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Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Grizzly Bear
Gender Male
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File Size 312.6 kB
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Survival Of The Fittest
Phil and Miles fight over a freshly-caught salmon, causing them to unknowingly swap were-forms, in this beautiful piece drawn by 
-hornbuckle-!
Miles is owned by
elephantbro who also wrote the story below!
“Nothing’s biting. Maybe we ought to go upstream, Phil.”
The seasoned fisherman squinted into the mid-afternoon sun as he turned to face Miles. “We just haven’t given it enough time. Be patient, they’ll start biting.” And with that he turned his attention back to the deep blue of the river, boots sloshing as he repositioned himself and cast his line once more.
Miles sighed. He scratched his whiskered chin and swatted a fly away from his nose. The duo had been out on the riverfront for five hours, this spot in particular for two. Not a single fish was paying them any mind. Scanning the rather clear water, Miles was pretty sure there weren’t any fish in this river to begin with. But Phil had insisted that it was one of his favorite spots, and who was Miles to argue? He hadn’t fished since his Boy Scout days, and Phil seemed particularly more experienced than him. Still, Miles fantasized about just giving up and driving back to that diner they’d passed on their way in. He was famished.
Phil slowly reeled his line back in and muttered a curse. The same worm he’d skewered on his hook around lunchtime was still firmly attached, bloated and discolored. This didn’t make any sense. The fish had been going nuts here the other day! He’d bragged to Miles about how this weekend they’d fill up dozens of coolers with their catches; the salmon were spawning like crazy at this spot. The imagery of endless seafood dinners was enough to finally get his stubborn friend off his ass and come out with him, and now…how could the river have gotten so dead in less than 36 hours? He wondered what Miles thought of him now.
“Phil…I think we need to call it, man,” Miles sighed, trudging over to the exasperated fisherman. “I’m sure it’s just the weather. We can try coming out here next weekend.”
Phil’s arms went slack, his fishing line pooling on the water. “It doesn’t make sense…”
Miles patted Phil’s shoulder as the smaller man adjusted his cap. “Not a lot of things do. Maybe we’re just really unlucky.” With that, the larger man laughed, his mind refocusing on what he’d get to eat at that diner. Probably not fish.
Just as Phil was about to capitulate and take Miles back home, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A red flash in the water. “Miles…” he breathed, not wanting to make any movements.
“Huh?” Miles gawked, staring at his friend in confusion, then slowly turned his head where Phil was staring. A giant salmon was darting about in the water, right near the spot the hefty man had just been. Miles froze, eyes widening as he and his friend basked in the glory of the first fish of the day.
Phil’s hand tightened around his pole, the other drawing up some line. If he was smart, he could throw the line just right and not spook the fish. But Miles was leaning right in his way. Frustrated, Phil tried to nudge his friend aside, but the effort was in vain. Miles didn’t budge.
All of a sudden, Phil saw Miles crouch closer to the water, drawing in on himself. In the next moment, he was leaping through the air, legs violently dragging along and stirring up the riverbed. He was diving for the fish!
“Miles, what are you doing?!” Phil shouted, the silence broken as his friend made a loud splash and disappeared in the water. The salmon was gone, but the exasperated fisherman could see the outline of Miles’ borrowed fishing vest struggling under the newly murky water. Miles’ hat was bobbing like a sloop above the big shadow in the water. Phil’s frustration turned to worry after Miles didn’t surface for some moments too long, but returned to the former when Miles exploded out of the water.
“Great going, Bear Grylls. Now we don’t have a fish AND you’re all wet.” Phil glared at his friend’s back, watching water streaks cascading down his vest. He nearly made another quip until Miles turned around.
The expression on the man’s damp face was something akin to maddened euphoria, his glasses fogged and flecked. Tightly clenched in his hands was the salmon, struggling madly to slip away back into the water. Phil’s jaw dropped.
“H…how…” Phil stammered, his mind blown over his clumsy friend’s success. He scratched his head bewilderingly as Miles gave a full-toothed smile.
“Survival of the fittest!” Miles screeched, holding the suffocating animal aloft. “Gotta have the speed of an eagle!” He looked at the dying salmon in awe, not even believing himself what he’d accomplished.
“I hope it was worth getting all wet,” Phil retorted, patting his own dry gear. Miles squinted at his friend, who was now sporting his own toothy grin. As Phil chuckled, Miles evilly grinned and quickly kicked his foot upwards through the water. A large torrent hit Phil directly in the face.
“AUGH!” he screamed, his hands darting up to his eyes as he desperately rubbed the river water out of them. Miles collapsed in a fit of laughter, the salmon still clenched tightly despite it all. Phil’s hands slowly receded, his damp visage a mixture of annoyance and rage. Unnoticed by the two, Phil’s nose had grown a tad darker color. “You sonuva-”
“Language!” Miles interrupted, his laughter dying off as he corrected his stance. His own nose was tinted slightly golden, the once Roman shape looking more hook-like. Neither noticed this either.
Phil grumbled, wiping his snout with his fingers. It had become rounded and even darker, and his nostrils flared as he angrily regarded Miles. “You’re one to talk, sailor-mouth. For that, I call dibs on the fish.”
Miles’ face dropped. “WHAT?!” he squawked, as his nose and lips turned a darker yellow and grew a hard chitin. “I’m the one who caught it, birdbrain! What gives you the right?”
“I saw it first,” Phil replied, sticking out his long tongue at the angry man. His nose was fully black, and his mouth began pushing outwards as his lower face grew into a muzzle. His brown hair had extended down from the sideburns, giving the fisherman a mutton-chopped appearance.
Miles’ own beard was disappearing, his mouth and former nose forming a small, jutting beak. It was being replaced by stark white downy feathers, which sprouted out along his face. “It’s my fish, Phil,” he warned, his hands wringing the newly deceased catch. His fingernails dug into the fleshy sides as they grew into sharp, pointed talons.
“It’s like you said,” Phil growled, baring his fangs at his former friend. “Survival of the fittest.” And with that, he lunged, his own newly-grown claws outstretched.
The duo fought fiercely about the river, all the while changing ever more into beasts. Phil’s face was soon blanketed in auburn fur, his snarling muzzle darting about to snatch the salmon. Miles’ feathers fluttered as he darted back and forth to avoid Phil’s onslaught, his beak open in a display of raw power. His talons swiftly sliced at Phil to keep him back, causing several rips and tears to form across the transforming man’s clothing. Phil pulled back, his newly positioned ears flattening against his head.
“Come on, big guy,” Miles taunted, the white feathers spreading down his neck. “Is that all you got?” He beckoned at the furious Phil, the back of his hands coating in hard, yellow keratin.
Phil stood at his full height. He had grown, his shirt, pants, and vest now clearly too tight for him. As if to demonstrate his new size, more tears appeared, exposing tufts of brown fur as his body bulked up with muscle and fat. His shirt rode up, exposing his sizable furry gut. With a roar, he ran at Miles again.
The feathered fisher was expecting this. As if he had done it thousands of times before to a younger sibling, he angled himself at Phil and elbowed him in the stomach. Holding the ursine man back this way, he stretched out his opposite arm, salmon clutched in its claws. His beak turned up into a smile as he pushed back against the angry Phil. The latter might have grown, but the former was still plenty big.
Phil struggled valiantly, but it was pointless. “Grrrr! Miles! Quit it!”
“Nananana-na-na!” Miles chirped, waving the salmon about. The keratin had spread all the way up to his shoulders, which themselves had become blanketed in brown feathers. These were also appearing on his own chubby stomach, his larger clothes faring significantly better than his counterpart. As if on cue, both of their struggling pants gave way in the seat, exposing a puffball on Phil and tail feathers on Miles. Phil grasped for the salmon with one outstretched arm, fur brushing against Miles’ unfeeling beak.
Locked like this, the changes continued unabated. Phil’s legs swelled, fur popping out of every conceivable hole. His boots began to strain, the leather pushing back against the fisherman’s widening feet. But it was too much, and they burst open at the seams. Phil’s toe claws tore through the material like paper; his feet had become mighty paws. In Miles’ case, the brown feathers spread downward, replacing hair as it went, stopping right at his knees; at this area more keratin was hardening his skin and dying it a splendid gold. His own feet were straining against his boots, and soon three mighty talons had ripped through the front of them. A fourth talon clawed out on each heel. In a final display of transformation, Miles’ bulging back shredded through his shirt and vest. Two powerful wings flapped in the breeze and folded against his feathered shoulders, but with one unconscious twinge of muscle, they were at full wingspan, knocking the bear-man into the riverbank. Their fight had brought them all the way back to their coolers, sitting undisturbed where they’d left them.
As Phil sat on his bear booty, he had a moment of clarity. They had been fighting like animals; what had gotten into them? Bringing a paw up to rub his head, he paused, staring in horror at the paw pads that now covered his former palms.
“Do you give?” Miles croaked, the salmon clutched protectively to his fluffy chest. Suddenly he, too, paused and shook his head. His eyes widened as he looked upon Phil, who was now a stammering brown bear of a man. “PHIL?! What the hell happened to you?”
Looking up, Phil started as he saw his feathered friend. “I could ask the same of you!”
Confused, Miles looked down at his eagle-like figure and shrieked. The salmon, forgotten, slipped from his talons and landed in the water, where it was carried by the current downstream.
The two former men stared at each other for several minutes, taking moments to analyze themselves. In the end, it was Phil who spoke first.
“Survival of the fittest,” he muttered.
-hornbuckle-!Miles is owned by
elephantbro who also wrote the story below!“Nothing’s biting. Maybe we ought to go upstream, Phil.”
The seasoned fisherman squinted into the mid-afternoon sun as he turned to face Miles. “We just haven’t given it enough time. Be patient, they’ll start biting.” And with that he turned his attention back to the deep blue of the river, boots sloshing as he repositioned himself and cast his line once more.
Miles sighed. He scratched his whiskered chin and swatted a fly away from his nose. The duo had been out on the riverfront for five hours, this spot in particular for two. Not a single fish was paying them any mind. Scanning the rather clear water, Miles was pretty sure there weren’t any fish in this river to begin with. But Phil had insisted that it was one of his favorite spots, and who was Miles to argue? He hadn’t fished since his Boy Scout days, and Phil seemed particularly more experienced than him. Still, Miles fantasized about just giving up and driving back to that diner they’d passed on their way in. He was famished.
Phil slowly reeled his line back in and muttered a curse. The same worm he’d skewered on his hook around lunchtime was still firmly attached, bloated and discolored. This didn’t make any sense. The fish had been going nuts here the other day! He’d bragged to Miles about how this weekend they’d fill up dozens of coolers with their catches; the salmon were spawning like crazy at this spot. The imagery of endless seafood dinners was enough to finally get his stubborn friend off his ass and come out with him, and now…how could the river have gotten so dead in less than 36 hours? He wondered what Miles thought of him now.
“Phil…I think we need to call it, man,” Miles sighed, trudging over to the exasperated fisherman. “I’m sure it’s just the weather. We can try coming out here next weekend.”
Phil’s arms went slack, his fishing line pooling on the water. “It doesn’t make sense…”
Miles patted Phil’s shoulder as the smaller man adjusted his cap. “Not a lot of things do. Maybe we’re just really unlucky.” With that, the larger man laughed, his mind refocusing on what he’d get to eat at that diner. Probably not fish.
Just as Phil was about to capitulate and take Miles back home, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A red flash in the water. “Miles…” he breathed, not wanting to make any movements.
“Huh?” Miles gawked, staring at his friend in confusion, then slowly turned his head where Phil was staring. A giant salmon was darting about in the water, right near the spot the hefty man had just been. Miles froze, eyes widening as he and his friend basked in the glory of the first fish of the day.
Phil’s hand tightened around his pole, the other drawing up some line. If he was smart, he could throw the line just right and not spook the fish. But Miles was leaning right in his way. Frustrated, Phil tried to nudge his friend aside, but the effort was in vain. Miles didn’t budge.
All of a sudden, Phil saw Miles crouch closer to the water, drawing in on himself. In the next moment, he was leaping through the air, legs violently dragging along and stirring up the riverbed. He was diving for the fish!
“Miles, what are you doing?!” Phil shouted, the silence broken as his friend made a loud splash and disappeared in the water. The salmon was gone, but the exasperated fisherman could see the outline of Miles’ borrowed fishing vest struggling under the newly murky water. Miles’ hat was bobbing like a sloop above the big shadow in the water. Phil’s frustration turned to worry after Miles didn’t surface for some moments too long, but returned to the former when Miles exploded out of the water.
“Great going, Bear Grylls. Now we don’t have a fish AND you’re all wet.” Phil glared at his friend’s back, watching water streaks cascading down his vest. He nearly made another quip until Miles turned around.
The expression on the man’s damp face was something akin to maddened euphoria, his glasses fogged and flecked. Tightly clenched in his hands was the salmon, struggling madly to slip away back into the water. Phil’s jaw dropped.
“H…how…” Phil stammered, his mind blown over his clumsy friend’s success. He scratched his head bewilderingly as Miles gave a full-toothed smile.
“Survival of the fittest!” Miles screeched, holding the suffocating animal aloft. “Gotta have the speed of an eagle!” He looked at the dying salmon in awe, not even believing himself what he’d accomplished.
“I hope it was worth getting all wet,” Phil retorted, patting his own dry gear. Miles squinted at his friend, who was now sporting his own toothy grin. As Phil chuckled, Miles evilly grinned and quickly kicked his foot upwards through the water. A large torrent hit Phil directly in the face.
“AUGH!” he screamed, his hands darting up to his eyes as he desperately rubbed the river water out of them. Miles collapsed in a fit of laughter, the salmon still clenched tightly despite it all. Phil’s hands slowly receded, his damp visage a mixture of annoyance and rage. Unnoticed by the two, Phil’s nose had grown a tad darker color. “You sonuva-”
“Language!” Miles interrupted, his laughter dying off as he corrected his stance. His own nose was tinted slightly golden, the once Roman shape looking more hook-like. Neither noticed this either.
Phil grumbled, wiping his snout with his fingers. It had become rounded and even darker, and his nostrils flared as he angrily regarded Miles. “You’re one to talk, sailor-mouth. For that, I call dibs on the fish.”
Miles’ face dropped. “WHAT?!” he squawked, as his nose and lips turned a darker yellow and grew a hard chitin. “I’m the one who caught it, birdbrain! What gives you the right?”
“I saw it first,” Phil replied, sticking out his long tongue at the angry man. His nose was fully black, and his mouth began pushing outwards as his lower face grew into a muzzle. His brown hair had extended down from the sideburns, giving the fisherman a mutton-chopped appearance.
Miles’ own beard was disappearing, his mouth and former nose forming a small, jutting beak. It was being replaced by stark white downy feathers, which sprouted out along his face. “It’s my fish, Phil,” he warned, his hands wringing the newly deceased catch. His fingernails dug into the fleshy sides as they grew into sharp, pointed talons.
“It’s like you said,” Phil growled, baring his fangs at his former friend. “Survival of the fittest.” And with that, he lunged, his own newly-grown claws outstretched.
The duo fought fiercely about the river, all the while changing ever more into beasts. Phil’s face was soon blanketed in auburn fur, his snarling muzzle darting about to snatch the salmon. Miles’ feathers fluttered as he darted back and forth to avoid Phil’s onslaught, his beak open in a display of raw power. His talons swiftly sliced at Phil to keep him back, causing several rips and tears to form across the transforming man’s clothing. Phil pulled back, his newly positioned ears flattening against his head.
“Come on, big guy,” Miles taunted, the white feathers spreading down his neck. “Is that all you got?” He beckoned at the furious Phil, the back of his hands coating in hard, yellow keratin.
Phil stood at his full height. He had grown, his shirt, pants, and vest now clearly too tight for him. As if to demonstrate his new size, more tears appeared, exposing tufts of brown fur as his body bulked up with muscle and fat. His shirt rode up, exposing his sizable furry gut. With a roar, he ran at Miles again.
The feathered fisher was expecting this. As if he had done it thousands of times before to a younger sibling, he angled himself at Phil and elbowed him in the stomach. Holding the ursine man back this way, he stretched out his opposite arm, salmon clutched in its claws. His beak turned up into a smile as he pushed back against the angry Phil. The latter might have grown, but the former was still plenty big.
Phil struggled valiantly, but it was pointless. “Grrrr! Miles! Quit it!”
“Nananana-na-na!” Miles chirped, waving the salmon about. The keratin had spread all the way up to his shoulders, which themselves had become blanketed in brown feathers. These were also appearing on his own chubby stomach, his larger clothes faring significantly better than his counterpart. As if on cue, both of their struggling pants gave way in the seat, exposing a puffball on Phil and tail feathers on Miles. Phil grasped for the salmon with one outstretched arm, fur brushing against Miles’ unfeeling beak.
Locked like this, the changes continued unabated. Phil’s legs swelled, fur popping out of every conceivable hole. His boots began to strain, the leather pushing back against the fisherman’s widening feet. But it was too much, and they burst open at the seams. Phil’s toe claws tore through the material like paper; his feet had become mighty paws. In Miles’ case, the brown feathers spread downward, replacing hair as it went, stopping right at his knees; at this area more keratin was hardening his skin and dying it a splendid gold. His own feet were straining against his boots, and soon three mighty talons had ripped through the front of them. A fourth talon clawed out on each heel. In a final display of transformation, Miles’ bulging back shredded through his shirt and vest. Two powerful wings flapped in the breeze and folded against his feathered shoulders, but with one unconscious twinge of muscle, they were at full wingspan, knocking the bear-man into the riverbank. Their fight had brought them all the way back to their coolers, sitting undisturbed where they’d left them.
As Phil sat on his bear booty, he had a moment of clarity. They had been fighting like animals; what had gotten into them? Bringing a paw up to rub his head, he paused, staring in horror at the paw pads that now covered his former palms.
“Do you give?” Miles croaked, the salmon clutched protectively to his fluffy chest. Suddenly he, too, paused and shook his head. His eyes widened as he looked upon Phil, who was now a stammering brown bear of a man. “PHIL?! What the hell happened to you?”
Looking up, Phil started as he saw his feathered friend. “I could ask the same of you!”
Confused, Miles looked down at his eagle-like figure and shrieked. The salmon, forgotten, slipped from his talons and landed in the water, where it was carried by the current downstream.
The two former men stared at each other for several minutes, taking moments to analyze themselves. In the end, it was Phil who spoke first.
“Survival of the fittest,” he muttered.
Category Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Grizzly Bear
Gender Male
Size 1280 x 836px
File Size 312.6 kB
Adorable! Always love seeing your characters transform!
The salmon reminds me of your fishy form!
The salmon reminds me of your fishy form!
My salmon form is anthro and I won't be eaten :P
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