Writing Is Something That You Can Never Do As Well As It Can Be Done. It Is A Perpetual Challenge And

Writing is something that you can never do as well as it can be done. It is a perpetual challenge and it is more difficult than anything else that I have ever done – so I do it. And it makes me happy when I do it well.

Ernest Hemingway (via writingdotcoffee)

Words of truth.

(Same anon !) I think I understand.. it may also play a part as to how transformation in general has a bad reputation for being strictly “that weird fetish” especially when coupled with muscle growth. Seems to always cross into uncanny valley when someone dares to be open about it. A bit unfair honestly, there’s a lot of passions degraded to just “haha kink cringe” when the people behind it can be really sweet and not weird about it.

Very true, Anon. I think that’s one reason why it’s important to get to know the people behind the art a lot of the time. You don’t have to agree with or support their content, but you can still get to know them as people. Most of the time, you’ll be surprised by what you discover as you talk with them. And I mean in a good way. :)

How about a minotaur transformation where a guy goes to a ranch and ends up turning into a buff dull witted bull man pulling the plow, working as a farmhand, and all the heavy labour at the ranch, maybe being a part of a herd of minotaur ranchers.

Ooh, that does sound good. I’ll need to add that to my plate. I do have a few other stories I need to complete first.

Hey Omni! I love all your work and I realized you never finished the Working Like A Thrall story. Are you ever planning on continuing/finishing that?

I’m glad you enjoyed those two chapters. I actually have several more posted on my FA account.Address: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/omnikitsune/

Just go into my gallery, and you’ll be able to see the other chapters I’ve written thus far in the series. I’m not sure how to complete it just yet, and I still have some commissions I need to get out of the way, not to mention rewards for my Patreon donors, but I will get back to the story eventually.

P.S. You’ll also find many stories there that I haven’t posted here yet. ;)

Pulling out the Stops (Patreon Preview)

“H-help me.”

I watched Milo as he strained at the weight machine. The man had exploded into a tower of lean, powerful muscle since the last time I’d seen him. His shorts strained against a set of thighs that were thick as tree trunks. His biceps were larger than footballs, and sweat caused the fabric of his too-tight tank to cling to his pecs and abs like a filmy sheet. I could practically see through it to the skin and weight belt that lay beneath. The bad-boy fauxhawk he used to model had been neatly trimmed down to the point where it would barely qualify as a cowlick over the patch of stubble that was now his hair. High and tight. He licked his lips desperately as he stared at me with pleading eyes.

“I tried to warn you,” I said....

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Here’s a teaser to my latest patreon story. For as little as a dollar a month, you get first view at my transformation stories before anybody else. (It also helps pay my bills, so I can have more time to write these things.) Higher tiers give you bigger perks. Feel free to stop by and take a look. Link below.

https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

The Clothes

The clothes make the man, or so they say. Lance had been wearing the same shirt to his workout for years. He’d used the gorilla as his standard, his ideal. He was FOCUSED. He was DRIVEN. He was a BEAST.

And he was alone.

He sighed to himself as he stared into the mirror. The veins and striations stood out in sharp contrast with help from the single emergency light that flickered behind him. Yes, he had worked hard to get where he was, to earn his place as the top dog in the gym, to start his own business.

He loved his muscles, and was grateful for them. But that didn’t make him an invincible giant, despite what the size of his biceps and traps might say to the contrary. And words have the power to strike in places where one is still weak, even after making everything else strong.

Fuck you, man. At least I actually have a life. The only thing you have is your stupid weights. It’s people like you that give gym goers a bad name. You’re just a stupid fucking gorilla! Get your head out of the weight room and get a life, then talk to me about goals. I’m done with this.

“Is that ... really all I am?” He stared at his face intently. The bright red beard helped to accentuate the defined square aesthetic that he had worked so hard to develop. He could feel the weight of his muscle rising and falling with every breath. The tanktop straps stretched over his broad shoulders and brushed against the boulders his pectorals had become. His hands clenched on the edges of the dumbbells that rested on their rack in front of the mirror. “Am I just some ... dumb animal?”

The light flickered and he grunted as the shadows licked over his face, obscuring his eyes and casting them in darkness, so only the barest glint of light shone through. His brow furrowed as he felt the phantom tingling of a thousand tiny hands massaging, kneading, pricking.

He hunched forward as his traps tensed and he grit his teeth. “Am I really just a gym gorilla? Is that all there is to me?”

His ears tingled. His toes flexed in time with his clenching hands. His calves felt engorged, both from the workout he’d just finished and the tension that now held him captive.

The light flickered again. He leaned forward to get a better look at himself. His gym shorts hugged tightly against his glutes as he bore his sharpened canines. Sure, they were bigger than the average human,but was that really justification for such an insult? He’d worked so hard to get where he was. He should be proud. Why didn’t he feel proud? Why didn’t he feel angry?

He grunted as he light flickered again and reached up with a thick finger to scratch at the higher skull ridge. He’d heard it all his life.

Neanderthal, missing link, cave man.

It wasn’t his fault.

His unibrow bunched up in front of his flattening forehead. “I can’t help what I am,” he rumbled as his thick neck vibrated with his chest. He struck against the chest with a fist as tears blurred his vision. “Why can’t they just see me?”

He roared as the light flickered again. His dark leathery skin shone dully as a hooting sob faded and he regained control. A thick coat of fiery red hair had consumed his shoulders and chest to meet the beard and spread in a carpet over the rest of his body.

“You try supporting a body this big some time, kid. Tell me what free time you have.”

The gym rang with the sound of shattering metal, and he looked down to see the chunk he’d broken off the dumbbell.

“Damn it,” he growled. “Not another one.” He grunted his frustration as the lights flickered again and dropped to his knuckles. “That’s coming out of your deposit, you speciesist scumbag.” He lumbered away on all fours past a number of awards and certificates that seemed to appear with every flickering step. He burst into his office, where custom furniture designed for a big ‘rilla like him could take the brunt of his anger.

He yanked his phone from its receiver and jabbed the sticky-note-sized buttons angrily as he held up a card to his flickering desk lamp.

Simian and Jackman, Attorneys at Law.

“Call me a dumb animal, will you?” He reached down and withdrew a jumbo sized strawberry-banana smoothie from his cooler as the proud logo of Gorilla Wear clung tightly to his massive furry frame. “Let’s see how you feel after I haul your ass to court.”