Lol U Rly Dont Have To ~not All Christians~ Bro Im Pretty Sure They Dont Need Another Defender

Lol u rly don’t have to ~not all Christians~ bro I’m pretty sure they don’t need another defender

So, here’s the issue I have with this ask, barring the incredible, incredible disrespect it has for me as a person as well as the religion I was raised in.

You are using the phrase “not all Christians” as a callback to “Not all men”, a phrase that men will use when faced with people saying that all men are [garbage, toxic, unhealthy, worthless, pointless, etc]. Nevermind that by saying that you are also including gay, trans, and gnc men–and thus inherently being incredibly homophobic and transphobic–you are also denying them any defense as a person, any grace as a fellow human being. By saying ‘yes all men’ you are singlehandedly saying “It does not matter what you do or who you are, by virtue of being a man, you are inherently bad.”

And so, we reach “not all Christians”. It is the same issue: I understand that you have probably faced no small amount of diatribe from certain parts of the Christian faith [because you cannot compare christianity to its multiple denominations, there was an entire 95 theses about this]. As someone who identifies as gay and was amab, I’ve been there.

But–to say “all Christians are bad, are cruel, are homophobic, don’t allow questioning” is to say “I have never met someone who actually follows the teachings of Christ as they were intended.”

There is a deeply American view to American Christianity, from televangelism to prosperity gospel to reaganomics influencing the tea party and GOP. I cannot say it is not pervasive like a strangling ivy, but nor can I say it is truly what Christianity is, what should be. The Gospel preaches of love, adoration, acceptance, happiness, and peace for all people of all creeds. At the end of the day, Christianity is just…it’s love. That’s all it is. The word of god is to say “I love you, and I want you to love.”

I have to ask you: if you feel that a religion whose core message is simply to love and accept others is evil or cruel or hateful or what have you, at some point you need to ask yourself if you actually think the religion is bad, or merely those who have used it unjustly against you?

Auto Body Shop

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Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/omnikitsune Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

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That was the name of the place. Auto Body Shop. I guess I could appreciate the play on words. It was located in a former garage, after all. Their logo was even a lug wrench, the X-variety. Perfectly symmetrical, perfect for screwing and unscrewing nuts and bolts. The gear was simple, which is probably why the membership was and is so cheap. But they offered perfect results. And the reviews all spoke highly of the location.

Which is why I was so surprised to find the place practically empty when I arrived. Some kettlebells off in a corner by a whiteboard, an adjustable bench for weight exercises, a mirror to watch form and see progress, a television screen for ... I’m not sure what. It displayed the gym’s logo for the most part. And then there was what I assumed to be a gym goer standing there staring at the mirror. I’m not sure whether he was cooling down, posing, or what. But I couldn’t deny the shape he’d gotten his body into. The muscles bulged in all the right places.

I walked into the office to register, where Coach Melbourne, the owner of the establishment, explained a few things to me about his methods. He’s a former hypnotist with years of experience under his belt. He wanted to use that expertise to help his clients enjoy their time at the gym, rather than dread over coming. People bring their cars to a body shop for tuneups or repairs all the time. He does the same for clients, only in their heads.

In ... my head, I suppose.

I mean, I accepted. He told me what I’d have to do, what I’d need to be willing to accept. And I did.

Coach started off with giving me a new filter, something to help me breathe better when I work out and keep my eyes on the prize. He has all kinds of small sayings like that, things that echo in my brain when I work out. It’s sort of like that lane control and radar stuff they have in cars now. If I want to do an exercise, I just let go and fall into the routine. It’s so easy to just ... do what I’m supposed to. Because, well, that’s what I am now.

Over time, the filter was tweaked to adapt to other things. Diet, media, and eventually clothing. I can’t tell you how much I love my tanks now. Really accentuates the pistons. I flex. The spark ignites, and suddenly I’m running. Running my program. Running to show off. Running to lift and haul weight.

Sometimes I’m blinking in front of the mirror, admiring my new body. At other times, I’m blinking at a monitor with Coach’s voice droning, repeating, echoing in my brain.

Charts. Instructions. Schematics. Human anatomy, just another series of parts to work on my body. My muscular body. I’m on my bulk cycle right now, so I’m eating muscle carbs. And always gotta have my fiberglass of whey protein. I bike to the shop now. Works the calves, runs my belt. Makes it easier to zone out, let my built in radar alert me and act accordingly.

Got my haircut done recently. The buzz of the razor’s like a buff and polish for my head. Makes it easier for the air to play over. Better exhaust.

Coach gave me a tailpipe the other day. Snapback cap. Feels so good against my head. So much stuff up there. Too much. Exhaust pipe helps me empty it. Helps me keep things running smooth. Smooth like the sides of my head.

Veins are starting to show now. They get more prominent by the day. Coach tells me that’s normal. They’re my fuel injectors. Deliver all the stuff my engine needs to start and keep running. More will come. Gotta get that harness in place. Increase reaction time. Send those electric impulses faster and faster.

Brake harder on the barbells. Get better kicks. Better tires. Stronger tread. Slower wear. That’s what coach says, and coach knows best. He’s my mechanic. Tells me when I need to get more coolant. When to change my oil.

I really rumble now. Air filters keep getting bigger to adjust to all the capacity I’ve got for intake. That’s another reason I wear the tanks now. Can’t hide those headlights. Turn on the brights, the shirts get tight, you know?

Got a new coat of paint the other day. Nice rich tan. Gotta show off that buff and polish. Some friends were worried, but I told ‘em it was okay. I don’t want to get rid of ‘em, but if they keep pushing, I will. Can’t have faulty sensors breaking up the ride, you know? Car won’t run that way, and I want to run. I’m an automatic, after all.

My hydraulics have really had an overhaul. All those pushups and burpees. I can launch myself off the ground any time I want. Suspension takes most any bumps now when I fall back down. Chassis thick and firm. No problem taking hits. I’ve been tested. Drive shaft crafted to fine precision. I can turn on a dime, jump, speed, cut, donut, wheelie, whatever is needed. Mechanic drives me to be better after every tuneup.

I’m not the same as when I started. I was gutted, broken down, then rebuilt into a real musclecar man. I walk in the gym today, I look in the mirror, and I finally understand that other man. He was doing what I’m doing. I flex. The fuel ignites. Exhaust blows out my tailpipe. I barely perceive the newbie in my radar and point with my turn signal for him to go to the office.

Melbourne will give him the body work he needs, just like he has for me. Just like he still is.

I rev my engine. Turn on the brights. Spit out the exhaust. There’s only one thing on my mind right now as I turn to read my assigned routine today.

Time to go for a drive.

Boiling Alive

I’m not talking about an oil bath or some hot jacuzzi.

There’s no fire underneath me, no heating element to burn me.

And yet I’m boiling.

Boiling not from anger or from hate, but from shame.

I upset someone I hold dear. And I don’t know what I did wrong.

And that feeling has been burning inside me ever since. That is the source of my heat. That is my everlasting fire.

And I don’t know if I can put it out.

Because I don’t know how to start.

No stop, drop, and roll. No fire blanket. I may be able to try smothering it, but that’s just a temporary solution. Because it’s still there, and it’ll burn again the minute my thoughts turn the right way.

So many bubbles forming under my skin. They pop. They burst. And the fire burns hotter. And all I can do is wait.

Wait till you’re willing to talk to me.

Because I can’t figure this out alone.

And I fear it will destroy me without you.

Please, don’t keep me waiting.

I need you.

My firefighter.

I Don’t Want to Cry

I’ve hung up my phone.

The conversation is over. But I can’t stand what I’ve just heard.

People are waiting for me.

But I don’t want to face them. I don’t want to burden them. Not this time of year. Not when we’re supposed to be happy. I lay back on my bed with one thought burning consciously and subconsciously.

I don’t want to cry.

I can sit there. I can be a statue. I can freeze in the moment and never move again. Let me do this, please.

I don’t want to cry.

I can fiddle with my phone. Play a game. Check email. Do something.

I just don’t want to cry.

The words echo. The thoughts brew.

Can’t wait. Tired. No more.

...

Goodbye.

Don’t cry.

Am I a failure?

I don’t want to cry.

I breathe. I sit. I tear off my glasses and close my eyes.

No more desire. Just a rigid command.

Don’t cry.

Footsteps come from the hall outside. I don’t want to see anyone, but I can’t avoid it. I sit up. My glasses are back on again. My eyes are stinging. She enters. I can’t look at her, so I don’t.

Don’t. Cry.

Two arms wrap around me. All I see is the carpet beneath my feet.

Please ... don’t.

Words flow.

I don’t ... I can’t. I just ... can’t.

...

Damn it.

Molten lead boils out my chest, into my head, and out my eyes. Noxious gas spurts in betraying hiccups from my mouth. The dreaded sob, anathema to every proud man and woman on the planet. We don’t cry. We’re not supposed to cry. Crying is weakness. Crying is shame. Crying is-- Crying is.......

Crying is happening.

I don’t want to cry. But I can’t stop it. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for a lot of things. Because I don’t have the power to change my circumstances as they are. And I find myself questioning every word. Every thought. Every action I ever made. Even as those words draw each drop and spurt out of me.

I’m hot. I’m a molten mess. But still those arms hang on.

And slowly, the geyser cools. The eruption eases into a subtle series of aftershocks that gradually fade to silence.

Cracks form along my eyes as liquid dries and cools. A gentle wind blows the fumes away. And those words and actions that drew the tears out now sooth and cleanse.

They promise a better future. They promise mending. And they know.

They know, because they have lived. They have felt those tremors and survived.

I look up.

I still don’t want to cry. That hasn’t changed.

But my sister knows this well.

Love hurt me. And love will heal me. In time.

She made it through. Not once. Not twice. But three times before she found the one.

And she will help me when I’m ready to move on.

The pain still isn’t gone.

But it is at least a little less.

I still don’t want to cry. I still don’t like it.

But I did need it.

And there is no shame in that.

There is nature in it. Some pain. And most importantly, at the end, hope.

Shakespeare said it best. To be a man, I must feel like a man.

If God can cry, why can’t I?

I can.

And though I still don’t want to, I probably will a few times more before my life is done.

And that’s okay.

So long as I keep moving forward as best I can.

Then, maybe, if I’m lucky, that pile of slag will become something far more precious.

And I will be made new again, like the phoenix of myth.

Tears to cleanse. Tears to heal. And tears to be born again.

I don’t want to cry.

But I will to move forward. I will, to be born again.

And I will be.

It will just take time.

This man was a large part of my childhood. I loved Sesame Street as a kid. We’d watch the Christmas special every year in our house growing up.

sesame street, episode 15.4 (thanksgiving, 1983)

much love to caroll spinney (1933-2019), who played big bird and oscar the grouch until 2018. he passed away today on december 8, 2019. may a hero and a legend rest in peace.

A Question

TLDR: I want to open a new transformation series on my patreon with a tier dedicated to that story and future muscle tf stories that will be posted regularly alongside my other tf stories that I put up there. That way, you guys get the content you all really want without having to hope I won’t choose another medium or species for my monthly updates. Need suggestions on pricing for the tier and what you all would be willing to pay on a monthly basis to continue receiving that content. I also need to know how many of you would be willing to help me on patreon, so I can see if it’s viable.

Details below.

Please leave comments with opinions and suggestions on my idea and for any other rewards that might make you choose to contribute to said hypothetical tier.

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Hello to my many followers. So, a few weeks ago, I lost one of my subscribers to my patreon because while he did enjoy when I did muscle transformation stories, I didn’t always produce them each month, since I was trying to add a little variety and I am also dealing with a lot of real world stuff. *Eye rolls* Fun, right? Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve all noticed, my content has been coming more regularly again. And to that end, I have a question for all of you followers that I’d like as many of you as possible to answer.

PLEASE!

I am now flooded with a backlog of ideas for muscle tf stories, including a new one that occurred to me last night as part of a series not unlike Lifting Up and Dumbing Down or Of Spies and Muscleheads. Albeit without the gradual and subtle aspect of the tf.

If any of you are familiar with the game show that premiered on SyFY a while ago, called The Chase, then you might have an idea of where I intend to take this series. I’ll even be willing to premier a sort of prologue here on my tumblr to whet your appetites for the rest of the series.

I would like to offer a new tier in my patreon that is exclusively for the muscle tfs that you guys all like. If I were to add such a tier and update on a monthly basis with my other tf stories, how many of you would be willing to subscribe to my patreon to see the content? And as a followup, how much should I charge for that tier? What would you all be willing to pay to help fund me as I work on these projects? I was considering a $10 tier separate from my current one, but I want to hear what fits best for all of you guys first, and how many would join. I might even take some extra requests or give you guys the ability to vote on a theme you’d like me to follow. What do you think?