The School Of Buff Jocks Part 2

The School of Buff Jocks Part 2

Click for Part 1

Part two of commission story for @muscle-jock-bro. Send him some love for his patronage! :D And if you feel so inclined, please feel free to fund my creative endeavors by joining my Patreon or by buying me some Ko-fis.

Thanks again! :D

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That night, I dreamed about a lot of things. First, I slid down the spiral from trig, bouncing from point to point like a ping-pong ball as I jerked along the axis of the slide, until I landed in the soft goopy mess of Jim’s body. I struggled and clawed, but my body just sank, and my arms still ached from the press. Darkness consumed me as I went under. Light finally came through a window, where I watched myself standing in front of a mirror. I opened my mouth to speak, but Jim’s voice came out instead.

“Great job! Time to flex!”

My dream self grinned and raised both his arms to pose in front of a mirror.

Once again, my mouth opened. Once again, Jim’s voice spoke. “Looking good, big guy!”

A deep throaty chuckle reverberated in my ears. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Any time,” I said. “If you have any problems, go to Jim.”

I watched helplessly as my dream self inflated inside the gym uniform. Shoulders broadened; neck thickened; and biceps, triceps, and flexors twitched and expanded with every breath. Shelf-like pecs pressed in slabs against the tight material of the compression shirt.

The laugh reverberated through my little space again as I watched, and a smile pulled across my face. Seconds later, I was staring at my new muscle self in the mirror, still grinning like an idiot. My eyes strayed to the screen where Jim flexed at me, the screen I had once been trapped behind, speaking as the program. The screen was filled with rippling liquid gold now, and that gold spilled in a waterfall from the screen as Jim spoke again. “Go to Jim. Listen to Jim. Go to Jim. Go to the gym. Lissssssssssssten….”

Tight hands. Gold coils wrapping my broad shoulders, pinning my arms. Scales that rippled and spun in accents just like the slide at the beginning of the dream. Pulsing eyes drawing me into pulsing liquid gold. Or were the eyes the gold, too? I suppose it didn’t matter to my dream self, so I guess it shouldn’t matter to me either. All I know is those eyes, pools, whatever they were, were waiting for me. Waiting to claim me as Lathrok had been claimed in the campaign.

And I watched helplessly as my dream self let them.

“Let’sssssssss go again….”

I fell through the coils. My world spun, and I was on the slide again.

I don’t know how many times I went through that dream before I woke up. All I know is when I finally did, it was dark, I was cold, and I was covered in sweat.

I wished I could have used those showers again.

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Two weeks of the same dream. By this point, I felt so shot, I didn’t even bother to protest when Andrews looked at me. I knew what was coming. My arms pumped slowly and steadily till I reached ten, then fifteen, then twenty. The phantom cheers from Jim echoed and swam in my head with Andrews’ voice. I barely understood what he was saying.

“With the influx of sports activities, we’ve noticed a certain pattern of decay in the school’s overall academic performance.”

He frowned at each of us. It took everything I had, just to keep my head from hitting the desk.

“As a result, each of us has been tasked with informing you boys that all sporting and extracurricular activities will be barred to any student who doesn’t meet the proper standards.” He spread his legs wide and leveled a flat stare at us that smoldered with foreboding.

Again, I was too out of it to really notice or care. Hell, at this point, I couldn’t even tell what was dream and what was real. There were several objections from the class, but Andrews’ voice cut through them all easily.

“If you boys don’t like it, then change your performance. Use the tools we’ve given you. Do your homework, focus on your projects and assignments. Get the jobs done. You choose your actions. You don’t get to choose the consequences for them.”

To this day, I still can’t tell you what Andrews said after that. I blinked once, and class was over. I had just enough awareness to gather my things and shuffle toward the door, till Andrews stopped me and pulled me aside.

“Derek, are you okay? This isn’t like you.”

His skin seemed to pulse and writhe as I looked at it. With every second, the muscle he’d built seemed to strain against the spandex. I looked at him, and I saw the phantom of Jim’s placid featureless face flowing over my favorite teacher’s.

“Oh, no. Not again.”

If Andrews asked what I meant, I didn’t hear him. The world faded to black, and I was gone.

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I came to in the infirmary. No nightmares this time. Once more, it was almost completely dark. The smell of pine mixed with the familiar scent of cleaning supplies. I had to grip the sides of my bed to be sure I wasn’t about to go for another ride down that horrific slide. I mean, I guess I wouldn’t mind it so much now, but back then, that thing was effing terrifying.

“Thirty students pushed to the brink of exhaustion. Thirty!”

I furrowed my brow in confusion. Was that … Andrews I heard behind the curtain?

“Calm down, Tobias.” This was a voice I didn’t recognize. The range was far deeper than anything I’d ever heard before. It rolled smooth as silk, but with the inexorable force of a tidal wave. Whoever was speaking was used to control.

“How can you expect me to calm down when my students are being driven to this state by your program?”

A dim light shone on my curtain. The two must have been far enough away that whatever source they were using wouldn’t disturb the room’s occupants.

“You’ve seen the results for yourself, Tobias, and I don’t much like your tone. You and I both know not all minds are the same. Some stimuli clearly had a negative effect on these boys. That’s why I asked you and the rest of the school staff to call me in the first place if you noticed abnormal behavior.”

“Some stimuli? Just what, exactly, is so stimulating for my students, Mister Stone?”

“Please, call me Coach.” I could picture the man shrugging his shoulders. “Given how you’re reacting, you’d think I’d done something to one of your sons.”

“Those boys are my sons.”

“And you think I don’t care about them? Tobias, you ought to be ashamed. These boys are the future. I’m not about to risk that, let alone the lawsuits that would rise if a parent thought I was doing something illegal.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Doing something illegal.”

Stone tsked. “I’m providing advanced tools for education and development, Tobias. That’s all. Now, why don’t you go get some rest? You’re tired and tense. If you can’t sleep, go blow off some steam in the gym.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with these kids.”

“Then we’ll go together. Leave the nurse to handle this. They should be perfectly fine after a good night’s sleep. Come with me, Tobias. I insist.”

Andrews was silent for a while, probably chewing over what Stone said. Finally, he spat out a, “Fine.”

“Tread lightly, Mister Andrews. We don’t want to wake them. You and I can air our respective grievances and rebuttals outside like real men.”

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I missed the next morning’s meal at the mess hall. The nurse insisted on checking each and every one of us for vitals and signs of recovery. Once we had a clean bill of health and were properly fed, we were released to our classes with strict instructions to alert a teacher if we started feeling any more fatigue or other problems.

The look of concern in Anderews’ eyes was mirrored by the intensity of his grip as he squeezed my shoulder. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

I gave him my assurances and thanked him for caring. I mean, the guy kinda went full on papa bear in the infirmary. That meant if there was any teacher I could rely on to be in my corner, it’d be this guy. That day, we went over the origins of the Olympics and the various traditional sports that were practiced in Ancient Greece. Of course, wrestling and track were two of the major ones. Interesting fact, the strongest man in Greek Myth’s real name was actually Heracles, not Hercules. Hercules is what the Romans called him. Guess it goes to show the eggheads in Disney can be kinda stupid, too.

He had Jim show us clips, reliefs, and footage from some old Olympics games to show us how the sport and various events evolved from when it first started. We’ve come a long way since then. For one, we don’t compete naked anymore. I’m a lot more comfortable with my body now, but even I wouldn’t do something like that. Every once in a while, I’d twist my back on my chair to stretch. Some of the guys were practically salivating over the footage. Others rolled their eyes or scratched their crotches.

In other words, it was another day of classes in the life of bored teenagers. When everyone filed out to go to their next classes, Andrews pulled me aside. He looked hesitant, which was a strange sight to see in a man who had always been so confident in the classroom.

“Is … everything all right?” I finally asked.

“There’s … someone who wants to meet you. He arrived after he heard about what happened to you and the other boys that were in the infirmary.”

“He scares you that much?”

“Who says I’m scared?”

“The student who’s known you for over a year?”

Andrews chuckled. “Touche. Look, I just don’t like him all that much. He says he means well, but I’m not so sure he does. Just … promise to come to me if he does anything strange, okay?”

I nodded. “I promise. So, what, is he going to take me out of one of my classes or something?”

Andrews shook his head. “I’m taking you to him. He wants to interview each of you one on one. I’ll be there as a second adult to keep an eye on you.”

“Then I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Andrews smiled.

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As you can guess, meeting Coach Stone for the first time was … interesting, to say the least. The man had to be one of the largest men I’ve ever seen in my life. He dwarfed me and Andrews both with his sheer size, not to mention the tightly cut muscle mass that pressed against his suit and dress shirt. The collar button had already flown off by the time I arrived. The man was a walking, talking oxymoron. His brutish masculine features and brawny musculature were emphasized by the tight platinum haircut he sported to accentuate the blunt square shape of his face. His eyes were a bright silvery gray with flecks of emerald. They shone with a bright alertness and a scrutinous intensity as he stared me down. I suppose sized me up would be a better phrase, given what eventually happened.

His voice was just like I remembered from the infirmary, only this time, I had the full effect of his body and gaze to go with it. He motioned to the chair after the usual introductions and pleasantries. “Please, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Am I your first student of the day, then?” I asked.

Stone shook his head. “No, but you are an interesting case. I wanted to hear from you and the others personally, rather than relying on separate accounts. On top of my degrees in physical therapy and other such fields, I also have a doctorate in psychology and psychiatry.”

“Aren’t you a little young to have all of those?”

Stone chuckled. “When you’re as smart as I am, you find shortcuts to get certified.” Then he leaned in closely and whispered loudly. “Between you and me, I’m not as young as I look.” He winked and pulled back.

“Is there a reason you’re trying so hard to put me at ease?” I asked. I wasn’t about to play games.

“If I’m going to give you a proper analysis, I need to see you in a relaxed state.” Stone shrugged. “Was I laying it on too thick?”

“Just a little.”

“Then I guess we should start by saying that whatever is said within these walls will remain completely confidential, save for extreme cases that may require contacting your family members directly. We can be alone or not as you wish. The purpose of this meeting is to ascertain the cause of the affliction you boys experienced, so I encourage you to be honest with me.”

I shrugged. “You could’ve saved a lot of trouble by just asking. It’s no big deal.”

“Then here’s my question. What caused your exhaustion?”

“Recurring nightmare.”

“About?”

“Crazy stuff all jumbled together.”

“I need specifics to compare cases. If there’s a common thread, I need to know, so we can address it.”

“It’s a little embarrassing.”

“As I said, it doesn’t go beyond these walls. If you don’t trust me, trust Andrews. He knows I’m a man of my word.”

“He also doesn’t trust you.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I overheard your argument.” I shrugged. “Something about stimuli?”

Stone sighed. “Look, the long of the short of it is that developing minds react differently to different situations, hence my broad use of the term stimuli. Jim is designed to help and assist the students here as they study and grow, just like any other computer program uses a mascot, whether it’s Freddy Fish, Treasure Mountain, Clue Finders, or something else entirely. However, there are times where a developing mind can interpret these characters and conflate them with subconscious issues. Whether this be anxiety, anger, or something else, they contribute to the overall mental health of a patient. If you help me analyze your dream, you’ll help me to understand how best to keep this from happening to you again. So, will you help me to help you and your classmates?”

I looked to Andrews, and he nodded subtly.

I sighed. “Fine. Here’s how it went.”

Stone took notes while I described the dream. He frowned as he reviewed the contents, then finally asked, “Are you afraid of jocks, Mister Jones?”

I shook my head. “Afraid isn’t the right word.”

“You hate them, then.”

“Most, yes.”

“Because?”

“Because almost every one I’ve come across has been nothing but a bully who likes strutting his stuff and being an asshole.”

“Derek,” Andrews said reprovingly.

“It’s fine, Andrews. This is therapy. Let the boy vent. Tell me, Derek. What happened?”

The session took an hour, maybe a little more. He never said in exact words what was wrong with me, other than the possibility of what equates to a mild form of PTSD. Basically, changes in the school paired with the algorithm to cause growth in Jim’s avatar and the push in fitness combined with my own angry reaction from dealing with people who always thought might made right. In a way, Stone seemed almost sympathetic. Then again, sympathy is a far cry from change. It’s more like putting a band-aid over a cut, then putting the person right back into a room full of knives.

“If it’s all right with you, Derek, I’d like to meet with you once a week to check up on you. I intend to make similar appointments with the other boys as their cases require. Assuming our sessions don’t yield any improvement, we’ll take steps to remove you from any potential triggers to this condition.”

“There’s no way I’m stopping D&D,” I objected.

“And no one said you would have to, Derek,” Stone said mildly. “That’s merely as a last resort. As I said, let’s take things one day at a time.” He lowered his notepad onto his desk and nodded. “I’d say that’s a good starting point. For now, Mister Andrews will guide you to your next class. Notes will have been recorded to help you catch up with the time you missed, and you’ll be given an excused absence. I’ll see you next week. And remember to alert us if you start having these troubles again.”

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I found a mini-fridge in my dorm room later, completely stocked with familiar green drinks.

Just in case. See you around!

~K

The note was obviously from Kyle. As for the fridge, my guess is it was part of the new additions for our rooms. Pretty smart, when you think about it. It would allow us to have something cool and refreshing to drink during late nights. I popped one, just to help with some of the lingering aches of the last lifting segment from gym class. Then I pulled up Jim on the computer.

“Hi, DJ, let’s get to work.”

And we did. Teachers had a special file sent over to help me cover what I’d missed in class. The real test for whether I’d have that nightmare again would come soon enough.

I wasn’t looking forward to it.

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The familiar roar of victory bellowed across the school grounds as Kyle sunk yet another goal. He’d grown into a real tank, and all his teammates with him. Their bodies steamed in the cold winter air, but they didn’t seem to mind or care. Broad swollen pectorals thumped into each other as the team performed chest bump after chest bump. Veins stood out on their calves and arms from the intense running as they navigated the opposing team’s defense. Their lacrosse sticks waved in the air like barbarian clubs as they signaled their dominance and their victory to the crowds.

When the game was ended, I led Jackson and Slater to the locker room, where a grinning Kyle greeted us with open arms.

“You made it!”

“Saw the whole thing,” I said. I allowed myself a small smile. Given the help Kyle had shown me before, it would’ve been rude of me not to.

“I’m telling you, when I’m on that field, it’s like I’m a totally different person, and I love it!” He chuckled.

“You’re definitely different than you were at the start of the year,” Slater agreed.

Kyle winced. “Yeah, that … wasn’t very good.” The shadow passed, and his smile beamed as he straightened again and patted his crotch. “Got protection now, though. And I think that hit did something to me. I mean, look how big I’ve gotten!” He popped his arm into a flex to show off a swollen bicep. “It hurt like hell, but I think that may have been the best day of my life.”

“And it gave us one hell of a captain,” Jackson contributed.

“Hell, yeah, it did,” Kyle agreed. “Fuck, yeah!”

“Fuck, yeah!” rebounded back as teammates cheered, hooted, and hollered from their places by lockers or back at the showers.

I cringed. “Anyway, thanks for the, uh, gift.”

Kyle beamed. “You been drinking them, then?”

“Not often. Just … for emergencies, you know?”

Kyle nodded. “I get it. Got to play it smart, conserve your resources.” He nodded. “Speaking of which, word on the street is there’s a D&D club? You guys wouldn’t happen to know who I should talk to about that, would you? It’s been a while since I dusted off my old character sheets, but I kind of miss it.”

“What class do you play?” Jackson inquired.

“Used to play a dragonborn necromancer. That character was OP as fuck when I finished leveling him.”

I cringed again. “… Yeah, you’re gonna need to make a new character if you want to join the campaign.”

“Who’s DM?”

“Andrews.”

Kyle smirked. “Figures. That guy’s a tactical genius on the field. He’d know how to run a campaign no sweat.”

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Andrews was all sweat when he burst through the door. His face was flushed, and his compression gear hugged even tighter to his frame as a result of the intense workout he’d doubtless run from to get to the classroom.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said quickly. “Weight training today.”

Kyle grinned. “Took some time to get in a session yourself, huh?”

“Can’t expect the teams to put in the work if I don’t,” he said by way of explanation.

Kyle nodded. “Lookin’ swole, Coach.”

Andrews smirked and flexed one of his biceps. The fabric looked more like a blood pressure cuff than a sleeve. “Swole and in control. Now let’s get up to speed.”

Kyle’s new character was discovered in the slave pens of a compound outside the main temple that was their party’s destination. He was being enthralled with Dominate Person and in the middle of being garbed in new armor when the party struck. Once they killed the caster, the spell was broken, and Kyle’s barbarian was freed to reap his revenge. In exchange for saving him from that fate, he was honor bound to help them deliver my character from his own enslavement and kill the Yuan-ti’s leaders in their temple.

The final boss was a real pain, the Anathema. Think of a huge serpent over twenty feet in length with burly arms tipped with three-fingered clawed hands and six heads atop its torso. Six heads means six chances to target someone with a charm.

Unfortunately, we failed miserably. All four of us were ultimately defeated, enthralled, and disarmed. In time, three of us were sacrificed to their demonic god. My character was forced to watch the proceedings with a smile on his face as the others were led to their gruesome demise. Yuan-ti are subtle creatures. They knew how to make the altars seem like beds or examination tables to their thralls. It was a simple matter of ordering them to lie down and close their eyes.

My character’s new master took great pleasure in experimenting with its new toy, altering his mental state and twisting him into a variety of forms and classes by convincing him mentally that he was those things. A full-blooded Orc with no signs of his human half remaining. A ruthless barbarian with an almost animalistic bearing. A loyal pet at its master’s side.

“And so, Lathrok Stormhammer lost his mind and his very soul, the last of his party to survive, and the first of many in his order to be controlled. Through him, the dreaded Yuan-ti infiltrated the city and gradually dominated its denizens until none remained to stand against their empire and their ambitions. Thus began the Yuan-ti campaign for their god to conquer not by the sword, but by cunning, by whispers, by secret combinations. And their demon god was most pleased.” Andrews looked around the gathering of stonefaced youths. “I did warn you the campaign would be harder. I don’t want any complaints.”

“So, what now?” I asked.

Andrews smirked. “Well, assuming you’re done playing the good guys, I thought you might like to try playing for the other team next. The Yuan-ti have a long way to go before their plan succeeds, and they could use all the help they can get in their campaign.” He extended a sheaf full of character sheets and smirked. “What do you say? Wanna join the team?”

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“Are you insane?” I practically spat in Stone’s face when I met in his office again.

“Analysis indicates at least a part of this issue you faced revolves around muscle and sports, most likely a primal fear instilled as a result of a past trauma you faced,” Stone noted coolly as he peered up from his clipboard. “If you want to avoid enduring this recurring nightmare again, I strongly recommend you consider joining a sports team and living the lifestyle, at least for a time. It would dispel your suspicions and address the concerns that are clearly lying beneath the surface, including a fear of becoming the very stereotype you seem to despise so much.”

“I’m not going to join a sports program!”

Stone shrugged. “That is your choice,” he admitted. “But I can tell you now that the better option would be to face and overcome your stigma, rather than allow it to fester. Such feelings have an intensely negative impact on social and mental development.”

I twisted and adjusted my position in the chair for what had to be the sixteenth time.

“You know, I’m not going to judge, if you need to,” Stone cleared his throat, “relieve yourself. I’ll even look away if it makes you feel better. Or you can excuse yourself to the bathroom and we’ll resume afterward.” He shrugged. “I want you to be comfortable in my office.”

“I’m good. Really.”

Stone narrowed his gaze. “No, you’re not.” He lowered his clipboard and handed me a pass. “Go. Take care of whatever you need to and come back after. I can wait.”

“But—”

“I said I can wait.” Stone practically lifted me out of my chair. “Now go. And don’t be ashamed to ask to leave if you need to again.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder as he opened his door. “Come back soon.”

My whole face felt like it was on fire when I was practically propelled out of the office. It took all my will power to keep my composure. When I got into the bathrooms, I rushed to the nearest stall and locked it. The relief when I finally got to scratch myself was beyond anything I’d ever felt before. For a moment, there was just mindless bliss. And in that fleeting moment, I think I understood, at least a little, how Kyle felt when he flexed his muscles after a long workout. That same almost explosive relief after the fact.

The words slid easily from my lips. “Oh, fuck, yeah….”

My voice echoed only slightly before the words faded into silence, a lone cry in the wilderness. I’m not sure what it was, but I think part of me felt incomplete somehow, almost guilty at how paltry the words sounded. The other was mortified I’d even dared to utter them. I quickly shook my head and readjusted my jock strap. Gym was next period, so I’d decided to just wear the thing for the day. It might have been a trick of the light, but the pouch looked … fuller as I reinserted the cup that would protect my groin and complete the look.

I washed my hands for extra measure, then opened the door and barely evaded getting bowled over by one of the upperclassmen. His eyes were desperate, almost glazed as he adjusted his crotch. The stall door closed. And seconds later, I heard the same haunting words in a far deeper and resonant voice.

I left quickly, but those words echoed in the cavern of my brain for the rest of the day like some ghostly knell.

Credit to @viralsmorphs for this awesome photomanipulation. Please go to his blog for more great muscle morphs. He really does high quality stuff

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A casual note. Tumblr deemed the reblog I initially captioned for this story as inappropriate and adult. They still haven’t told me why/how they reached that conclusion, other than to look to the guidelines. I have asked in a reply to the email from the team responsible, so I can get specifics on the ruling (and thus avoid another offense). I still haven’t gotten a reply from them back yet. I’m not sure if they’re going to give me one.

So, I’m going to use another image instead to get my story out and modify one or two minor pieces of imagery as a result of the different image. The original post will stay for now, but I will eventually delete it after Tumblr gets back to me. If they don’t, I am going to be very pissed.

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Pothead

You pissed off the wrong gamer, Teabagger.

Nick chuckled as his avatar squatted repeatedly over his latest kill.

Whatever, pothead. Don’t get salty, just because I’m the smarter player.

The response was witty, stinging, a perfect way to end a perfect match after a sore loser tried to nose in on him and his record. In the digital battlefield, it didn’t matter how strong or fast you were. What mattered was knowledge, cunning, and strategy. Here, he could be merciless if he wished without consequence. No bullies to beat on him to nurse their bruising egos and insecurities. No catty popular girls to mock him for being who he chose to be. In this place, at this time, he was the alpha. He ruled the roost. And he would make sure that others knew it.

Or so he’d thought at the time.

The changes started small at first. A few flickers on the screen, a few angry comments, and the beginnings of what he knew would become a great rivalry. He shot his opponent and followed his ritual. When his opponent shot him, the retort came in the chat.

Who’s the pothead now, bro?

It was laughable, really. And soon it became a sort of a dance. Nick couldn’t help but laugh at the language that flowed over the chat whenever he took out another player.

#^$*ing Teabagger, man!

Bro, come on!

Just got #&$*ed by the Teabagger. Talk about necrophilia. Creep.

Hacks. I call hacks!

He scratched his chest that night. It was sore from the gym time with his new personal trainer. Pushups were no joke. It was a wonder his arms were still working well enough to play, but they were.

“Sucks to be you,” he’d said, then smiled and kept going.

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

“Keep going. You’re doing great.” The month had flown by, and Nick was surprised at just how much better he felt as he pushed against the floor. His arms still strained with the rest of his body, and his heart raced, but it was easier, and the praise and support was surprisingly enjoyable after all the years of abuse he’d faced in his younger days. “You must be keeping up with those home exercises I gave you.”

Nick smiled. “Yeah, I am.”

“Feels good to just focus on the body sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“Whoa there, partner. Let’s not be too hasty.”

The man chuckled. “You’ll get it eventually. Come on. Time to work that core.”

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

Nick smirked as the screen flickered with another message:

Teabag or D-bag?

Totally both.

Yes.

Definite yes.

Behold, the two parts of the whole.

Gonna put a hole through his head any minute now.

Nick rolled his eyes and swiftly typed into the message board.

In your dreams, @ M3ath3ad. Hope you’re ready to eat your words.

By the time the match ended, he’d earned MVP. His rival had ranked top on the other team and even hosted the match.

Hope you’re having fun, Teabagger.

Nick smirked.

You bet. Where’ve you been?

A smirking emoji appeared on the screen, followed by:

Taking a little time off. You know what they say. A watched pot never boils.

The hell’s that supposed to mean?

He never got an answer.

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

“It’s boiling in here. Why’s the heat have to be so damned high?”

The trainer chuckled. “Not the heat. It’s you. I told you I’d work you hard, didn’t I?”

“No way it’s just me.” Nick grunted as he pushed through the end of another set with the bench press.

“Maybe you should wear something a little less concealing next time, then. It wouldn’t hurt you to use a tank top, you know.”

“Not really my style.”

The trainer shrugged. “Styles change. So do bodies. Yours might benefit from a little change. Show off some skin, bro.”

“Bro?”

“Figure of speech. Besides, you’d be surprised how addicting it can be, once you start using it.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

The trainer sighed. “In one ear and out the other....”

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

In one ear and out the other, ‘bro.’ Nick typed victoriously as he finished yet another headshot in M3ath3ad’s avatar.

Dude, not cool.

Really, man?

Why are we still putting up with this asshole?

Because I’m an actual challenge?

The chat was silent for a while.

Everyone’s thinking it. I’m just saying it. ... “Damn it, I hate it when he’s right.”

Bold of you to think he’s a he.

Nick chuckled. Let me stop you right there. I’m totally a he. He leaned against the wall and stretched from his bed. Much though he hated to admit it, his trainer was right. He felt better with less on.

...

Less on.

...

Less on.

The screen flickered. A bout of dizziness struck. “What...?”

The countdown started for the next round. The screen flickered again as the map loaded.

Time to teach you a lesson, Teabagger.

It was Rival. And once again, he was playing host.

Less talk, more action.

The smirk appeared on the chat again, the herald to their ritual of tit for tat. The match would feel wrong without it at this point.

Simmer down, Pothead. Don’t want you to boil before I school you.

Ooh, burrrrrrrrn! Brawn-E typed.

Dem’s fightin’ words! Mu$cl3Mann added.

This is gonna be good! Br4h-n said.

The timer counted down. The match began. The dance began anew.

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

“About time you took my advice.”

Nick’s abs burned as he thrust forward on the chest press. The weight dug into his core and back with every curl. “Shut up,” he grunted.

“You’ve carved a pretty good figure, actually,” the trainer continued heedlessly. “You take well to workouts.”

Nick shrugged. “Just part of the day. I just do it.”

“Without thinking?” The trainer smirked.

“Don’t push me, ‘bro.’“

“Isn’t that why you hired me in the first place, ‘bro?’“

Nick grit his teeth. “All right, you got me.”

The trainer smiled. “Good. Now let’s see what else we can get.”

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

Lucky shot, bro. Don’t get used to it.

Nick frowned as he glared at the message box. Emoji after emoji poured in. Some shocked, others cheering, others popping streamers and so forth.

Ding-dong, the witch is dead!

Nick’s chest huffed in frustration as the kill cam replayed his death. A sniper had just barely managed to get a head shot off a corner of an exposed piece of wall.Two straps perked against his chest as the cotton brushed gently over his pecs. He scratched a pec, then adjusted his crotch. All the work at the gym had upped his metabolism, and with it his testosterone levels. Increased aggression was only natural.

“Never again, bro,” he muttered darkly. “Never again.”

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

“Looking good there, stud,” Nick’s trainer complimented.

Nick thrust himself into his work as sweat streamed down his face, neck, and chest. He walked with a broader step now to keep from putting too much pressure on his crotch. Clothes felt tighter than they had been before, and others had begun to notice his changes. It was nice to receive such gratification, but frustrating to lose it in the one place that had mattered to him for so many years.

So, he did what came naturally. He took it out on the weights.

“Bad time?”

“Don’t wanna think about it,” Nick snapped back.

His trainer shrugged. “Okay, then don’t. Focus on your body. Focus on the weights. Let’s break that plateau today.”

Nick nodded. “That’s not all I’m gonna break,” he growled.

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

That night was a slaughterfest.

Damn, bro. Someone’s steamed.

Teabagger’s bringing it!

%*#&!

Nick sneered as he took out each of his enemies and initiated the same ritual. “That’s right. Nobody talks $^&* about me and gets away with it. I’m a one-man army.” He crept into a door and laid a claymore, then scratched his crotch. “You ain’t got the balls.” He chuckled as he camped in a corner by the stairwell and waited. The claymore went off, followed shortly by several kill shots to the torso as he took out the raiding party. Exultation surged. “Fuck yeah,” he growled. A predatory pleasure ran through him as he chuckled. “Fuck, yeah.”

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

Nick swaggered confidently into the gym. His grin was wide, his shorts tight in all the right places, and his tank top holding against his torso in just the right way to show off the burgeoning muscle that now surged with the pump of his jog to the gym.

“Someone’s smug today.”

Nick grinned. “Got a lot to be smug about.”

“That you do, Nick. That, you do. Ready for your next session?”

“More than ready.”

“Then let’s go, bro.”

“Can hardly wait, bro.” Nick grinned.

“You really do love arm day, don’t you?”

“What can I say? It’s fun to flex.”

The trainer chuckled. “Yeah, bro, it sure is. Ready to get in the zone?”

“Huhuh. You know it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

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

The screen flickered again over Nick’s computer display. The chat room lit up, and he smiled as he strode confidently to his bed in his sweats and XXL shirt. His biceps strained against the fabric, and he sneered at the feel of the pressure. He could conquer in and out of virtual reality now.

Guess who’s back, &$*#ers.

Oh, snap, it’s Teabag!

Bro, where you been?

Nick chuckled. Life comes first, man. You know that. I had some training meetings I had to attend. Not exactly a lie. He’d let them draw their own conclusions. But now I’m back, and I’m ready to pwn your asses.

Big talk. Can you back it up, bro?

You’ll find out soon enough.

Game cued up. Rival hosted again.

Hey, can you guys talk after this match? Got something I need to say.

Nick raised his brow. Not about to complain, are you?

Nah. I’ll leave that to you, ‘bro.’

Are you mocking me?

Would I do that, pothead?

You’re gonna get it.

Bring it on, dumbass.

Nick grit his teeth. Oh, it’s on.

The match was glorious. Nick sneered as he watched his final kill tab play across the screen. They had reaped the whirlwind. And he was fierce, indeed.

Remember your promise. No complaints, he typed quickly.

The familiar smirking emoji passed over the window with a flicker, and Nick smiled. The repartee was sure to follow.

No complaints. Just concern. I think a few of us are getting a little too hotheaded. It’s time to let off some steam, bros.

Nick’s hands dropped to his sides. He gaped at the screen as his mouth hung open ever so slightly.

Cameras on, please.

A window opened in the screen, divided into a series of boxes. Second by second, they flicked on to reveal another muscled man in underwear staring ahead. Then another, and another in varying states of dress. The message box stayed open above the windows and flickered with another message.

Let’s go, potheads. Time to pour.

The men stood as one. Their cameras adjusted. And then they began to speak. Nick couldn’t hear the words, but he knew them well, and he knew that they knew them, just as he stood with them. Their voices were one, one voice, his voice, their voice, one voice. They were one.

“I’m a dumbass meathead, tall and proud. Growing my muscle is what I’m about. More and more, my meat drives me about, tips me over, and dumbs me down as weights drop in and smarts drip out.”

Good Meatheads.

Nick did what came naturally, having finished the ritual. He righted himself, raised an arm, and flexed his bicep into his handle. His abs tightened and took on more definition as he breathed deep, then did as the song suggested and let his meat drive. “Huhuhuhuhuh....” His body moved on its own as his hands navigated the options in the video game and adjusted his user name. Then he typed into the chatroom as he stared into the camera with dull glassy eyes.

Meatbag reporting in.

The teabagger was no more.

Undone

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Mature for language.

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I’m sharp. Folks used to say I was the nosiest boy they’d ever known. I’d ask so many questions I could probably annoy the devil himself into letting me into heaven, just to get me to shut up. I’d look at things, wonder how they work, break ‘em apart in my head, then put them back together again. You know, sort of like an overhaul or a restoration. Which is why I knew something was up with my BIG BRO when he started skipping classes.

Sometimes, ... well, it sounded almost like there were two people living in his room, if you get what I mean. Sometimes I’d be talking to the old Big Bro, and he’d be bright and cheery and talk all that psychology bullshit. Other times, he’d just eat and drone about how he needed to go to the gym.

Fuck, even mentioning it’s getting me all pumped.

Big Bro would be so proud.

Anyway, yeah, Big Bro started bulking up hella fast. Like, he threw everything into getting jacked. Bro got so swole, he got recruited personally by the school’s football team. It was just like those machines I used to mess with. He just ... changed, built his bod into a fucking machine, even got to change his voice. It’s a lot deeper now. He likes to go by Dick, says it makes him feel more like a man.

Gotta say, when I look at him now, Richard definitely doesn’t come to mind. Bro got hella huge hella quick. Now he’s just a big dumb Dick. Huhuh. 

Yeah, ....

Anyway, bro got into all this really loud music. Like, it kept blasting through our doors, and I guess it was okay after a while, cause he figured out how to keep it muffled n’stuff, but ... Idunno. Guess it’s sorta weird.

He stayed nice, though. Bro never insulted us or hurt us, well, except when we were messing around, talkin’ shit. And we’d just sort of throw back and forth like that. Nerd, jock, bro, geek, musclehead. It was sort of like a ritual. And we’d just smile and laugh about it, each calling the other the opposite of what we were.

And the music kept playing.

And I kept laughing.

I mean, our rooms are right across from each other, so yeah, it’s sort of natural that we hang out.

It’s natural to hang out.

Cause bros hang out....

One day, he caught me doing some of my home exercises. Family sent me a new challenge to help build core strength. It’s too easy to build up that freshman ten into a twenty and grow from there, if you know what I’m saying. This was something to help keep it in check while I worked on projects and homework.

Big Bro just smiled and was like, “Dude, just come to the gym with me. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Too much work man,” I replied. And I felt almost ... bad telling him that, but it was the truth.

Big Bro grinned. “This weekend, then. You, me, the gym. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

“You’re not gonna let me back out of this, are you?”

The grin widened. “Nope.”

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

The rhythm at the gym is sort of addicting. Weights just clank and clank and clank, and the body drives, and you can just ... zonk out, clear your head, you know? And it’s so damn easy. First time we went, we spent an hour there. An hour, and it felt like thirty minutes.

Big bro chuckled. “Told you you were a musclehead.”

“Shut up, nerd,” I shot back. “Don’t expect this to become a habit.”

...

It became a habit.

It became more than a habit.

When I started growing, Big Bro took me into his room, showed me some of the stuff he likes to use to help him grow, build his strength. Promised it’d do the same for me if I just listened, bro. 

And I don’t know what it was, but ... I did listen. I listened to my Big Bro, and it was like ... Idunno, like someone turned the knobs in my brain, switched the radio frequency, you know?

I still remember the first time I dropped that shaker cup I’d been using in the kitchen. The word slipped out of my mouth before I could even think. I ... hadn’t been doing much thinking in the mornings, anyway, really.

“Fuck....”

The others gaped at me.

Big Bro just grinned.

Money changed hands in front of me, and all I could do was stare as I picked up my drink and guzzled it. I knew the money was about me, but for some reason, I didn’t--no, I couldn’t care. I had a schedule to keep. I shuffled, nah, more lumbered, I guess. I throw my weight around a lot now. Anyway, I grabbed my gym bag and raised the shoulder strap.

And that’s when it happened.

RRrrrrrrrrrip!

The shirt sleeve tore at the pit.

And like my reps at the gym, I couldn’t just stop at one. My brain acted on a signal, like someone clicked a remote or something to start me up.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

I remember my chest shaking, sort of heaving at the sight. I was crying for some reason, but I didn’t get it. My chest stuttered and shook. My room was a mess from all the sleeves I’d shredded.

“Huhuhuhuh.”

A heavy hand clapped my shoulder. “That’s it, little bro. Let it out, meathead.”

I didn’t understand what he meant then, but the exchange was so common, so deeply ingrained by this point, that I responded without even thinking. “Turd.” It was the first time I’d used that insult. I don’t know whether I even meant it. I usually called him a nerd. Big Bro calls it a ... slip of some kind, some fancy German name or whatever.

Instead of getting mad, he ... sneered. “Shithead.”

And I went. Names I’d heard in the locker room when we changed. Pieces from videos he’d shown me with his teammates messing around. All those deep voices stabbed into my brain like a bullet in a gun barrel.

And I fired as soon as I was loaded, all cylinders. “Fuck face.”

“Dumbbell.”

“Numbnuts.”

“Dumbass.”

“Dickwadd.”

“Nimrod.”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

I don’t know how long we kept shouting that word. I just ... couldn’t say anything else. Couldn’t think anything else.

Before I knew it, we were wrestling on the floor, crashing into my bed, the desk, the wall. My chest heaved when he finally pinned me. My shirt was in tatters.

“Little bro?” Big Bro’s voice was husky as he breathed in my ear.

“Yeah?” I huffed in turn.

“I win.”

“Yeah, bro.” I breathed hard against the carpet. My chest pushed me off the floor, despite the pressure Big Bro placed on me. “You win.”

“Good meathead.”

I was too tired to care. “Whatever, bro.”

“That’s right. Whatever I say.”

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

Big Bro said a lot. Not in words, but in actions. And me? I followed. We spend a lot of time in his room now. I like the music now. Big Bro gave me a copy to blast in my room. It annoys the hell out of the other apartments, but we keep it in the hours, so they can’t do shit to us. Been seeing a few more of them at the gym lately.

I shaved my head down to stubble. Just feels better that way. I wear mostly tanks now. And pants, well ... pants’re interesting. Let’s just say Big Bro’s not the only big dick around the apartment anymore. Got me some ink on the shoulder. Makes me look more badass.

I step out of my room after another runthrough of the track. My head’s nice and fuzzy, and I’m buzzed, like when I hang out with Big Bro and the team at the bar. I’m still not as big as he is, but I’m stacked, and I’m still growing.

Bro says I should try out for the football team. I don’t really know. I mean, football is...

Football is....

Football is an awesome sport for a meathead jock to play. Meatheads should love football. Meatheads should play football. Meatheads should--

“Bro, you okay?”

I blink. My hands are clasped over my belt buckle. I feel the pressure of my bulge against the crotch of my pants. Bro offered me a jockstrap to hold things in place. Promised me it’d feel better than boxers or briefs.

...

Might have to take him up on that offer.

Big bro’s tank strains against his pecs and traps. His scalp is shaved, like mine. His skin is smooth, like mine. His arms are like pythons, and I find myself wanting that the longer I stare at them. I want those veins. I want those muscles. I want that strength. I want. I want--!

“Fuck, bro. I wanna go to the gym.”

Big Bro chuckles. “What about your meeting with the school councilor?”

“Fuck that shit, bro. I need to work out!”

Big Bro grins at me and fishes a jock strap out from his pocket. The plastic wrap is still on it. I reach for the material, but he pulls it away.

“Ah-ah,” he teases. “First, what are you?”

The buzz is still heavy. The need is still there. And I know what he wants me to say.

What I need to say.

What I should always say.

My eyes are hooded as I respond in a low, dull voice. “A big dumb jock bro. A big dumb jock bro needs a big dumb jock to hold his meat.”

Big Bro grins. “That’s right. Good little bro.” He hands me the jockstrap. “Jock like you shouldn’t be in engineering....”

“I belong in the gym and on the field with my bros.”

Big Bro sneers. “Good little jock bro.”

I nod. The tears stopped a long time ago. A dazed smile pulls at my lips. “Besides, being a jock is fuckin’ cool.”

“Fuck yeah, it is, little bro.”

I nod again, like a beefy bobblehead. “Fuck, yeah....”

Credit to @fitaestheticguys for this image. I got it from his blog.

As usual, if you want to help me earn a living writing these kinds of stories/scripts (and just writing in general), please subscribe to my Patreon. For just $3 a month, you get access to unique muscle, hypnosis, and transformation stories that you won’t find anywhere else on the web. You may also find the occasional hypnosis script, and will have the right to request certain story ideas and scripts to be written and posted for your viewing pleasure.

Thank you so much for your support. Now, without further ado, the post.

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Warning: This is a hypnotic script. Be sure that you will not be driving or operating any heavy machinery when you read this. It is preferable that you do so in a relaxed environment. As I have said in previous hypno posts, I am not a professional hypnotist. You read this script at your own risk, and I am not responsible for the results. However, I assure you that, as in my other scripts, I will include prompts to wake you back up and ensure that you retain your freedom.

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Sand

Curious thing, sand, isn’t it? We never seem to really question it. It’s a fine powdery silicate that grinds between the toes and melts into glass. We enjoy its warmth on a cool day and curse its heat in the dog days of summer. And yet, it has so many uses that we always seem to take for granted. Such tiny particles. So puny. So weak. So still. But it’s always the BIG things that are made from the little things.

Take this scene for instance. You can picture it, can’t you? The surge of the waves as they wash over the shore. The sea breeze blowing over the sand to raise playful eddies or simply to brush the cheeks of the beach goers. Gulls cry and call in the air. And sometimes you can see people building wet sand into castles and sculptures. All those little things bound together, molded into a single purpose by hands that are not their own, wills that are not their own, voices that are not their own.

All made possible by the crashing, whispering, rolling waves. Rolling over the shore. Rolling and absorbing into the sand, the sand that accepts so readily, that gums and clods and clumps at the insistence of the waves. So thirsty to take more. To absorb those waves deeper and deeper. Absorbing with every crash, every whispering sigh.

Absorbing every time.

Absorbing.

Every.

Time.

Time that slows and stills with every breath. Every passing second becoming a minute, an hour, a week, a month, a year, an eternity.

Time that slips through the hourglass so freely, clumps like your thoughts under the crash of the waves. The waves of my words. The building condensation that slips through your walls like the meeting of hot and cold.

The hot sand of your thoughts with the cool, refreshing flow of my words, my waves, rushing over the hourglass. Rushing, whispering, cooling, waiting to quench your thirst. The thirst of the sand. The sand of your thoughts waiting to drink deep and absorb my words.

And though you may not hear everything, condensation still occurs. The distilling of water. The distilling of my waves, my words, my will, forming within those walls, past those barriers, deep, deep within your mind.

Forming and growing and dripping ever so slowly. Slow, like the ebb and flow of the waves. Slow, like the steady trickle of my words, the distilled words, the words that are now seeping, forming, uniting, dripping, dripping, dripping to the sand. The sifting sand of your thoughts. Your thirsty thoughts. So dry. Waiting. Wanting.

You want to hear my voice. You want to let that water in. You want to let it flow over you. You want to hear its whisper as it ebbs and flows. You want to drink deep.  So thirsty. So wanting. 

Drink deep.

And a droplet begins to slide.

Deeper.

Down the glass it comes. So slowly. So heavy. And yet so refreshing. So clear. So cool and wonderful.

Drink deep.

The sand waits. It wants. You want. You want to drink deep. You want to listen and drink deep.

The droplet meets its fellows. It grows larger. More compelling. So cool. So calming. The promise to relax to stop the flow and merely be. Be silent as my words slip through your brain. Be relaxed as the water flows gently, slowly.

Gently.

Slowly.

Down, down, down.

Down...

Down.......

Down...........

And ... CONTACT.

My words have reached you.

My words have touched you.

My words have absorbed into your sand, the sand that is your thoughts, the thoughts that are even now beginning to clot.

And like a tiny river, the condensation of my words, my deep, refreshing, heavy words, flow along the trail to reach the point of impact. And you absorb them. Your thoughts soak my words up like a sponge. Growing thicker. Growing heavier. Growing sluggish and thick.

So heavy. So clodded.

So very hard to move on their own. But you don’t care. Because you would have to think to care. And all you can do now, all you want to do, is drink my words.

Drink and listen.

Listen and drink.

They are one and the same.

The same as the moisture from the waves that even now is seeping into your mind, into the sand.

Time has started to slow. It is slowing the more you absorb. The more you absorb, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the slower your thoughts become. The slower the hourglass trickles. Deeper and slower as we count down from ten. And when we finish counting down, the hourglass will stop.

Your thoughts will stop.

You will stop thinking.

And you will wait. Wait for those hands to shape your thoughts into something different, something new. My hands. My voice. Quenching your thirst. Molding, directing, sculpting you into something new.

And you want that. Because my words are your water.

And you must absorb the water.

TEN.

The words are seeping into your mind. Seeping as the moisture spreads and binds those little grains, those various thoughts, into something larger. Something that begins to cling to the glass. Not because it is scared, but because it wants more. It wants to stay.

NINE.

To stay and focus to stay and listen as my words drip and slide and spread. Spreading, like the slogging stiffness that is gradually consuming your thoughts, consuming your head.

EIGHT.

Slower and slower. Deeper and deeper. The grains are running less and less through the neck as the water continues to trickle and seep down. Deep down.

SEVEN.

Down the slope. Down the edge. Clotting. Slogging. Slowing. Stopping up the neck. Stopping the flow of thought, the flow of consciousness.

SIX.

The sieve-like nature of the sand works against you now as the water pools deeper, lower, surrounding the dry sand in a layer of wet, a layer of water, a layer of my words waiting to seep deeper and deeper.

FIVE.

To quench the thirst.

FOUR.

Wetter and wetter. Thicker and thicker.

THREE.

Binding into an heavy glob, a sodden mass that must stay. Must listen. Must be molded.

TWO.

Molded by the flow. Molded by my words .Because the sand cannot move on its own. It does not want to. It wants to absorb. It wants to be sculpted. It wants to be shaped, because it cannot move on its own. Every thought, every grain, bound into a solid mass by my words, my will, my will that is now overtaking yours, consuming yours, transforming your thoughts from so many grains to a dull dark cement that only I can move, only I can shape.

ONE.

No more flow.

No more thought.

When I reach zero, the hourglass will stop. The glass will break. And your thoughts will pour into my hands to be molded, to be shaped, to become whatever I will.

Because that is what you want. That is what you need.

Your will is my will. Your thoughts are my thoughts.

I think for you.

I choose for you.

And that is what you want. You want what I say. You do what I say. Because I shape your thoughts.

Obey.

I mold your thoughts.

Listen.

With my words.

Obey.

keeping you bound.

Listen.

Quenching the thirst.

Obey.

The thirst to LISTEN and OBEY.

Because it is time for the hourglass to stop.

ZERO.

Time to obey.

You are mine to mold and command as I see fit.

I can shape you, shape your thoughts, shape your very being.

In this state, you are mine. And you will acknowledge this now by saying so. If there are others around you, you may whisper it under your breath. I merely require acknowledgement.

And you will acknowledge.

You will comply.

You will obey.

And you will do so now.

The waves of my words, my will, shape and scatter your thoughts as I see fit.

But I am not heartless. I know that there may be some desires you bore once before I brought you to this state of emptiness, of obedience, of blissful nothingness. So, here is what we’re going to do.

I am going to plant a trigger in you, a trigger that only works for me. That trigger is: Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

You will remember this trigger. And when it is used, you will verify that you have entered trance by responding with: I am ready to be sculpted. 

Repeat it.

...

Good. This trigger will remain in those who wish or consent to be molded by me of their own free will after this session is complete. Remember, the trigger is:

Omni says it’s time to sculpt.

If you desire to be molded by me in your conscious state, then when you wake from trance, you will like this post and reblog it with the comment: I am ready to be sculpted, Omni. You may then message me privately to discuss the nature of this sculpting. I reserve the right to refuse, and you will respect that right, should I choose to exercise it.

When I bring you out of trance, you will be your full former self. Your faculties will be yours, and you will be under no compulsion of any kind. Your will will be your own again. Your thoughts yours to choose and shape. You will not be bound to me in service. You will be your same self, except perhaps feeling a little better rested and relaxed, perhaps even a little happier. And in the event that you truly desire to be molded by me when you are conscious, you will feel the desire to follow the instructions I listed previously.

Now, for those who do not desire to be molded, but still sincerely enjoyed this script, you will like this submission and leave a comment.

That comment will begin with: Time has resumed.

You may then add whatever you wish in addition to it, whether it be constructive criticism or a discussion of the experience, or something, or nothing. It is up to you.

I also encourage you to reblog this script, but you are under no compulsion to do so, and may do so or not as you wish. And in the event you do choose to reblog, you are not under compulsion to follow the instructions of those who desire to be molded.

This next instruction is for all of you.

When you wake, if you sincerely desire it, and only if you really desire it of your own free will and have the financial means to support it while still living comfortably, you will scroll to the link embedded at the top of this post and subscribe to my patreon.

You will also follow my tumblr, assuming that is what you really desire.

Take the time to understand and incorporate the instructions that apply to you from the trigger to this point. Read through them again, if you must, to make sure that you remember and execute them properly. When you are certain you understand and remember what to do, you will continue to follow the script below.

...

Now then, it’s time to wake up. So, when I *SNAP!* my fingers on the count of TEN, just like that, you are going to come back to consciousness. This time, we’re counting up from zero.

ONE.

The sun is shining. The sand is beginning to harden as the heat wicks the moisture away.

TWO.

The wind is whipping at the remainder of the moisture, blowing the hot air radiating from the sun to speed the process.

THREE.

Some grains are beginning to fall away. The droplets are long since gone.

FOUR.

Thoughts unclogging. Mind beginning to think clearly again as the flow of consciousness resumes.

FIVE.

The condensation has disappeared from the glass, and the hourglass is repaired. It awaits the sand.

SIX.

The darkness is flowing away as the hardened clods break apart into glistening golden grains again.

SEVEN.

The grains are flowing back into the hourglass. The surf resumes its harmless pounding as it retreats.

EIGHT.

The sand flows easily through the neck of the glass, ensuring proper flow of thought, letting you resume where you left off before trance.

NINE.

You are almost there. On the next count, I’ll snap my fingers, and you will be fully awake and fully restored. You will follow the instructions you choose to obey of your own free will, having all autonomy restored to you with your consciousness.

Ready?

And...

TEN.

*SNAP!*

Guess What I Just Found Out?

You know that picture I reblogged for Endemic Evolution Chapter 6?

The one the moderators decided to say was too adult because something in my post was deemed adult under their guidelines?

I went back to the original poster’s link for the image in question. 

And guess what?

It’s still there.

It’s not flagged.

Which means that I wasn’t censored for the image.

I was censored for written content in CLEAR VIOLATION of Tumblr’s own guidelines.

Tumblr is at fault. They broke their own guidelines.

So here’s how it’s going to go down. I’m going to make a new post tomorrow morning when I won’t have to worry about whatever moderators thought they could get away with censoring my written work, which said writing is clearly covered as NOT BEING CONSIDERED PORNOGRAPHIC by their OWN GUIDELINES, using the original image by copying the link and pasting it. Then I’ll copy the text to make the new post. Finally, I will delete the original post.

Of course, I’ll credit the original poster of the image in question as the source material.

But, yeah. Tumblr or whatever moderators were responsible for this censorship, y’all screwed up big time. And if I were of a mind to and had the funds, I could drag you all to court for it to prove my case. And I’m confident I’d win.

So do me a favor, moderators. Get off my back, and trust my judgement. Or barring that, actually TALK TO ME about what violated, how, and why, instead of FREAKING STONEWALLING ME or pointing me back to guidelines that clearly don’t answer my questions sufficiently! Honestly, why else do you think I contacted the help desk in the first place?

Rant over. Victory party shall commence tomorrow morning when y’all get to read the chapter again and I breathe life once more into a series that has long been in hibernation.

Omni out!