#single-scene

[jades-typurriter]

Tunnel of Lop

so, bowsiosaurus has some ideas about vanilla the rabbit's hobbies: namely, that women on motorcycles are really fucking cool. and i think vee's really fucking cool, so i decided to make ver a woman on a motorcycle! enjoy =^w^=

CW: Transformation

Bowsie slammed the trunk of ver moped shut and waddled around the side, strapping ver bicycle helmet on as vee stepped up onto the footwell and settled onto the seat. It was a simple little vehicle, though it had had a few adjustments made to accommodate ver stature: the handlebars were raised so vee didn’t have to stretch too far forward to comfortably rest ver flippers on it, and though the three-wheeler didn’t need a kickstand to stay upright, it had an extended step to make it easier for the little sea monster to climb on (and which vee always had to double-check wasn’t still folded out before vee started driving). Even the helmet was custom-fitted, just a touch roomier around the ears so as to make slipping it on over ver folded-back fins just a little easier. Buttoning up ver jacket against the slowly-growing autumn chill, vee turned the key and set off.

Vee didn’t need anything too flashy or heavy-duty. It was comfy and it was reliable enough to make ver commutes—it even held enough of a charge that vee could make a couple of trips without having to plug it in again!—so vee was more than happy with it. Today, the ample trunk space reserved for ver helmet when not in use would be filled with groceries… at least, after a little detour. It had been a long while since Bowsie had taken the scenic route into town, and vee figured it’d be better to do it on the way up than on the way back when vee was carrying things that needed to get to the fridge.

On such clear days, instead of taking the main street directly into town, Bowsie liked to take the highway that circled around the rim of the hills along its outskirts. Several places there had been flat enough to pave over, but particularly sheer stretches of rock jutted up between the little plateaus in just as many spots. The gaps were too narrow for the long, sloping inclines needed for a long-distance, high-traffic road on uneven terrain, and building supports over the dips would’ve been costly and required maintenance well into the future, so the city’s solution was to drill right through the thinner crags and carve them into a series of short tunnels! The view of the town from between them was even better than from the top of the taller buildings downtown, or at least Bowsie thought so.

As vee rode up into the foothills toward the highway’s on-ramp, vee hummed a little tune into the wind in time with the puttering of the electric engine through the footrest. The tunnels—honestly, more like extended arches—curled around the town like the spinal column of a mountain-sized serpent, keeping watch over the town in much the same way its rocky ribs protected the drivers that traced its arcing path. Vee blinked hard as ver scooter passed through the mouth of the first tunnel, reflexively bracing for the flash—unflash?—of shade and the gentle impact against the wall of still air within the wind-shielded walls, then opened ver eyes again to drink in the skyline before passing into the next one.

Vrrrm.

Though vee wasn’t moving all that fast on the low-horsepower bike, riding through these tunnels always reminded ver of scenes from racing films where the stadium lights would zip by; the fact that the road bowed to one side like a circular track as vee traveled added to the fantasy. Vee looked over ver shoulder through the acrylic face shield of ver helmet, then ahead again. It seemed the sea serpent had the road all to verself… well, what could be the harm in indulging in a little bit of speed?

Vrrrrrm.

Vee leaned forward as vee came out of another tunnel, relishing the gasp of fresh air and the blink of sunlight as vee lowered ver head over the handlebars. Vee switched ver footing up, resting them on the pegs in front of the rear wheel instead of the stirrups to either side of the one in front.

VRRRRRMMM.

Her helmet was thick, but not thick enough to shield ver ears from the thrumming of all four cylinders, even over the sound of the wind whipping past her in her aerodynamic posture—especially not with her long ears, free from the confines of the helmet below her neck, flapped in the turbulence of her wake. Her paws gripped the handles tight and the accelerator tighter, as—

VVVRRRRMMMMM.

—she drifted closer and closer to the guardrail to her right, as close to the open air, to a near-vertical drop, to that gorgeous view as she dared—

VVVVRRRRRRRMMMMM.

—holding the turn as tightly as a lover, like a gladiator steering her chariot across the finish line—

VVVVVVRRRRRRRMMMMMMM.

—every bump in the road sending ripples throughout her body, a shot of adrenaline through her veins, and a tingle up her spine into the base of her brain, until finally—

SssccccrrrRRRRRRRTTTCHHHHH!

She veered away from the cusp of the hill and toward the shoulder on the opposite side of the road, stopping in the gap between two archways about halfway around the circumference of the city, sliding sideways to a stop at the rest spot like a heroine from an action film. Kicking down the stand on her motorcycle, she threw her leg over the seat to stand on her own two paws, hopping giddily up and down from the excitement of such a pulse-pounding ride—and such a clean finale, if she did say so herself!

She jogged up a few steps to a set of pay-binoculars. Though she’d seen the view a thousand times, commuting to and from her daughter’s school and so on almost-daily for about a decade, it just never got old, not to her. Vanilla finally popped her helmet off to breathe in the hilltop air and reached down to unzip the top of her leather riding suit (where, to be crass, she desperately needed air as well. That engine got hot, you know!). She fished out a coin, bending over almost-double to look through the lenses and watch the shimmer of the sunset reflected in the glass windows of the taller buildings, giggling to herself that she might spot someone she knew if she looked long enough.

She rose once again, rubbing her back as she did. Ouch. Just who were these short things made for, anyway? She always felt like she was just a bit too tall for the way most things were built—even her own house was full of furniture that felt better-suited to Cream than to herself! Though she supposed she’d rather have the little dear be comfortable than the other way around. Which reminded her! She’d spent plenty of time on her little joyride. Cream would be home soon, and she wanted to have something ready for her to eat by the time she did. Scurrying back down the hill to the side of the road, she pulled her ears back, popped on her helmet, and hopped back onto the bike, allowing herself one last thunderous RRRVVVVV of the engine before she set off again. At a safe and responsible pace, this time!

Thank you for reading! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!

[jades-typurriter]

Wife Swap

This was a bit of a chain of inspiration; me and Bowsiosaurus, who have crushes Vanilla and Toriel respectively, joked about switching girlfriends, and then vee drew this rather out of the blue to follow up on it. Vee THEN wanted to pay me to write a story to go with it, but I was feeling motivated anyway after seeing how this came out, so I asked ver to help me design Posie instead. Anyway, this is RIDICULOUSLY self-indulgent. Please enjoy the boundary between realities passing over the two of us at a party!

Jade and Bowsie stood in the living room of a mutual friend, holding plastic cups of fruit punch and catching up about their new relationships. It was a casual affair: a few friends who all happened to be in town at the same time, some movies, bags of popato chisps—chips? no, no, chisps, it was hard to tell for a second—lining the countertop along the side of the room.

“We met when she moved into the apartment next to mine,” the serpent explained as Jade stretched, letting out an appropriately catlike yawn. “A lot of the time we were getting to know each other was me making excuses to help her with things, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, hey! You don’t have to be a man to get to a girl’s heart by being gentlemanly.”

“She does like to call me that…”

“Tori’s little helper, huh?” she teased.

“G-grawawawa!!”

“Heehehehehee! Okay, okay. What sort of stuff does a lady like Toriel even need help with? She seems pretty capable.”

“Well, um! I really like helping her in the kitchen. I’ve learned a lot about baking from her! She also does a lot of community service type things. Did you know she used to be a teacher?”

“Oh? For what grades?”

“Little, little kids, uh, kindergarten and stuff.”

“Oh, wrow,” Jade mrowed, “that’s a fun coincidence! Vanilla has a daughter right about that age.”

“You and moms, huh.”

“Oh, shush,” she snickered.

“It’s true!”

“It is!! It is.”

“So, has dating someone with a kid been complicated?”

“Oh, not at all! Cream and I get along really well, actually. I sit down with her and, like, have tea parties with her little chao. She’s such a sweetheart. She made some cookies for me last week!”

“Uwa!! Well, if you’re getting along well with her, that must be a good sign for Vanilla.”

“I’d like to think so, yeah! If the family likes you, you’re so in.”

“Mhm, mhm.”

There was a lull in the conversation for a few moments. Bowsie looked absentmindedly over ver shoulder at someone messing around at the snacks table. It looked like they were trying to pick something up with a fork instead of just grabbing it with their hand, which was odd—it was all finger food! Or, wait, did the host spring for a chocolate fountain? Had that been there the whole time?? Jade took a sip of her punch, and Bowsie turned back around when she leaned in conspiratorially:

“Alright, so, apart from the obvious—what do you like about her?”

“Grawa??”

“Like!! Any little habits, cute things you’ve noticed. I know she’s an older woman and I know she’s twice your size, like, believe me. I’m shaking your flipper about it. But like other than that.”

“Um… okay, h-her, her ears are really nice…”

“I suppose I’m obligated to shake paws with you on that too.”

“Heehee, yeah, I guess so!”

“So, do we just both have a thing for big floppy ears and we didn’t know it?”

“No, no, it’s more like! Well, her fur is soft all over, but it’s really nice to just touch her ears, y’know?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah yeah yeah. Petting girls is just like a blessed experience.”

“Yeah… It’s like…”

As vee continued the thought, something began to change in the back of ver mind. Literally. Whatever was going on crept over the room from behind them, continuing from the snack table. Ver long, fishy tail began to shorten, fluff sprouting along its length as it seemed to roll itself up like a snowball—and like a snowball it sat, puffy and cute, at the small of ver back. The fins on ver head lost their perkiness, flopping down the sides of ver face, which was also pulling back into itself, snout disappearing in favor of a pink, Y-shaped nose.

The fins lengthened, and more fur began to grow in place of the scales there; soon enough, they stretched all the way down to ver butt, nicely framing the new tail. The tie around ver neck stretched in odd ways: the ribbons at the sides reached around ver neck, pinching itself into the links of a necklace, for which the knot of the tie became a big, bejeweled pendant. From ver tummy sprouted something a lot like the fur cropping up elsewhere, but much tidier—a dress, appearing seemingly from nowhere, sporting cuts at the hips and a hem in the front that matched ver (previous) underbelly pattern. Between the neckline and the pendant was, suddenly, some notable cleavage, and a feather boa cascaded over ver shoulders, seemingly from nowhere.

“She’s just such a cute little thing,” Vanilla continued, swirling the red wine she now held in her paw. “She really thrives on affection! Rubbing her ears is one of the easier ways to do it… she can’t get enough of laying her head in my lap and letting me scratch right between them.”

As the serpent spoke, Jade distantly realized that it was getting harder and harder to tell what vee was saying. It was getting harder and harder to see ver. Maybe the punch had more alcohol in it than she'd realized? She struggled to listen more closely; her ears burned, as if in embarrassment, though she still couldn’t make out any specific words. She felt like she should be flustered by what her friend was saying, but she wasn’t sure why… Slowly, the sensation came into sharper focus, drifting away from feeling exposed and closer toward a sense of scandal, like she was more shocked that this was the subject of public conversation than the subject matter itself. Nervously, she attempted to change the subject:

“Yeah, yeah, totally!” She began, taking the tried-and-true “smile and nod” approach for when you can’t hear someone in a crowd. “So, you were saying earlier about how you help Toriel around the house, right? Do you ever have to help her deal with computer stuff?”

“Oh, dear, you know I’m no good with computers.”

“Well, you know you can ask Annie for help any time you need!” Jade continued, seemingly unable to reconcile the sudden difference in tone. “She’s taught Vanilla a few things before. That’s one thing that’s sorta weird about the relationship, is just, the total difference in skills 'cause of how far apart we are in terms of age…”

She was interrupted by the lengthening of her own snout. The changes approached her from the front—she had been facing the opposite way as Bowsie, after all. Her kitty nose flattened, vanishing beneath the fur of her face and becoming two simple slits; her canine teeth became more pronounced, sticking out from under her upper lip. Her fur began to turn white, spreading from her nose over her face and down along her neck, and the hair that framed either side of her face became less and less fluffy, more and more orderly, until it was two solid masses of fluff: floppy, lop-goat ears that now grazed her shoulders.

Her loose top, once propped up by a single shoulder and a chest full of fluff, became a sleeveless gown, held in place by a chest full of… well, chest. A very full chest, as a matter of fact. Her hips widened, and she grew a head or two taller—she would have towered over Bowsie like this, but Vanilla was actually a fairly tall woman. Her paws grew to match the scale of the rest of her body, and the fluff around her neck receded to reveal a luxurious string of pearls. At her hip, Anodyne—hitching a ride in the phone in her pocket—slowly morphed from silicone transistors and diodes to brass gears and springs, taking the shape of her beloved heart-shaped locket.

Toriel and Vanilla stood in a reputed ballroom, sipping from crystal wine glasses and gossiping about their adorable new partners. It was a rather big-name event: Mobians and monsters who had made reservations months in advance, live music, hors d'oeuvres lining the pristine tablecloths of the refreshments along the side of the room.

“Sorry,” Toriel said, blinking hard over her bifocals, eyes refocusing on her gal pal at the end of her snout. “Where was I a moment ago?”

“You were talking about the age difference between you and Bowties, Tori,” Vanilla chirped.

“Oh! Yes, that is right,” she said, the conspiratorial smile returning to her face. “Now, I am only saying this because you were talking about pressing your partner’s buttons—how naughty, by the way! One of the cutest things about Bowsie, though, is the way that he falls all over himself at the slightest advance.”

“Oooh,” the rabbit tittered, “Not just younger, but less experienced?”

“That is understating it!”

“How flattering, though!”

“Well, sometimes I wish it were less of a momentous occasion when I change my clothes. It can be frustrating when your partner needs to stop and collect himself when you wish you could simply get into things. But, yes, I suppose all the attention is nice… It makes me feel pretty to be able to knock someone flat like that again!”

“Oh, hush, Tori. You look as good as ever! You haven’t aged a day as long as I’ve known you.”

“And neither has our taste in partners, hmm?”

“Goodness!!”

“It is true!”

“It is!” Vanilla giggled. “It is.”

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see more of my writing, feel free to take a look here and here.

[jades-typurriter]

Lupa's Toll Road

A spur-of-the-moment little thing for @bluebearial from August of 2023 because I was suddenly inspired while we were having a conversation about Lupa. Please enjoy sappy cuddly plushwolf moments =^w^=

As you walk back down the hall, though, you encounter Lupa, your roommate who generally is the coolest and toughest wolf you know, but who currently is draped across the floor. She's lazing in a heap that comes up to your waist--she's also the biggest wolf you know--and she doesn't seem keen on moving.

"Oh, hey neighbor!" She greets you, talking like you just ran into her at the water cooler. She perches her chin on one of her pillow-sized paws and peers up at your pout. "What brings you 'round this neck of the woods?"

"Lupa, c'mon," you sigh, antsy to get back to your game so your party doesn't have to keep waiting. "I'm in the middle of something here."

"Alright, alright, we can cut the small talk. Pay up," she growls, putting on her Tough Voice.

"What?"

"Pay the toll!" She clambers to her feet, filling the entire hallway, floor-to-ceiling, with her buppy bulk. For as much as her size can be inconvenient--she often has to duck through doorways, and you haven't had anything fragile on a tail-height shelf for years--you sometimes forget just how big she is. If you thought you were gonna have a hard time climbing over her before, you've made it about ten times worse.

"A toll?" You parrot, thrown off. This is a new bit. "What toll?" She leans toward you, bringing her face down to eye level.

"One kiss," she coos, swapping the gruff ruffing for a sappy, teasing tone.

"Lupa!"

"It's just a kiss, you big crybaby!" She scoots to the side, pressing herself flat against the wall to leave a gap for you to squeeze through. "Then I'll let you go, like a good little bridge troll."

"Tch. You're some kind of troll, alright," you mutter. Begrudgingly, you plant a kiss on her nose and move to shuffle past her. It's like checking under your mattress for something you've lost, and unfortunately for you, it's waaaaaay under there: you're smushed between her, a wall of soft (and heavy) cushions, and... well, the actual wall.

"Mmmmm... Wait," you hear her consider. "I don't think I liked your tone, bestie. I think I'm gonna have to raise my rates."

"LummMPHHH," you try to protest, only to be smothered silent. With a shift of all that weight, she cuts you off, pinning you between the wall and her tummy. Your head is stuck against her chest; you're able to wriggle around just enough to poke your face out of her fur and give shouting at her another shot.

"Lupa!! I'm in a HURRY."

"Yeah, and I'm charging an express fee!" she counters, tilting her snout down to smooch you right in the middle of your forehead. You breathe in to talk again, and while your mouth is open, she licks you across your whole face with her big, fuzzy tongue. You splutter and spit out hairs; she giggles as you squirm. "Don't worry, I'm counting doggy kisses too." She keeps laying her lips down on every exposed inch of your face, from your cheeks to your ears to your lips. Soon enough, your cranky demeanor chips away under the sheer ridiculousness of it all. The affection, too. Soon enough, you're snickering and laughing right alongside her, and she's given you enough wiggle room to reach your arms up around her neck. You don't even try to slip out of her grasp--you use the leverage to kiss her right back!

Eventually, you're laying on top of her in an even bigger pile across the width of the hallway, her paws smushing your face between them, your hands rustling the fur of her tummy and chest, still peppering each others faces with more kisses. You nestle your head in the space between her neck and her chin, and she lets loose a contented doggy sigh.

"Hey," she murmurs, the vibration rumbling through your own chest. "What were you even in such a rush over?" Shit.

"Dammit, I left the guys hanging this whole time--whoOPMMPH." She pulls you back down to her chest with a single, powerful paw.

"They can wait, right?" she insists. Honestly, even if they hadn't probably gone for another round without you. This is nice. You could stand to take a page out of Lupa's book and lay around more often.

"Yeah, fuck it," you reply, nearly unintelligibly, into her chest. "They can wait. I think I still owe you." You can practically hear her grin from down here.

TY for reading!! If you're interested in more of my writing you can have a look here and here and please go check out @bluebearial!! she created lupa and she writes cute stuff a lot like this and also her art slaps

[jades-typurriter]

Pretty Fly For A Brundlehaj

This is a commission for @totalcudgel done back in September 2023, starring her witch OC (who you may recognize from this story a few days ago) and with a guest appearance from Sally.

Well. Eloise had to say that this was the most off-course she’d ever had one of her rituals go.

She mentally retraced her steps, trying to figure out where it had gone wrong. She’d heard about other spells that had ended in the merging of the subject and nearby materials, but that had been a spell with the aim of displacement; it made perfect sense that, if one tried to move a body to a space where something already existed, the two would become interlaced with each other. The results had been a tempting lead in the pursuit of magic to perfect her own form—the combination of a human mage with an insectile bystander was nearly seamless!—but the magic was too unpredictable for her to be willing to attempt it.

Already satisfied with her appearance, she had been attempting something unrelated. A form of transmutation, one could argue, but on a conceptual level rather than a physical one. It was honestly fairly well-trodden ground! Alchemists had done similar work for decades (love potions were in high demand, and to make a subject more suggestible was child’s play with tinctures of truth and similar concoctions), but she had neither the materials nor the experience to take that approach, and she felt it to be in contempt of consent, besides. A ritual to adjust something about herself, to increase her appeal, would be easier for her to execute and weigh less on her conscience. She had a hot date, and she was set on making herself irresistible to other trans women.

She supposed her major error was in not keeping her ritual space clear. Even if she wasn’t attempting to move anything, magic was finicky, and liked to reach its ethereal fingers into anything particularly receptive that happened to be nearby. She should have figured that a stuffed animal, an object that typically was the object of much sentimentality, would count, especially given its reputation among her “target audience”. She realized that something was awry when she could feel literal threads weaving through her at the same time of the more metaphorical threads of the spell.

By the time she had looked down to take stock of herself, it was already too late: her hands had morphed into soft, padded, and most importantly, blunt abstractions of paws that could no longer perform the gestures to dispel the magic. Her fur shortened all across her body, and was now tinged a pale blue; that same fur had sprouted all along her tail, which now bore a floppy pair of fins at the tip. Her teeth… well, they didn’t sharpen. They became longer, and they came to a sort of point, but they were as squishy as the rest of her, now; she was glad that her tongue was no longer wet with drool, or it’d be little more than a soggy flap of felt before long.

There was just no way around it. She wasn’t just a plushie, she was a bean bag. A few hundred pounds of flesh and bone had, in a flash, turned into—what, a hundred pounds of stuffing? It was strange how slow to move she still felt. She supposed that paper falls slowly because its weight didn’t push very much against the air, and that her body was now doing something similar. At least it was one less thing to get used to. She already had to adjust to being half shark. How would she explain that to Sally? The whole reason she had even attempted this was that the two of them had a date tonight, and now—

Knock knock knock.

Oh, for the love of—

“Eloise?” came the raccoon’s contralto from the other side of her front door. The witch hesitated; she’d known Sally long enough that she’d probably be comfortable just walking in after announcing herself, which meant that she didn’t have much time to come up with… with a cover story, or a way to reverse the spell, or something. She briefly considered playing dead—she supposed she was still half-possum—and pretending to be a regular plushie, but she had started this whole endeavor in the name of honesty, and she supposed that would be how she finished it, too.

“Come in,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping. The door creaked open, and Sally gasped as she walked in, striped tail swishing behind her and head cocking to one side.

“Well, aren’t you cute!” she chuckled, walking over to where Eloise stood at her desk, looking up at her newly-rounded snout. “What in the hell happened?”

“I was…” Eloise hesitated. She crossed her arms and huffed. “I was trying to get ready for our date.”

“Well, hon, I’ve seen botched eyeliner, or, y’know a bad dye job—I’ve even seen some wardrobe malfunctions! But usually that involves tearing fabric, and not, uh, becoming it.”

“I suppose that my great talent lends itself to the extraordinary,” she blustered, trying to seem at least a little composed in all of this. “Even extraordinary failure.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t use the word failure! I wasn’t just poking fun when I said I thought you looked cute like this.”

“It’s not a total loss, then,” Eloise conceded. “Our date seems like it’s going to be a wash, though. Going out to dinner without a digestive system seems… ill-conceived.”

“Doesn’t have to be. A date can just be a cozy night in, too.” Ah. Of course she couldn’t get off the hook that easily.

“A-are you sure? I was rather hoping to wait out the effects of the spell and plan something with you another time—”

“Eloise, c’mon. Are you telling me that this isn’t the perfect opportunity to stay in and snuggle up?” She wanted to protest, but something about the way she said it was extremely compelling. Downright tempting, even. The part about snuggling? Was that because she was part plush toy? Did plush toys have cravings? She would have to dig further into this once she had returned to normal, but in the meantime—

“...That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Great!” Sally cried, already pulling off her coat. “Just show me to the bed and we can see what exactly you’re made of.”

And so Eloise did. She took up most of it even when she wasn’t a massive pillow-creature, but that wasn’t a problem for Sally. After Eloise had clambered up and rolled over to look back at her date, the raccoon climbed up after her, flopping onto the possum’s tummy and shuffling up to perch on top of her.

“I hope you don’t mind me getting comfy,” Sally rumbled in that husky voice of hers. Eloise, for her part, looked away, bashful, but trying as ever to seem cool and collected.

“You’re already in my bed on the first date. Why develop reservations now?”

“You’re right,” the raccoon cracked, “We already canceled our reservations when we decided not to go out.” The plushie turned her gaze back to Sally, whose snout was inches from hers. She tried to keep the eye contact cold, so as not to entertain the pun, but she broke first, snorting and sending the both of them into a fit of giggles.

The two of them spent the rest of the night getting even cozier with each other. Sally’s digits sank into Eloise’s memory-foam midsection; Eloise rolled over, smushing Sally like a weighted blanket; fluffy tail and chunky tail intertwined, the two of them looking for every place they could find to get a tiny bit closer to each other. By the time Sally awoke, Eloise was back to her full-possum, no-stuffing self, clinging to the raccoon as the two of them spooned.

“Oh,” she mumbled, groggily. “Have you been up long?” She wriggled around to face Eloise, once again bringing her masked eyes to meet the possum’s.

“Only a short while,” she replied.

“But you still could’ve gotten up without waking me? Had a good stretch after being squished in so many places, maybe gotten a bite to eat?”

“I suppose I could’ve. Why do you bring it up?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sally hummed. “It’s just, you seemed awfully eager to get rid of me last night so you could figure out how to deal with the whole… IKEAfication situation, and yet, you’re still in bed. It’s just a little funny—I think you’re just as cuddly normally as you are when you’re all plush out!”

“I simply didn’t want to disturb you,” Eloise countered, as coolly as she could. One of the great misfortunes of a flesh-and-blood body, though, was that that blood was liable to rush to the skin. Really, it made it quite a bit harder to seem as confident as she often sounded. The smile on Sally’s snout grew wider and wider, and Eloise began to feel the burning in her cheeks as she realized she’d been given away. As the raccoon started to laugh again, Eloise seized an advantage that hadn’t been lost in her reversion to her normal form: she could still smother the girl in her chest and spare herself the eye contact.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like a commission of your own, my prices are here; if you'd just like to see more of my work, check here!