself to the group.

Everything.

You could cut the tension in the room with a simple wave of the hand.

That tension is broken when a rapid knock sounds at the door. Graves step away from you with an annoyed grimace at being interupted. He backs up towards the door and offers you a wink and charming grin. "This conversation aint over sweetheart. I'll be right back." Graves assurs you before slipping out of the room.

Your heart thumps against your chest like it's due to burst at any moment. Your gaze stays transfixed on the door and you can hear Graves scolding whichever of his lackies dared interupt him just now.

Silence falls over the room again and you slide down the wall and back down to the floor.

"Oh fuck." You murmur to yourself, head in your hands as you try and regain your composure.

Somewhere outside, sirens start to blare throughout the compound as Ghost, Soap, and Rudy rally to take the base back. The trio locate where you and Alejandro are being held and begin their retrieval plan.

You are still sitting in the corner when the door swings open with force. You look up from your lap expecting to see Graves saunter in again but find Soap instead.

"YN!" Soap crosses the room in barely two strides.

"Soap!" You let out a shakey reply.

Soap leans down in front of you and helps you to your feet. He sets a hand on your shoulder and allows you a few seconds to calm yourself down.

"Are you alright? Did Graves do something to you?" Soap asks you.

"I'm okay, MacTavish." You shake your head and compose yourself. "Have you guys found Alejandro?" You ask him.

Soap nods, trusting that you wouldn't lie to him since the two of you have always been close. "Ghost and Rudy are getting him right now. Are you ready to go?" He asks, offering you a gun from the back of his vest.

"I'm good." You take the gun with a nod and prepare yourself for the fight to come.

A part of you wonders where Graves is at right now. You wonder if he's thinking about you at all. As delusional as that sounds.

Because it does sound delusional, right?

He's the enemy now.

Right?

Right.

[verdantcreek]

do you think you’d kill for me one day? (mcd)

[nocternalrandomness]

A-10A displayed in markings of the 353rd TFS/354th TFW at the National Museum of the United States Air Force