Got inspired by Emillie-Wolf newest art piece, check the original on Deviant Art! I find it very cute

Also to cover my bases even if this is SFW, all characters are 18+, what's that? Teenage is written there? I meant it as young adult, 18+.

now that's have been covered, do check the story, it's better if you download it but still:

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It was just another mundane afternoon as I wandered through a dusty old pawn shop, looking for nothing in particular. The air was thick with the smell of worn vinyl and old electronics, shelves cluttered with relics from decades past. My fingers trailed lazily over cassette decks and broken radios until something caught my eye — a vintage Walkman. It was bright red, pristine, almost glowing as if it were waiting for me.
I grabbed it and, to my surprise, it had a tape already inside, handwritten in smudged ink:
“Lost Hooves — Clopping Beats Mix”
“Sounds edgy,” I muttered, grinning. My curiosity flared. I was never one for emo stuff, but something about it pulled at me. I popped on the chunky foam headphones, the padding warm against my ears, and pressed PLAY.
The music hit like a velvet wave — melancholic 80s and 90s-style emo rock with a pulsing beat that almost sounded like… clopping hooves.
Clop… clop… clop…
The sound threaded through the melody in an infectious rhythm. I barely noticed how my fingers started tapping on my thighs to the beat, and my foot twitched eagerly.

At first, it was subtle. I closed my eyes, swaying, getting lost in the hypnotic mix. My mind fogged over as the soft, crooning voice of the singer pushed its way in:
"We’re all lost… don’t fight it, just dance… stomp your hooves to the sound…”
Hooves? I blinked at the odd word but shrugged it off. Just weird lyrics. The beat was intoxicating. My feet slapped harder against the dusty floor. The rhythm had a strange heaviness to it, an infectious pull. Clop… clop… clop…
Suddenly, my toes felt cramped in my sneakers. I groaned, slipping them off without a second thought. “Ugh, like… my feet were totally suffocating in those,” I muttered, cringing slightly. Totally? That wasn’t like me, but I ignored it. The socks I wore seemed darker, stretching further up my calves as if they had thickened as the fabric became solid black.

The music surged, louder, the clopping rhythm now pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I gasped as warmth flushed through my legs. My feet ached again, an odd tingling spreading across the soles. “W-What the—?” My voice faltered, distracted by the pressure building in my feet. My toes fused together one by one, nails hardening and darkening into something glossy. My feet elongated, arching unnaturally. In their place, thick, heavy hooves formed—smooth and black.
A twinge of embarrassment fluttered in my chest. “No biggie… just, like, a little cramp… or somethin’.”
The music cooed again, like a whisper in my ear:
"They’re not feet anymore… they’re hooves… stomp ‘em, dance, it’s your rhythm."
Clop… clop… clop…
I had to move. My legs twitched, itching for motion, so I stomped—hard. The sound echoed through the room, sending a shiver down my spine. I giggled, an airy, unfamiliar sound. “O-Oh, that’s, like, so satisfying. Clopping. Hah…” I tried stomping again.
My legs began to tingle and throb as I tried to take a step, stumbling slightly as they lengthened. My knees buckled, shifting upwards and back unnaturally, reshaping my stance into something digitigrade. I yelped, feeling the shape of my legs invert to balance me on my hooves, calves swelling with dense muscle.
Clop… CLOP!
My pulse quickened as an electric thrill jolted through my body. Why did clopping feel so good?
I looked down at my lower half, and where my pale human skin had been, soft brown fur now sprouted in uneven patches. My thighs narrowed into a lithe, animalistic grace, powerful and light. I stomped experimentally, my hooves thudding against the ground—Clop… clop!—sending ripples of energy through my legs.

The Walkman’s music poured into me like honey, sticky and sweet. My legs prickled as fine brown fur sprouted over my shins, soft and warm. My jeans shrunk, almost dissolving into a worn denim skirt. I barely registered it, too lost in how good my legs felt. My calves swelled with lean, powerful muscle. I felt so light, so springy, so alive.
“Like, whatevs…” I murmured, swishing my legs in delight. I flexed my feet—no, my hooves—and clopped experimentally, relishing the sound. A soft giggle escaped again as my voice hit a higher, singsong tone.
“Totally fine… I’m just vibin’, ya know? It’s, like, no big deal.”
My hands flew to my mouth as I heard myself—who was that? My voice was so perky, so… girly. I shook my head, brown curls bouncing into my vision. Wait—curls? I tugged at my hair, feeling longer, unruly strands. It had darkened into an earthy, emo-kid brown. My cheeks burned as I looked at the dirty mirror across the shop.
Staring back at me was a teenage girl. My once-plain tee had morphed into a dark purple, tight-fitting shirt with a ripped heart logo plastered over the chest. My wiry arms were now snug in striped black-and-purple sleeves. The tingle spread up my arms now, forcing me to glance at my hands. My fingers trembled as they thickened, knuckles shifting into broader joints with a faint cracking sound. My pinkies began to shrink entirely, leaving me with three fingers on each hand—each digit fat and tipped with wide, blunt nails.
The nails thickened into a matte black sheen, as if they’d been carefully painted. I marveled at them, flexing my new hands. They felt strong and sturdy, yet oddly delicate, as though built for a creature balancing between beauty and power. The thick belt on my skirt cinched in a waist that looked way smaller than before, flaring out into subtle, girlish hips.
I blinked in confusion. “N-No way, I’m… like…” I paused. The words felt wrong, old, dusty. Something fresher bubbled up. “I mean… whateverrr. Who even cares?”


The music pulsed through me, deeper now, its rhythm seeping into my very core. I felt pressure at the top of my head, a slow, steady force pressing against my scalp. I winced as two thick knobs began pushing upward, stretching the skin. The sensation wasn’t painful—more like a deep, fulfilling ache—as my new horns curled outwards, growing thicker and more pointed with each beat.
As the music climbed into its climax, I felt my ears tingle. I squeaked softly as they stretched, growing into delicate, pointed faun-like shapes. My hands brushed over them, and instead of panic, I giggled. “Eeep! They’re, like… adorbs, aren’t they?”
My reflection in the dirty mirror showed them clearly now: two elegant, animalistic horns framing my softening face.
The Brown fur crept up my thighs, hiding my skin as it tightened into a lean, lithe form. My shoulders shrunk slightly, more relaxed now. I swished my hips when I moved, dancing to the rhythm that thumped through my veins.
Clop… clop… clop.
Every time I stomped, the sound sent butterflies through me—delicious and thrilling. I couldn’t help it anymore. I loved clopping. I needed it. My hooves were so cute and powerful, like, whoa.
My chest burned with every stomp, a tingling heat blossoming beneath my shirt. I gasped, clutching at it as the pressure pushed outward. Clop! A pair of small, budding breasts swelled gently beneath the fabric—A-cups, barely noticeable but undeniably there. I swayed on my hooves as another jolt hit—Clop!—and they grew again, filling out to a small, perky B-cup.
“Oh gosh…” I murmured breathily, my voice an airy soprano.
Another stomp—CLOP!—and my body arched. My male parts tingled intensely before vanishing in a wave of warmth. I clenched my thighs instinctively as a soft pressure filled the space where they’d once been.
“C’monnn,” I whined softly, stomping again. “Louderrr! I wanna clop harder!” My voice was a bright, bubbly whine, dripping with teenage emo attitude.

The Walkman clicked, the tape ending but I didn’t care. The shop around me melted away in my mind. My body was complete: a faun’s elegant lower half, lean and covered in soft fur; cloven hooves that thudded with every step; a teenage girl’s upper body clad in 80s emo fashion, bouncing curls framing my elfin face, the small perky C-cup breasts beneath my emo shirt bounced slightly with each twirl and stomp.
I posed in the mirror, a bright grin spreading across my lips. “This is, like, me now,” I cooed, twirling with a clop and a stomp. I admired my horns, curling proudly above my messy hair, my grin spreading wider. “I’m, like… totally perfect now,” I chirped, clopping again for good measure. My hooves thudded powerfully, sending thrills through my transformed body.