kye – deep future

DIASPORA, or, SEVENTY THOUSAND YEARS

A brief overview of my universe project.

It is the year 2260 of the Eighth Cycle. Humanity’s golden ages are past. Millennia after millennia of collapse, resurgence, and collapse have spread the seeds of humanity far and wide, diverging beneath alien suns to forms strange and wonderful – though, as far as some are concerned, “human” lost its meaning in ages long forgotten.

Humanity – or, rather, posthumanity, occupies all corners of the Orion Spur. Their realms are as disparate as they are similar, boasting curious amalgamations of culture, technology, and the many starfaring races that inhabit the Spur.

By and large, the technology of the distant future is arcane and strange, worlds of glittering gold and shimmering silver beneath fields of infinite stars. From the agrarian, slow outworlds of the Shallows to the hypertech metropoli of Cradlespace, technology, their wielders, and the strange other-place of the Wild Mesh intertwine and blend, producing the strange techno-force known as exologia.

Travel between the stars was once instant – a relic of the Age of Miracle, scattered remains of the star-bridge gates and their support manifolds and structures still littering the worlds they once serviced. Few gates remain operational, largely confined to the worlds of the Core that survived the collapses best. Elsewhere, travel takes time. Light-skippers, great golden vessels capable of bearing the strain of drifting through the Tide itself, ply routes of commerce and trade.

SPUR ASTROCARTOGRAPHY

ORION SPUR – the home arm of ancient humanity. Numerous posthuman and xenoform civilizations inhabit this region, making it a quite literal crossroads of interstellar culture and trade.

PERSEUS DRIFT – the thinning of stars to the galactic west of the Orion Spur, towards the Perseus Gulf that separates the Spur from the Perseus Arm. Sparsely populated, largely unexplored. Numerous xenofauna, no (confirmed) sapient xenoforms.

CENTAURI REACH – the region to the galactic north-east and corewards of the Spur, home to the Cavican Hegemony. Largely explored, very bright.

OLD CORE (CRADLESPACE) – the sixty lightyears surrounding Sol, sporting some of the highest populated worlds in the Spur. Has the largest number of Skipper lanes and routes in the region.

THE WOUND – a relic of wars immemorial, this region is scoured. starless, with drifting wrecks and forgotten relics

IBREAN WASTES – coreward side of the Perseus Arm, contains various splinter posthuman states and satellite xenoforms. Largely empty.

THE SHOALS – rimward side of the Spur, curiously calmer infraspace currents. Makes travel easier, sports large numbers of agricultural worlds and high food exports.

GLITTERSHOAL – artificial nebula within the Shoals seeded some twenty thousand years ago. few go in, fewer come out.

FAR SPUR – the far eastern end of the Spur, contains the posthuman state known as the Ovellian Collaborate. Stars are relatively distant from one another, large clouds of interstellar dust.

SAGITTARIUS HIGHLANDS – rimward side of the Sagittarius arm. Unexplored and unsettled.

CARINA GULF – coreward side of the Spur, contains the loose federation of states known as Lashan. Old colonies, deep roots.

POSTHUMANITY

“It is, perhaps, the most notable aspect of the Human – their predisposition to acclimation and adaptation, to overcome hazards by simply outlasting them.”

Over the untold millennia, humanity has diverged. Whether due to local climactic or gravitic pressure, genetic projects of various scope and goal, or simple time, the “standard” human no longer exists. Numerous types occupy the Spur, along with many others not listed below.

“Baseline” humans – ancient, Terran standard humans. Acclimated to 1G standard gravity on average, remarkably resilient and adaptive. Found across the Spur and beyond. Many subspecies, from aquatic to arboreal.
Bioframes – living tissue with a silicate vertebral core. Inhabited by posthuman consciousness, functions much as any other body would. Physiology varies wildly and is often tailored to personal preferences. Relegated to relatively high tech regions of the Spur, require specialized maintenance.
Synthframes – less organic than bioframes, usually retain a semblance of humanoid shape and aesthetic. Usually. Can hold a resident posthuman or an AI comfortably.
Cavica – techno-mystics seeking to conquer the Wild Mesh and bend it once more to human wills. Powerful wielders of exologia, the Cavica are a formidable player on the interstellar stage, and managed in an age past to create great Tide currents to dissuade errant vessels from penetrating their region of the stars.
Ovelle – these were once human, but no longer. Ovelle exist within realspace as ruin-dwelling bronze and marble-masked colossi. Their history is unknown, but it is believed to be tied to the earliest arcane experiments by the Cavican void-witch covens – though, naturally, the Cavica refuse to elaborate, and the Ovelle remain silent. Visitors to their ruin-worlds return with stories of whispers in the dark.
Savhara – designer “pet” bioframes from a cycle of decadence past that have established themselves as a population all their own. Largely exist in the older parts of the Spur, though a large number exist within the Shoals.

XENOFORMS

Few true xenoforms have ever been encountered. The ancient Alissids are one race who in cycles past interacted with humanity, but they, as many things do, passed into memory in the First Collapse – as did the Turiga, and the Unari. Many others, however, still exist – and can be found across the Spur, if one knows where to look.

Hujia – vast interstellar dust collections granted sentience by chance and gravity. Communicate over vast distances with as of yet not understood means. Recycle starship wrecks, often found in orbital junkyards and battle sites.

Teshiko – squat, subterranean humanoids often found within asteroid habitats or mining firms. Build great inverted cities on worlds they colonize.

Sanachar – mesh-spawned xenoforms, resulting from a faulty node interacting with local fauna over many millennia. Stronger connection to it than most.

THE WILD MESH

In the heights of the Fourth Cycle, humanity created the Mesh within the very shallowest layers of the Tide – a superluminal information network that spread as they settled the Spur, new nodes stretching its reach further and further with successive additions. It functioned, by and large, as the information nexus of humanity, being linked with the analogues encountered xenoforms created when encountered. Successive cycles added to this network, and as it spread, it began to… change. Strange currents flowed through the Mesh, echoes of users long-dead and users yet-to-be. Latent power, awakened by time, and distance.

Today, the mesh beyond the explored and documented portions – or beneath them – is known as the Wild Mesh, a vast sea of information both tantalizing and perilous. The sections pinned down, papered over, and carefully catalogued and categorized, in comparison, are the Living Mesh, posthumanity’s largest repository of ancient knowledge and insight. This functions, more or less, like any other network.

The issues arise, naturally, when such a network is left alone for millennia – festering as nodes drift, corrupting beneath the harsh glare of uncaring suns and lonely space. Beyond the civilized spaces – explored, mapped, studied beneath the eyes of posthuman scholars and self-titled explorers, the Wild Mesh is as dangerous as any untamed frontier, making accessing it at all a gamble.

EXOLOGIA

Earlier cycles documented an odd affinity some humans and xenoforms had for connections to the Mesh – an inability to achieve total cessation of connectivity, a strange push and pull their minds seemed to find within the endless depths of the Tide. Dubbed the Malakev Effect by a long-forgotten researcher, these individuals were marked – but, as the Tide itself was calmer in the distant past, their effect was limited, and largely unnoticed.

The Mesh of the Eighth Cycle, however, is anything but.

Some, attuned to the Wild Mesh and the cosmic fabric better than most, developed the ability to exert their will upon it, bending reality and unreality alike to their whims – and, thus, were branded sorcerers. Witches. These are the Exologia, the mages of a future unimagined. Kaln Tevyaga’s misbegotten crusade of antiquity sought to wipe the budding exologia from the stars, seeking to exterminate the covens of Cavica and the arcane colossi of the Ovelle, but only found death and disorder in their wake.

So, too, has the future been marred by those who wield it – great tyrants and warrior kings, prophets and madmen – this is the mark of the exologia, and the curse it bears.

Seeking to understand their connection and driven mad by Tevyaga’s crusade, the Cavica sealed their region of the Centauri Reach long ago – but, occasionally, Cavican star-witches appear across the Spur, in pursuit of some arcane goal or another.

THE TIDE, DEPTH UNFATHOMABLE

The first Cycles delved into the universe greedily, without caution, without practice. Clumsy steps into their skies, the stars, the worlds beyond and beneath.

In no place is this more evident than the depths of the other-space, the unseen ocean that underflows every planet, every soul, the Tide itself. Travel across the stars beyond light’s reach is only possible because of the Tide’s currents, caught on gossamer star-sails and solar engines. Great waves and storms wrack its depths, damning floundering ships and sparking tales of terror in hushed tones across the Spur and beyond. Cycles past tried to tame this tempest, and were rebutted utterly and wholly – relics from forgotten wars and misbegotten attempts at dominion beyond the reaches of realspace occasionally resurfacing where the Tide grows shallowest, washing up upon the shores of the Real as drifting wreckage.

The shallows of the Tide are safer, calmer, and as a result are where most travel within it takes place. While relatively slow, taking days to traverse mere dozens of lightyears, for those requiring the journeys it is functional, and effective. Consequently, however, further afield systems and star-polities tend to be by and large self-sufficient for goods and produce.

The variety of star-ships of the Eighth Cycle is vast. Great skimmer-ships ply the Core routes, ferrying cargo and passengers, gossamer-threaded lightriders skim across the depths of the Tide as dragonflies across still water. Great machines of war ply the depths, forgotten relics of wars unnamed – and, along the fringes, their rarity makes ships valuable.

THE TALE OF THE RED THIEF

It was the Year of Black Glass, in the depths of the waning of the Fifth Cycle. The Spur was at war, a witness to the Tyrant’s crusade of exile beneath his Edict.

It was no ordinary declaration, penned over by learned scribes and scholars of law – this was a declaration to the Universe itself, a demand of Order, that the arcane and profane were to be eliminated by sword and steel. The Tyrant fell upon the Cavican covens with fury unbridled, shattering them beneath the boots and cuirasses of a thousand thousand legions, and scattered them to the stars as so much dust and memory.

So, too, were the macabre clockwork colossi of the Ovelle driven before them, chittering, clattering beasts of gear and magical might.

So it brings us, a passenger upon the Tide of time, to the Last Night of the Tyrant, and the theft of his most precious possession.

His life.

It is said his Doom was foreseen, on the eve of the Feast of Saint Lucania.

A traveling diviner, of Sanaschan stock, read the currents before a crowd of amused courtiers. She saw only crimson, a blade cloaked in the finest silver and red – and, for her trespass, she was cut down. An example, it is said, of those who profaned before the throne.

The Tyrant, a braggart, proclaimed his future immutable – as resolute and steadfast as the stones of his keep, and as sharp and unyielding as the blades of his men.

How right he was.

Fall turned to winter, and with the changing of the season came the chill – and a newcomer, seeking an audience. A man, it seemed, in a masque of marble and robes of gold.

To treat with the Tyrant was an uncommon occurrence – many who knelt before the throne were unceremoniously awarded a divorce of the chin and shoulder, but the newcomer arrived to no fanfare, and showed no fear. This intrigued the Tyrant deeply.

“And who, bearing words of honey, comes before me?” The Tyrant crowed, complacent upon his throne of glass. “A supplicant? A petitioner? A wytch, seeking pardon and forgiveness?”

“Nay,” echoed the newcomer, bowing slightly. “A mere messenger, my Lord.”

“Very well. I shall hear your message, stranger. Do not waste my time further.”

The newcomer stood straighter, and before the eyes of the court his cloaks fell away – and, revealed thus, was the clockwork machina of the Red Thief.

His guards were ribbons before his cry of alarm reached them – for the Ovelle are strange, and arcane.

The gap was crossed in blinks, the hilt of a silver blade pressing to the Tyrant’s chest as the chittering laugh of the Thief played across his ears like raindrops.

Scarlet rivers followed bronze contours, dripping to the marble in great showers.

“My message is this,” it is said the machine whispered in its strange chorus-speech.

“May the next Cycle cast your claims to oblivion.”

History itself recalls the moment his imperial ambitions were shattered – and, with a surgeon’s precision and a revolutionary’s resolve, the thread of fate the Tyrant had so carefully woven into the fabric of the Spur was severed. Scarlet stained the stones of the Throne of Glass, and the Red Thief stole his greatest prize.

Certainty.

His flight from the throne world of Tarnaca was bloody. Vultures waited on every eave, already sizing up choice cuts of an empire in its death throes.

It is said the witches of Cavica doomed the Spur to darkness, that day – a pact in blood to end an age of war and conflict.

How right they were.

KINGMAKER

Regicide, or: A Tragedy in Red

Chief among the Shoal Baronies, Carrigan hangs within the great tapestry as a blue and grey marble, flecked with verdant lowlands and shallow seas. From this bustling world extends the reach of House Celan, an economic hammer to blunt any sword of conquest – as has been proven, time and time again, since the settlement of the world in the mists of antiquity.

However, as with every prize, there stands one poised to play for it. The Baron Celan has made many enemies, scorned trading partners, ousted corporate powers, distant players intending to move into the Shoals – and, as the sun sets on Carrigan, tonight is to be his last.

We do not, however, focus on the Baron, tonight.

We focus instead on his heir.

So it was, as Kye Celan wandered the sprawling gardens of their estate in the golden evening sun, following their usual route along the walls that overlooked the vast city beneath, they felt… nervous.

A sickening, twisting feeling in the depths of their gut, as if they were once again in their years of tutelage and had forgotten to study before an exam. It had been this feeling that had drawn the leporine posthuman from their room into the garden proper in the first place, seeking fresh air and tranquility beneath the guanya trees and roses.

Perhaps, it was also what spurred the scion to bring along their weapon – or perhaps merely contributed to their heightened awareness, realizing nearly immediately that something was wrong as a distant shout sent a flock of catha screeching away into the sky in a flurry of feathers and protest.

Confusion gripped them as their gaze drifted back from the city to the gardens, spotting for the first time one of their father’s guards, orange and silver armor impassive and imposing, making their way down the aisle. Two lances of ferroglass hovered behind their shoulders like the wings of a raptor.

“Lord Celan!”

Kye palmed their weapon, the hilt of their blade sprouting holite blooms as the n-link synched.

“Yes?”

“Your father…” The man trailed off behind his tri-visored helmet, seemingly trying to think of what to say next. “Requests your presence in the August Theatre.”

“Does he? And why was a guard sent to inform me?”

That damned pause again. “The adjutants are occupied with other matters.”

None of this added up. Nothing was fitting together properly. Kye, sensitive ears picking up the distant sound of shattering glass, sprung into action – just as the guard, clearly prepared for this, open palmed the air in the rabbit’s direction just as Kye hit the ground, coming up with their sword bared. The resultant wave of force tore lilies from their beds, scattering guanya seeds to the wind. Glittering motes of exotic energy drifted in the air around the two as they faced off, faintly glowing eyes meeting impassive visor.

The guard slammed their palms together. Both lances of ferroglass, standing to like guard dogs alerted, shot forwards with blinding speed. With a panicked slice that made the blade sing in resonance Kye brought their blade up, shattering one of the lances as it swooped past, but missing the other, taking a long, bloody gash along their left flank for their trouble.

Pouring more focus into their blade, Kye made a clumsy strike at the guard, only to be rebuffed by an armored forearm plate and backhanded onto the soft grass with a surprising amount of force. Unfortunately, the blow had left the combat-averse scion winded, and at the greatest disadvantage of their life.

The sudden sensation of being crushed gripped Kye as their body was lifted from the grass into the air, exotic force whipping around their body like a silent hurricane. The guard, helmet off, gazed on as they tightened their outstretched grip. Kye knew this guard – one of his father’s personal retinue, a Captain Gaynes.

“My orders were to take you alive, and this I swear I shall.”

The squeeze grew tighter.

Kye’s lungs burned, the pressure having forced whatever air remained within them out – and, as their vision began to swim, the last few thoughts that swam through the murky depths of consciousness were of home, and the stars.

The Count Illor was smiling from ear to ear as the reports came in. The plan had, without even the smallest amount of boasting, gone off perfectly. The elite House troops of House Illor had caught the guards of the Baron unawares, dispatching them and replacing the last shift with their own men without losing a single man. It was a shame about the court adjutant who’d discovered their deception, but… these things simply happened, didn’t they?

Still, as he steepled his fingers and leaned back in his stolen throne, he imagined the Baron’s family kneeled before it, the red and silver crest of House Celan alight. Yes, that would do. That would do nicely. He glanced to his left, at the hawkish man standing rigidly a few steps from the throne.

“Callister. Have the remaining members been found, yet?”

“Yes, my Lord. Master Kye was apprehended by one of their very own protectors in the palatial gardens. One of the few we managed to pay off, if I recall correctly.”

“And the… husband? His whereabouts?”

If a grimace could smile, this expression haunted the crypt that was his steward’s façade. “Dead, my Lord. A nasty business involving the north walls and the sea below.”

“Hm. Break a few eggs, and all that.”

As Count of Olesia, Jayne Illor had long fallen into the long shadow the Barony of Carrigan cast – a founding member of the Shoals Baronies in eons past, the world of Olesia had been in economic freefall for centuries as piracy in the Far Shoals grew rampant, driving trade away into safer seas. Determined, some would say to maddening lengths, to restore the prosperity of his world and lineage, the Count today intended to force legitimacy by the point of a sword.

“My Lord, your guests have arrived.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Send them in.”

The doors opened, and in walked three pairs of guards – each escorting a bloodied, defeated figure in robes and holite imagery. The Baron, Hallek Celan, his heir Kye, and the Steward, Manche duPasse. The Baron’s consort, Rhys Celan, had… fallen. Quite some distance, if Callister Rhose was to be believed.

“Oh, Hallek. To see you like this breaks my heart.”

The Baron’s bloodstained face darkened, almost to the point of bared teeth. “Treasonous bastard. When the others find out what you’ve done, they’ll-“

“They’ll thank me for, what was it, “ending the influence of the man who would be king”, I believe?”

Hallek Celan, with the dawning horror of a man realizing his own doom, stared up at the sneering despot sitting upon his throne.

“Now, then. Your trial.”

The air in the throne room began to grow stifling, as if the greatest electrical charge in history had begun to build within it. The Count, raising his palms as if moving mountains, slammed them down on the arms of the glass throne with a force that beggared belief – and, in response, reality itself shrieked and folded back.

From the howling madness of the Wild Mesh crawled a pair of error-beasts, gnashing clouds of raw data-holite and arcane ancient knowledge formed into the idea of a beast, vicious and unyielding. The guards – and even Callister Rhose – recoiled slightly as the breaches sealed themselves, every piece of technology in the room reacting to the beasts’ presence.

“These,” The Count said calmly, holding his palms out in reference. “Are to be my Arbiters. I am your judge, and jury, but they,”

He gestured, and the one in his right stepped forward with a horrible gurgling bitcrushed growl.

“Are to be your executioner.”

The Baron attempted to protest, trying to stand – but one of the guards buried a stunstick into his ribs, sending the white-furred posthuman to his knees coughing.

“Piracy has long been rampant within the Baronies,” The Count began, gesturing in great histrionics. “For six centuries the Far Shoals have been plagued, our worlds despoiled, our shipments stolen. Is it not the Baron’s responsibility to oversee his realm?”

Hallek did not rise for the bait, fuming quietly as blood dripped to the lapis tiles below.

“For a man who has consolidated so much, demanded so much authority, you yet shirk this one. For shame, Hallek Celan. But this is not the crime that brought me to your doorstep.”

Jayne Illor stood, arms spread wide. “Hallek Celan was not satisfied with merely the Barony of Carrigan, no. He desired the Shoals, a fiefdom all his own. He funded the pirates to weaken Olesia, to strike Talega until her military relied on you for rations, and to render the Baronies subservient to you, alone.“

The Count had rehearsed this so many times on the journey he couldn’t help but be impressed with his own delivery, so heartfelt and earnest he might be mistaken for a true patriot fighting for a state he believed in. Might.

“That’s all lies, you sack of shit! You think these people are stupid? You think I’m stupid? You’ll be killed for this!”

Kye tensed, hoping that something, anything would be said in opposition. Nothing came.

The Count turned to his steward, ignoring the Baron entirely. “What say you in the matter? As a part of my jury, what verdict do you pass along for treason against the Baronies?”

“Death, my liege.”

“Hm. And you, Captain Gaynes?”

The man holding Kye stiffened. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was an arrest, not an execution. “I… do not know, my liege.”

“So it is settled. I, Count Jayne Illor, hereby sentence the Baron of Carrigan, Hallek Celan, and his steward, Manche duPasse, to death. So it is written, so it shall be.”

With passive disinterest the Count ordered the error-beasts forward, both descending upon the two men like a swarm of Victrian skin-cleavers. It was an over in a single, horrible instant – neither man was armed, nor were they shielded. They lasted no time at all.

As the error-beasts returned to their posts, the Count could hardly contain his glee. “It is a grand day, Kye Celan – to witness such an august and just ruler ascend to their throne. Long have you prepared for this… and long shall you still.”

The Count stood, gesturing to the guards to clean up the mess and to bring Kye to their feet, wracked with sobs.

“I hereby proclaim myself and my house as the sole rulers of the Barony of Carrigan, and hereby… remove, House Celan, from it. The line ends today.”

In a flash, despair turned to rage – and, if Captain Gaynes had not stopped them, Kye too would have died that day.

“My liege,” The Captain interjected. “It would be… prudent, to not kill the heir. The other baronies may object, and damage your claim, here. To have killed an aspiring tyrant is one thing, but to replace him in that, as well…”

Captain Gaynes shared a look with the scion, trying his best to will the heir to be quiet. It appeared his intent was, at the very least, acknowledged.

“Hm. You may be right. Callister?”

The Steward, squinting at the two of them on the dais below, shook his head. “I do not believe it wise, my liege. While politically savvy, it may… lead to trouble.”

“Trouble I can handle,” Jayne Illor scoffed. “Your plea is heard and granted, Captain Gaynes. Lord Kye Celan, you are hereby expelled from Carrigan, and shall you return you shall be sentenced as your fathers were. Leave this world, and do not return. Such is my edict, and such shall it be carried out.”

Fury in their eyes, Kye did not break eye contact until the doors to the throne room hissed shut.

There was silence in the vast hallway as they were led through the palace, unfamiliar guards cleaning up blood and shattered furniture and bagging things Kye didn’t want to think about, until finally they emerged into the cool, night air of Carrigan, the vast landing yards of the Autumn House sprawling out before them.

“Master Celan.”

Kye paused in their thoughts, looking back slightly. Gaynes, helmet removed, had the absolute gall to look apologetic. “I… I had no idea any of that would happen. We were told… told it was an arrest. Nothing more.”

“You lay with vipers, Captain.” Kye hissed, shock having finally abated enough for the pain in their flank to burn through. “A shame you escaped its venom, today.”

Gaynes, turmoil falling away behind a stoic mask, simply looked out over the landing yards towards a distant pad, lit up beneath the stars. “Pad 6D. Light-skipper, helmed by an Orold Uves. It’s under orders to take you as far as Jhut, and from there…”

He shook his head.

“A word of advice, Master Celan.”

The guard, reaching behind himself, unsheathed Kye’s sword, handing it over to the shocked scion.

“Few things you can trust in this universe. A blade is one of them. Trust it with your life, and it will save yours, and end those you despise most.”

With that, he touched the reinforced collar of his suit, sliding his helmet back into place – and left the stunned scion staring down at the brass-and-blue blade, reflecting the stars and their tears back at them.

Carrigan fell away, gossamer threads of star-sails pulling the light-skipper skywards. Orold Uves was an unbound, housed in a marble and gold statue of a body adorned with a solid onyx death mask. Evidently, it was something indicative of whatever culture it hailed from – Kye simply found the rictus it displayed unsettling. Still, as the light-skipper rode the currents away from Carrigan into the great Tides of infraspace, they kept returning to their blade, chipped and worn from years of barely any use, reflecting their face – and reminding them of their father, hands up to protect himself as the horror descended upon him.

A sharp prick brought their attention back to the present, as they’d clenched so hard the blade had bitten their palms.

One day they’d return to Carrigan.

One day, they’d topple the Count Illor.

Beyond the windows, the distant disc of Carrigan faded away as Orold Uves slipped the ship into the in-between nothing of the Tide.

One day.

It Suits You! (commission)

A commission for @Ehksidian!

The worst part of being online the weekend of a con, in Xena’s opinion, was the feeling of being left out.

Sure, she was busy, and sure, there was no room on the schedule for a weekend trip, but… ugh! It’d be so fun to go, to hang out, to fursuit in a friend’s suit…

The drakkai sighed, tossing her phone aside and flopping back on the bed. Maybe she should’ve… made time, or saved up PTO, or… something.

Ugh. Flying sucked though, and she’d have to book a room and bus passes and…

She fumed for a little while, finally picking the phone back up and squinting at it. A fuzzy bunny face grinned back at her, held under an arm of a fursuiter surprised by a photo in the headless lounge.

Still wish I could go, but… hate the hassle. Oh, well.

Out of all the things the drakkai expected, her phone dinging out of the blue with a message… wasn’t it.

“Granted.”

Huh?

She sat up, squinting at it. No system message would say… just granted, and it certainly hadn’t had a sender. What the-

Xena was suddenly struck with the oddest sensation, as if a shock had run the entire length of her body from the very tips of her toes to the very tops of her ears… but, for whatever reason, it seemed to be strongest in her hands.

Bewildered, her vision drifted down, watching as her fingers began to change before her very eyes; darkening, slowly, as the numbness grew stronger.

Her fingers, stiffening as they turned a soft, fuzzy black, suddenly felt… hollow. Empty?

Confused, Xena lifted them to eye level, her face the very image of confusion – which swiftly changed to surprise as, one by one, the new fursuit paws that had a moment ago been her hands plopped softly onto the sheets.

“WHAT THE HELL,” Xena exclaimed surprised. The changes began to spread up her arms, softening them into simple empty tubes of black and neon green fabric, sweeping across the bewildered drakkai like spilled ink.

Her footpaws followed suit, plopping free onto the bed as they became comfy, oversized fursuit paws fit for slipping over shoes – albeit, now that she was able to take a closer look, a little poorly made.

She was turning into a fursuit?

How?!

Worryingly, the harder she tried to find a cause, the more she found she was looking forward to the next con. She had a suit, right? A wearer?

Wait-

Shaking her head, Xena was surprised to find her midsection a bit more… floppy, than she remembered. Black and green lines now covered the bits she could angle down enough to see, as she struggled to hold herself up with increasingly loose arms and a torso at least halfway made of felt and faux fur. There was a sudden sensation of intense cold as a zipper’s catch worked its way down her back, thankfully zipped; though, for some reason, she… kept thinking about it.

Would it be so bad to be unzipped, and worn? Paraded around in, have photos taken of?

The changes crept higher, Xena finally collapsing backwards onto her bed as he midsection completed its transformation into the bodysuit of a protogen fursuit, uncombed and frankly a bit amateurish, but… still a fursuit.

Being empty had an odd effect on her addled mind, but as the changes continued it just couldn’t seem to focus, anymore. Thoughts of being worn filled its ~~her?~~ mind, until it was all it could think about.

I need a wearer I need to be worn I’m a suit-

Its tail was finally back to its usual fluffy self, draped over the bed where it’d come apart from the bodysuit, neatly arranged for easy assembly – and, to its excitement, the changes began to creep higher, her snout beginning to stretch and reshape, flattening out and hardening as her mouth, nose, and eyes all blended together into a uniform expanse of black plastic, clearly drawn-on features in glow in the dark green marker appearing in their place.

Its ears, too, reshaped – becoming soft, fluffy triangles as the horns dwindled away into nothing, hair vanishing beneath the twin onslaught of a new visor and the magic itself. The last few bits of detailing began to inscribe themselves, a garish green star on each cheek and a few swirls of green amidst the stark matte black fur on its back – and, finally, the changes slowed to a crawl.

After a few more moments, it was done – and, with a soft sigh of fabric against fabric, the fursuit’s head popped clean, rolling to stare at the ceiling, far away. The bodysuit unzipped, gently folding as the world around it began to darken, closing in, nice and cozy…

The fursuit wasn’t sure how much time had passed, really. The ceiling of the box it occupied was dark, though occasionally sound came from beyond it. Trucks, warehouse workers, more trucks…

There was the sound of rustling cardboard, and tape – and, after a long, long time, a box cutter. A face stared in at it as the box was opened, bright and bucktoothed, headset draped over one of their ears.

“…-lright chat, let’s see what it looks like! Con’s this weekend, I can’t wait!”

Poolbunny (commission)

A commission for @poutine_sheep!

It was a cold, cold January day – and, naturally, Emmy was spending it as he usually did. Bundled up beneath a blanket or two, alternating between playing games and watching the occasional movie that caught his eye as he scrolled through the seemingly endless list of cable channels.

The world outside was blanketed in snow and ice – which, maybe, was why the sheep was so surprised when their doorbell rang, and soon enough Cai had joined them on their couch, snowed in and content.

The movie the two had been watching finally drew to an end, credits being cut off by a commercial – one of a pair of beachgoers enjoying the sun, some sort of inflatable flamingo toy being tossed around further down the beach.

“Ugh, winter’s just too cold,” Cai said aloud, tugging their own blanket a little tighter. “Summer’s more my season, even if you guys don’t really get it up here.”

“Winter’s fine,” Emmy rebutted, shrugging. “Get to stay warm and cozy, even if the snow and ice isn’t great.”

“What, not a fan of the beach?”

“I like it! Just… haven’t been, much.”

“Really?” Cai blinked.

“Not exactly the closest thing to visit,” Emmy shrugged.

The conversation dragged for a moment, before, absently, the sheep mentioned… inflatables. The flamingo was back on screen, grinning as it bounced around in the waves. It looked… inviting. Nice, even.

“Probably… nice, you know? All floaty.”

“What, being an inflatable?” Cai asked, a curious look on their face as they snuggled a bit closer, leaning on the sheep.

“Yeah, like… I don’t know. Hard to explain.”

“…Given the chance,” Cai began, eyes twinkling. “Would you?”

“Oh…” Emmy trailed off, thinking. Would he?

“…Yeah, I think so.”

The next thing Emmy knew, they’d been gently pulled to the side – and the bunny had pressed their nose to his, meeting the sheep’s gaze.

“Let’s see, eh?”

The next thing Emmy knew, the bunny had kissed him – completely bewildering the sheep, until, after a moment, their cheeks suddenly… filled with air.

Huh?

Cai took a deep, deep breath, puffing into Emmy with all the care of someone inflating a raft for a day on the waves, and to the sheep’s amazement (and concern) they felt their tummy begin to rise, displacing the blanket as beneath his clothing the sheep’s wool began to smooth over, gently squeaking and squirking as it swelled.

Emmy didn’t know it, but as puff after puff was forced in through the sheep’s soft, pliable snout, he began to get… bigger. Slowly, at first, as puff after puff rounded the sheep, but soon noticeably enough that the blanket wasn’t exactly covering much of him anymore…

..revealing, to Emmy’s surprise, off-yellows and creams, his tummy no longer held beneath the shirt he’d been relaxing in, swollen as it was. Cai, taking a break from filling their friend, grabbed the tummy between their paws, giving it a long, squeaky rub.

“Everything you hoped for?” The bunny asked, grinning up at Emmy in a bucktoothed beam.

“Y-Yeah…” The sheep breathed, giving his swollen, off-color tummy a prod. It gave beneath his hoof like… an inflatable, would. The colors weren’t his, but… if anything, that made him excited.

“Keep going?” Cai offered.

Emmy merely nodded, enjoying the sensation as the bunny scooted over, climbing onto his swollen tummy and lay on him like an airbed, snouts pressed together.

Cai, again, took a deep breath – and pushed more warm, comforting air into the sheep, bursting the buttons on Emmy’s pants and shortening his legs somewhat – hooves beginning to slowly, methodically puff up into inflatable bunny paws, if a few sizes too large.

The bunny guided the transformation, sometimes slow, sometimes quicker, rubbing and squeaking and squeezing at Emmy as more and more of him began to become an inflatable copy – wool shrinking away as it was replaced with painted plastic, internals dwindling away into so much warm, comforting bunny air.

Emmy grew – twice, three times their original size as the bunny puffed, and puffed, the poor couch starting to run out of space as the changes crawled ever higher. A valve, the hallmark of a toy, began to sprout as Cai sprawled across the toy’s huge chest – then a barcode, dotting Emmy’s thigh.

The sheep’s ears stretched, towering, overinflated shapes reminiscent of the bunny filling him – and then came the hair, a molded, bright blond mess of seamed plastic and air. Emmy could barely focus, so lost in the bliss of being so light, and full, and… bunny! They weren’t round by any stretch of the imagination, merely… big! Soft. Squeaky.

Just like he’d wanted.

“Ready?” Cai said, finally, looking the sheep in the face.

“Hm?” Emmy replied, dreamily.

Cai didn’t wait – grabbing the sheep’s cheeks gently but firmly, and beginning to rub – rubbing and massaging and gently squeaking the remaining wool as it, too began to soften and yellow, inflating beneath their paws into the soft, pliable cheeks of an inflatable bunny. Emmy’s eyes began to change, square pupils first lightening to a bright blue – and then changing entirely, rounding out and flattening into the printed decals of an inflatable Cai.

His snout, too, didn’t escape unscathed – gaining a brand new printed-on pink nose and a little plastic bucktooth, shortening considerably!

Lightheaded from the change, the two giggled at each other – and, with a squeeze, Cai hugged… themself.

“Well,” Cai said after a moment, poking Emmy’s nose.

“How is it?”

The sheep-turned-toybunny thought for a moment, resting a cushion-sized pooltoy paw on the bunny.

“…Different.”

You’re Hired! (commission)

A commission for a friend!

As far as Ollie knew, the old Bucky’s Starcade arcade had been abandoned for decades. At least as far back as his dad’s childhood, the empty space on Coral Street had stood stark, and abandoned – slowly decaying away as the town around it moved on, bright and growing.

Maybe it was the faded announcements of 70s retro-games and the promise of unexplored urban space that drew the dog in – or maybe, just maybe, Ollie wanted to be the first to step inside for who knew how long. Maybe they’d always been curious what lay behind the boarded up windows and fogged over front door, permanently affixed with a “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign that stood in stark contrast to the building with its bright reds and whites.

So, it was with a frankly brave amount of courage that the dog pushed open the front door one sunny afternoon, tugging their phone free of their pocket and clicking on the flashlight. The lock had rusted through, revealing a room full of dusty arcade games in various states of disrepair… but, oddly, nowhere near as bad as nearly fifty years of neglect would have suggested. It looked almost… new?

Bewilderingly so, as Ollie realized the place was less of an arcade and more of a play… center? Nothing outside had suggested this – maybe an owner or the company that’d run the place had kept it clean, inside?

As the dog’s eyes adjusted to the dark, they realized a few things. First, the place apparently still had power – red exit signs glowing in the dark, a little faded but definitely intact.

Second, the arcade had a few oddly out-of-place items scattered around, like an old ball pit and a plastic play place. Still, as Ollie wandered around, snapping a few photos to show his friends later, the place felt… homey. Nostalgic, in a way the dog couldn’t really quite place. It must’ve been quite the hangout spot in its heyday, all wood grain and old posters. Oddly enough, most of the posters included a yellow bunny – clearly the place’s mascot – drifting around cartoon stars, or dressed in almost Flash Gordon-esque spacesuits. There’d even been a statue of it near the entrance, tall and oddly… shiny.

The dog was in the middle of photographing an old Space Ace machine when, to his incredible surprise (and slight horror) the lights turned on. First a bright white, then… yellowing?

Bright, clearly relatively new – and a sign that this place wasn’t quite abandoned, yet. Ollie’s thoughts shot to it having a security guard, the dog spinning around to explain how he’d definitely just gotten lost and wanted to go home…

…and coming face to face with one of the strangest sights he’d ever seen. A big, slightly see-through tummy, multicolored shapes scattered around inside. Ollie’s gaze drifted up, across squeaky paws and arms, to the huge, grinning face of a bunny.

An enormous, ten foot tall inflatable bunny, yellowing the fluorescent lights shining down through it. The mascot statue hadn’t been a statue at all?!

“UH?”

“A new hire?! And I wasn’t TOLD?”

“YOU TALK?”

Ollie was so taken aback, in fact, that he froze in place – just in time for the huge bunny to heft him up under the arms, lifting the bewildered dog to eye-level.

“Where’s your outfit? You’re not in uniform!”

“I don’t work here-!” He protested, confused.

The bunny clearly wasn’t listening – as, with a wink, it opened wide, stuffing the puppy in with all the care of someone taking a bite out of their lunch.

The slick plastic was about impossible for Ollie to find a grip on, pushing against the stretchy vinyl and only managing to deform it slightly. It also didn’t help, unfortunately, that the phone slipped out of his pocket, sliding away onto the carpeted floor of the arcade as its owner was swallowed with a loud, greedy squirk.

Ollie didn’t fall far, landing with a thud in the huge toy’s tummy amidst a veritable sea of plastic balls.

“LET ME OUT,” he shouted, pressing his paws into the interior of its tummy, but… to no avail. In fact, the act of doing so made his paws feel odd.

Weird. Sticky?

With a huff, Ollie plopped down on the “floor”, kicking a few balls away. Surely somebody would see him in here?

He thought about calling for help, but… the phone laying in view outside of the toy rabbit crossed that off the list. Maybe he could…

Could.

Ollie frowned. His thoughts, for some reason, kept returning to toys. Toy rabbits. Toy dogs?

It confused him, enough that he rubbed his chin-

Squirk.

Ollie blinked, glancing down – and blanched, as much as a white-furred dog could. His tummy, before his very eyes, had begun to swell. A new bump had appeared in the middle, tenting his shirt outwards, and with shaky hands he tugged the fabric back to reveal a very soft and slightly pink inflatable valve, quietly hissing as air began to fill the dog’s midsection.

T-The toy had to be doing this, right? He had to… to…!

Squeaking, Ollie stood up – legs almost giving out as he realized they, too, had begun to become simple plastic and air, filling out his shorts as the waistband began to force pressure into his tail.

Climbing was out of the question, it was far too steep and slick – and the bunny toy hadn’t moved in a little while.

It seemed content to watch.

“Let me out!”

No reply came, aside from a big, bucktoothed grin.

The changes climbed downwards, Ollie’s toes sticking together as his footpaws inflated into big, toyish paws with painted-on pawpads, tummy riding his shirt up as a brand new barcode faded in on their see-through side.

“P-Please?”

Higher it climbed, spreading down his arms in a cascade of squeaks and hissing as it met the already-changed paws from the dog’s earlier contact with the tummy, rendering their paws largely entertainment use only.

Their clothes, too, seemed to have begun to succumb – shorts tearing down the sides as his air-filled thighs simply proved too full to hold, shirt flattening out as it slowly shifted from real, red fabric to a new printed-on red-and-white striped pattern on the inflatable toy dog Ollie was becoming!

Ollie’s neck was next, gaining a printed-on big blue collar as his mouth began to taste ever so faintly of vinyl – and, as the changes reached his head, the puppy was stricken with the worst case of lightheadedness he’d ever felt.

In… fact, all he seemed to be able to think of was how nice it was to be a toy. Right?

He’d been hired today as one, after all. Can’t reopen an entertainment business without entertainers…?

Ollie’s paws slowly raised to his face, cupping his snout as it swelled and stretched and reshaped into a cartoonish vinyl recreation of itself, glasses molding themselves perfectly into place with only the faintest of painted-on reflections, and, after a few moments, it was finished.

The dazed toy plopped down on the ruins of his shorts, swaying slightly.

“Well, someone’s ready for their first shift,” The big toybunny giggled, giving its tummy a pat.

“Welcome aboard!”

Salvage Trouble (commission)

A commission for @vanillayote on twitter!

“Delivery for… uh, Ran?”

The coyote blinked, looking up from their desk at the newcomer who was hanging around the entrance to the salvage shop, a hovering dolly loaded with a crate or two of miscellaneous junk drifting behind him like a lost duckling.

“…Rain?”

“…Sure,” The delivery man shrugged, holding the pad out as the coyote crossed the shop and placed a palm against it. It dinged a confirmation chime, lighting up bright green as the dolly hovered inside – and, unceremoniously, dumped the boxes on the floor.

“Have a good day!” The delivery man said cheerily, turning on a heel and wandering back out into the busy exterior of the station’s dock district – leaving the confused coyote and the two mystery boxes in the middle of his shop, standing out starkly as clean and white against the shelves upon shelves of random starship parts and scrap they’d managed to accrue over the last year and a half, mostly from the various scrappers and salvagers who frequented the docks.

Maybe that was who’d left these for them?

Rain hefted one of the crates, peeking at the label – merely listing where it was to be delivered and to who, but… little else. Their contents were marked as scrap, so, at the very least, he had new inventory… but…

After a few moments, Rain simply shrugged. Oh, well. A good samaritan sending leftovers to be resold wasn’t exactly a bad thing, was it?

They did have to at the very least sort through it, though – which was where their own dolly came into play, scooping the two crates up and carrying them into the back for proper inventory and sorting.

The first few pieces they’d gone through were standard fare – burnt out control circuits, a valve for a MKXIV plasma conduit on an old backup reactor, a few old couplings – but, as they made it to the second crate and sent their few helper drones away to place the first crate’s new inventory in its proper places, something caught their eye.

Sitting atop the contents of the second crate was a curious square object – brassy and rectangular, inset with three sets of vertical blue lines. It reminded them vaguely of some sort of datapad, but… seemed off, somehow.

Curious, Rain plucked the object from the pile. It was surprisingly heavy, given its size – but lighter than the materials would’ve implied, already giving the junk dealer some ideas about composition – and possible sale prices.

At least, they were; their paw suddenly exploding outwards into a couch cushion sized inflatable paw slightly ruined that train of thought.

“WHAT.”

The tiny object was catapulted into the front of the store, landing in a pile of junk with a clatter – as Rain’s predicament, naturally, began to worsen. Their outfit began to tighten as his body underneath began to expand, fur flattening out into soft, pliable plastic – their attempts to tug at it with his still-unchanged paw eliciting enough squeaks to give the confused coyote enough clues to piece together what exactly might’ve been happening.

“OH THIS SUCKS,” Rain shouted to nobody in particular as their pant legs shredded, new inflatable thighs expanding outwards until they were practically the size of chairs themselves, the coyote managing to stumble and squeeze their way back out into the front of the store just in time for their tail to knock over a few shelves, expanding out into a ridiculous size and gaining a brand new valve of its own.

They tried to scramble for the pile of junk they’d seen the little device land inside, only to suddenly feel their midsection wedge against the ceiling – the loud hiss of expanding plastic playing about the coyote’s ears as they scrambled against the floor, squeaking and squirking without moving an inch. Then, suddenly, their other paw followed suit – rocketing outwards into a shelf to their left, knocking the shelf over with a loud clatter before it began expanding outwards and upwards, overshadowing the coyote’s still normal-sized chest and head! At least, until the hissing suddenly grew louder.

And closer.

Uh-oh.

With a loud FWOOMP, Rain’s muzzle suddenly shot outwards – printing itself on as a huge expanse of softly rounded plastic, cheeks falling victim a moment later!

“MMPH?” The coyote squeaked in protest – but, as expected, it wasn’t of much help. Their ears followed a moment later, and as the hissing grew even louder, Rain found that they’d become an enormous inflatable coyote – and at the rate they were expanding, there wouldn’t be an inch left in the already cramped and mostly-filled store that they hadn’t covered…!

A few hours later, a rabbit stepped off of the station’s lift – squinting at their little wristpad for the map the dockmaster had given them. A few turns, a trip down the stars, and some walking later, and they felt as if they should have arrived… right? Wasn’t the salvage shop supposed to be…

They skidded to a stop, glancing first at the store in front of them – and then through the glass, a huge slightly-see-through mass of… something, squishing up against it.

A huge black nose and a pair of worried eyes were pressed up to the front doors of the shop, bulging out into the station’s walkway ever so slightly.

“…I think I’ll come back later?” The rabbit managed, blinking a few times.

“You, uh, seem… busy.”

Can You Handle It (commission)

It was a chilly Spring day in the local park, as far as Chaotic was concerned. Normally, he’d have been at home bundled up – a warm cup of hot chocolate, a movie, perhaps – but, duty called – and so, he was out wandering along the old concrete paths rounding the lake, daydreaming as his wares bounced and bumped and shimmied in the bright sunshine and wind overhead.

Chaotic, of course, was a balloon vendor – a dream job, as far as he was concerned. Set your own hours, stop when your day’s merchandise is gone… and, well, balloons.

Who didn’t like balloons?

Chaotic definitely did. In fact, he was so lost in daydreaming about balloons that he’d almost entirely missed the rabbit sleepily wandering down the path ahead, almost tripping over them!

“S-Sorry!” Chaotic managed, catching his balance and breath as the bunny glanced between his waist, where the many, many strings were tied – and the raccoon himself.

“S’okay?” The rabbit offered – though, now that Chaotic really looked – it wasn’t your standard fluff-and-fur affair. This rabbit was soft, little tag sticking out of its tail – a plushie rabbit?

Oh, well. He’d met weirder, around here.

Still, as the wind picked up, the strings began to tug slightly on Chaotic’s belt, the raccoon having to struggle a little just to manage to keep his footing – to say nothing of how blushy it might’ve made him if he hadn’t just barely managed to keep it under wraps.

For a second, he imagined himself being carried off – drifting away above the trees, held up by the strings and wind and sky.

“…Hello?”

Chaotic blinked, feeling how warm his cheeks had gotten. Oops.

“U-Uh, yes?”

“I said, are you selling those or just walking around with them?”

The bunny thumped one of their little paws, one ear drooping a little as they tilted their head at him.

“I, uh, yeah? I sell them, dollar apiece.”

“…Hm!”

The rabbit brought a paw to their chin, tapping it twice. “I’ll take one, sure?”

“Okay, which one would you like?”

Chaotic shuffled slightly. He hadn’t had as much variety as he’d have liked in his stock this morning, but… oh well. Balloons were balloons, after all? He had huge yellow ones, a few red ones, and a lot of hearts for nearby Valentine’s day – surely the rabbit would be able to pick something?

Finally, after a moment, the rabbit pointed. “That one!”

…Except, they hadn’t pointed up at the bundle at all. Following their finger, Chaotic realized it was… about level with his tummy, more or less.

“Wha-“

The instant he began to ask what that even meant, a loud hiss reached his ears – and, as he glanced down in surprise and bewilderment, his tummy began to expand right out of his shirt! Fluffy at first, it soon sprouted a little plastic valve as the fur around it began to mat down into soft, raccoon patterned vinyl, leaving the flustered raccoon to sputter and stammer as the plushie bunny giggled away.

“S-Stop this!” Chaotic finally managed, just as his pants began to tighten as his legs swelled out, shoes giving up the ghost as his footpaws sprung outwards due to the air pressure within – painting themselves on as rough inflatable approximations of the real thing. His tail, too, didn’t escape the changes – inflating from base to tip as the fur softened and melted away into just more vinyl, seams popping up where the raccoon’s legs and tail met his increasingly rounded and hollow midsection.

“I mean, you did ask,” The rabbit offered, watching curiously as the wind began to gust again – this time, catching the raccoon off guard as it dragged him a few feet backwards, the lifting power of the balloons growing with each passing second as yet more of him turned to simple plastic and air!

Thinking quickly, he decided he’d simply untie the bundle before it was too late – and, glancing backwards to gauge where they were, realized two things.

The first being that the balloons were no longer tied to his belt – but instead neatly tied around both of the little plastic handles now sprouting from his lower back, soft and plasticine like an increasing amount of him now was.

The second, was that he had handles. Inflatable pooltoy handles, and, try as he might, he just couldn’t reach them.

“U-Uh, can you… help?” Chaotic managed to squeak out, watching his handpaws begin to swell into bappy inflatable mitts just as his footpaws had, arms swelling up until his shirt felt like it was held on by threads.

“With what?” The rabbit asked, amused.

“…Untie these?”

“Hmm.”

The bunny wandered around to peek at the handles, just as the changes began to creep up to Chaotic’s neck – and, as his snout flattened out into a smiling, painted-on grin, the bunny giggled.

“…Nah, I think it suits you!”

Chaotic started to protest, but just as he began to grumble – the wind, once again, picked up.

This time, Chaotic’s paws skidded along the soft grass as the raccoon struggled to find purchase, eyes darting between the bunny and the sky in an attempt to communicate the problem – but if the plushie noticed, they didn’t say anything.

The helium in the balloons tugged and tugged as the wind blew, until, finally, Chaotic felt his paws leave the ground completely. An inch at first, then two – then six, a few feet!

For a moment, he almost got caught in the trees overhead – holding onto the branches for dear life, even as his paws squeaked and squirked against the branches without any dexterity or grip – until, with a mighty tug, the wind yanked him free.

“MMPH!” He called out, cheeks burning red even through vinyl – but he was simply too high up, too light.

Up into the early afternoon air he drifted, buffeted about by the wind as he listened to the bumps and squeaks of balloons and vibrations of strings, watching the green park below slowly recede as the sky opened up around him.

Far down below, watching the raccoon recede into the wild blue until there was little more than a dot, the bunny giggled – cupping their paws around their own snout.

“Have a nice flight!”

Thinking to themselves, they dug around in a pocket – and dropped a dollar on the spot the raccoon had been standing a few moments earlier.After all, they had gotten a balloon, right?

Hula, Me? (commission)

A commission I wrote for @AlkaliGnoll on twitter!

“…Wow.”

Alkali blinked, glancing into the closet they’d just managed to wrench open – and taking a step back as several years worth of box contents and decorations spilled forth, coating the floor in a fine layer of christmas cheer – and halloween cheer, and… easter decorations?

When had they even decorated for Easter?

Shrugging to themself, the deer stepped inside; if they didn’t manage to clean even a little of this up today, it’d bug them for weeks – why not get a head start while they were thinking about it?

So, it began – dusting, sorting, unpacking of old boxes and general reorganization, not even the shelves above escaped the deer’s mood for cleaning, being thoroughly reordered and scrubbed until they looked practically brand new!

It took them almost all afternoon, but soon enough the closet was nearly spotless, clutter reduced to a rough memory and a few stray spots of piled-up items with nowhere to go!

“Phew!” Alkali chuckled to themself, tugging their shirt down from its spot as an impromptu dust mask and glancing around. Perfect! Not a thing out of order, aside from…

The deer frowned, taking a step deeper into the closet. Leaned up against the far wall of the walk-in closet was a curiously bright and out of place… hula hoop, winged with contrasting stripes of yellow and white. It didn’t fit in with the surrounding items at all, standing out among scattered decorative stocking holders and a small inflatable porch santa like a sore thumb!

Tugging it free of the pile of items it had been largely submerged within, the deer made their way out of the closet to take a closer look – it was… well. A hula hoop?

An adult sized, unfamiliar hula hoop they didn’t remember buying in the slightest. In fact, Alkali couldn’t even remember the last time they’d used one – maybe it’d been a gift they’d forgotten about?

But, then again, who’d gift them a hula hoop?

The longer the deer held it, the more the urge to at the very least try it out grew – after all, that’s what hoops were for, right? Hula hooping?

Quickly, the deer peeked out into the hallway – first left, then right, just in case.

Assured that the coast was clear, they let the hula hoop drop to the floor and stepped inside – and, instantly, were struck by the strangest sensation they’d ever felt. It was as if the bottoms of their hooves had fallen asleep – though, just as easily, it could’ve been the carpet. Right? Right.

Bending down, Alkali grabbed the sides of the hula hoop and tugged it upwards towards their waist – and instantly regretted it, dizziness striking them out of nowhere as their height quite literally halved!

The hoop fell to the floor as they let go of it, Alkali blinking away the dizziness and glancing down at themself – and seeing their usual deer self, and the hoop denting the soft carpet below.

“…Huh?” They wondered aloud, before, cautiously, grabbing the hula hoop and tugging it slowly upwards, wondering if maybe skipping lunch to keep cleaning had been a bad idea.

To their chagrin, the higher the hoop traveled the worse the odd falling-asleep sensation grew – finally drawing their gaze downwards as the hoop reached their waist. Below the hoop’s plastic boundary, was… someone else.

Alkali blinked, wondering for a moment if he’d fallen asleep.

Two little yellow and white paws were denting the carpet – clearly made of felt and stuffed, stitching running up the sides of the two proportionally tiny legs to a waist the ring hadn’t revealed – and back, to a small, un-cervine like tail, a little plush tag with a star on it jutting out from one of their thighs.

“…UH.”

Normally, they would’ve dropped the ring right then and there – but, something about it was captivating. After all, when they’d passed back through it before they’d changed back, right?

Surely they would this time, too?

Gripping the hula hoop’s sides, Alkali tugged upwards – the ring passing over their tummy, their chest, and up their arms – until, with a little clack, it wedged against the deer’s antlers, brand new plush rabbit ears flopping free of the ring as the transformation passed above them. Their clothes collapsed to the floor, many sizes too large and not even close to the right shape, anymore.

“Oh, come on!” Alkali complained in a voice that wasn’t theirs, brand new inklings of a lisp tickling at their voice as they began to adjust to the little plastic bucktooth now cutely wedged into their soft, felt muzzle.

They rattled the hoop, trying to push it just an inch higher – before, with a rather unsatisfying pop, it came free – and the plushie rabbit plopped to the floor, barely three and a half feet tall and oh so soft.

“W-Wow!” Alkali exclaimed in delight, feeling themself over with brand new soft plushie paws – and brushing their new mop of bright blond hair out of their eyes, squinting down at the tag.

In a tiny, looping bright blue font, it read the name “Cai” – along with, naturally, “machine washable”, and “100% cotton”.

“H-Hi!” Alkali practiced, bringing themself up to their full height and puffing their tiny plushie chest out.

“I’m…” They squinted at the tag.

“Cai!”

Beach Day

A gift I wrote for a friend! :>

It was a clear, sunny summer day – and, as far as Cai was concerned, perfect weather for a nice day out in the surf and sun after a long, long winter!

The rabbit whistled to themself as they unbundled their beach supplies, spreading a little towel out on the sand and carefully driving the umbrella’s pole into the ground, shading their little secluded corner of the beach just enough to cool it off beneath the warm May sky. Further down the beach, a few beachgoers and out-of-towners were enjoying the surf, the wind carrying the sounds of distant music and laughter their way as the rabbit sprawled out in their chair, intent on spending a few hours relaxing.

That was, at least, until something rolled up to their chair – bouncing off of it with a soft “thoomp” and plopping to the sand unceremoniously, shaking the bunny out of their reverie and drawing their gaze downwards.

A… toy?

A small, lime green pooltoy ring, about bunny-size, with little hold-on handles around the edges.

Lifting their sunglasses, the bunny glances back up the beach – but doesn’t see anyone chasing after it. Maybe it’d just been rolling for… miles? It was a windy day, after all.

Shrugging to themself, Cai slid out of their chair, giving the ring a quick visual once-over to make sure it hadn’t damaged itself in its long tumble, before planting their paws on their hips and gazing out at the ocean.

Blue, calm, and awfully inviting – it was starting to get a bit warm on the sand, anyway. Why not take a quick dip? Couldn’t hurt, could it?

Already imagining the cool water against their fur, the bunny eagerly plucked the ring up from the sand, pulling it over their head…

…and immediately being struck by the most intense sense of dizziness they’d ever felt, the poolring sliding down their body until it unceremoniously wedged itself around their tummy – which, promptly, expanded out around it.

Their vision sprung upwards, causing the rabbit to wobble – before, after a moment, it all cleared up, leaving Cai confused and… frankly, bewildered.

For one, their vision was a few good feet higher than it had been before they’d tugged the ring on – something revealed to be symptomatic of a much bigger change a moment later when they glanced downwards, new painted-on eyes and grin meeting their new rounded, flat-bottomed inflatable dinosaur hands and huge pear-shaped tummy, valve sticking out just over the top of the ring as if to hammer home that it, in fact, had been responsible.

“Mmph?!” Cai exclaimed – though it was more of an extended squeak than anything more substantial.

Down the beach, Mole skidded to a stop – suddenly stricken by the strangest sense of dizziness.

“Ugh…”

Instantly, he froze – hands flying to his face, brand new soft rabbit paws prodding at the unfamiliar snout and hair, then the long ears.

“Uh-oh.”

Everything below his waistling remained unchanged, for the most part; huge dinosaur stompy paws and his big, inflatable tail – but who knew how long that would last? He had to find that ring, quick!

Back up the beach, Cai was trying their best to tug the ring back up over the valve – bracing it against the chair, grabbing it as best they could without fingers, even considering, for a moment, trying to gesture to the closest beachgoers that they needed help – but it seemed the spot they’d picked for being secluded had, in fact, succeeded in that front.

Finally, as they gave the ring one last enormous tug, a loud SQUIRK reached their ears – and, unceremoniously, the pooltoy ring dropped to the sand.

Cai’s trunks vanished as it passed by – a huge, inflatable dinosaur tail springing forth like a flood of green vinyl, slapping the sand and knocking the chair over. Their paws swelled into big toy dinosaur feet, dainty rabbit toes replaced by chunky plastic and painted-on decals – and, as Cai wobbled, the wind tripped them up…

…sending the big inflatable dinosaur tumbling to the sand, grumbling internally.

Before their very eyes, the wind picked up again – and the ring began to wobble, before with one great gust, it took off, bouncing across the sand into the distance!

“Hey! Stop that ring!”

Cai blinked in surprise as a short yellow rabbit skidded to a stop just next to their chair, panting – though it wasn’t the similarity of his outfit that surprised them.

It was… well. It was Cai!

“You, uh, put the ring on, huh?” The rabbit asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of their head. “Sorry about that! I’ll… uh, go get it!”

With that, he darted off – leaving a very confused inflatable sprawled out on the sand, watching the ring – and rabbit – disappear into the distance.

…Some beach day this was.