#fratification

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

You had always had what your mother had called an “overactive imagination.” You loved to think about what things would be like if they were different, what the world would be like if it were different. You loved to make up adventures and stories, and well you sometimes got a little too lost in your own head, your imagination has actually been really useful in getting your english degree, and will hopefully continue to be useful in your career as an author. You know you have a good future ahead of you, with your sweet and loving boyfriend, a good job, and a great life all on the horizon.

But sometimes… Well, you can’t help but wonder about certain things…

That was the downside of having an overactive imagination. It inspired you to make things better, but it also meant that even when things were great, you were often thinking about what you didn’t have instead of what you had. Specifically, as you had just graduated, you had become fixated on the different paths you could have taken throughout your time at college. It wasn’t that you were unhappy with the path you had taken. You wouldn’t trade your college experience for anything, especially since that was where you met your boyfriend Aaron. But you had to admit, your time at college had been somewhat… quiet. It wasn’t like you hadn’t done anything. You had gone on dates with Aaron, made friends with other aspiring writers, and even gotten some stuff published in a local magazine. But compared to the loud, messy, chaotic lives some of the other students at college had lived, your 4 years were incredibly tame. As summer began and the high of finally getting your degree faded, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be one of those guys. Could there have been a world where you weren’t quiet? Where a different choice had sent you in a different direction, one that ended with you becoming… fun? Over time you began to have this recurring fantasy, based on something that had happened to you on the first day of freshman year. You couldn’t remember it that well, and sometimes you wondered if it had even happened or if you had imagined it entirely, but the more you thought about it the more real it felt. You could almost see it now. Young, impressionable you, walking around the quad on the first day, looking like a lost puppy, when this huge, shirtless frat boy walked up to you. He was a big, beefy guy, a senior who looked like he had spent every day of the last four years at the gym. You had such a distinct picture of him in your mind, at this point when you closed your eyes you could practically make out the hair on his chest. You could imagine, or perhaps remember, this tank of a man swaggering over to you, a confident, welcoming grin on his face as he greeted you like you were an old friend, and took you into a bro-hug that left you deeply blushing. He introduced himself, and although you hadn’t been sure at first you were now certain after running this multiple times in your head that his name was Thad. He patted you on the back, hard enough to almost knock you off your feet, and talked to you like you were a younger brother. Starting talking up his frat, Beta Rho Alpha, about how much fun it was, about how cool his ‘bros’ were, and how he was sure a guy like you would fit right in. You had been confused about what he meant, since you had always been a skinny, nerdy kid throughout all of highschool, but you had been flattered nonetheless. You knew, or remembered, that this was the part where you had said no. The part where you had gotten flustered and retreated back into your shell, where you headed to the library and ran into some of the people who would introduce you to the poetry club. You knew that. But in this fantasy that you had imagined that wasn’t true. In this fantasy, this imagined world, you had decided to try and be a little more daring, and went with Thad to see the BRO house yourself. 

Even in your fantasy, the next night was something of a blur. You could imagine hanging out with Thad at the BRO’s first party of the year, meeting the other frat brothers, and slowly coming out of your shell as a combination of cheap booze and Thad constantly hyping you up gave you a strange and unfamiliar sense of confidence. You were still scrawny, and nerdy, but by the end of the night you had actually managed to impress some of the frat boys, Thad’s extra tips and your new drunken confidence making you the life of the party. You could even image the day after, waking up on the floor of Thad’s bedroom, hung over as fuck and feeling like your head could burst, but also feeling like you had just had the most fun night of your life. You could imagine how grateful you felt to Thad as he helped you through your first hangover, giving you a disgusting but surprisingly effective hangover cure along with his number before sending you on your way. That night had seemed to awaken something in you, a deep potential that you hadn’t even known you had. It was completely out of character, and if it had been a story you were writing you’d have said it was unrealistic, but suddenly you just knew that you had to join that frat. 

You imagined that you spent the next two months training with Thad, learning everything you could from the beefy senior. After that first wild night, the two of you had formed a quick bond, becoming almost like brothers, and Thad was just as determined as you to get you into his frat. You imagined that with an experienced meathead like Thad at your side, you ended up packing on muscle like crazy. By the time hell week had come, you were no longer the scared, scrawny kid that Thad had met that first day. You were well on your way to becoming a beefy frat boy yourself, and you were already starting to act like it. 

You knew that hell week had to have been brutal, but you imagined that you had absolutely thrived during it. Your dedication to joining, your training with Thad, had all paid off, and you took all the hazing like a goddamned champ. Your strength had even inspired some of the other, less prepared pledges to keep going, like your new friend Aaron, who would have probably dropped out if you hadn’t encouraged him to man up. You could remember the look of brotherly pride in Thad’s eyes as you were finally sworn in as a full frat brother, and the wild party you and your new bros had that night. You could picture it clearly, Thad and you dominating at beer pong, Aaron’s surprisingly awesome keg stand, the impressed looks from the other frat boys and the undisguised lust in the eyes of the sorority girls. You could even remember taking a girl back to your dorm that night, something that surprised you because you had always considered yourself gay. But, as Thad always told you, sexy is sexy no matter who, so you had just rolled with it. After a night of unbridled, passionate sexy, you had decided that maybe gay wasn’t the right label for you, and hell, maybe the idea of labels wasn’t something you wanted anymore. 

You could remember that first year so clearly. The classes, which had once seemed so important, quickly became white noise, shit that interrupted the endless stream of parties, workouts, and hookups that you now called college. Aaron became your workout partner, and favorite wingman, and by the time your first year of college was over and it was time for Thad to graduate, he could leave knowing he had left his frat in the capable hands of two beefy studs, one of which he was honored to call his lil bro. You and Thad would still talk regularly, even after he graduated, and halfway through your sophomore year he even asked you to be best man at his wedding. It made sense you got the honor out of all the other frat boys he had made groomsmen, you were basically his brother after all.

By the end of sophomore year, you had forgotten about your passion for writing entirely. Who had the time for all that shit? You were too busy chasing gains, getting drunk, and hooking up with whatever hot girl or sexy guy managed to catch your eye. You changed your major to exercise science, and dedicated yourself to getting even bigger. You had never gotten the same sort of thick mass as Thad had, but you had packed on some sexy, lean muscles that seemed like they could make anyone swoon with a single flex. It was only in Junior year that you stopped sleeping around so much, mainly because after a drunken hookup with your best bro Aaron, the two of you realized you had a lot more fun fucking each other than you did anyone else. You’d still invite others into your bed together, sometimes slutty sorority chicks or even other frat boys, but after the first few months of junior year, you and Aaron were officially an item. 

You remembered– when did it become remembered and not imagined? – That first day of senior year was etched into your brain. You had become one of the most popular guys in the frat, if not the whole school, and were currently looking around campus for people to recruit to the frat. You knew that whoever was joining had to be special, had to be someone with the imagination to see their future as a Beta Rho Alpha brother, and the will to make it happen. You could remember spotting this scrawny little guy across the quad, and almost instinctively knowing that he could be great. Maybe others didn’t see it, but you had always had a talent for seeing what could be instead of what was. You swaggered over to him, and soon you had a lil bro of your own joining the frat. When you and Aaron graduated in the spring, you knew you had left the frat in your lil bro Craig’s capable, meaty hands.

You snapped yourself out of your stupor, and tried to blink the strange haziness that had come over you out of your eyes. Had you managed to get lost in your thoughts again? That was weird, you hadn’t gotten that lost in a fantasy for a long time. Stranger still, you couldn't quite remember what the fantasy was. Whatever. You didn’t have time to sit around thinking about what could have been. You and Aaron had a morning gym sesh to get done, then you were going to go have lunch with Thad and Craig. You were so fucking excited to get to introduce your big bro to your lil bro! You knew they probably would have met at an alumni event eventually, but you were never one to wait on things. When you got an idea in your head, you couldn’t help but try to make it a reality, and right now all you could think about was broing out with your three favorite dudes in the world.

---

it was a baseline, a standard: if you were in the frat, or even just rushing—if you were to even cross the house's threshold without being stopped—you had to look the part, and this was the bare minimum. khakis. a tucked-in button-down. a belt. leather shoes. a haircut and a clean shave.

the brothers of sigma nu groaned and complained they looked like dorky, old-fashioned clones, but the frat's president had seen enough t-shirts and basketball shorts. enough sneakers and slides. enough mop tops and mullets and fades. it was time for tradition, a classic style, the masculinity that real brotherhood can foster with proper encouragement, structure, and discipline.

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Hart was the definition of niche. A 20-year-old computer science major with a stack of anime Blu-rays, a Bernie Sanders sticker on his laptop, and more Funko Pops than friends. He was proudly gay, proudly nerdy, and proudly convinced that his brain was his best asset. His social life consisted mostly of online forums and heated Reddit debates about politics and Star Wars continuity.

One evening, as he scrolled through a lesser-known app store to find some quirky productivity tools, a strange app caught his eye: "MorphMe: Update Your Self". It had zero reviews, a glowy blue icon, and a tagline that read: “Be the you you’ve never met.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “Sounds dystopian. Love it.”

He downloaded the app.

Upon opening it, a series of sliders and checkboxes appeared on screen. Gender: Male. Sexual Orientation: Gay. Intelligence: 100%. Appearance: Twink. Personality: Cute.

He chuckled and set everything just right, including a little sparkle emoji next to “cute.” Then he hit “Confirm.”

The screen glitched. Hard.

Lines of code zipped across the screen. A notification popped up: "Applying New Settings..."

Suddenly Elliot’s phone vibrated violently. He dropped it as a bright flash filled the room. When he opened his eyes…

Everything had changed.

He sat up in bed — a bed that was now massive, messy, and covered in protein bar wrappers and gym shorts. The posters of Studio Ghibli were gone, replaced with flags: American flags, Gadsden flags, and a giant Sigma Alpha Theta frat banner. The air smelled like Axe body spray and whey powder.

Elliot… wasn’t Elliot anymore.

He was Chad.

Literally. His phone buzzed with a message:

"Yo CHAD bro, kegger tonight at Mike’s. Bring Stacy 🍑🍒"

He stood and caught his reflection in the mirror. Shaggy dirty-blonde hair, rippling muscles, tanned skin, a backwards cap, and not a hint of irony anywhere. His rainbow pride pin had been replaced by a “Don’t Tread on Me” button. His brain felt… lighter? Not stupid, just… breezy. Like algebra was a foreign language, but chugging beer and flexing came second nature.

“Dude… sick,” he said to no one, admiring his pecs. His voice was a deep, confident baritone — not a trace of his former nasally tone.

He opened his closet: polos, tank tops, khakis, and way too many pairs of Oakleys. No more anime tees. No more cardigans. No more Bernie.

And… he didn’t miss them.

Later that day, Chad strolled across campus, his arm wrapped around Stacy, a blonde with lips so glossy they could reflect sunlight. She was chirping away:

“Baaaabe, we totes have to go to Cancun for spring break! Like, it’s gonna be sooo wild. You, me, margaritas, and like, no thoughts. Just vibes.”

He laughed. “Hell yeah, babe. Cancun sounds hella rad.”

He didn’t remember Elliot. He didn’t remember being gay. All he knew was the gym, the frat, and how Stacy looked in a bikini. He fist-bumped his new bros, cracked open a Bud Light (Ironically, he hated IPAs now), and settled into his life.

He never opened the MorphMe app again.

Because as far as Chad was concerned — this? This was who he was always meant to be.

Wallflower Dylan is gifted a new psychedelic from his friend. Used to watching frat bros from afar he finds the pill seems to affect far more than his mind.

Intended this to be plot light but so it goes! Probably going to take this week off to avail myself to other authors entering my Viral Transformation Challenge! The next story will likely be my own take on the theme so look forward to that next week alongside those from a litany of other stellar TF writers! Until then! -Occam

Dylan was fairly straight-laced, going into his senior year of university he hadn’t strayed much at all from class besides tagging along with his friend from high school to some of the more boisterous frat parties. Said friend Tony was quite more of a wild child, often invited himself because he was the source of some of the more illicit substances to be found at these parties. He’d invite Dylan whenever he’d need a more sober pair of eyes, namely if he was planning on rolling or otherwise getting high on his own supply. Despite his mild manner, Dylan always hopped on the chance, going to ragers was supposed to be part of the whole college deal right? And besides, he didn’t mind the chance to ogle brazen men he would under normal circumstances be fearful of making eye contact with.

Knowing of his friend’s meek disposition, and repressed hunger for the most vulgar of men, when Tony hears of a crazy new psychedelic on the market he has a feeling Dylan might finally let his hair loose. Reviews say the stuff makes reality feel like a waking dream. Anything seems possible and to your body it might as well be. Steamier sources swear that dreaming about sex on the stuff is even better than the real thing. Tony, never concerned about side effects of his material, gets straight to hitting up the usual channels to see what he can get and is able to scrounge up a single pill of the stuff. He wonders if he should try it out himself first before deciding he owes his friend at least first dibs.

Part One

First week at Taureau University and youre already having issues with your roommate, James. When you first met you thought you would get along really well. James was, like you, small, twinky, and shy unlike the bearish, bearded, country boys that populated the campus and nearby town. The student body was made up of loud show offs with big beards and bigger libidos. James was different until half way through your first week. James had neglected to save this week, revealing that your twink roomate had secretly been an otter all along. His chest was covered in a pelt of fur and a thick college beard was already present on his face. when you asked him about these developments he pretended he didnt know about them. "No bro I'm a twink! Just like you!" He said, but he never said bro before. You couldn't help but bring it up when one day you returned home from class to see him shirtless on the couch.

"What's the big deal bro, we're both men!" James asked with a slightly broy drawl to his voice. "Besides, I wanna see what kinda pelt you're hiding now." He was starting to sound like the other guys on campus.

You locked yourself in the bathroom, frustrated and disappointed that the one normal man on campus turned out to be just like the other hairy country bros. You run the water in the sink, splash some on your face to try and cool down. You scratched at your face in frustration trying to think of something to do when you feel it. Is that? Hair? You go to the mirror to check. You dont recognize the man in your reflection. You pull on the hair, thinking this is some kind of prank. It's not. Somehow, in the last couple hours, a massive beard had grown from your face without anyone noticing, least of all yourself. No you were in the bathroom after class and you were clean shaven! Did this just happen now as you were washing your face?

You look for a razor, scissors, something to cut this thing off your face but you can't find any. They're banned on campus.

James is at the door. "Looks good right? The dean said we'd start seeing results today." "Results?" You ask. "Oh yeah bro it's in everything, the food, the air. A perfect mix of chemicals to make this student body reach it's hairy masculine bearded potential."

The shower, you think, you want to wash it off. You turn on the water and get in as fast as possible. You rub water all over yourself, try to wash it off the beard, try to cleanse yourself of whatever is being done to you.

"No use buddy," James says through the door, "it's in the water too."

You poke your head out of the shower only to realize he's right. In the few moments you were under the water the beard had only gotten longer and thicker.

By the time you get out of the shower and try to towel off it's too late.

Your face is drowning in fur. A thick walrus mustache over a bush of fur. You just stand there, there's nothing you can do. The steam takes you. Maybe, if you hadnt tried so hard to wash it off the process would have been slower, like with James.

"Aye bro," you say coming out fo the bathroom. "Look at how sick my beard is." You're one of them now, just like all your bearded classmates, and you love it.

Dear Students, Faculty, and Staff,

It has come to our attention that a serious outbreak of a virus illness has been seriously harming our campus community. We take this public health threat very seriously and want you all to be aware and alert so that you can stay safe.

As a matter of transparency, we want to be clear on the origin of this virus. The Frontal Recognizance Transmutation Arenavirus 24 (often called just arena or FRT-24) has been a known threat for some time, with clear symptoms from infected individuals. A research lab on campus was known to have been studying its effects. This particular strain, the alpha variant, was of particular interest, so when a sample went missing, we exhausted campus resources to locate it. We were unable to and are now deeply sorry to our campus community. We take full responsibility for the current outbreak.

FRT-24 is highly contagious, so it is important to know the immediate signs. Look for:

Sudden headaches or migraines

Dizziness or loss of vision

Fevers and chills, especially paired with heavy perspiration

Loss of cognitive functions

Rapid muscle swelling

If you are infected, symptoms may take up to three days to develop, and you may still be a vector in this time. As the disease takes hold, you may notice a change in mood, as a lack of interest in usual activities. Instead, the disease drives the infected towards spreading. Common hubs seem to be gyms, parties, and social gatherings. We have also noticed an uptick in fraternity membership this year, a possible sign of disease spread.

Know the signs in yourself or others, as often the infected will not show traditional signs of ailment. This student has given us permission to share his story:

This young man was a healthy Junior just a few weeks ago. He was a promising young academic in biochemistry, hoping to one day do research on emergent diseases. Since his experience with FRT-24, his life is forever changed.

The changes are alarming. He has gained over 100 lbs and been unable to focus on his studies. Instead, he was spending hours in the student rec center, consumed by his illness as he worked his body to exhaustion. Since his quarantining, he has been unable to answer any basic questions about his academic career or research project. Instead, he has shown a hallucinated knowledge of a personal training and fitness program. As an early vector, we are aware of at least 10 other students who were infected before his quarantine, and he is being held for further observations on disease progression.

Thankfully we have been able to identify the method of transmission. At this time, it seems bodily fluids are most transmissible method. It seems that this virus enhances the body in this respect. Those infected will often try to spread by any means necessary. They are very good at finding susceptible men, isolating them, and finding ways to expose them directly to their sweat, saliva, and in some cases semen. They will be desperate for any chance to get you alone with them, to join their ranks. Do no be drawn in by promises of muscle, of status, or ease of life. Their brains are no longer their own. They only seek to make you a drone for FRT-24.

While we are still in the early stages of understanding the virus, we would like to acknowledge the valiant work done by Dr. Pulaski and his team of researchers. They have lead the way in this fight, throwing themselves at this dangerous line of work. Without their noble sacrifice, we would be still months from understanding the origins of this outbreak. We have narrowed down the point of origin to a party held a few weeks ago in the PKE frat house. At this time, it is unknown if frat leadership was in any way involved with this outbreak.

Sadly, Dr. Pulaski was found earlier this week a few days after conducting interviews and performing sample retrieval from the PKE house believed to be the epicenter. He was found shirtless, flexing his newly formed muscles in the mirror at the student rec center.

When reached for comment, he only smirked and reported “feeling great, bruh,” a clear sign of decline. We are still uncertain if he has exposed any of his other researchers to the disease.

Remember, you are responsible for yourself and out campus community. If you suspect you or someone you know has been exposed, please report to the Student Health Center immediately for examination. In the mean time, please stay safe everyone. We will continue to keep you updated as we know more

Regards,

Dr. Brendan Host, President