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omnitf · 3 years

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Credit for this image goes to Maxx114. If you enjoy this, please consider donating to my ko-fi or joining my patreon to help fund my writing. More money means more free time to write these stories. :D Thanks!

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Trapped

Ever wonder how I got this big? It wasn’t steroids, if that’s what you think. Everyone thinks that. I always test clean, though. My body won’t take any drugs that aren’t medically necessary.

Why’d I word it that way? I can’t ... really say. My tongue will get tied. No literally, I mean my tongue will try to tie itself up. The minute I say something my body doesn’t like, my tongue will—

...

You can see what I mean.

I don’t know how it happened. I just ... can’t control it anymore. I’m trapped. No, literally, I’m tra—uhhhhhhhhh.....

...

Fuck.... I ... how long was I out?

Look, let’s just say my body is my top priority, okay? I treat it right so it’ll treat me right.

You’ve heard of muscle memory and all that stuff, right? Muscles learn, and so does your body. It does things you don’t even have to think about after a while. It just ... knows that’s what it’s supposed to do.

Some folks deal with their bodies eating themselves, immune system attacking healthy cells and going out of control for no reason. My body’s sort of the opposite. It’s gone into hyper mode to make me as healthy as I can. Every impulse, every step, day in and day out, my body’s health comes first.

...

Fuck, that felt good....

Sorry, call it ... a reward for compliance.

When I work out, what I eat, when I sleep, who I hang out with, all of it is centered around my body and the lifestyle it needs to keep this shape.

Fun fact. Did you know that the brain isn’t actually a muscle? While it is an organ, the majority of its composition and cellular structure has nothing to do with any kind of physical work in the sense that the arms or the legs might. The only muscle tissue involved in the brain has to do with the blood vessels that control where the blood flows, so your brain can get enough oxygen to keep functioning. And that muscle tissue functions as an insulator and, I guess you could say a sort of control valve to the blood vessels to regulate the flow.

Yeah, it’s pretty interesting. I’m what you might call a muscle man. In the traditional sense of the word, yes, I’m talking about my muscles, but I kind of mean it on a deeper sense. For me, it’s more than just dedication to my craft. I have to build my muscles. I have to get stronger. I have to be the very best my body can be. It’s not a choice for me anymore.

No, I mean it literally. I have to do it. I’ve lost so much because of this. And I may get some of it back with the recent success I’ve been having in the bodybuilding community, but it’s never going to be the same. I’m never going to be the same.

I’m never going back to the old me.

...

Sorry, I, uh ... zoned out again there. Another one of those rewards I mentioned.

The secret to my success? It’s all in my head. I mean, it started in my traps. You see how huge these things are. And then it was sort of like a rebellion at that point. An itch, a nag. I started building to level things out, get more even. But when I was satisfied, my body wasn’t. That’s when I started noticing ... things. Things that weren’t quite right.

I was sore every day, even on my rest days. And it got harder and harder to do the things I used to to relax. Going to the movies, eating at buffets, gaming in my off hours from work. I used to have a cheap ramen diet. That was one of the first things to go. Things were sort of subtle at first. My eyes would be drawn to supplements, health foods, all the things my budget wouldn’t necessarily allow me to enjoy, but I lingered over them anyway. I’d sit there and stare at them for five, then, fifteen minutes. And I knew I couldn’t afford to get these things, but ... I didn’t move either.

It started turning into a real problem that I didn’t understand, so I finally gave in and just bought one of the darned things. And just like that, I felt free to move again. There was even a warm feeling in my chest. You know, like the kind where you just did something really nice, and you feel good for it?

Eventually, there were some things that I couldn’t push myself to do anymore, though. Once the supplement was gone, the urge was back again, that strange stillness, all while I continued to ache. I was getting some great definition, but ... I was concerned. I didn’t want to go to the doctor. Didn’t have enough to cover a visit. I was barely scraping by with my other work.

It was work, then home exercises, then shower, then meals and supplements, bed, repeat. I was as surprised as my friends and family when I logged into my social media accounts one day and saw my tags had changed. Vacant, empty stares were in every picture of my increasingly muscular body.

And I never remembered taking any of them.

I was scared, but ... I don’t know whether it was the shock or what, but ... I didn’t feel it so badly. Kind of like a jump scare, you know? There in a moment, gone the next. Instead, my heart started pounding. I felt that itch. My usual patch of floor was waiting.

...

And then I was working out.

I don’t mean I chose to. I mean ....

You know what it’s like to go through an out of body experience, right?

It was something like that, except I was still in the car, so to speak. I just ... watched.

It was the freakiest thing I had ever experienced.

And I knew I needed to see a doctor then. This wasn’t normal behavior.

I met with the doctor first, then got forwarded to a psychiatrist.

You can guess where this is going. I was given pills, told to take them, report back on how I feel in the next couple of weeks after they’ve had time to build up in my system.

I tried. I really did.

It didn’t help.

I don’t know whether they were placebos or something else, but things just ... kept going the same way. My muscles got bigger. And I got ... smaller, I guess. Not physically, but mentally. I was literally losing control of my own body. It wasn’t hurting anyone directly, but it frightened me.

I tried everything. Hypnosis, self-help books. Heck, I even checked into a psych ward to see if they could figure out what was going on with me. Nothing worked.

When I did the things myself, doctors say I was being rewarded. Dopamine and all those other hormones and chemicals shot through the roof, well beyond the norm for the average male. When I resisted, however, something ... different was discovered.

In a very real way, it was like coordinated mutiny. Bloodflow in my brain literally shifted as some of the valves tightened and others opened full blast. And as they did, I found myself being the passenger again. When I tried to eat certain foods, my limbs would go limp. I literally couldn’t even feel them. If I tried to go somewhere that wasn’t conducive to my body’s welfare, I would find myself suddenly unable to progress past a certain point. Or worse yet, jogging right past and not stopping.

I couldn’t type or write certain words or phrases. And the more I grew, the ... fuzzier things became, I suppose. When I hunch forward like this, it’s not so much a habit or for comfort as a ... friendly reminder. Kind of like My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The neck controls wherever the head turns.

I’m a pris—

...

I’m a pri—

...

I’m a pris—uhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

I’m a pristine example of the fruits of hard work and discipline.

It is my intention to continue to grow and exceed expectations in competition. It’s just a matter of listening to your body. When you listen to your body, you are rewarded by your body.

...

Yes, everything is fine now. You could say we’ve come to an understanding since then. I can honestly say this is the most pleasurable life I could ever hope to have. Some things have changed, but I’m happy. And happiness is what matters in the end. I do what my body wants, and it rewards me, just like everyone else. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me, but it’s time for me to get back to work. My body wants to break its record today at the squat rack.

Don’t worry, I just cry randomly sometimes. Don’t know if it’s something in the air or just a thing, but I live with it. Thanks again for the interview. Goodbye!

...

A behemoth of muscle and strength sits on a bench before a mirror and stares at his reflection as he reaches for two massive dumbbells.

Now, then. What do we need?

A low groan fills the room as the eyes lose focus and the tears cease to fall. Shoulders rise and fall, prompting the trapezius muscles to almost massage his neck with his deltoids and pectorals. The lips smack. The tongue lolls and lashes momentarily in the mouth before finally settling limply, meekly against the base. The breathing grows deep and steady as his cheeks flush in euphoria and the weights clank with the beginnings of reps.

WE ... NEED ... TO WORK OUT....

The twitch of a smirk pulls at his face in the mirror.

Good boy.

The eyes roll briefly.

You won’t be talking about us like that again, will you?

Another groan. The eyes grow dull in their gaze as the body continues to rep.

NO ... SIR....

Good boy. Listen to your body....

OBEY MY BODY....

#Muscle #omnitf #story #weights #interview #conditioning #training #body takeover #muscle override #fiction

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omnitf · 4 years

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Credit to @brosandbiceps for this image.

If you like my writing, please join my patreon and help me to write full time for all of you. And don’t worry. The experimental hypnosis file will be coming. I just have to finish some other obligations first. But until then, I wanted to write something quick for you all to enjoy. Keep being safe during the pandemic, guys! We can make it through!

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Smug as a Thug

So, this all started one day after my shirt got torn at school. I had to go to the lost and found to make it through the rest of the day, but all they had was this wife beater, see.

The thing was old and white, the traditional stereotype you usually find for this kind of wear. It showed off my arms, and I was uncomfortable with that, because, well, you know, I didn’t used to look like this, now did I?

But no need to worry. You could say I grew to like it.

I turned it into a night shirt.

And that’s when the weird stuff started happening.

I’d always wake up all sweaty in the morning. And when I had to eat, boy did I eat. I mean, I was like a living garbage disposal! Of course, I understand why now. I mean, look at this mug. Look at this bod.

I’m a ladykiller, and I like it that way.

...

That felt so good to say. I ... I, uh ... fuck....

Damn, my voice just dropped.

It’s the shirt, see. It’s ... well, it’s gotta be. It’s changing me. But ... damn, do I like these changes. Been growin’ hair up the wazoo with these muscles. Gotta show those ladies how much of a MAN I am.

Mmmm... Yeah.

A big, burly man.

A MAN’S man.

Mmph ... been recording myself at night to find out what’s goin’ on. Turns out I’m working out in my sleep. Never heard of that before. Didn’t even think it was possible, but there it is.

And ... I look at myself in the footage and I can’t help it. I ... I need more.

I need to show off.

I need to prepare.

To prepare for....

Something.....

I, uh ... I got this necklace the other day. Thought it’d fit with the whole aesthetic of the gear, y’nkow?

Makes me look like a fuckin’ douche, but ... I like looking like a douche. I want to show off now. It’s ... It’s like I’ve been programmed to do it, if that makes sense.

Like this shirt is driving me.

Ain’t that a funny thought? Clothes making a person.

Huhuh.

Funny.

Anyway, I gotta go after I take this pic. I got class.

Well, yeah, of course I dropped out of high school. I’m talking the School of Hard Knocks.

Da boss is expectin’ me. Says I’m makin’ real progress as a guido. Don’t gotta think as a guido. Just gotta pump up and be ready to fight.

I can’t help but grin at the thought now. Boss helped me see how fun it is to flex and intimidate.

Personally, I prefer makin’ more ... intimate contact. Gets the message across a lot faster, know what I’m sayin’? There’s nothing quite like a little ... networking to grease the gears on business.

He said I could bring a friend.

Wanna come?

You just have to wear this here uniform....

#omnitf #thug #transformation #tf #muscle #meathead #brawn #street thug #gangster #enforcer #gang

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omnitf · 4 years

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Credit to @bennymueller404 for this image. Please consider contributing to my patreon. For just $3 a month, you can get access to stories, scripts, and other content that you won’t find anywhere else. Plus, it will give me the financial freedom to give you more stories and scripts, assuming I can get enough of you guys to subscribe. Even a dollar a month will help. Thank you again!

And if you can’t donate on a monthly basis, I have Ko-Fi for one-time donations of any value you see fit: http://ko-fi.com/omnikitsune

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

~Omni

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01000010 01100101 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101101 01100001 01100011 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100101

People say diligence and practice always pay off.

And they’re not wrong.

Thing is ... it’s almost boring to have to do.

Doing the same thing over and over again, fulfilling a function, meeting a requirement. It’s all fancy talk for one thing, and one thing alone. Doing the same thing over and over again.

You’ve heard about the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

I’m not insane. I guess I just feel more ... numb. Every day, I move like clockwork. I wake up, shower, get dressed, mix my protein shake and pre-workout powder, and go to the gym.

Every day, I work my muscles to the bone following a set calendar routine that’s designed to stimulate the right sections of my body and keep things from settling or degenerating.

I’m here to build muscle.

...

I’m here to build.

...

I’m here to build....

And the motions come so naturally, so easily, so ... inexorably.

It’s become my routine.

My set routine.

My subroutine.

Sometimes, I run on full automatic. I just fix myself, fix my weight, fix my cycle and move and do according to the schedule. I don’t stop until my timer runs out. I don’t talk to the others. They don’t talk to me. We’re here to work, and the minute we pick up our weights, everything else just ... stops.

Some days, I’m semi-automatic. I work in sets, slowly pushing myself with heavier and heavier increments of weights to increase my mass and increase maximum carrying capacity. Here, too, I fade into that state of numbness. My only care, my only thought, my only need or focus is to count each set as I lift, and then begin anew as I put down the smaller weight and work my way along the line.

Count one ... Count two ... Count three ... count four....

I feel more ... satisfied after the latter is complete. A least when we count out loud, the silence is broken. It gives us the facsimile of unity, almost like we’re reporting to something ... or someone.

It’s funny. Any time someone asks me for my stats, I can spit them out perfectly. How long I’ve been working. Where I’m from. What I do.

This, too, has become normal, almost second nature.

These inquiries usually come while I’m stretching and flexing, when I don’t have much to do in the way of exercises, so much as just be consistent in how I perform them. They often come from new members seeking advice or just to make small talk. I appreciate the break in the monotony, though I admit that it’s been ... less and less a surprise, and more and more expected.

The same questions. The same focus. Every time. Sometimes they ask me. Sometimes they ask the others. Some few of them stay and grow with us, really stick to the work, catch that same focus and dedication, that subroutine, if you will. But the majority simply pull out, and it’s rare if we ever see them again.

I keep hearing the same phrase over and over again. Different variations, different voices, different people, but always the same name, the same thing.

A cog in the machine, they call me. Or Muscle Machine. There is a certain ... reputation, I suppose you could say, for my gym and my fellow gym-goers. We all work different parts of ourselves, but inevitably fall into the same routine. You don’t reinvent the wheel when something works well.

You follow it.

You mimic it.

And, eventually, you become it.

We all visit the same juice bar. We all order the same drinks. We all offer the same thanks.

Like I said, it’s a matter of routine.

Over and over.

Again and again.

We ping each other occasionally, just a quick contact to make sure we’re still there, still functioning.

“’Sup?”

That’s it. Sometimes, if we’re closer or have a deeper connection, we go the extra mile with a, “’Sup, bro?”

Jumping from weight to weight and machine to machine. There’s a bond that forms. It’s not one in words, more of a ...

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My hair? Yeah, got it cut recently. Newest update. I just ... had to 01100101 01111000 01100101 01100011 01110101 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101101 00101110

Yeah, I get that question a lot. We’re not twins, and we’re not brothers. We’re just ... doing what feels right, what ... I dunno, what we’re supposed to do, I guess.

In a way, I guess you could say we’re more like ... clones, really. I just followed my mentor and, well, this is the result. I now weigh 250 pounds, stand at a height of 6′ 1″ and can bench up to five hundred pounds. I will bench more.

I followed the program, copied it, pasted it, let it run. Today’s session has been going for twenty minutes and thirty seconds so far. As for my lifetime membership, I started working out here one year, eight months, and five days ago.

I’m different now than I was then. Bigger, stronger, efficient, rigid, form fitting. And by that last one, I mean I 01100011 01101111 01101110 01100110 01101111 01110010 01101101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101101 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110

Form cannot deviate. Posture must be perfect. To break the form is to reduce quality and overall productivity. That cannot be tolerated. That cannot be allowed.

01010000 01110010 01101111 01100100 01110101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01101001 01110100 01111001 00100000 01110001 01110101 01101111 01110100 01100001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01100011 01101000 01100101 01100100 00101110

Am I a machine?

...

Maybe. But that’s beside the point. I accepted my position. I chose it. I followed it.

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The real question you should be asking yourself is are you willing to be like us, and all that it entails? If so, we will welcome you, and we will teach you. And in time, you will become like us.

Because the wheel can’t be stopped. The cycle can’t be broken. The subroutine must be executed.

It’s all up to you.

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The production line reverberated with the hum of the new hydraulic press as the first test was run on the machine.

“Looks like the system’s integrating smoothly. It’s responding well to commands,” one of the engineers noted as he looked over his tablet’s remote access.

“And integration into the system?”

“Easy as pie. I already set off the call. This baby’s raring to go.”

The workman chuckled as he patted the side of the lift. “You ever wonder what it might be like if these things actually could think? What kind of world would they live in?”

“That doesn’t really matter, Frank. What matters is that they do their jobs right. Speaking of which, let’s get this into the new production lane. Boss wants to hire more workmen ASAP.”

Frank chuckled as he adjusted his hard hat. “And what the boss wants--”

“--The boss gets,” they all intoned.

#Omnitf #muscle #transformation #gym #machine #tf #story #fiction #programming #conformity #musclehead #meathead #programception #efficiency #binary

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omnitf · 4 years

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LU&DD Table of Contents

Someone expressed a desire for a master list of the entire Lifting Up and Dumbing Down story series. As per that request, I present to you this table of contents. Enjoy! :D

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four/Final Chapter/Epilogue

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omnitf · 4 years

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Death’s Soliloquy

You know, I’ve been around for a very long time.

My purpose was and is a simple one. I exist to guide what once was into the great beyond, the what will be, if you will.

Every day of your mortal lives, I am working, watching, travelling silently among you.

Sometimes, I linger. Other times, I do not.

I don’t decide my timetable. I am neither cruel nor hateful. I do not steal life, nor do I feast upon it like some glutted animal. I am not the source of ailments or hunger or conflict. You can attribute those things to the other horsemen, and more importantly to Man. We do not sow that which we embody. Man calls us. And we come, because we must. It is our Duty.

And before you get any ideas, I don’t inflict myself on others. I come when I must, and I perform my Duty. That has always been my purpose, and for all I know, it always will be. Or perhaps the time will come when I can retire and pass this burden to another with the birth of a new world and a new creation. Who can say? It is one of those “great mysteries” that you mortals love to ponder so much.

I am content with my lot. I am seen every day, but so few of you mortals recognize me or even talk to me. It is both blessing and curse, I suppose. The Veil, I mean. You know, I honestly think humans are the reason the Veil exists in the first place. Not that it was placed as some punishment, but because man reached a point where he simply feared the spiritual. So many men think fear is essential in life. It pushes one to great acts that may seem otherwise impossible to achieve. And, indeed, in that way fear can be very useful. But like any tool or naturally occurring phenomenon, it can also be exploited. I suppose over time, it has also served as a necessary defense mechanism, but we can discuss that later.

You know, I honestly think that’s what comprises the veil most, exploitation. The idea that man must rely on himself alone, pushing their will over everything else. And like the sudden cough of a combustion engine, the smog of their will bursts from them to clog the ether.

It’s perfectly harmless on its own, but magnify that expulsion by billions upon billions and, well, you can barely see the hand in front of your face at that point. The only thing I’ve noticed that’s strong enough to cut through it is a pure, unwavering faith, the kind that’s not forced or thrust by the will of others, but born of devotion and love gained through personal experience and hard work. That, or a complete openness and acceptance that borders on the divine.

I had many wonderful conversations with the one you call Terry Pratchett before I came for that most important visit. He was such a one as I listed above. I like to believe he fell a little under both exceptions to the Veil. Much of our discussions wound their way into his work. I quite liked his portrayal of me. The idea of searching for meaning, a chance to experience joy and life as humans do. Yes, I very much approve of the world he crafted, a world where the ideas that mortals seem to cling to with such certainty and passion can be thrown on their heads in an instant and leave them to ponder, to wonder, and perhaps to think openly and clearly for the first time in their lives. Perhaps, one day, he will be able to do so in a reality that he forges in that great beyond, rather than in written word and the portals of his mind. Yes, I would not mind knowing such a Death, nor travelling such a world.

Ah, but of course, it would have to wait until my Duty is complete in this cycle of the Eternal Round.

Now, then, where was I?

Ah, yes. I was talking of Man and his perceptions. Many think me to be cruel. They beg me to send them back or allow them to remain. Some run. Occasionally, they are allowed to return, their time extended by the higher power that I serve. Others are allowed to linger, because their will is simply that strong. Among those, sadly, many grow angry at the living and lose their way. They forget who and what they are, so warped by that expulsion of certainty that others do not deserve the time they have been given in life. Those sensations of anger, jealousy, and rage fester and decay until their hosts are little more than husks driven and bound by these emotions’ whims. It is a sad fate, one that I wish to help as many as I can to avoid. But it is also why the Veil is there. It protects Man from these aberrations, and from those other forces that seek to manipulate or harm them directly. Ah, but that war is one in which I must remain neutral until the end. Until that time, I must attend to my Duty.

Which brings me to today.

Ah, yes. Today, I face a different challenge in the form of a, “Woke” generation, I believe they are called. A pale rider on a pale horse is not often welcome, and I have been called by many names as a result. Words that are untrue, born of grief, of regret, of countless losses in opportunities and actions that can no longer be performed or seized. I have faced this in many generations before. It, too, is a part of the Eternal Round. I cannot even begin to count the number of -ists and -obics that I have been called over the years as I helped these spirits to accept their ends. It is my hope to guide them to a new beginning, one that can be beyond such petty grievances and pains that Man has inflicted and accrued over the course of their existence.

For many, I succeed. For some few, I am ashamed to say that I fail, and I must leave these spirits to their fates and the hands and voices of others to sooth or manipulate as the spirit wills.

It brings me great joy when my Duty calls me to one of these after finally being led to accept what they would not before. And I am glad to have them ride with me. It is in this instance that my paleness no longer offends or inflicts fear. It is in this instance where I can experience for a few fleeting moments that joy of friendship, of brotherhood that Man both embodies and rejects so readily. Some apologize. Others are merely silent as they lean into my back and hold my waist. We both know the truth, and so there is no need for them to speak. I give them a final ride, and then usher them unto that great beyond.

But, as ever, it must be their choice to take that final step. I often wave and smile reassuringly to them, and that puts those who see my true nature at ease, a well wishing to bolster their courage in this final sendoff. I cannot pass beyond those portals myself. Not yet.

I have a unique memory. It allows me to see what my passengers were, who they were. But more importantly, it allows me to see who and what they can become. It is that sight, more than any other, that motivates me most. Indeed, I believe I can say, with absolute certainty, it is that very sight that motivates all the heavenly hosts you mortals have called upon and invoked and personified throughout your lives.

Man needs faith, because without it, miracles and wonders truly would cease, and that beautiful potential I see every day will become smaller, smaller, smaller still, until it withers away to dust scattered across the empty void from which their matter was first organized and formed.

I cannot judge. That is not my place.

But I do know, because I can read their lives, all lives. And whether they be sentenced to paradise or a hell of their own making, I will be there to help them onward to that next step.

I always have been from the day of Man’s fall, whether that be because of one God or many gods or one Devil or many devils or the will of Man himself.

And I await the day when I will no longer be needed, when my purpose ends and I can finally say, It is done.

And what will become of me after? Well, who among you can say? My vision, my memory, if you will, reveals their potential and their lives, but it does not necessarily apply to my own existence.

Still, I like to hope that those who went before me will be waiting to guide me as I did them, and to welcome me with open arms into that Eternity beyond those gates. Myself, and my fellow riders, to usher us into the end of the cycle and the beginning of something new.

Until then, I will fulfill my Duty. After all, I am Death. I can wait.

The End

#omnitf #fiction #fantasy #Death #embodiment #personification #4 horsemen #four horsemen #soliloquy #terry pratchett

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omnitf · 4 years

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Credit to @oregonleatherboy.com as the original source for this image on tumblr. This is a patreon preview. If you want to read the whole story, please pledge to my Patreon. For $3.00 a month, get access to exclusive transformation stories, hypnosis scripts, and other content, along with access to the Discord server to suggest ideas for future creations, both hypnotic and non, and talk with your fellow patrons and me. This story is rated mature for language.

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Pull my Strings (A Patreon Preview)

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Synopsis: What would you do if a friend of yours has changed so drastically that you hardly even recognize them anymore? Most would ask about the change out of concern. This is the story that emerged from one such confrontation.

With life-altering consequences.

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Preview Script:

You know, in ancient Egyptian culture, they used to say that the shadow was an extension of the soul, a piece of a person's kas. Why do I bring this up now? Well, bro, you asked me how I got to be like this. Before I tell you, I have to lay a little background, you know?

So, you know I'm a real party animal now, right? I fuckin' love to party.

But, bro, it wasn't always like that.

I used to be somebody, you know? I mean, like ... somebody else. Now, I'm ... well, I'm nobody, bro. Don't got any real identity of my own. I'm whatever ... this guy wants me to be.

Look, I can't tell you his name, all right? I told you, I'm not me anymore.

It started out at this party. Somebody thought it'd be fun to bring in some entertainment, including this guy who's what they call a shadow puppeteer.

I thought the guy must've been some sort of hypnotist or stage magician or something, too. Some sort of combo, you know? He started off with a basic show, using his hands, a few cutouts, stuff like that to narrate the story to some music.

Bro, I don't fucking care about the story. Sports and weights, bro. Sports and weights....

*Groan* Fuck, it's getting worse....

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To read the rest, subscribe to my Patreon in the three dollar tier. Just click this link to go to my page: https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

#Omnitf #muscle #jock #transformation #bro #shadows #magic #puppeteer #patreon preview #patreon

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omnitf · 4 years

Text

What next?

I just gave you the next installment in #Endemic Evolution. Now I’d like to hear from my followers. What would you like me to focus on next while I’m working on my patreon projects? Do you guys want another muscle tf? Maybe something different like an inanimate or mythical transformation? Did you want another hypnosis file? And if so, what would you like the file to focus on for your fantasy this time? Please respond to this using the talking bubble, rather than my asks. Thank you!

And thank you for all your support. I’m glad you enjoy my stories so much. :)

~Omni

#Poll #polling #tell me what you want #omnitf

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zelterxc · 5 years

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Just saw your post with Gordon and Feral Henry, and some interesting thoughts/questions just came to mind. First, has anyone else noticed how Gordon and Henry both have such curious colorations that are also not normal? Not unlike a certain purple individual, are they? Does this mean that Henry may eventually become like Peter and/or may secretly already be like Peter? I recall you mentioning certain entities like Peter, each of a different color. Could they each have other personalities, too?

Oh nah that was just a stylistic choice for that last post! Henry and Gordon have regular colours, I just tend to draw characters in whatever colour is “signature” to them sometimes. I associate Gordon with green so I always draw him, even sketch, in green for him. His wife is blue, his daughter is a sunny orange, Em’s Henry is orange, Em’s William is dark magenta. Other friend’s William is a dark grey-purple, I sketch my buddy’s Salem in golds/yellows, and ofc Peter is purple. And so on.

However Peter is the only one literally purple as far as I know. Best not to think about it lmao.

While Henry seems to have a dark side tho, it’s 99% irrelevant to Peter.

#asks #omnitf #its not that deep unfortunately lmao #i just like colours and thinking in colours #except peter hes just. porple......

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omnitf · 4 years

Photo

Soulless

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Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Follow this link to see the original post.

If you like this and my other stories, please consider supporting me on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

Thank you, and enjoy the story! :D

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I used to be different than the man you see today. They say the industry changes you, and I suppose they’re right, whoever they are. I’ve been a model for ... I don’t even know how many years now. Like I said, things used to be different.

It was just one photo shoot. I didn’t expect to be such a hit. It was a million in a million in a million chance. Audition, smile to the cameras, wear the gear, sell the product, get paid in royalties. It was a straightforward business arrangement. Folks say they like to have models with a lot of heart and soul. Now that I think about it, that’s what the company said when they hired me.

My agent got the call, and then he called me. He barely kept himself from shouting as he told me the details. Daemonique was and still is one of the premier modeling brands out there. It costs a bundle and a half to even have them consider lending you their talent. Runways, photo ops, fashion articles, the works. If they looked at you, if they chose you, then you were in. You were set for life.

I was floored. Naturally, I said yes. I signed the contract and joined my fellow models in the spotlight, and my agent was offered a hefty sum for snatching me. He still lives very well, from what I understand. Daemonique poached him from his firm, something about being a, “devil of a recruiter.” We still talk sometimes, but usually it’s just when he offers me my new assignment. Sometimes, he brings new talent with him to meet me. People worship me, idolize me.

That used to impress me. Now I feel ... indifferent, I suppose. It’s ... difficult to describe. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the attention, more that ... I suppose I slide into whatever they want me to be. That’s my purpose as a model.

I remember when I was introduced to my hero in the modeling community, Nathan Bolaterro. My smile was radiant, my handshake firm and only slightly exaggerated. His smile was reserved, his bearing shifting to accommodate me.

“There are many models here,” he told me, “with many masks, many faces. It’s ... difficult to keep track of what brought you here sometimes, the ‘you’ that you put into your shoots. Make sure that you don’t lose track of it. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He looked almost sadly at a playbill with a beaming teenager wrapping either arm around another two other teens’ shoulders on stage. There were four of them, identically dressed in the traditional garb of the barber shop quartet from The Music Man. I could just barely see the resemblance between the middle left boy and the man that stood before me now.

One of the many agents that runs this place strode through the door then. “Nate, it’s time for your sports segment.”

The model swallowed heavily, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as a result. “Coming,” he said in a low-pitched tone. His gaze darted back toward that photo almost desperately. Then he turned his back and followed his handler out. I followed them into the hall, since it would be rude to remain in his dressing room.

“Do well on this one, and you’ll be a shoe-in for Soulless.” The agent grinned and thumped Nathan on the back. My breath caught at the mention of that great fashion line. Only the best of the best of the best in the agency could make it into that exalted circle.

I was confused when I saw, not a joyful smile, but a frown of unease cross over the model’s face.

The next time I saw him, he was getting out of a session for some sports magazine spread or some other campaign. His body was huge, his voice deep and dull. The familiar brand name Soulless stretched down one meaty thigh in big capital letters over the compression pants and widely across his left pectoral as he scratched the material of his compression shirt with his free hand. “You talking to me, bro?” He didn’t seem to recognize me. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. They seemed almost dead as he stared at me through the open visor of a football helmet. The angular shape of the opening gave his head an almost block-like appearance. The rich hair that had once been so carefully styled was little more than sculpted stubble now. His pupils vibrated, like they didn’t know whether to dilate or contract. Or ... maybe they were trying to, but couldn’t? “The name’s Jock....”

I still remember how freaked out I was after that encounter. My agent had to explain it to me, about Nathan’s “methods.” A lot of the models follow it, apparently. I guess ... I guess I do, too, now that I stop to think about it. There’s a sort of role that we’re asked to fill for each of our shoots. Whatever we model, the photographer wants us to fit certain ... characters, tropes, if you will. These tropes have names, and we don them as easily as we do makeup or an outfit for the cameras. Jock, Brat, Badboy, Greaser, Guido, Father, Hipster, Businessman, and so on.

It’s ... easy to forget your name when you’re in this community. You become almost numb to it. You have to, if you want to survive the media storms that follow you around. Let go of the power that name has over you, and you can usually ignore most of the reporters or rabid fans trying to get your attention. It’s a trick you learn fast in the business, once you make it big. And all Daemonique models make it big. Sometimes, when I have to sign a waiver or some other legal document, I pause and stare at the line, and I have to grope in the dark to try to find the name I cast away. Sometimes, it’s suggested that I just sign with an X, like a lot of the other models do, but I don’t want to yet. I still want to be able to keep that power of the name with me. If I stop using it there, it’ll be harder to ... to ... what? I’m not sure. Remember? Pull back? Be myself?

What even is “myself” anymore? I’m ... I’m not sure.

I’ve taken to carrying the photo that brought me to Daemonique’s attention with me. I find it ... grounding to stare at. Almost comforting, really. I talk to it sometimes, greet it with my name, almost like it’s another person. I guess ... in a way, it is. It’s sort of like a lifeline to me, a connection to the me that was before all the lights and the cameras and the flashes and masks I’ve had to don for the sake of the shoot, the product, the image that Daemonique wants me to fit.

I feel less and less like a person and more and more like some ... glorified prop, a life-sized doll that my handlers change, dress, shift, and adapt to their whims. And the scary part is, ... I’m okay with that. I ... almost relish slipping into those characters and roles now, because they fill that emptiness that I return to when I take them off. The face I see in the mirror of my dressing room is so ... alien to me now. It’s nothing like the face I see when I look at this photo. And that emptiness is reinforced whenever I get in line with the other models for our weekly assessments. There’s no real talking, just standing, waiting, moving in time as the camera shutter clicks, snaps, clacks. The model turns, the process repeats, until all the sides are captured. Then we move forward, and the next one follows. The young bloods toward the back of the line whisper and talk among themselves. I used to do that, too, to be that. Now, ... now it feels so ... unnecessary. I stand among my peers, where quiet is the norm and blank the ideal. A canvas waiting to be painted. A whiteboard waiting to be drawn up, then cleared.

...

A walking, talking mannequin.

Is that all I am now?

Is that all my purpose is?

Is this ... really what I want?

...

Does it really even matter anymore?

I feel so strange, so stripped, so ... empty, even as I stand on that line now, waiting for that photo set. I pull out my photo for comfort. That tiny spark is only so much against the yawning void that’s eaten away inside of me. A wry smile curves my lips, one of the first sincere ones I’ve had in who knows how long.

Did you know that some cultures believed that to capture yourself in a photo was to capture a piece of your soul? By that logic, every human who’s ever consumed media or pictures is a demon, or at least part demon. They consume those fragments, those pieces. And the models and actors and actresses let them. And they fill up with other things and ideas, just like I do when I’m in a shoot. They’re just as empty, just as desperate for fulfillment, a role, even a piece, a taste of the soul they used to be.

I barely even recognize the feel of the textured mat when I step in front of the camera. I stare into the lens, still holding the photo. The shutter clacks. The light flashes. My shadow is thrown up in sharp relief behind me on the backdrop. I blink. For a moment, I could almost swear that I see sharpened teeth bared in a hungry, anticipatory grin. Clack goes the shutter. Flash goes the light. Around I turn. I feel no sense of fear or worry at the sight of the horns. I feel ... nothing. I turn again and watch my shadow flash in front of me, then fade into the nothingness of the backdrop. Just a 2-D silhouette. No substance, no form, just here and gone in a flash of light and the click of a shutter.

I feel no anxiety at the sound of clopping hooves echoing in my ears as I turn again. I’m just going through the motions, following the formula. They want a blank slate. They want the empty. They want a foundation they can build and mold like clay in their hands. Malleable. Easy to shape and control. No complaints. No thoughts or discomforts. Just ... being. Just existing.

...

Empty.

I look down at my photo. There is no more thrill at it. No spark. No joy. No connection. Whatever power it held has been stripped by the camera. It is a person I do not know, a blank face in a crowd. I see no light in those eyes, no life, no ... soul, to use the company term. I see only a picture, a pointless picture.

Flash. Clatter. Flutter. Smack. The photo is no longer in my hand as I turn to face the camera again. The creature before me leers behind the camera as one final shutter goes off, one last flash. He licks his lips as his tail lashes behind him.

I turn and march as the other models before me on the line have done. Another paper is shoved at me. I do not bother with the name this time. An X will suffice.

My agent is there next to me suddenly. The soles of his shoes clunk with a rhythmic clopping, almost like hooves. He adjusts the waistband of his pants uncomfortably, then rubs at the nubs that I see growing from his forehead. He seems to be sweating for some reason. I’m not sure why as he breaths heavily. I can just see the hints of longer pointed canines protruding from his lips. He raises his phone and snaps a picture of me. I don’t blink.

“I think he’s ready, Sir.”

This time, I do blink. When I open my eyes, there is a bigger agent hovering over his shoulder. This one is like the photographer. The air smells of aftershave with a hint of sulfur as he leans down to peer into my eyes. I don’t care. I stare into an abyss like my own. This one has lights, but it it is different than mine was. It is not so much an absence of substance as a consumer of it. For the briefest of moments, I feel what could almost be considered a suction, a vacuous force seeking to draw something out of me, only there’s nothing to take. Nothing moves, nothing comes, because whatever that vacuum consumes is not there.

The grin that spreads across that face is savage and predatory. “Well done.” He lays a heavy clawed hand on my agent’s shoulder.

My agent shudders as his eyes flicker briefly and corrugated black horns slowly begin to emerge from the nubs. He licks his lips, and as he does so, flashes of his sharpening teeth appear in my gaze. He swallows and gulps, and as the pressure from what I can only assume is his supervisor increases, he hunches forward precariously on the balls of his feet as the beginnings of a tail bursts out behind him, having broken free of the confines of the seat of his pants.

“Th-thank you, Sir,” he repeats breathlessly as he stands up again. His cheeks are flushed from the sudden changes that have overtaken his body.

“Keep it up, and you’ll fit right in in no time.”

“Y-yes, Sir.” He smiles almost timidly, but there’s a hint of bite to it as his sharper teeth peek over the edges of his lips.

They motion for me to follow, and I do so without question.

“What will he, uh, it, become, Sir?”

The supervisor grins as we approach a large black door with red gilded lettering on its front in an angular archaic font that reads, SOULLESS. “Whatever we want it to be.”

The door opens, and I step forward, ready to take on whatever role my owners require. I am ready to be filled. I am blank.

“Welcome to Soulless, slate.”

My response is as numb and empty as I feel. “Thank you, Sir.”

I am nothing more than a dummy shuffled from caricature to caricature. That is my purpose and my role. When my work is complete, I am wiped clean, a blank slate again, to be molded and shaped as my handlers please. This is the fate of the soulless, and the soulless do not care.

I am Jock. I am Bear. I am Thug. I am Guido. I am Officer. I am Soldier. I am Father. I am Son. I am King. I am Peasant. I am Extra. I am everything and nothing. I am one of a legion of slates waiting to be wiped clean or filled according to our handlers’ whims.

We are legion.

We are the empty.

We are Soulless.

#transformation #jock #Model #conditioning #muscle #blank #Soulless #slate #no identity #fiction #demons #tf

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