Donkey - Tumblr Posts - Page 3

One of the things I did back in middle school and in high school is drawing a bunch of random scribbles, and then see what I can make out from those scribbles. To me, they're similar to the inkblot tests. And more often than not, I see animal hybrids through those scribbles.

Here's a few of my favorites I managed to dig up from my room:

I may do something like these again when I'm starting to run out of ideas.

The one thing that will forever plague my life is the fact that I never understand how the Dragon and donkey frickfracked in shrek

Unidonkey. I've been working on it for 3 days. Painting. I'm a pen kinda guy. I don't like it much...

Gift art for other Anathema arpg players of their characters. Draw the character aboves/scribbleswaps and artfight attacks.

https://toyhou.se/13625310.raban/13625323.anathema who belongs to @friendofbones

https://toyhou.se/2991507.manaia/14622648.anathema

https://toyhou.se/12118869.dan/26804562.anathema who belongs to @doxiedreg

https://toyhou.se/19689173.aristedes/19689183.anathema who belongs to @hymyarts

https://toyhou.se/10256639.ioeth/10308724.anathema who belongs to @apeldille

https://toyhou.se/17943091.brynn/23874416.anathema

https://toyhou.se/12686224.n-agathias/12686228.anathema who belongs also to @apeldille

https://toyhou.se/23973588.aquilo/24049429.anathema who belongs to @taeti

https://toyhou.se/6250388.ramman/21101948.anathema

https://toyhou.se/2922332.jezabelle/9432515.anathema

I don't know any other Tumblr accounts for all y'all so feel free to tell me if you own of these characters listed and I'll tag you.

Fakemon Starters for the Vistia fan region! I want to see how far I can get trying to make a regional pokedex, wish me luck.  Foaliage: The pack mule pokemon.  Padlil: The paddle board pokemon Lamburn: The jumping pokemon

https://www.deviantart.com/turnipstewdios/art/Vistia-Starter-Pokemon-953642202

Doogle the donkey is the perfect plush friend

look at him

The Traveller.

Watercolor painting practice.

What in gods green earth, is this.

Fetlocked

This here is a story placed in the universe belonging to an artist over on FA by the name of Silao: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/silao/ In this universe, he has a character with four unique incarnations who is completely fixated on “fixing” the “sickness” that is the human condition. He does so by designing a multitude of methods to convert humans into equines. Virus to mutate people? Check. Potions and concoctions to forcibly alter the body’s chemistry and hypnotic inductions to reprogram the mind? Check. This guy will literally use any means necessary to “save” humanity. Oh, and did I forget to mention he’s an anthropomorphic donkey? (At least in this incarnation. ;)) Hope you all enjoy.

“You’ve filled out all the paperwork, and the risks have been explained to you, yes?” the monocle-wearing donkey asked.

Trent gulped as he sat there on the doctor’s table in the cold office. A carefully painted green pasture wallpaper flowed around him, and a set of stables could be seen in the distance, alongside a large red barn. The room smelled of freshly mown grass, a scent that helped sooth his nerves. He widened his nostrils, and took a deep steadying breath. “Yes.”

“Good.” The donkey lowered his muzzle to fix Trent with a smirk. Trent prayed it was just the monocle warping that smile so much. He fought to suppress a shudder. It must have been innocent, but … it seemed so sinister. He shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts. Equine expressions were more difficult to read than human body language, after all, even if they were anthropomorphic.

“Um … one question, if I may, Mister Silao.”

“Please, call me Doctor, or Silao. I don’t really care which.” He shrugged. “Yes? What is it?”

“Well, Doctor, I was wondering, why is your mane blond on top and black down the back?”

“Perceptive, bold, an inquisitive nature. Interesting,” Silao murmured as he jotted a few extra notes on his tablet. “To answer your question, Mister Schumacher, it is the last vestige of my former humanity. I have to say, of all the parts that could have stayed behind, I rather like it. It adds a certain sense of mystery to my appearance. Is it dyed, is it natural? Why would I consider doing such a thing to myself? So many questions to draw the eye of the wandering human. It makes for an excellent ice breaker, you know.” The equine chuckled as he lowered the pad, and pressed a comms button on the side of the door. “Josephine, we’re ready for the monitors, if you would be so kind as to bring them up.”

Trent blew upwards not for the first time as he tried to adjust his unruly black bangs. No matter how many times he pulled them off to the side, they always found a way to droop back down again.

“Now then, Mister Schumacher, you are aware we are not to be held liable for any accidents that result from your time working for us, correct?”

“Yes,” Trent nodded.

“And it reads here that you wish to work with us for the remainder of your days. What drives a man to such a state that he’s willing to abandon the world for a scientist’s lab?”

Trent blushed. “It’s … a personal matter.”

Silao quirked an eyebrow as he reached over to pick up his cane, and smiled. “Is that so?” he proceeded to twirl the item skillfully as he maintained a careful grip on its silver donkey head. “Well, whether you’re looking for work, fleeing the law, or just looking to face an ‘accident’ in the field, I’m sure we can find a place for you.” The donkey’s smile widened into a smirk as he noticed the way the human’s green eyes trailed after the silver donkey head. “Though more than a few of our employees and test subjects have lost their humanity entirely. Are you prepared in the event such an … unfortunate incident should occur?”

Trent shifted uncomfortably as he folded his legs, and his plump cheeks flushed. “Yes, Sir.”

Silao sneered. “Excellent.” Yes, this human would do very nicely. Plenty of extra mass to work with, and a most obvious passion for the equine species. Perfect. “Of course, Mister Schumacher, we’ll have to see about getting you a better set of work clothes. We’ll be starting you off in the stables, after all. Every new employee does.” His tail twitched idly behind him as he leaned on his cane, while his ears shifted to listen for the familiar sound of … ah, there it was.

The door opened with a beep and a mechanical chunk as the lock came undone, and a slim, well-muscled jenny stepped forward. Her long mane had recently been washed, and curled down her shoulders and back as she carried a metal tray to the support extension next the examination table. She batted her long eyelashes over big, brown orbs as she rose to look at the patient. Her nostrils flared as she stepped back from the table with clasped hands, and fidgeted slightly.

Silao laughed. “No need to be so shy, Josephine. This is our newest employee, Mister Trent Schumacher.”

“P-pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” Josephine had the advantage of a shiny black fur coat to help hide her blush. Trent had no such luck.

The jenny nodded Trent’s way once, then turned back to the doctor. “I’ll return to the nurse’s quarters, unless you needed me for anything else, Doctor Silao,” she said meekly.

Silao smiled. “Go on, then. I know you ladies have your hands full with the physicals today.”

The jenny turned back only once as she opened the door. “It was … nice to meet you, too, Mister Schumacher. She looked down again, averting her gaze. “I’m … looking forward to giving you your next physical.”

Trent smiled back. “It’s a date.”

Josephine’s ears shot straight up, and she quickly left the room. Silao chuckled at the sight as he leaned on his cane. “Quite the lady’s man, aren’t you?”

Trent blushed. “Not really. She’s the first girl to really notice me, you know?”

“Well, let’s see what working here will do for that, hmm?” Silao’s hooves clopped loudly on the tile as he approached, and picked up the first of four metallic bands. “These are vital monitors of my own design. They are water proof, extremely durable (we tested it against the strongest bucks our equines could produce), adjustable for multiple builds, and one of a kind. Your first job will be to wear these at all times as you work in the stables. This will allow us to track you, and ensure your health remains optimal. While there is little chance of you spreading any disease to our work animals, we prefer to ensure our employees’ wellbeing. After all, to allow the effects of a virus to impede one’s judgement and motor skills when tending the animals simply isn’t professional.”

“How long will I have to wear them?” Trent asked nervously.

“All the time, of course. Now hold still. You might feel a slight prick.” Silao slid the first of the cuffs on deftly, and quickly adjusted the band with a squeeze to ensure it fit Trent’s wrist.

Trent hissed. “A prick? That felt like a freaking needle!”

Silao shrugged. “The horses certainly don’t seem to mind.”

“You used these things on horses?”

“Yes. Animal testing, remember? It’s always required before clinical trials. Now stop being a baby, and hold still,” Silao ordered. He had the other bands secure in a matter of seconds. “I call these my fetlocks. A bit of fun wordplay, given the unique nature of my establishment. You’ll find every one of my animals are wearing them quite comfortably.”

“So … what happens now?”

Silao smiled as he planted his cane, and leaned on it. “Now, friend Schumacher, you get to work.”

Trent grunted as he shoveled yet another load of manure into the wheelbarrow. He took a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow, and try to slow his heart rate. He looked about nervously as he fiddled with the overalls and simple white cotton shirt he’d been given at the changing rooms. Considering the nature of the work, he supposed he should feel grateful that they gave him these spares. It didn’t exactly make the exertions any easier, though. His whole body felt wet from his exertions. Fortunately, Silao had been kind enough to offer a steady supply of water from a special dispenser outside.

Trent picked up the two sides of the wheelbarrow, and wheeled it out to the compost heap, where he upended the barrow, and did his best to let all the horse apples roll out. One of the horses let out a whinny, and Trent looked off in the distance to see the animals grazing. Trent sighed longingly as he returned the wheelbarrow to its proper position, and began to cart it back. A familiar tickling itched at the inside of his nose, and not wishing to stop, Trent opted to follow the example of his charges, and snorted. A few extra expulsions for good measure, and he was fit as a fiddle.  He sighed as he strode up, and lowered his head down for the sensor to read. The water shot upwards in a stream into his mouth, and he adjusted his tongue to let it flow upwards and down his throat, until he was satisfied. He sighed in contentment as he rose up, and wiped his mouth for what had to be the twentieth time since starting. Why, he’d wiped so many times, it felt almost as if there were no lip left. He chuckled at that, picturing what it’d be like to have those thick, smooth, rubbery lips horses were known for.

He took another deep breath through his nostrils, and sighed. The stable actually didn’t smell so bad, now that he’d had time to adjust to it. He walked over to the hay bales, and started to spread the clean straw into the feeding troughs. While the horses were able to graze at the field, that didn’t mean they got a full meal. After all, they were only let out so he could clean out their stalls. Trent eyed his handiwork, being careful to note how well the stalls had each dried out. He strode over to the supply shelf, and took down a bottle. He dumped a portion of the contents into a spray container, then filled it with water, before hauling it with him. His muscles screamed in protest at the weight as he worked to spray over the floors and walls of each stall, but the work eventually grew easier, and he sighed in relief as his body sent in the extra surge of adrenaline to save his sorry hide.

Hide. Ha. He chuckled at the thought and continued to work. His boots clacked rhythmically against the cement walkway as he sprayed down the earthy floor of the stall, being careful to avoid the extra dry bedding that was still usable. He took another deep breath, and smiled. “Man, this deodorizer stuff works well.” He reached over to the remains from the last feeding, and pulled out a sprig of hay to stick between his teeth. He swallowed readily as saliva built up in his mouth, and his tongue danced curiously along the edge of fibrous stalk as he continued to work.

He finally reached the last stall, a vacancy Silao had told him needed to be prepared for a large Shire stallion they intended to rent out for breeding purposes. Trent knew how that song and dance went. He quickly grabbed a hold of a hay bale, and hauled it over to the stall, pulling it apart with the assistance of a recently cleaned and disinfected pitchfork to spread into the feeding trough. Next, he turned to the automatic water trough, and mounted it to its wall brackets. Then he took the connecting hose, and wove it through a series of wall connectors to keep it held tight, thus preventing any curious equine teeth from accidentally chewing on it. From there, he used the connector at the hose’s end to hook it up to the garden hose connected to the rear spigot in the stalls, and turned on the pressure. The rushing sound of water thumping against plastic greeted his ears as the sensor triggered, and the trough began to fill.

“There,” he said as he dusted his hands off, “all done.”

“Well done, Trent,” Silao’s voice echoed from a set of speakers in the rafters. “You’ve certainly adapted well to the manual labor, haven’t you?”

Trent chuckled. “I’ll probably be sore in the morning, but anything for you, Mister Silao.” He turned to the security cameras, and grinned as he stuck out a thumbs-up.

“Is that so?” Silao chuckled as the speakers began to blare a loud horse’s whinny, followed by the rhythmic clopping of hooves. “Then get those stalls ready. It’s time for our good little horses to file back in.”

Trent furrowed his sweaty brow. “And this is supposed to do it?”

“My horses are highly trained. They respond to the recording, both because of the fact it’s the head mare’s whinny and the fact that I associated the recording with rubdowns and sugar, two things they have come to enjoy very much.”

“I, uh … see,” Trent said as he walked to each of the stall doors to open them again. “And they’ll just walk right in? No complaints? No trying to break out again?”

“You’ll be just fine, Trent,” Silao assured him. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they treated you like one of their own. Just be gentle. Their training will take care of the rest.”

“Um … okay,” Trent said with wide eyes as he watched the whole herd approaching at a measured cadence. Their hooves struck the ground in perfect unison with the recording as they approached.

“Good horses. That’s right. Such wonderful, obedient beasts. G͓̿̆́̅̄̕e̡͍͔̞͚ͮͅt͆͛ͬ͛͝ ĭ̶͛̊n̯̭̙̲͖̠ͣ̍̂̆ͅt͍̪̤̞̺̋ͪ̌̄̈́ȏ̱̦̖̃̏ͬ̋ t͈̬̜͚̉ͤ̓͊͗̍͞h̳͇̰̮̊͑ͭ̈́ͪe̔͒̾ s̖̜̃̌ͯt̸̎a͓̩l̟̖̦̯̟̻͍͘l͎͖̺͚̓̓ͬͭ̉ͧͮś̬̗̹͑ͧͭͫ. I̩̲͈͇͔ͫ̍̉ͧ͊ͦ͐͘ẗͤ̍̅'̻͚̺̺̤͉̖ͯͤ͑͗̒s͔̠̼̞ͯ̈́ͨ̐̕ g̛͇̭o͊̀ͬ̊͛o̗͇̖̒ͭͫͭ̆̚d̖̱ͥ͐͂̚ t̷͔̏̓ͦo̮̪͙ ̲̱͔̹ͭ͒ͮͧ̃̐ͪb͙͈̼͕͔̱̊͑̈̎͑e̯̱̱̮͋͌ͥͥ̂̀ ͇͍̘̌̽ͫ̏ͥ̚i͍͚͇̲̾̽n͖̗̭̏̊͆ ̗̮̲͎̝̫̻͋ͪͯ̆y͔̫̟̦ͥͣó̥̀̊͆̒̚u͇̹̹̹ͯ̔ͯ͠rͣͯ̈́҉̪̻̩̥̱ͅ ͕͍̥̙̾s̸͕͙͔̩̽́ţ̪̘̼̜̦ͨͩa̸͎̺͖͈̫̎ͪ̃̿l̞̜͍̬͠ḽ͉͒̿ͯs̝̞̝̅.̢̖̞͖͉͎̝̺͗̉̅ ̦̥̥̹͓̒ͤ̍ͥ̂̀T͖̼̼̮̈́͡h͓̄ͪͫe̡̓͂̐̈́̑ ̲̗̲̥̙̜̘̊͗s̱̱̼̪̱͌͢t̤͝a̘̠̱̲̓̐ͭ̉̆ͧͦl̈́̉̀̒̔͋l̻̞̫̰̗̳̩ ̟͙̞͔̈́̚i͖͓̬̳̣̣̓̎ͪ̓ͤͅs̛̰̹͍͋͑̎͂ͨ ̗̣͌ͨ͆w̮̯̗̠͐͛̇̋̎̌h̦̝̗̖̯͚ͧ̃e̯̬͇̱͔̰̥r͎͉͛͆̽ͅe̴͖̞̬̞ ̲̠͍ͣ̏̔̀̈́ͯͣͅy͕̲̥͉̐͒̀͐o̺ũ̙̗̲̰̗͙̭ ̱̪ͭ̐͗̉ͫ̄b̡̓̅̿e̱̬̳ͦ͗͛͛͡l̖͒̿̆̋ͪo̳͚̹̦̰̮͈n͔̺̝̞̊g̣̱͎͊̅͐ͩ̋̑̈͟ͅ.͚ͦ͑̒̀̅͛̕ ̡͉̓̀ͨ͋ͧͨ̇Su̡ͧ͌̍͐ͮ͑c̅̅ͭ̍͋͡h̞̟̞͍͓̒̑͆̕ ̠̜̬̞̼͇̦̉̋g̞͇̰̳͂̎͊o̊̽̂̀̓͑̔͏̟͓̗o̍́̃ͮͪ͘ḍ͕͚̮̜̰̞́̑͛͊͋̾ ̶͙̘̬̮͚͈̯͑ͬ̐͂ḥ͎͚͟o͌ṟ͈̱̥̲̾͂ͥ͋̕s̤̙̣ͨḙ̮͈̘̩̉s͓̲̞.̢̪̱̣̱̓͗̒̄̌͑ ̼̰̘͔͉̃R̥̫̻͖̖͎̹̋̌͐ͯe̮̖̖͖̮̒̍͗ͯ̀̅ͅl̷̹̲̤͚̲̂̆a͉̦̻͙̥̰̘̋͒̇͐ͣx̩̜̼̱,̟͖̹̰́͐ͬ͂ͅ ̦̖̥̩̤͒ͧͅa̪ͧ͆ͪͯ̎̚͜n̡̜̱̩̪̥͚͙͂d̙̜̼͙͖̖͌ͥ̒̀ͅ ̶̍̃̐̇̑ͧͨl̢̜̗̘̮͉͇̊ỉ̺̞͎̩̙̫̼ͦ̇s̨̐ṭ͎͙͚̐ͮ̚e̛̪̖n̛̦̮̙̊,̳͙͍̖̱̱̆͗̓ ̪̖̥̼͓̰̲ͩ͐̇ͫa͈̻̬̩͙͈̺̓̌̆͌nͪ̆̆ͅd̩͖͔͎̭̣̼͊̊͆̌ͥ̈́́ ͔̩̳̩̞̬̌ͮ̅̒͋̄̓͞o̳̼̎͆ͭ̔̀̏͂̀ḅ̤̪̘͚ͫ͂ͤͫe̟̣̺̋͑ͤ̉͗͊y͖̻͕̩̫̏̌̈.̟͇̩͕͙̟ͧͭ̋̋͆̄͑ ̒̎̓ͯ̚͢J͚̩́ṵ͈̬͊ͮs̺̦͍̹̎̑̓̃ͩ̊͡t̷͕̮̀͂̆̉ͩͨ ̦̘̺̗͊̅̓r̰̪̬͓̲̘̹e͛͛ͥ̋ḻ͈͔͙̻̱̙̂̀̓ă̈̎̈͆̈̿͞x̷͕ͣ͋ͤ̐̚,̘̰͎̲͓̅͂̊̋̔ ͉ͪͥ̈́̔͝aͦ̽ṇ͍̺͙͎̮͕͡d͞ ̷͔͇̼͒ͧ̈́͐͂l̙̰͑̊i̩͕ͫs̡ͩ̆̽ṭ̠e͍͇̜͎ͩ͛ͫ̓̐n̹̟̗̘̱͉͚̋̄.̷̒̓̈ͨ̈́͗̊ ̴̞ͫR̄̌͡èl͙̙̆̌ͦ̊̎a̴͍͖̞ͥͅx̙̜̔̽͊͞,̛̹̜̣̱͂̀̽̒̇ ̛͓̗̙̔̀ͦͮ̏a͎̤͋͋ͤnd̪̪̆ͯͯ ͖ͩ̐̅è̛̹͈̼̖̣̓̒ͦ̾n̹ͬ͡tͬe̮̘͡r̯͇̟͈̦̃͋̍̔ ̤̬̼̗̗̏͗̓̔͌ͥyͮ̌͌ͤ͑o̗̼̫ͯ͂ͬ͂ͩ̄͌ú̻̱͖͉̓͆̓ͮͭr̪̭̭͢ ̜̹̦͌͗ͭ̈̌ͭ̌ś̢͉̱̥̻ͭ́̓͂̈̅t͕̻̔͗̈̒̎a͂̇͐̆l̻̖̼̰ͤ͗͌ͤ̆͝l̪̲͇̒̓̉̑̆͌ ̈̄̄̅̅a͉̬̩̝̲̳̾̒s̩̘͙̐̌͂͘ ̸ͩ̊͌̒̅y̥̤̠̐ͣ̂ͯo̸͈͔̞̓u̫̟̫̝͕͎͚ ̘͈̜͖̭͙̑̅l̡̪̣͕͔̖i̷͈̱̼̩ͤͭͥ̍͊s̶̪̠͙ͯt̻͇̹͍̉ͬ̑e̪̙̬ͪ̅̽̏̀n̹̻̜̟͕̱̳ͦ̽̀̈́̊ͥͣ ̻͚̲̥̤͡t̒ͥ̍o͓̖͓̊̎̉ͨ͟ ̻̦̤͖͙̯̯ͪ͛̃̃̇m͉ͭ͌͜y̻̳͍̟͉͍̲̑ͮͬ̍ͥͮ ̟͋v̘͕ͫ̆̑͂ͮͦ͞o̹̺ͥͅi͍͉ͥ͊ͪ͋c̆̅̚̚e̠̟͙͓͎̖̞ͥ,ͪ̈҉̻̝͔̩̜ ͚̤̱͓̫t̲̝̳̙̱o͉̼͉̠̎ͭ́ͣͣͫͅ ͎̿ͪ̋̑̌͌͐m̧̮̩͈̝̲̻̆ͪ͐́ͦͫy̗̪̳̲̬͔̮͡ ͔͖ͧ̍̄ͬ͝r̰͇͙̣̠̀ͨ̐ͅͅe͚̿͐̀̓ͭͪ̀c͈͈͐̋̏ͫ̏o̠̬̬̦͔r͑̅d͏͎̫̪̖̝̺ì͕̜͎̹n̵̪̺̼̉̌g̷̹̙͇̰͗ͭ̈́͋ͮ͋s̔́̆̂͗͏̟̬,̩͉̪̤̼̉ͬ ͈̱̮f̧̳̠̪̩̲͇̂͂͌a̡͙̘̹̯̬̓ͦ̌ḽ̛̈͂̇͌͂ḻ͚̻͕̘̹̫̉ͨ͒ͬ̌ͬ̎͡ĩ̖͖͇͚̠̠̚ͅn̤̥̜̗̾̓́g͋͛҉̖̣̹ ̗͎̦͚́ͬ̚d̹͓̟̣ͥ͛̏̆ͦ̑ȇ̖̔̏e̷̖̣̣̪̝ͪ͂̾̚p̶̫ḛ͓̣̯͔̟̑̊r̪ͥ̿ͮ̌ ͈͉ͦ͐͑ͬͬͭ̀a̓̆̋̑͊n̸͉̜̖͓̫͉ͅd͇̮̯ ̖̰̝̫̬̩̗́ͦd̘͓̦̭e̻̺̫̪e͐̓̾̅̉͌͂̀p͈̠̭͚͓̮̉͑͆̅ͥ̚ẻ̓r͓̠̜̻̖͋ͭ́.̲̉͂̐́.̫̟̩͔̱͙̩̊̐̒̎̂̌.̺͇̲̲ͯ̎̄͢.̸̥̻̟̪̱͌”

Trent watched as the horses, quite miraculously, passed through the stable doors and filed down to each stall. He watched their tails twitch, their rough hide stretched taut against the solid muscle of their … was it croup or rump? He could never remember which was proper. He watched their tails swish and sway back and forth as their docks willed.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Clip clop. Clip clop.

He blinked sleepily as his head began to drop down, where he noticed their hooves and legs. Familiar wraps fit snugly around the equines’ cannons. “Fetlocks. Huh. Silao wasn’t joking about that testing,” he muttered.

As each horse entered its stall, Trent closed up after it, securing the gates in place, before the horses each turned around and snorted. Their lips curled upwards as they sought to take in his scent, and then they chuffed out into his face. Trent decided not to bother cleaning up, after the fifth time in a row. And since Silao wasn’t laughing, he assumed the voice playing right now was likely a recording. Besides, he didn’t have time to be upset. He had to work quickly, and he could only do that if he remained calm. Calm, and relaxed. He rubbed at his wrists as a peculiar warmth pulsed around them, before returning to his task. He’d be sure to tell Silao about it later.

Trent found it easier to avoid so much unpleasantness, if he blew out his nostrils at the same moment the horses did. It was difficult to manage at first, but eventually, he got the timing down, and he was able to divert some of the … excess the animals sent his way. He sneezed as his nostrils flared, trying to clear the alien substance from his nasal passages, no doubt. He grit his teeth, and curled his lip back, doing his best not to let his frustration over the situation prevent him from fulfilling his duties. He had to remain calm. He scratched an itch on his chest beneath the shirt, and sighed as he felt it subside under the rough ministrations of his hands.

“S̘̬͎͈͈̝͠o͗͏̙̯̥̤͍ ̜̼͎̖͖̳̐ͦ̇̔ͪͅr̬͈͓̳͎̱ͤͭ̓͟e̪̘̠̣͎̥̼̊̌ͪͤ̐ļ̣̺̥̝̟̳̻͂a̪̞͕̬̼̹͠x̰̘̟̰e̘̠̊̊̉̾͌d̄̆͌̃́͏̱͎̬ ̷̋̈́̃̏̽.̥̤̜͈̠̏̓͐ͪ̃̔̿ͅ.͕͑͂́̇̀ͅ.̦͕̬ͨ̐ͤͥ͛ ̤̮͓̙̗͙̹̍̅̋͡i̞̐̀n̄̓ͣ̀́͏̖̜̦ ͦ̍ȳ͔̜̗ͣo̭̪̘̒̀u̗͖̺̬̭̟ͦͬ̃ͅṙ̉̒̽͏͎͚͈̫̬ ̯̬͓̰ͮͮ͐̀s͎̭͕͍͋͡ẗ̘̹͙̞̙̮́͒̍ͨā͑̀ͦl͖̠̾̄̿l̜̜̱͒ͥs͖͚.̟͈͉̻̻̩̺ ͍̞̞̲͇͖͂ͫ̃͛̉̾͋͢Ģ̠͐͊͂̾͋o̡̞̘̥͈̪ͯ̌͑o̶͉̫̼̯̜d͍͓̳̰̣͚̆̀̿͗ͬ̌ͅ ̣̽͊̾͋ͩh҉̫̥̖͉õ͔̠̙̱̯̐ͮ͟ȓ̷̻͈̱ͨ̄̑̏s͕͎̤͕̤̆̆́ͨ̎͡e̗̥͔̦͉͓̖ͦ̇ͦ̚s̴̙̫̯̖͚̥̝̐ ̠͕̺͂ͮͤ̽ẁ̘̲̖̘͍͆ͨͥ͗ͅą͉̫̥̹̯̟̭ͯͣī͓̙̱̠̬̩̻t̵͔̍̌̆̂ͩ ̟̖͕̙͇̥͟p̠̙̪̫̤̭̆ͤͩͅä͇̳͝ť͙͚̣͎̰͙̦͑͛̓̓͒i̭͚ͣ̈́̓͞e͇̯͎̥̩̲͌̒́͛̄n̅̊t̩̤̘̜̮̂ͪ͂̈́̐͞ļȳ̶͕͇̫̆̽͗̽ ̬̖̪̭̱̊̍̒͛ͩ͒͑i͔͇̩̜ͩͬ̉̐ͣ̓ͦ́ͅň͐̉̀̚ ̗̯̹͎̯͛͐̎ͥ̕t̤̖̩͙̩̙͖ͫͥ̒͂̓h͚͇̻ͩ̆ͣ̽ͩ͛e̴̯͈̠̻̲͊̒̉̔ͪ̚i̼͋ͩͭͭ̂r̭̥͇̼̉̑̃ͣ̐ͅ ̽̀ͫ͒̈́s̐̉͑̑̏̉̈͏̼̣̺̖t̤͖ͦ͂̈́ͤ͘ä͚̦̼̜̐͒̀ͅḽ͍͚̭͑̈̈ͭͪ̅ͮ͘ͅl̝͔̹͍̱̬̬̄͐̇̏́ͨs̬͙͍̠̦̐.̻̙ͥͮ̄͒ͭ̈̚ ̛̣̮̫̙̳̖͍͌̑L̻ͧͨi̸̠͍̪͈͐s̆̏͛͂͑ͧ̓͏̬̭̝͔t̼̤̩̻̟̓̽̎ͫͨ͂͠e̞̬͔̟͕̗͐n̂i̼͓̫͋ͪn̳̂̍ͣͩ̇͞g̰͎͚̠͕̰͞ ͧ̂̇ͥͨ͡e̞͓̫ͬ̾v̤̩ͭ̔̈ͨ͌ͅe̖̅̒̾̃̈́r̩͈͑̃ ̹̻̻͎̲͓ͪ̀s̵ͯͣ̒̇ơ͕̹̻̠̱ͥ̋͗̊̌̓͆ ̺̞̦̩̯̞c̬͙̖͙͚̔̈̊̉̎͘l̨̬̬̬̥ͮ́̈͛o̼̫̮̕s̝̞̓ͩͬͫ͑̇ͬ͡e͞ĺ̺̭̗̪͎̱̊ͭ̍y̬̫͓͒̉͑͢ ͓̄͑ͧ͛͌͢ͅǎ͇̙͖̥́̓̽̂̚sͩ҉͉͍̱̯̠͍ ͓̓͐ͫ̍̅̓͢y͑ͫͭͭ͞o̢̠̻̙̩̔͋̐ͨͨ͑u̷̖̪̫̼͒̈̂͗ͭ̽̀ ̫̞̘͐ͦ̇ͯͧ̓r̨̘̔̈̈͛̍el͍͖̩̅̊̏ͯ̚͝a̼͉̥̮͛̇ͅx͔̼͚ͣͥ͘ ̷͎̙͑͒i̜͉̲̖̫̦̦̊͐̎̽n͍̗̻̣̑̐ ̬̞͉͓̥̗y͈ͧͩͫͪͧͤ͐͜ȏ̜͙̥͍̗͚̥͝ȗ͙͕̟͉͙̲͈͂ͦ̏̉͐r̻̬̱̘̝̠̎̈ͪ͠ ͔͕̙͓̭̦̦s̸ͭͮ̒̂̃̉̔t̢͈͓̜̃̅́ͅa̦l̜̪̩͉̲̐́ͯ͋ͅͅl͙̦͉̣s̓͊̈͛.̷͌ ͙̔ͤ͐Rͅé̼͚̦̳̎ͣ̌͌l̚ã̮͉͚̝̞̟̣̔̑ͩx͂́ͦ̀ḭ̢̙̻̜̱̻̥̈́ͨ͛ͣn̴ͩ̄̎̃ͪ̾ͣg̤ͮ́ ̠͖̥̼̖̓ͫ͌̈́̇͆ͨ͜ͅa͊̿̈s̳͍̲̺̎ͤ̏͐ ͓͈̗̪͓y͂o̙͈̟u̩ͫͧͯ̂r̊ͪ̏̽͏ ̸̫͉͎̼ͯ͑ͧ͗ͅë́́҉ạ̷̝̺̼̎r̤̯̞̝͉͍̼ͦ͌s̩̰̖̱̺̋ͥ̒ͪ̔ͥ̕ f̢̥̜̲͍̹͂ͮ́ͤ̓̈́ͬͅḷ̮͕̇͑̈́̏͂i͔ͮ̈ͩc͇͛k̯ͥͨ͑ͪͣ̄ t̲̣͚̦͔o̧̠̜͎͕̝ͥ̃̈ͥ l̨̜͍̲̺͍͈̯̋̈́ͧi҉͇̙͕̮̳̺̺s͈̝̊̉ͤtͣͨ͛͏̖͔̜̳̺ͅe͚̰̬ͦ̃ͦ̅̏͊́̚n̼̥͕̓ͯͮ ť̎͋͐̄͑҉̭͕̳̳̰o̎̇ͦ̈ͧ́ myͣͦ̽̃̓͛̚͏͙̟ vͦ̌͌̇͛̇ͯo͕̳̤ͯ̔͗ͭͥ̊i̗͍̭̥̩̣̋̂ͭ̑̇c͉̲̔̎e͓̜͔̩͛̈́ͯͣ̈̐̔.̹͕̤ͧ̓ͤ̓̀͞ R̩̜̬̗̲͎͐̎̋̓̊ͮ̂͝ę͚̭͈̤̫̏̑͐̐l͓̯̲̭̤̼̺ͫ͌ͯ̅̅ͣͭa̳̋̂̏͋͛͡x̠̘͒̉̚i͉̥̪͐ͩ̄ń̴͈̬͗͊g̻̀̉̑̓ͯ a̫̖̰ͥͤ̇ͅs̝̼̙̙ͣ͆͟ y̙͖̞ͥ̓ͦͧͅo͖͒͑͂ͬ͊̊̓͡u̥͉̟̝̥͓̓ͣr̷ͬ͑̒̿̃ ̯͍t̛̀̆a͍̯̮͎i̯̥͟l̺̻̰̭̩͖ͣ̌́s̘̰ͧ ̪̙̝̈̂̐͆ͨ̂s̛͇̳̩͚̏̈́̄̄͐ͤͪw̵̟̒̀i̱̗̣̯ͤ͡s̟̝͎̬h̭͖̹̾ͯ̆̃͒ ̺͐̎̌͋̍̅̂i̪̰n̴̪̞͎̥̩͍ ̬̝͈̬̐ͪ̆͐̊̾ͪt̝̐̒̌̃̐ͯì̸̹̲̥̹͙͓̍ͨ̽̒m̢̦͕ͩ͋̐̎ͦͮë́̽̃ͨͦ̌̔.͉̳̥͓̟̙̇ ̻̜̟̱ͅR̶͋ͧͥ̊é̻͘ḽ͙̟̯a̴̠̯̞͌͆̈́̈́ͯ͑x͔̗̜̼̯̠ͧ͒̄̈́̎́in̶g̸ͦ̅̐̒ ͈̜͋ͩ̑̓a̱̳̭̟̟͚ͮͫ͂̾ͪͅs͎̜̲͉̬ ̫͖͕͇̫̭͇ͨͨ̆y̺ͪ͑͐͋̈ͅͅo̴͇̟̮͙̲̅u͖̟̬ͫ̅͌̿̄̈r̵̬͆ͭ̊ͣ ͕̲̜̬̭͋ͪh̠̩̝̿̇ͥͅǫ̪̑͆͆ŏ̼͓͔̱̬̞͙ͪͪͦ̀͑͝v̞̝̥ͣ̆͑ͬ̔e̴͖̪͙s̪̜̗͡ ̱̄t̾̋̃̓͂̃a̪̮͎̣̣̳͓p̼ ̢̺̜̙ẗ̴̯͔̠̼̼̼̙̃̈́o̦̰̯͉̜̾̅̑ͦ̎ͯ̕ ̀̔ͬ͗ͯ́m͕͖̳̈ͣͫy͔̜̳͈̯ ̠͕̲̭̓̿̈́͐̂r̝̟̍̎̏̎ͥ̽̾h̯ͫ̊̔ͦ̉ͦ͆y͓̯̱̳̭t͍̑̎ͥͩ̌́ḧ̘̘̺͕́ͬ̉͂̅̌m͋̉.͎̹̾ͪͬͬ̐̏͡ ̧̻͕̟̮̣̼ͭͅĈ̳̹͕ͬl̨̻͕͙̼ͮͯͯͧ̐ͨi̷̮p͈̠̃.̲͖̝ͨ̑ ̘̘̰̬͉͉͔̿́C͇ͩ̓̂l͕͚̘̯ͪ̀̽̌̌o͙̺̩̠͋̄̋́̎ͅp̹͍͙ͩ͊̑̅̋̎̉͞.̨̼̽̎̑̃̍ ͓͗ͧͦ̋͛͠C̡̭̍ͮ͐̌́̃ͅl̗̤̙̘̯͂̉i̶̬̣͖ṗ̈̀̏͗̚҉̬̲͍͙̣.̠̬̰͖̙̥̫͛͑̊ͨ̿ ̫̻̼̞͎̹̦̃͋͘C̹̜͈̯͈͙̼̿ͤ̅l̻̹̑̋̈́ͬ̋̕ò͇̤̮ͭͮ͌ͣͅp̛̻̰ͅ.͉͈͚̍ͥ ̮̲̈ͪ͋͗̄̌͜Ÿ͔̬̮̠̠̩̯ͬ̒̾̽́o̵̲̙͚͎͎̺͈u̵̙̠̪̐̈́ͭͭ̇̓̆r̜͈̯͔̖͆̌ͥ̌̽̈́̎ ̛̗̺̰̝̳̲͂̓̄ͭḧ̝͛o͔͔̙͉͕̊ͫͩͮ͆́o͓̟̠͈̟͆̇̊̀ͩ̽ͣ͞v̙̜̒͂̂̿ͨ͐̃ȩ̦̻s̥̪͇̗̙͍̜ ̣̫̪͈̗̩̹̉͐̾̑͐̍̕f̩ͧͧo͉̘̙̗̘̤̮ͧͥ̀ͫl̯̘͎̝̠̘̐ͮ̄̅ͤ͆l̢͎̼ͬͮͪo̡̰͉̱͌͗ẉ̧ͭ̐ͧ̑̎i̲̱̥̮̇͗͊̈͑n͎̞̝̙ͬ̌́ͣͅͅg̵̰͈̥͖ͥ ̯͙̪̹ͅm̹y̯̯̹͕̪̭͡ͅ ̝͇͙̹̞̐͗͆̌̔͌h̦̤̖̹̄o̸͙̰o͏̰͇̙̘̳̤v̛̮̻̦̳̭̯͉̽͌̎e̢͕̬̫̎̓̀ͫͨͫs̗ͭ͒͂ͬ̅͜.͖̏͑͗̈́̎̀̕ ͍ͭĔ̲͕̅c̨̺͚͕̳̥̫͛̒ͅh̪̄͛ͩ̆̒̇͠o̠̭̯̝̓iͬͩͦ̽͏̥̻̗̠̪̘n̳̮̮̜̈́͑̿̏̓̕g̴̉͛ ̧͉̼̮͈̖̣ͦͩͩ̔̄ͤẗ̙̟̮͖͍͇́̆̾̔h̴̙̦̰͓͈̱ͥ̍̓̅̃ͩͅr̖̭̯̩̻̱̖̓̃̉ͯͭo̤̖͓̼̭̜͚ͮ̇ͭ̐̏͠ụ̭͖ͥ͆̚ͅg͆͊̌̅̈́̚͏͉h̨́̑ͪ̚ ͋͐͢y͖͔͉͔̣̲̓̀̚ͅo̧ȕ̩̺̃ͫr̢͖̙̦̂ͯ͂ͯ̎̂ ̠͊̇͋͢c̝͔̖͓̤̜̼̉̄̓ͬô̝̫̱̖̪ň̩͔͔ͥ̑̀͡s̜c͈͐̽͗ĭ̢͓̼̗̮̬͈̘͊́̔̎o͂ͩ́͏̹̺̪̥̗̱̜ű̡̟̘̭͓s̼̼̥ͫ̎̈n̗͎̗̘͎͂ͧ̽̂ͩ͝e̙̖̾ͥ̔̈́ͫ̚sͨs͖̈͆̔ͨ̃́͑͜.̣̱̤͍͐́̌ͪ̉͒̚ ͍̝ͧ̌ͪ̊̂C̫̰̣̱ͤ̽̃ḻ̤̮͋̉̃ͫ͠e̷ͤ̈́a̠̟ͮ͌ͩ͞r̛̗͔̻̙̠̞̳̔̈́i̛̞̱ͯͥn̫̬̘̬ͫ͐̈̈́gͨ͂̐ͮ҉ ̳̭͙̗͋̇̊̓i̺͇̮̦͑t͔̓̒̓̈́ͬ͆̇͡ ̭̤͍̳̻̯ͬͨa͒҉̩s̭̮͍ ͕̺̞ͦy͙̌ͪ̋͘o̡͐̽͑̒͒ͣu̪͍̘̭̠͙͛́̎ͪ ͇͔̜̳͙̼̾ͭͫͦͪͧ̚r̟̐̌ͯ̏ͯe̦̭͔͇͔͉̐̾̊͠l̲̰̦̦͗ͅa̼̼̠̹ͥͬ̎̅x̢̤́͐̌̐̓̌,̧͍ͭͦͮ͐ ̰̙̹͓̹ͨ̅́́ȃ͕͙̑͑̿̒͝ñ̖̭̳͎̤̪̭ͤ̃͆̉d̶̖̤̞̪̼͖̃͂ ̉̃̏͆ͣ̈̓͠l̬̟͕̝͖͍̎͋̀ͩ͌iͬ̾̌͂͏̙̟̮͈̖s͆́ͧ͒ͮ̾҉͍̼̗̖̘̼t͓͓͚͓̤ͪ̑ͦ́̓̽̋ͅͅe͂̍̅͏̦͈̟̩̟̬n̜̪̑ͯ̆͑̾̽̃,̦̬̩̳̓ͣ̒ͮ͐ͮ ̧̮̜̤̰̬ͨ̿ͅl͙̘͕̠ͣ̽ͭ̒ͩ̓͌ĩ̺͕͕͒͢k̏̅̿̅ͯ̽̒͠e̘̱̥͚͔̎͆̀̓ͮ̇̌ͅͅ ̱̥̙̦͎͒͒͘à̶̘͙͍̜̗̆ ̶̗͙̺̼̫͒̋̂̎g̡̙̉ͪo͈̽ͫͬ͒ͮ̌̈́o̻̗̟̻͖͒ͯ̆̈͋d͙̬͎̥̙̭̤ͪ̄̿̈́̋ͯ ̸̱̦̗̮͒̋h̳̜̝̥o̭̟͚͈̳ͤͮ̍̓ͅȓ̯̒ͫ͌̐͂s̿ͭ͂̆͌̾ͬe̔̌ͥ̈́ ͇͂́̽̔ͪ̐́s͚̯͔̝̱̜̃̄̓ͮͅh̤̜̪̞͖̍͆o͍̦͍ͤṳ͇͎͖̖ͨ̒l̻͖͈̜ͫ͋ͩ̑͊d̍͛.ͤ́̔͒̂”

Trent rolled his eyes, and tossed his head irritably as he closed the last gate. His ears tingled from a sudden surge of blood flow, and he sneezed again as he looked out from his stall. Did Silao really have to push the whole hypnosis thing so far? They were good horses, after all. They knew how to listen. He brushed his hair aside with his black-tipped fingers. The hardened keratin glinted in the dim light, freshly polished. After all, a stud had to look his best for the ladies.

“F̦͖̅̒̑̕e̱̤̤̳ͫ́ͨ̎̂̌͜e̫͇̟͍̮͌̓͒ͤ̚ͅl̫̦ ̵̝̬̬̩̯̋͊ͭ̈́̔ͫͫt̡͕͎͈̹̺̠̦̾h͛̇ͪ͝e̶͕̱͔̹̹ͥ͌ͣ͋ ͭ͏̙̩a̵͚̚i̹̞̼̾̊r̟͔ͩ̀̏̔ ̗͉̠͇͔̔ͨ͂ä͓́ͩ̋̊ş̫̮͙̳͑ ̡̾̈ͩ̅ͧi̘̠̖̬̭̼̠͑̌ͮ̅t̨̠͉͚̩͖ͅ ͙̽̾͛̆͡c̯͚̼͍͕̗̙ͬ̎̒̍͐̏ȧ͍͙̣̣̳͖̫͊͋͌ͬ͑ṟ̮̭͔ͪ̓̔ę̪͗̅ͪͦ̈́s̰̹̜͔̙̠͔̍͗s̛̳̝̙̪͍͚̀͋e̞͚̘̲ͤͧ̋͌̃ͫ̽s̴̙̠͖͈͎͍͎̃̍̄ͪ͋̽͒ ̶̀ẏ̴̍̅ͦo̗̹̟̞̦̺̖͗ȕ̩̳̭̣͍̝̝́ͮ̔rͪ̂͗̅͌͛͛ ͐͑͗ͦͪͣ̉h̸̹̱͈̖̥ͭ̐i̜̱͎̩̹ͬ͞ḏ̳̩̟͈͖̼ͨ̓͢e͕̰͓̤̟̘̋́̈́̈́͘,͇͑̎ ̞̠͚̙̙̯̪͋̈́͘r̦̮͍͆ͮͅǘ͇̣̖̏ͮ͐̿͂̊͞ͅș̅̎̅̀t̪̗̺͍̮͐ͨ̏͘ͅͅl̨̝͔̹̠̱ͪe̛̮̭̬̮ś̫͍̤͔̠ ͚ẗ͇̉͆͌͜ḩ̠̲̊ͬ̀r̖oͧ͌͏̬̝̦͇̦u̩̘͙͂́g̝ͧ̎h̔ͯ̐ ̸͓̪̬̖͓̂̃ͣy͕͙̗̑̎ͧ̂ͩ̐̃ǫ̂͗̓͊ͧủ͎̤̣̜͔̳̅ͯ͒ͭͅr̠̹̘̆͊ͣ͊ͫ ̞̭̐ͩ̍̍̓͛͆f̡̼͈͔̟̭̣ͫ̄ͫȕ̧̔̑r̪̹̪̲̜̽̃͋. F̫̆͌̎̉e͙̭̮͚͔͉̹͑e̸̠̐̎̍͂ľ̴ͫ͌ͤͤ̄ͥ į̗̣͎̠t̶̜̞̝̙̬̣̋̏͋ͬ̓ͦ̄ a̮̟͕s̥̜͔̹̼̜̥̑̏̃ͦ͐ y͍̯̞̗̣̜ͥ̉͐̚͞ͅơ̫̗͌ͅü̙̖̬͎̟̏͟r͎̤̟͍̭̙͈͌̐̀ c̬͇̬͛ͬ̊ͩͥͬ͟h̫̙͂̎͒̓̿̚e̫̮̭̳͇͉̩s̴̍ͯ̍͂ͣ̐̑t̬͍͈̬ͅ e͍̖͌ͨ̽͘x̙͔̙̯͋ͪ̍̆̕p̥̮ä̡̪̦̗̠̱͕ͅn̩̏ͨ̀d̨̹̪̮̗̘̙͆͛͂̓ͣ̏̈́s̬͙̤̦̋͌ ͓̘̦̞̱͍̗̓ͤî̥̗͓͕̤n͎ ̶̯̒͆a̘̬̞͙̎̊͌ͫ̓n̺̤̎ͮ̐̈̓d͚́ͫ̒͞ ̗̞͎͉͊̀oͬ̂͗̑̉̾͏̣̳̹̤̱ͅu̴͇̍ͯ̂ͦ́̍t̉ͩ̀ͭ̇ͩ͋̀,̑̊̄̋ ̹͍̫̗̅̄̕ì̬̥̣̇ͫn̰̲̳̣̭͔̔ͬͮͅ ͚͇̭͕̹ͧ̅ͫ͟ǎ̤̰̌̌͐ͪ͒ņ̬̝̲͓̤͂͌ͯͅd̥͎͌ ̃̂͊̾̑̾̽͟o̢͚̪̭̠̯͋ͮͦu̕t̗̎͋̆̄ͥ̆͜,̓ͧ ̵̺̯͓̱̭͓̝ͣ̓̃̓̅f̺̹̘̣̦͚̖̓̈́̆ͭ̒̂̀ȉ̭͎̻͌͛ͨ̊̉ͦl̞͚͙̝̤͈ͥ͒̒l̦̜̱̩̳͇ͩ͛ͯ̓͜ï̉҉̞̼n̋́̅͏̖͈̦̦̣̖g̴̿ͭ̄̔ͦ̄̆ ͔̪͎̳̗͋́͠w͇̠̙͍͂͠i̢̤̥͚͕̱̜ͮ͋t̥͙̦̺̼͍̻̋̍ͬͮ̋̔̀ḫ͍̱͕̟͎̺ͩ̏ͭ̽̉͂̀̚ ̶͖͔̑̒ͤ̇t͔̯̘̰̝͒ͣ̿h͌ͨȩ̙ͬͮ͐̓͂̈̾ ̖̩͇̬̼̄̒ͤͫ͗͑ͅs̙̎̚ͅa̝͉̟̦̹̥̠m͖͇ͮͯ͜e̢̎͊̔ͬ̚ ̙͖͐ạ̶̦͗ͣ̇͛iͤ̆ͫr̩̰̣̆́͊̃ͯͪ̀,̪̥̮ͧ̾ ͮ͐ͪ͑͌ṭ̩̦̫̘ͫ̾ͤ̅̾̌h͇̙̩̬͛͞ẻ̏̋ͤͤ ̷̖̺ͦf͉͚̱̘͛̑͛̀a͔͈̲͙̙̝͊ͅm̘̺̾ͪͮ̾̾̌i̠̳͔ͧl͌ͭ̈́͑̿ͫ̊͏̤i̗ͫ̌a̟̬̰̬̟͉r̝̹̫̰͙͖ͮ͛ͨ̒̅ͨ ̖͖̠ͦͯ̇͛̒̓́s͍ͫ̄̑̎͜ç͚̱͂ͨe̩̝͕͓͙͚ͬͅn̜̫̱̻̯̱̞͆̈̊͊̊̊ẗ́ͤ̎ ̼̖͔̑ͫͣ̄̚̚ͅo̢͊͋͗̑f̷͍͕͂ͤ ̝͉̘͇͙̘̐͝ͅt̸͎̣̦̍͛́̍̈́̒̇h̶̟̅̈̏̋͆e̜̬̖̗͡ ̢̪̻͍̬͛ͤ̊ͫ̓ͩͅhe̺̲̳̍̑̽̎͐̈r̜̞̘͗̈ͦͅd̟̰̤̬̝̣,̣ͫ̏̀ ̖ͮ̃ͪ̊͢o̧̭̣̣̯̟̤̍̓̀͆f̵̦̲͇̺̣̰̈́̀̈ ̫̦̺h͕̻̲̬̤ͨ̆ͤͥ̀a̩̻͛ͦyͯ͊ͥ̈́̍̚,̭ ̖̮̫̼̣ͬͯ͢o̖̟͉͑ͪ̿̌f̡͙̃̿ͮͪ͛ ̟̲̙̫̯͡w̟̳͉͖̱ͭ̏ͪ̔͛a̠̫̱̹̩̞t̄̃̍e͓̪̝̝̳̟̮͒̊ͯȓ͓̝͕̜͓̦̿͊̃̔̂,̺̣̜̏̎ ͉̾ͣ̓ͧ̄õ̉̓̾͑f̷͇ͮ́̉ͤ̇ ̪̲̟̻̮̳̈́̏̑ho̬̳ͮ̓̓̌m̍e͚͉̳̹͍͎͑̄ͧ̽.̽ͣ̓̐̅ͪ̚͜ Ŷ͎̦̽ͬ̾o̖̭͉̙͚u̹͔̫̙̫͂̂͑͂̀̆͆ ̞̞̩̈͋͆ͤ̔̾ͨͅͅa̞͋ͦr̰͈͖̔̆ͧͪ͋ͩe̬̜̩͍̠̭͕͑ͮ ̡͚̗̒̋ͥͬh͈̋ͪͥ̄ő̫̺͖̩͓͎͓͒ͪm͉͎͎̓̉ͫ̀̈́ͬe͚̥̤ͅ.̛ ̭̳ͨ̂Y̜̭͈͕̳ͣͫ͗̈́̎̿͟o͍ͯ͆͆͊́ͮͦu͎͉̩̒̊̎̑̿͊ͬ ̫͕̲̩̙͇aͫ̈̃̍r̷̗̟͙̮͈̖̜e̢̋̂̓̈̈́ͮͩ ̨̬͕̹ͮ̌́ͫ̊̏c̥̦̟͇͋̾͒ͣo̞̪ͭ̂̂͆͠ṁ̇ͤ͐ͧ̓̇҉̰͖̬̯͍̦̙f̢̑ͪͫͩ̇o͉͕̤̩͕̗̰ͤͥ͋̑ͣ͊͡r̮̝ͩ͗̾ͧ̓ͣͮt̰͉̺̦̣̥̙̀̂ͬ̐̎͡a̛̠̿͋͆͗b̬̲̥̼̀̚͡l̵̳ͧ̿ͧ̏͛̌ě͈̩̯̱̖̲̍̋̍ͬͅ ̗͚͔̮̦̊̑͟i̢͙̞̹̓͆̍n̪̱̲̺͌̐̑̒̄ͯͮ ̩̬͙ͦ͋ͩ͗͂̅ÿ͎̭̞̞̣̩͊̑̿́ò͗̎͛̋ͯ̽҉̙̦̮͚u̹͈̘̱͛̔͛͗̉̐͝r̻̙̲ ̥̌̀͝ḫ̤̤̻͇͇̻ͤ͆̅ͤ͌̎ȯ̯̃̈́͊̊̚ͅm̶̟̗͉̺̲͚̺̊e̸̪̱.̭͖̟͕̱̲̄̈́̈̉̎̄ R̵̺̟̬̮̉̽ē̮̜̪͇̪̩̎̀ͩͮ̐͘l̘ͤͩ̌ͩ͗ą̖̹͈̾͗̇̐͌̚x͎̭̥̻͇̩͉.̴̝̉ ̞̠̼̖̻ͬ̌̉͞T̤̝̐a̾ͯͨ̈́̍k̤e̡͈̠̮͙̾̓ ̳̗̅ͬ̊ͥ͠a̷̮̖̹̽ͦ̉ ͇̜͌͒̚d̽҉̮͉̟̪r͌ͧ̿ͬ͏̘̗̙̪̟̰i̭͎͋̈̎͛̕ṇ̓̏ͪ́͗̀k̷̹̹̲ͧ̾.̳̝̫̹̞̚͝ ̟̹̘̲͈ͧ̄ͦ̅̓̋͗͠ͅṞ̥ͬͨ̿̀e̟̜̤͒ͯ̐̔ͫͫ̿͞l̳̭̮a̻͈͓̗͙̙ͮ͠ẋ̝͍̩̫͑̆͒̚͜ͅ.̢̳͇̜̎ Ỷ̆̉ͧ͜őͯ̈u̪ͅ ̥̥̠̭̗͚͌́͟ȧ̯̤̟̬̗̽̆ͩͅr̝̱͍̘ͭ͜ͅe̒͊͆ͩ͏̦̲͔̼̖̝̗ ̮̩̥͚͇̿͑͑h̪̰̗̖̖̙͙ͭͭọ̴̱͉̦͋m̞͉̩͓͈̐̐̍́̌̂ͅͅe͔̫̞̜̖͍͆ͤͬ͌͒̎͢.̗̫̼̝̙̯ͫ́́ͅ ̢̥̯͈̳̟̰͉ͫ̿ͬ̒ͭ͑A̢͚͍͚͌̏ͪ͂̀̆ ̶̙̀͒̏̍ͅh̳̎͢o͙̻̖͖͇͈͔ͩͩ̐̌ͧr̺̱̺̫͕̓̏ͦͪs̙̘̤̩͖̻e̯̟ͭ͗̒̓͡ ͈̖̘̝͎̺̆̉̓̇̇̾͡ͅb̄̓̇̃͐ͯ̇ê̷̳̠̪̝̫̂́ḽ̨̲͉̗͍ͧ̏ͪ̍͂͛o͍̣̦̝͔̣̭̎̓̃͛̒͆̊n̩͜g̷̙̠͚s͖̠̬̟ͪ ̛̘͛̽̔ḯͬ͛͊ͬͬͧ͏̖͎n̮̣̽̾̈́ ̦͍͚i̬͇̙̻̱ͦ̒̋͑̈́ͣt̢̖̥̱͈̼̰ͭ̃̂ͮ̎̚s̤̫̫̺͍̲̐́́ͬ͢ ̮̬͇̑ͬ͆͊̏͋sͤ̐͋ͧ̊t̞͓͔̦̬̩̟̐̾͑͒ͬ͘a̰̲̰̙̮ͯ͛ͮ̓̅̄̎ͅl̲̘̯̜͗̑̂͒̃ͬ͆͠l̵̲̞̫̳̉̋̇ͅ.͈͙͖̖ͪ́ ̷̠̫̲̫̟̦Y͇̳ͪọ͖̯̰̫͖͕ͯͦͤ̌̈́̇̓͘u̥ͫ͆̇͆̉̚͞ ̘̍ͦ͗b̰̯̰̓͒̓̇̎̒̆ĕ̻̙͕̀̾͘l̹̘ͬ͗̆͊ͦͅo͝n̴̙̰̭̳̳̓̌̌͒̏͆g̢͖̹̅ͥ̆̐̚ ͧ̆͊͛̅͢i̼̾ͭ͡ṅ̦͍͎̣̠͎̤́͡ ̡̻̪͈̗̒ŷ̷̦̱͚̊ͥ͐o̱̓ͪu̸̮̺͎̪͉ͩͦ̿͑ͤͮr̯͙͈̹͊̌̈́̓͆̇ͤ̀ ̨̗̞̝̌ͩ̒ͫs̜̪̲̬̦͖t̶ͯ̈́̀͑̑ȁ̝̮̐̀ͬl͏̖͓̙̹̞l̖̹̪ͦ͌́ͅ.̡̰̼̣̤͓̘͉ͧ ̰͎̩͍̩̒̐Ỳ͍̳͍̥̻̌̉ͨͤ̄̌̀o̢̮̻̬͒̐̾͆ư̜ͤ̄͊̂rͨ̒̿̿ ̮̙̄͑ͤs̥̮̠̓̐͂͌ͩ̚ͅt̫̮͚̯̟̫ͯͨ̓̅́͜ḁ̴̌ͧͣ̾l̼͗̈̆̅ͅḽ̲͗ͨͬͧ̅̿͐ ͍̗͚ͭ̎ͮ͛̈́̒͡ͅi̵͉͓̥̹͂́s̛̩̞̞͓̹̿̄̒ͫ̊̏̚ ̲́ͦͤ͐ͣh҉̘o̒̐ͫ͌m̝ͥͪ͟e̯͍̺̤̹ͭ̇̏ͣ.̭͉̦̤͍̼̳”

“Fine, but only because I like the smell of this place,” Trent countered as he folded his arms and snorted angrily. He took a deep breath and smirked as he felt his overalls strain against his well-built chest. The warmth had spread from the bands and now engulfed his arms, but he didn’t care. A good hard day’s work always left him feeling a little hot, anyway. That smirk only widened as he gazed at his bare arms and noticed the thick, bristly black hairs growing in. “Ladies love a little hair, especially when it’s dark,” he thought cockily to himself. He smacked his lips and walked over to the trough, where a pool of dark water sat waiting for him. He reached his hands in and cupped them together to take a sip. The cool water running down his throat was positively heavenly. He quickly dipped in for a second helping, and then a third, and a fourth, splashing out far more than he drank, until the water began to refill. “About time you got me an automatic!” he shouted, then grinned as he braced both hands on either side of the tub and shoved his face in all at once.

Trent hardly noticed the warmth as it spread to his face, nor the prickling of hairs sprouting over it as he continued to suck in gulp after gulp of water, only pausing for a few brief seconds to breathe through his nose, before plunging back into the depths again. When he pulled back up from the trough, he let out a nicker of contentment, reaching up to dash the water from his eyes and sleek black fur with a few deft swipes. He crossed his eyes to see the long strip of white running down his nose to his muzzle, just to make sure he’d gotten the worst of the stuff out. Then he chuckled. “Going a little overboard there, Trent.” He shook his head again, tossing his mane as he worked his boots off and kicked them aside to hear the comforting clip clop of his own hooves on the floor. Why Silao had insisted he wear those silly things, he would never know, but he knew better than to question the boss. A good employee listens, after all. He walked over to the feeding trough and took a handful of hay, before taking a heavy bite with his rapidly expanding incisors. The force cut right through the fibrous stalks as easily as a mower’s blade. His eyes rolled in pleasure as his tongue brushed against the sprigs, shoving them back to his rear molars to be ground to that delicious paste, before swallowing.

“͇͙̹̜̝͔͊͗̆̃͜S̛̹̬͇̫̪̹̭͐͛͐ͥ̇ǘ̥̫̠̹̬͘c̫͉̤̦̱̼̓͛̔̒̄̈́ͅḩ̺̬̘̋̏̋ͅ ͓̻ͦ͒g̩̼̫͙̅ͪ̆͂̈́ͭo̤̙͓̪͙͔ͭͥ͌̊o̷̘̗̹̗̘̗͙ͪ̾d̛͚̼̱̳̹͈͋ͮ̍͆ ͕̰̺̼̮̃͗͂ͩh̲̠͈̰́͋̓̐͗̊͠o͊ͭ̋͠r̪̙̜͍̅͢s͔͋ͪ̈́̾̿͟e̡̻̻͖̰ͬ͛ͦ̄̈ͅs̟̗͑̂ͩ̀̔̚,̖̰͕̲̱̱͇ ̣͕͔̹̺̝͑ͦ̀̑͑̀ȧ͎͙ͤͮ͌̀͑ͅl̟̙͓̮̠̭͈̈͝l̵̪̱͚̝͉̖̦ ̞ͦͭ̈ͧ̂͌̚ọ̼̘̣͕̹̬̄̓̐ͪ͂̇͘f̭̘̯͇̟̰ͦ̑̉ ̫̳̟̋ͭͮ̄̽͜y͙̫ͪ͑̇͒͑̎͟o̘̺̺̞̼̘ͮ̑ͮu̜̝̥̹͎.͕̳͎͓̽ ̬͔͚̯̗̣ͪ̿̏S̭̝̟͂ͦ͐́̑͂o̳̿ͨ͋̇̍͆ ͔͐̒ͤͬ͒̽ͫ͡w̞͚͚̬ͦ̑e͙͂͆͐ͣͅl͎̭͇͈̬ͨl̨̬͍ͯͪͯ͋ͫͅ ͆ͩ͗̑ͥͫ̚b̖̪̖̙̻̱ͫ̆͑̒̚ḙ̹͍̤̑̓̍ͧ͌͟h̛̠̖̰̮̰ͥ̿͑̍ͦ̿̚ͅa̤̯͕ͥ̒͘v͓̘̥̱͍͚ͤͧͦ͌̈́ͤ̚e̹̬̹͕̼ͭ͋̇ͩ͌ͮd̬̥̹̖͉̯ͬ̓̋̂͘,ͣ ͈͎̟̣̱̿͆̐̓̄s̯͙̝ͫ͒̃ͯ̈͠ͅõ̇ͨ̂͢ ͖̯̦̲͔̝̗r̤̭͎̄e̩̭͖̙ͩ́̇́̓ľ͕̻̳͚͔ͬͭͩ̆ͦ̉͘a̛͔̜ͅx̥̝̝̯̘̽́ͅēͪ̈́͂͒̇͏͙̖̱͓d͍̻̣̎ͩ.͖͋͌̾ͯ̃̎͋ ̱͔̝͉̓ͧ̓̏͂S̯̭̝͆́͒ͧ͒ͅo̖͔̳͒ ̝̲̻͊̓́̍͂̚v̞͔̰̼̥̜̿ͥ̎͗ͨ̂ér͛͊̒͒҉̭͍̩y̠̜͚̬̬̓ͭ͛̀ ̲̾ͤ̈͌̐r͘ê̬̗̻̤̠͈͙ͣl̟͚̹̻̋̾̕a̰̟͇ͩ͛̑͟x̼̰̥͍̦͆̈̀̍̄ė̟̇̔̊̚d̾͛ͬͮ͟.̛͙̣̖̩̲̫ͪ͊̒ͯͨͯ̇ ̘̼͉̯ͣS̛̞̣̤̳͉̈́͊̈́͒õ͕̼̻ͨ̌̔ͦͫ̀͞ ̧̥͈̯̳̜̫̳ͥ̍ͤ̑d̦̪̼͂̓̇͑ͭͣ͒͟ͅo̵͙͙̻̩̦̪̖ͥc͎ͥ̒͌̈́ͣ̄̋ì̢̮̜̃̒̆ͪ̓̚ḻ̨̘ȅ̷̞̙̪̘͇̮͒ͣ, a̫͔͕ͮ̈́͂f͙͕̞̻̋̑ͪ͋͆́ṱ͖̭͓͔̐̉ͅe̜͇͕͖ͪ̐̓ͤͬr̴̙̺̬̈̇ͦ ̏́a̪̩̔͑͛ ̖̉l̰̼̯̈́ͫ͋͆ö̤̝̺̙̰͕́nͣ͂ͤ҉g̥̫̲͛͊͌ ̻̼͌̈ͨ͞d̸̎̋ͭ̃ͯà̲̭̫̲̓̀͂̆ͯy̬͎͓͓͔͎͢’͉̩͕̟̱́s͛́͆̊ͥ̿̾ ̵̋ͨw҉͖̠̦͇̦ó̸̼͕̠̃͋̂r̴̅̔͊̽͐̚k͓͉̪̔̀.̴͔͒̚ ͓̮͖̍̃̊̈́O̞̘̹̱̭̲̠ͭ͆́͆͠f̽ͭͦ͠ ̴̖̝͖̽ͮ̒̓ͣ̋ͨc͍̯̣̭̼̦ͧ̑ͮo̢̲̲͉͍u̞̝͚̥͙͉̲ͤͮ͛r̭̬͎̻͕̼s̡͕͖͔̮̲͗̒e̬͒ͪ̌,̡̞̗̩̪̰̦͊̌̾͐ͨ ̜͍ͬͪy͚͚̏ͥ̍͊̓̓ͣo̜̤̼̳͙̖ͮ̃ü͓̰̗̼ͨ ̂҉̬̰̥̖͈d̜̆̄ͤͪͮ̑̀̚o̺̠͔̜͔̬͒ͦ̐ͨ̚̕n̽ͤ̇҉̳̝̗͖̯̪’͈̠̱̤̤͂̍̊ͥͅt̵̟̤̺͉͖ͬ̓ ̜͆ͣ̈͊m̯̹ͣ̈̈́ͫǐ͕̳͔͍̟̳͋ͯ̉n̠̲̥̞̊̌̐̓͝dͧ̎̆̐͏͓̞͇̯̹ ̶̥͎̘̟ͅt̘̲̏ͪ̓ͩ̅h͉͓̳̑̈́ͥ͗̉̌aẗ̨̞,͚͗̓̄͋̕ͅ ̷̤̤̹͙̬̝͖̀͗̽ͧ̿d҉̣̱o̹̜̿͌͑̉͛̚ ̨̫̭̈́y͕̞ͧͨ̒͜o̰̩̙̳ͨ͊͛ͤ̍̒ư̲͍̠̹ͥ̒ͅ?̭͙̼̕ ̘͔̃͛̉Ỳ̺͙͍̱̬̜͉̅̀̌̊oͯ̉̆́̏̅͌҉͔̻͕͇͚u͓͚̩̙͓̩͖̿ͭ͆̉͒̍͒ ͉͚̟̤̔l̵͖̻̖̤̜̺o̖͊̾̓͐́̉̅͠v҉̲̼̜̟̥̜e҉͉̯̮ ̻̳̆ͤͮͧͫ́t̛̬͚̖̹̖̳̟̋̅̌o͖̙̼̞̥ͦͯ̅ͭ͑ ̭̤̹̙̞̫̄̑͗̒͑̏̚w̏̅͒̏̾̒̈́͏̮̝o̟͎͚͈̮̦̺ͪ̌ͯ̄̋ͦ͟ř̗͔̰̞̥̌̀̀kͭ̾ͮ̀.̖ ̷͔̱̻ͧͨ́̿̌ͥ̈́A̾̒ͫ͊́҉̩ ͫ̽҉̬͇̹̘ġ̅ͨ̏̈ͫͩ҉̗̼͇̘̪͉̞o̹̞͈̹ō͈̂̽ͬ͜d̮ͫ̃͂ͩ͞ ̈ͩͭ͜h̜̲̮̀ͦͯ̉ȏ̼̝̪͚͉̠̲ͭ̓̋̓ͣ̉r͎̝̻͕̼̪͉͡s̳̮͓͖̲̐̍ͩ̄̎ͦͭë̫͔̖̳͕̗̦́̏̾̍ ̠̞̪̲̭͕ͮ͟ĭͭ̎ͦͅş̻̺̩̞̄ͭ ͇̲̼͍̼̟̿̾̽̊́̿̔m̷̯̦̳͗̾e͉̥̹̟̙͒͑̆ͣ͘a̷͍͖̟̥̻̹͑͗ͮn͊ͭͥ̄͐̋t͚̻̥̘̫̭͗͟ ͎̱̮͕̣̙͆̔̆̃̃̊̓t̠̼ͩ̄ͤ̈́̔ơ̦̝͎̟͚̟ͣͧͧ̈́ ̴̗̫̹͕̪̹̠w͓͖̐̑̅o̻̠̪̣r͙͇͍͐̽ͅk̠̱ͯ̔ͥ̚,̺̠͟ ̴̝̞̼̹͉j̓̔͒̎͏̪̪͖͚̗͇̘ū̺̘̙̫̥̟s̩̦̮̪̹t̳̺͕̄̅ͣ́̽̒ ̳͍̝̯̼̯̬͛͊a̎̍̏̊͊ͮ͗́s̡̙̳͇̣͎̝̿ͬ ̻͕̗̬̅a̶̝̹̗̝͉̰ ̞̮ͥ͑̇̄̔ͬ͋́g̃o̧̤̰ͬ͌ͣͭͦ̓o͉̫̫̩͚̔ͪͪ̂͐̀̚d̵̞͖͕̍ ̧̭̩̗͌̐̿͗̄̄h̠̠̼͔̏̈̕o̮ͣͦͬ̿͘rͬ͒̉̆̔ͧs̰̦̻̟̯̞̮e̮̗ͤͦ͒̑ ̝̭̥͚̉͋͗ͤ͡ͅi̴̫̻̳ͩ̋̓͆ͬs̫̞̹̫̮̼̤ͫͥ͜ ̦̣̯̱̫͉̿̾̉̓̽ͫ͢meant ͙̥ͨ̇t̬͈̘͈̻̆̅o̩̙̤͐ͧ̾̏͋̋ ͎͕̞̌ͬͧ́ļ̠̉ͪ̇i̗̖̘ͫ̐̍̌̏s͙̩̬͕͉̜̅̌tͦ̿ͬ̋͛e̤̪̙̖̤͘n̤͍̻̘̰̽͒ͣ,̟͍̬͙̫̦ͦͫ ͚̤̪̯͙̭ͦt͈̖ͭ̓̚o̠͍̰̫͐ ͇̳̖͍ͭͮ̍̌ͣͨ͡l̠͔͎̙̤͚̊̽̈i̜̙͖̖̭̰͒ṡ̲̭͖̯̐̍̽̽͠ẗ́͊́e͔͓̤̓̒ͣn͓̉̅̓ͭ ̶̲̓̽̇ͫ̏ͨt͐̎̅ͯo͕̟̜͒̔ ̮͍̱̼͔̪̓̍͐r̵̤̮̹͎͌̒̐ȅ̯̘l̺̃̇̒̍̋ͭ͆ȁ̵̬̟̘̘̪͉̭̿̅x̩̺ͧͧ.̘̳͎̓̂͐̍̊̚ ̞̤͙̖̱͉̻ͣ̆̀̿͗̉ͦ͡Wͮͥ̄̑͏̺̤̦o͙͓͕̲̭͊ͯ̓ͤͅr͑̊̚ķ̞̗͓̟́̎͒ ̴̏ͪ̈́ͮͥt̞͓ͭ̐ͫ̇ͧͅo̼̟ ̕l̞͔͍ͭ̆̾̌͐͞i̘̯̳̖̓̃̈̋̑ͥ͂s̭̅͢t̺͕̳̟̓͌̋͐e̜̳͕͈̔̋̿̚nͭ̎́͏̩̟͍͍̩̣.̴͎̤̺̞̄͊ ͇͖̲́̐̿ͬ̒͡L̯̻ͧ̑͂ͪͩ͗̅i҉̺͖̳ș̘͈͛͑̌͗̏ͩ͛t́̊̿ͨ̌͑͂͏͉̥̼̝͎͈̘e̪͊n̳͔̠̻͚ͨ̆̾ͭ t̨̤o̡̠̭̿͂ ̺ͧ̋ͪ̎ͩ͆͜r̺͐ͪ͂ͬḙ̝̭ͫ̅̋͐̌l̴̪̖̠̙͗ͣ͛̉̾͑ͬa̰ͭͬ̾͐̓̀x̊҉̱̜͎̝̼̦.̾̋̒̐ͩ҉̤ ̪͔͍͙̰̈́͋̆ͫ͐̓͡R̘̤̥͝el̮̺͌̉ͬ̎̒͗a͒ͫͩ͋̎ͧ́҉̭̦̠̖͎̙x̵͇̦̦̠̙̟̞ͫ͑ ̬̥̦̈́̏ͭţ̘̭͍͔̠̫̓̌̇ͩ̑̌ͫo̴̠̮̊ͯ̈ ̵̰̼̼͇̋ͨ̆͆̌ͥp̎҉r̝̪̳̖͔̊͊e̛͉̭p͕̘̜̰̭̪̦̒a̴̩̰̱r̸̝̜̖̿̈e̐̓ͫ́ ̨͙̖͍̱͉̔͌̚̚̚ͅt̬̳̭̊̔̀̚o̲̖̫̯͊͂͛̑ ̠̦̭̊ͬͦ́ẅ̝͈͉͓̮́̉̀̀͡ȏ͓ͨ̾͐r͚̣͕̣̹ͤ͋ͮ̓̏k̺̮̇͊ ̰̺̭a̢͆͒g͓̜̯͓͈̦̣͝ả̱͇̞̲̜̼̖ͣ̊̿̀i͙͐̓̓̿͂n̤̣̭̱͆.̬͉ ͦ̌ͧ͋̇̈́̋T̹̪͂ͭ́ͭ̈́̚ȟ̦̰̝̻̖̘̀͛a̺͎̋t̲̱̙̂̽ͩ͗̄̎ ̓̀͢i̍̏̓̚͏͇̪̬̤̟̤ͅs͔̓ͫ̋̿́̓͢ ̥̓̓̃y̥̖̘͔̫̞͚ͩͫ̿ͦ͆̓͢o͋͡ű̜̼͕͚̝̍̅̔r͍̹̳̈́͂̅̑̽͑ ̦̘͓̮͍͎̻c̦̎ͧͥ̒̈́ͦy̯͗̐̋ĉ̛̟͈̼͎͔̃̔ḽ̓ͥ̎̽̀͡ͅé̝̟̀́,ͩ̆̀ ̰̎͆ͧͥͭḍ̡̄ả̺̤͕̮̗̥̣ͮ̍̌y̖̥ͥ ̌͐ͬ̈́ͤ̚̚iͪ̈̊̊͡n̷̰͚͔͍̩͕͗́͆̒̚ͅ,̬͎͖ ̗̞̠̙̺̗̼͗a̻̹̠͔̙̰̙n̞̫͙͌ͯͫ̆̾d͚̟̦͉͖̒̊̊̄ͭͪͮ ̳̥͔d̙̈͆̽ä̰̘̗́̔̉̑̏̔y̴̲̠͚̟̘ͭ̇ ̙̭́̽ͥ̆̎͆͡o̙̞̎̉͑͛̾͂̓̀u̶͙t̓ͮͯ̓̔̋͡.̋͋̒̆͊̾̈ ̰͙͈̎S̍̉̈́̉҉̯ǒ̳̹͔̾̓ ͪ̄s͖̻̦͔ị̴͔̳̜̩ṃ̩̪͚̻ͩp̡̥̦̥̥ḽ̵̩̉̐͂̅̌̔̿e͚͓̞͑ͮ̎̊ͅ,̮͇͖̙̮̪͋ͦ̌̑ ͎͈̣͈͐s̻̩̱̾̈́͒͑o̜͎̽ r͇̼̻̪ͪ̂̆ͤ͗̈e̠̟͔ͪ̄̓̈ͅl͎̀̉ͩ͡ǎ̶̱x̻̰̺̥̉́̿̊̄͂ͩe͈͈̣̮̿͗̒̔̉́d͙͈̟̯̀͌̑ͦ̇.̢̗̦͉͙̣̟̿ͅ ̟͓̖̓́̊̄Nͪͅo͒ͨͬ̂ ͔̳̞̤͎̼ͮ͊͊ͦ̍͊͡n̠̳̗̹̺͕͉ͧ͟ẹ̮̪̟̖̣ͤ̈̊̎e̢͙̻̝̘̻̥̒ͧ̓ͧ͛̈d̢̦̜̟̦̓ͨͤ ̢̺ͪ̉̔ͩ̒͆t̆ͪͧ͌ͩͩ̀o͍̘͓̣̹͇͉͊̋̄̎̏̋̚͜ ̴̉͒͆̈́̃͛̓t̛͉ͨ̑ĥ̠̼͑͋i͛̑n̼͓̳̾͠k̡ͩ̒̍̅.͕̮̗͈̳̦̝̆͂ͬ̉ ̗̮͚̞͉̺͔̊͛́Ṋ̠̦͎̯̾ọ͇͓ͬͣͮͮ ̳̕n̸̻̬̓e̼̲̫͙͟e̸̘͇̫̫͖̦̱̐͆͌d̬́͋̿̓ͮ̌͞ ̈́̄̐̉̆͜t̛̜͈͔̳̳͚ͬ̃̆̄̍̀̎ọ̡̺̫ͫ̈͑ ̼̙̖̜͉̦̮̾ͬ̉̽ͥ̒̇͡w̄o̲̞͈̘̯̊ͪ̓͢r̰̣̍̈̇̓̽r̤͕̭̲͈̗̰ͭ̄ͭy̜̭.̮̥͙̳̣̳ͪ ̻̪͕͓͚̝̠̐̈̚R̋ͩ̓ͩͮͅȇ̫ͩl̡͕̯̫̻͎̠ā̴͚̠̩̼̫x̨̟̳̩͙͙̲ͤ̂ͮ.̘̄͛ͣͬ̐ ̸̲͖͔͕Ḽ̼̠͉̟ͥͮͧ̆͘i̴̯̤̱͇̼͎s͈̤̣̙̮̐ͭͅt̹͖͙̻̙͕͙́ę̺̫͉̖̲̯̈́ͨ̊n͇̲̓.̸̭̣̙̩̤͌̄̔ͤ̈́ ̘͙͎̎͆̆ͥR̵̼̘̘̗̫̲ͯ̃͒́̊ͤë̮̥ͣl̤̬̟ͫ͊̉̌̕a̻̞͙̝̜͙͕ͮx̷̗̝̻̋͌ͧ̚.̵̣̟͒͂̆ͅ ̢͉̖̥̜̾ͧ̔̾W̷̗ͧ̍̑ỏ̸͎͇͔͖͕͛ͯ́r͔̖͚̰̍̎͂̉̃̐̚k̸ͬͯͬ̚i̻̲̠̜ͮn̒g͖͚ͯ̾́ ̹͈̩̞͓̬͗t̷̯͕̅ͨ̊̐o̟̺̲͚ͯͬ̄ ̸̫̭̠̹̜͚̘̾͐ͪl̨̻̪̫͉̭͒î̟̙̘͖͔̒̄s͎̬̱̔͗ͥ̽͆t͓̒ͣͥ̅͠e͔̺̦͓͒n̨̳̒͋̈̉̈̂ͨ.͎͕̘͔̯̮̟͂͌̿ ̞͔̳̼͈ͅW̮͙͠ǒ̤͉́̈̏ͪ̚͡r̘̮ͮͨ̽͛k̜͔̃i̶̦̗͚͓̺͗̈́ͬ̓̎̄ṋ͎̱͎̮̻͙̈́̅͆͆͒̀ͧǧ̸͕̼̱͓ͯ͛͆ͅ s̛͕̙̒͑̊̀͊ͤ̂o̩̐̽͌̋̉̚ ̳͚̙ͣ̃͌ẖ͔̟ạ͎ͅr̟̣̼̞̩͙͎̓͗̽͂d̨̖̜ͮͬ̓̄.̞̻̄ͫͅ ͇̠̗͎̌̆ͤ̌̈́͘S̢ủ͍͕͓̣̝̱͢c̷̞̪̝̗̠̦̙̅ͨͦh͕̖̼͕͐͟ ͚̝̗̰̩̳ͩͬ̄̓̐gͨ̈́o̫̖̮̬͍͔̭o̺̻̞̲͆̉̽̇ͣdͭ̎҉̘͉̗̹̠̼ ̯̜̱̣͚͚̻͌ͤ͆̀̓ẇ̅o̤̦͖͛͠ȓ̆̑̆ͩ̍͏͔k̈́̒͆̍͐ͅḥ͚̻̙ŏ̜̘ͫ̆̚r̴̺͈ͭͮ͒̇s͒ͧȩ̫͉͖͇sͣ̓ͯ̎͆ͦ͛͏͙̖̪̖̞̹.̨̦̺͙͕̪ͯͦ ̨̯̫̭͖̈́L̪̮̲̀ͯ͊̂̂̋i̡̠͕̩͈̣̘͗́̔s̡̩̣̤̭͇̘͓̾́̉t̞̩̥̺͕͍ͤ͆̐̓̒̃͑͝ͅe͔͚̟ͦ̅͆̂̚͡n͉̤̞͕̻̑̓ͣ̓i̻̮̐̐ͯͤņ̠̤̤̦̗͙̓ͤg̮͔͓͈͎ ̖͓ͬ̈́͑͒̔̑ͬh̔̈́͐a̟͍̮̱̟rͣ̏̍̿̽̅͌͝d̓ͬ͛ͫ̓.̧ͪ̔̐̎̑ͮ ̴͍͚͇̼̉̑ͨͪŴ̵͈̩̳̈́́o̳̫͐ͪ͊͛̀ř̨̝͙̈́͗̄́̾ͧķ͙ͤͥ̂ï̶ͮ͂ͧ̄ͬ̓n̥̗͇̦̩̭ͨͯͯ̃g̞͕̪̠͙̃̓̆̏̍́ ̆͑͏͙̺̗̮͓h̷̃̽́̅a͇ͭͮ͗r͙̘̗̤̬̥̻̉̊͐͆͑̒̊ḍ̤̪͉͆ͩ̽ͧ̋ͨ̏.̵̱̩̤̖ͯ ̭͔̊ͮͤ͘Ṡ̸̞͇̮̟͑̐͑ȍ̷̺̤̈́̃̿ ̗̗̘̝̝͛͆͒ͬͧ̿ͯͅv̗̮̞̱̣̅̄̑ͤ̿͘e̢̘̗̙͈͐ͧͮ͂r̤͎͎̪̗̳̃̎͝y̱̖̰̹ ̶̹̖̠̣̍̓͋͆̆ͣ̀h̥̙̳͍̥̞̾̿̉a͕͛ͣ̉̃̈́͆r̡̜͕͉̰͓̭̾̌̌͗ͯd̵̘̬͌ͣ͊ͧ͑̿̉.̶̰̤͑̈́̏̏͐̋”

Trent let out a moan of pleasure as he leaned back against the wall, and shuddered. A slick lather had begun to form on his growing fur coat, soaking his shirt and making it cling tightly to his rapidly thickening skin as his shoulders broadened and his waist widened. He breathed heavily and whickered as his arms and legs expanded with muscle. He could feel the overalls becoming tighter on his body as skin stretched and muscle corded, while fat burned away to nothing. A hefty bulge began to press against the crotch of his overalls as he rubbed an increasingly muscular rump against the wall of his stall. The room seemed to spin around him as his neck thickened and lengthened, while his legs began to shift. The knees popped out of place as the seams near his waist began to burst, and his legs shot upwards while the mass of muscle around his waist continued to expand, bursting the seam as he let out a weak neigh.

“S͎͎̘̗̮ͩ͋̋̕õ̓̇ͬ̊͏̟̘̝̦͖̬̺ ͚̯ͤ́́ͣͤ̚h̸͈́̍̐̉̔͐ͣa̢̗͗̍̈́͋͂ͫr̞ͫͩ̏ͯͤ͌d̫̫̹̋ͭ ͈̜̻̅a̡s͉͈̪͔͌̏͗͐̔͑̽ ̫̮͉̞̱̪̩ͪ̐ͥ͋͗ͤy͙̋̏̂ͫ́͜ơ͚̳̗͍̝̾ũ̼̝̰̘̙̈́͑̚ͅ ̗̭̝ͥ͌̈́ͫͯ̾̚c̪̥͎̭̀ͯ̔̑l͈͖̠͌o̜̗ͥ̈͛̒ͥ̄p̳ͮ͡ ̛͔͚͍̫ͤ̄̋̽o͖͇̻̫͈ͩ͂̈́̇̈͂̚ṇ̮̎ͬͤ͐͆̏̋͡ ̇͋͏͓̣a̛̼̘͚̽ͦ̊̚l͚ͩl̷͎̤̘̠͋ͭ́ ̟̰̮̬̓̊̇͞f͎̱̳̪͚͔͛̀̌ͥo̠̞̼̘͆̆͋̊̀u̦̯͔̻͍͉̪̇͋ͭ̂r͈͇͚̭̪̒̌͒̈̎ ̡͖͊̈͌̐́̿h̥̞̖̬̲ͪ̽̾͗̄̇̐o͏̫͔̝̬̮̞͕o̪͍͙̯̠̰͐̿̀v͇̣̳̼̟͍͈ͣͣeͯ҉̬͔̰̠̰̱̰s.͔ͩͮ͗̏͐̀ ̱̖̯̰̬̀̄̀͌̆̚H̘̜̔̃a̦ͮ͂́r̞͔͈ͦ͂͆͑̋ḍ̨̪̉͆̃̑̇ ͓̰̮̘͙͚́̑ͪ͒͆ͮͤṭ͕͑̒͐́͗ͧ͛͡o̘̭̥̪̯͙͑ͯͨ̊̏͡ ̠̝͈͔̭̱͜s͊͡t̡̥̩͍ą̪̟̝̫̣̪͗̍n̝̜̻͍̘̳ͦ̏̈̕d̫̤̉̑ͣͭ̑͒͌ͅ ̬̊ͦ̋̇w̙̹ͨ̉ͧ̆̄̈ͯi͎̅̄ͧ̿͑ͤtͣͩͣ̍̓ẖ̯͓̩̲̮̍͛̈̊͂̓͠ǒ͎̯̹ͣ̈͐̊̀u̙̮͉̰̱͍̣ͧt̜̝͟ ̠̍ͨ̀ͅt̙̘̫̘͚̜͍̿̓h͉͙̹̤͇̀̊ͩe̜͇͕͔͉͗ͅͅm̢̺̗ͩ.̜̼͇̥͓̜̲̎̀ ̢̜̼̠͒͗͗͗͌ͬH̭̄̕a̿͟r̢̰̔ͦ̇ͮ̑d͈̏́ ͕́ṭ̏͟o̪͚͔̒̎̈́̓̎ͩ ̼̠͕ͪ̊ͫ͂͗͠m̛̺̘̱̙͎̱͙̃̋͌o͙͉̭̞̻̕v̳͖̘̣̦̑ͬ́̎ͫ̈͝e̐̄ͣͨ҉̲ ̘̠̍ w̜̋̉̒ï̜̿ͨt̮̒ͩ͌͂̉ͧ̽h̞̖͍̪͕͙ͧͣõ͛ͭ̃͟ủ͔͖͆́̽̈t͓͌͐ͣ ̧̟̰̟͗̓̓t̩̯͉͈̾̆̍̇h̋̂͊͡e̦̦̗̼̗̓͊̀͑͗ͯ̿̕m̸̖͕͔̹̹͔̦͂͌͆,̩̻͗ͩͅ ͖͈̀͆̈͒ͯ̀t̳̥̥̪̉͡o̶͎̩̙͙̪̰̙͆ͥ͋̚ ̛̱̭̗̮͖̰̂͌ͪ͆̓ͮ̀r̊͌ͦ̐u̓͛ͥ̀ͤ̄nͦͧ͒̋҉̬̳̗͚̗̮̯,͚ͩ̃ͪ̂̆̉ ̮̯̿ͣ̓͒́t̬̘̰͈̹͈̾̍o̳ͥ̾͆̚ ͕̫̻̝͙́̋͜ẁ̮͈͚̼ͮ̚͠o̯̦̮̼̟͗̿ͮ́ͫ̌r̶̲̼͕͇͊̆ͅk̲̳͑ͥ̓̔̚.͑̚͏̝̤ ̖͔̦̫̪͘ͅͅS͕̦̳̓̿ͯͯ͋͌́u̠͔̭͑̽̆c̤̃h̫̺̾ ̝͎̥̖̌̍͛ͣͮ̀͜s̗̅̿͡ͅt̥̻̘̺̖ͥ̆r̐̈̇o̤̣͙̜̊̚n̒̐̾̈ͪͮ̅͠g̶͙͉̭̱̥̯̻ͭ̚ ͌͏͎͚̥̤ḫ̻̽̎̕o̡͙̳̤͉̎ͣ͒̾̑o̥͙̭̮͔̰ͭͯ́v̡͈̲̐e̦̰̯̩̍ͪ̂s̶̙̥ ̠̼̟ͭ̒̍͋ͮ̚͞o̴͓͍̅́̀ͅn̵̠͐̈́ ̡s̸̙̦̳̪͛̀̉ͬ̌̍ͯt͍̘̉̏ͣȑ̰̻̭̒̍o̫͒ͣͭͤͮ̀ͮͅṉ̴̩͍̬̙̤̝̐̊̀̈́g̦̩̹̫̻̟͋̀̽ͤͣͨ̒ ̗̏͂̅͂l̥̠͈̮̘̈́̏̚ë̯̭̜́g̩̖͡s̹̻̫̪͎̝̪̀̓.̘̯͈͓͈̯̲ͧ̋͂ ̲͌ͪͩ͛S̸͚̫̹͐̏o͒͛̊͏͖͙͙̠̲͕ ̲͔͓̹̗͖͎̂̓̌ͦ́̎s̴̪̞̣͗ͫ̔t̹̘͍̳̦͒ͯ͒̉̇͌͑͘r̨͍̯͍̥̤̠͈ͨ͒ȯ͇̳͚̻͙̩̰̋n̛̰͚͔̠͖͐͌g͎͇̤̦ͤ̿͗̇ͩ.̟͔͎̦͔͟ ͔̣̘̹͕ͬ͗͐̆̑͠S̪̯͔̻̟̖o̗ͣ̑̍̌̽͞ ̗̉̽v͂̍ͤͣͯ̓͏̝é̛̹ͤ̆ͤͨͨr͔͉̟͕̻̫̩̃y̲̺͓͈̮̫ͪ ̵̝̬̭͍́s͍̜͖̒ͮ̈̅͜t̖̺͈̟͕̦̓ͯͨ͗̄ͫ͞r̴̺͇͋ͤ̂ͥ̾o̐̔̾ͮn̖̖̩͚͗̈͐͗ǧ̢̪͚͓̍͌ͯ̈́̑.̻̅ͮ ̞̖̲͈̞̒͝T̺̭̬̎ͫ̀hͮ͐ͣͩ͂̽ͧ͏͙͙̲͓̠̹͉e̠̟̤ ̔̿̀͏̬̱̘̩̘̜u̩͔̖̼͈͉ͣͨ͂̆̑ŗ̮ͣ̄g͖̟͑͆̋̿̚e̻̱͎̲̍ ̧̜ͭ̋ͩͬt̘̼͙̝̩͔ͤ͋͑͛̋͐̔ͅơ̻̝̦͔̬̞͛̎͌ ͎̱̭̞̗͎s̟̒̆́t̖̮̼̬̮̀̐̂̇ͥa̧͚̰̗͍̣̭͒͒n͉̻͊̂͠d͆̑̏ͣͤ͊͝ ̣͕̫̤̹̺̒͋̅̿̈́̋̾͠ó̜̗͓̘̙̤͓n͈͚͍̜͆̂͂ͧͬ̀ ͔͝ā̪̳͍̗ͧ͟l̹̚l̥̹̱̯̞̗̲ ̵̲̓̾ͩͦ̚f̩͔̽̃͂̎͒o̺̩ͣ̋̑ͫ̍̚u͍̳̜̝̠͡r̔̆̀͆̋͒͞s͇̲̺͇̬̦͗̈̚.̨̩͚̰̯̝ͅ ̙̘̙̹͖̈̀͑ͦS̹ͯ͌̐͗͒ͦ̌͟o̭̰͎͚̻̮̓ ̴̘͈̻͂͐̋̈̾s̷̥̲̥̝̄ͣt͇͒̆̇ͮ̊̀ͬrͧ̈́͒ͪ̅̏̇o̶͎̦̾n̡̥͙̻̭͇͋̾ͮ͑̓̓g̺̞̣ͅ.”

Trent sputtered out of his rapidly swelling lips. His body trembled as the joints in his arms began to shift. Muscles spasmed, adjusting to limit his range of motion. His shirt’s collar began to tear beneath his mass as his chest swelled in size, and his torso began to lengthen. It was getting harder to stand, and the tightening muscle in his rear forced him into more of a hunching crouch than a proper leaning as he began to teeter, his hooves stamping on the earth as he struggled to remain upright. But … why should he? This … was this upright? He rolled his eyes again, this time in confusion as he looked around. Things were … different, somehow. He had to turn his head to either side to look properly. That only proved to further disorient him as his ears rotated to find the location of each speaker in the stables. “S-stroonnnngghhhh–,” he struggled to say in a guttural voice. His vocal cords had shifted, stretching longer and thicker with his changing neck. He looked to his hands with one eye and watched as the black keratin began to spread. His middle finger swelled, turning completely black as it became harder and harder to separate his other fingers. Soon the keratin consumed his whole hand, leaving nothing but a broad, heavy hoof that continued to expand before his eye.

“Wh-whaahhhaaat’s … happe–NEIGHEHEIGH!”

The horses responded immediately, adding their own neighs, nickers, and whickers. His ears couldn’t flick fast enough to catch them all, furthering the dizziness, the disorientation. His chest burned as he struggled for air, breathing rapidly through his nose as the weight increased. He heard several loud pops that startled him, prompting another whinny as he jumped in the air. Unfortunately, this proved his downfall. As he slammed down on his hind hooves, the support of the wall disappeared, and he found himself falling, falling, but … things didn’t look different. He felt the impact on his front hooves, but … everything still looked the same. Well, except for the dizziness and his split vision, but the scents of the stall more than made up for that. He shifted a foreleg and took a step forward, feeling the vibration travel up his leg, feeling each new muscle, his new strength. No … just his strength. Strong hooves on strong legs. Yes, he was strong. So very, very strong.

The annoying pressure around his barrel finally gave way, and he looked back to see a flash of blue and white, before the color began to leech away and blend in his vision. Something clung to his back legs and rump, and he didn’t like it. Without even thinking about it, he began to buck, kicking out his hind legs as he pressed on his forelegs for support. The movement was as natural as breathing. In a matter of seconds, the offending articles had been flung into a corner of the stall. Trent snorted his satisfaction and disdain at the rags, then trotted over to his water trough for another drink. Trotting felt good, relaxing. The more he moved his body, the better it felt. He stuck his muzzle in and took a long draw from the container.

“G̞͈̥̪͇͎̽̈̑̈̍ơ̫͕͋̓ͣͪ͌ͭo͂̓ͬ́d̡̾̍̃̂͑̚ ̷͎̱̮͖͙ͭ̍͋ͩͫḣ̾̇ͨ̾҉̗͇̖o̼͍ͫ̉͌̍̐r̤̮͜ͅs͓͙̈́ͮͨ͞e͋̄̄͌̓͛s̨̥̬.̼̳̭̥̩ͪ͌̐̔̾ ̮͍͉̣̩̦̭̐J̺͕̇̌̈́̍ͪ̃̚͜u̹̤̱̫̣͕̱̐ͣ̑̏ͧ̾̇s̠̝̦̯̱̖͆͋̂͂ͯ͢ͅṯ̹͉̅̐̓ ̥̹̦̥̖̖̽ͤͧͨ̂g̢̗̫̻͂̈́ͭo̴̩̅̓̑̄͂̚o͚͖͔̩̮̞͈̊d̸̝̹̙̥̺̄̋̊͋͂ ̹̤̗̻̟̤̅̀ͤͣ́̚ḧ̺͔́ͧ͘o͐ͨ͒̉̓́ŕ̳̺̼͓̟͚͍ͬ̇̌͟s̤̗̺͇͇͌͐ͤͥe̼̩͒̏ͧ̚š̜͚̖̼ͧ̇͆́̂̀ n͏̫̖̰͚õ̗̼̯̙̙̬̬̉̈́́ŵ̱͍̻͉͓͂̑ͥͤ.̞̻͇̫̞̣͖͑ͪͩ̂̒̀̚̚ T͗̊h̙̬̻͕ͦͪͭi̛͐̓ͩͨn̜̣̘̙̔̿͝ͅk͕̪̖̞̩̙̬͘i̘̫̮̣̙͗ͦn̮̻̟̩̘̩̠̉̏͒̅͒g̹̯̥̗̝̤ͪͮ͞ ḁ̶̹̹̙̝ͧͤ̊̽̃ͅb̢̦ͥ̅ͤ̑̉ō͖͎͈̞̤͂ͣu̞̮̔̅ͬ͘t̮͇͙̮̹̝̔ͪ͆̄ͮ t̡͍͑̉́ͫh͖̤ͪͯ̇̾e̴̤̞̹͎͙̤͑͑͑̽͆̀̚ ̸͕͉͓̜͕ͯh͕͚̦̱͍͊ͯ̒͡ę̹̥̻̻̥͖͍͐̎ͦr͚͈͈͓ͩ̋͗͑̔̋͆d̔̈̍͏̱,̝͕̋ a̹̪͈̖͚͊͐̌̉̿͘b̎͛̃͗ͤ̏͏̫͎͓oͣͣ͏̝̩u͊҉̪͎̪͕͓̮ͅt̂̽͛ͫͨ̆̑ ̰̯͞m̩̥̲͑̓̓͋͋̅̏aͥ͒͂͏ţ̊ȋ͈͉̾n̟̥͍̤̥̭̹̊̋ͭ̾̔̃̐͝g͕͛͛̈́̐̿,͚͑͂́ g̘͔͓͖̫̳ͯͤͫ̂̈́̽ͩr̞͆́ȧ̩̪̗̆̎͌ͤz̘̹̻͕̤ͅi̩̦̪̹̩͗nͩ͢g͈͚̰̙̀,̜͕̞͛ l̡̥̫̺̻ͮ̒̐̃͌ͦi̢̯̳ͣ͗ͯͮv̩̥i̫̰͊͒͆ͦ͌̎͟n̥͔͓̲̱̥̫̊̑̾̋̌ͦ̉g̞̺̟̫̯,̯͖̙̻̎ͪͤ̄̉̓͢ ̋̏̋͝r͒ͣͦͯ͏̫̥͓u̇̍͠ń̨̜ͪn͍̍̇̋ͧ̈́̇̓i̧ͫ͐̊n͕͐̏̀ͮ̐ͯ͘g̠̅ͦͪ̈́̍́,̍̂̾͏͕̮̰͉̪͙ ̡̅ś̟͐̈́̈́̃̕l̔̾͛̔ͤ̇̽҉͎̳̟ė̷̻͗̐̉̎e̙͍̼͓̣̘ͦ̉͌̈́ͨ͑́p̴̤̫̻͕̮͚ͥ̓ͩ͌ǐ͇̑ͣ̽̆n̩͉̹͖̮̜̩͂ͣͩ͌g̖ͨ̓͑̄̇.̸̝͔̰͐ͨ̀ ̮̠̪͓̭̣̝ͤ͑ͧS̘͓̟̘̩̱u̬̘̪̮̅͌̾̚c̩̪̜̰̤͌̑h̖̭͎͚̪͇̫̎̋̽̾ͥ ͙͋̈́͆s̻͕̙͉͚̙͡ḭ̻͇̝̬̆ͬͥ̒̊́͒m̵̍̋́͑ͫͦ̎p͇͛͑̍́̏l̫̘̗̼̼̾ͭ̊́͆̌̎ẹ̸͈̳̬͇͓̳ ͙͚̏̀̎̒t͕ͭͬ̒̈̅͒̽́h̺̖̠̖͋́ͧ͌̈͌ò̗͔͎̌̃̅ͪ͛u̲̺̤̭̖͓̝̎ͩ̇̏͟g̢̣̩h̬̜̫̮̣̼̯̾̀͂́t̲s̭̞̣̙̩̓̌̑͌͊̀.̬̩̫̜̩̻ͬ͗ ͓̯̲̰̂ͫ̋̓̏ͅŜ̬̯̰̘̬̠̐ͬ͟l̥̲͕͉̥ͅo̲ͦͨͤw̷̮̙̻̪͇̽̅ͬ ͯ͒͒҉̥̼͚̣̻a̪͉͔̰̤̳̿͐n̼͓̱͔̱͂̐̀ͅd͎̺ ̴͓͊̑ͩͦ̿ͤ̌ṡ̘̪̬̦̩i̹̗͈̙̓ͩͧ̉͐̃m̛͕̤̬͙͙̾p̶̘̳͕l͇͇̗̻͉̬̑̏̋̒̚͜e͊͋̀.̜̯̣́͋̋̔̒ ̳͎ͧ̉ͫS̤͇̲̈̀i̫̘̥̹̭̠ͦ̈́̄ͬ́͑̄͞m̙̺̙̿p̜̻͕̣̙͐͂ͪ͗̐̑l̸̦̻̭͔̥ͩ͊̑é̖̩̄̂̃͆̂ ̩̳̰i̳͉͔̥͍̻̜ͦͦŝ̘̮̖͖̝ͩ͆͗́ ̣̯̖̾͗͌ͬ͊g̹͉̘͚̙͍͓ͩ̒̄͑̀o̙̺͍̜̔̊ͅȍ̻̹̺̦͉̟̪ḋ̤̰.̭̏̔͒̌͌͒̓ ̸͇̹̪̭͎̎ͤ͆͛̚̚I̛̬̳̖t̞̜͙̏ͫ̇ͪ̚ ͛̉͑͊̈́ͩ͟l̳͈͔ͪ̈́͆̏͗͟e̗̋͑ͨͬ̌t̊͛͐͊ͤ̽s͚̩̩͔̲̮̰ͦ͜ ̵͍̯̓͗ͮ̄y̠̣̩̝̱̯͋͑ͤͩǫ͕ű̴̥̙ͪ̀ͨͧ̉ ̆̄͂̏̌ͨ̿ b̻̪͈̼̟̺̹͑̓̀ȕ̠̿͒ͪͤͦi̵̺̹̮̺͑l͔̲̻̹̘̿ͩͮͯ͞d̹ͪ̆̆͐y̥͒̊ͬỏ̥̰̙̙̊̇ͨ̄́u̵̼͑r̨̲ͭ̍ͭ͊̔̉̾ ͈͕̩̪̺̦̇̑ͣ̌ͮͅs̞̲͍͍̞̲̈́̓͌̒ͤ̋ͪt̳͕̏̒͊͊̋͒̀̚r̛̠͉͖͕͔̞̊̿͂ͥ̓ͩ̚ẹ̖̜͎̦̩n̜̲̰̯̣̳͆ͥ̎̉g̺̞̬̀ț͖͚̏̇ͩ̐̑͌́̕h̦̜̫͋̾̎.̛̫̹̟̤̌ͭ̇̇̊ ̧ͧT̙̎͡h̙̗̺͎̹̓e̝̮̗͓͓ͯ͗ͨ͐ ̚̚͠s̢̪̳͇̒ͣͮ̾t̷̳̪̝͇̮̟̰͋̈̑̿̅̀ͩr̝͔̲̭̋o̧̪̠͍̩͚̊̇ͭ̈n̮̏g̭̘̜͓̖͑ͯ͌e̴̖͑ͣ̍ͭr̰̭̪͕̣̠ͨͥ̋ͤ ͉̺̹͙̪ͮ́͘y͚̰̖̖̲͚̽ͥ̆o̗̞̗̺̊͑ͩ̈́̓̍̚u̡̜̺̩̠̞͂̂͑ͦ̚ ͓̤̺̟̺̖͔̔ͧͯͧ͛ͩȃ̳̳ͅr͚̪ͬͅͅé̼,̵͇̫̳̰̮̠ ̯̲̝͖̩͔̅tͦͮ͒͑h͖̘̭̮ͪ̓ͬ̏̿͟è̲̭̱̝̙͉ͅ ̑ͫ̒s͂̎̔̍ĩ̝̤͓̻́m̛͍͔̰̦͙͎͑̌ͪ̌ͪ̓̄p̢̿̑̎l̹̙̤eͥ́̍̓ͦ̾͆҉̹r̍ ̤͐ͤͪ̉̑̆͛͘ý̾̈́̀ò̟̦ͨ̊ͫ͒̓̈́ṷ̖͈̫͈̎ͣͯ̂̋ͧ̅ ͭ̔t̳̙̙͕͒̎͒ͩ͠h̹͉̫͖͍͉ͦͅi̵̗n̸̘͓͋̿k̲̹̗̟͈̤̺ͦ̾ͯ͂.̰̜͕̹͚͕̐̒ ̱̘͖̈ͫ͂T̛̯̯h̻͈͙͈͖ͬ͊̅̇̐̏̾e̐ ̩̩̳̬ͬ͊ͭ̓̓̄s̷̲̐̉̌͒i̻̰̰ͧ̌͋͛ͦ̇̌m͖͈̮͎͈̲p̞̅̔l͇̰̖̝̟̭̻̿̇ͤͫ͞eͣ̇ͨ̾̒r̟̬̘͎̠̳̩̋ͮͬ͌ͣͨ ̨̫̳ͩy͓͇ͨ̽̉̀̍̚ͅo̵̯̮̹̤̠̲̞u͇̞̲͍͍͈ͭ̊̑̔ ̝̣̜̦̔ͧͭͫt̰̬̲̏̑̂ͅh͗̄̎ͫ͐́̐i͓̞͔̰̝͖̽̅͊ͩṋ̡̟̄ͫ̅̆̊̂̽ḵ̭̺̏,̟͔̗̬̭̯̐͢ͅ ͉͉̞̭̣̣͓̒͆͒ͤ̚͟t̜̓̌h̩̜ͅe̹̭̎̈ ͩ̍́ḙ̎͋͌̊̎̕a̲̞̲̳͍̽ͦ̒s̞͈̖̟̀i̙̱̹̙ͯͬ̏̑͐e̟̪͙̞̞͇ͤͤr̖̠̈́̐ͯ͊͟ ̮̗͚͎̹͎̹ͮ́̽́̍͗ͭ̕ĩ̥͖͎̯̳̟̟ͭ͗ͤţ̥͚̬̙̭͉̆ ͚̝̳̯̣̍ͪͮi̠ͩ̄̈́ͫs͚̱̯͔͉͈ ̖̥͇̫ͤ͊̌ͥ̀͠țͫ͂̓o͈̻̮͎̭̘͆̈̄̆ ̯̜ͣ̒̿j̞̠̬̥̹͍͉̓ͭͨͣ̿̽͞u̯̺̭̘̭̒̈̿̐̂͗̐s̘͍̪̹ṭ͋̊͐̓̕ ͊̕b̖͚͓ͯ̍͌̒͋̓̔e̲̺̙̘͚̥̼ͣ̌̒̓̌ ͪ̒͐ͧ̔ă͇̳̲̏͢ ̟͖̜̯̳ͬ͋͐ͦͫͤ̈ğ̠̖̬̖̿ͣͮ͑̍ͅo̪͉͙̊o̱͇̼̦̎̔͑̓̎́ͅd̨͌ͣͪ̒͂ͣ̇ ̳̼̤̃ͩ̀̐͛͊͠ḩ̬̪͙͍ͅo̸͚̰r̪͎̔̅̂ͩs̶̪̥̭̜̙ͦ͆͆̃̉͛̓e̘͖̐͟.̈́̇̓̌͐ ͖͍͇ͯͩ̄̀̑̀̚A͍̐̒̈n̡̜̘̫ͤd̗̹̺̯͇̬͉̆͂ͯͮ͐ ̣̖͚̲͕̦̣ͯ̚͠y̴̪͓͕͐̋ͪ́̐ͮͨo̼̓̇͐ͮ̓̊ͮŭ̮̂̊̾̌̎͋'̶̼̍̅͗̑ͧ̽̿r̻̖͂́͛̌̚e͙̤̰̞̖̎͂͌ͭ̓̀ ̏ͧ͏̺ͅal̷͉̝̣̹̖̙l̝̫̤̔̉̐̾ ̻̠̝͙͇̊̐̄̿̓ͥs̜͕̺̫̾̆ͦ̕u̎ͮ̿͒̈̒ͮ҉̜̝͈͕c̿̉̃̌̆̚͜h͔̲̰̹͈̙̏̓͢ ̫̘̋ͣ̒͢gͦ̂̌͡o̶̺͕̭͎̥ͬ̂̆̂̈́̀o̜̞̺̅̋̀̒̏̊ḑ̹̺͔̩͎̹͓ ̹̭̃͛ͨĥ͔̮̥̇ͤ̓̇̽o͔̮̘͊̉͟r̩̖̜̜̰̖s̘ͬ̍ͪ̊̽e̵̗̜͗̍̏̂ş͈̗͎̺̅͗.͖̱̪͉̝̹̻ͭ̑̔̔ ̶͖̼̇͒S̯̬͈̦̘͔ȕ̢̘̣̱͇͇̞ͬ͊̿c̴̺͎̻̪̮̜͖h̺ͦ̾ͧ̄ͧ ̜͍̖̙̹̽̐͗͗͢ĝ̟̺̺̅ͯ̌ͩ̌ő̾ͮ̂ͭoͯ̋d͔̠̮̥̣̆͆̀ͨ̇ͨ͡ͅ,͙̬̝͖̍̓̾̔͜ ̴̅̄s͏̼̜̗̤̟̘i͚͖̹͔͉ͯ͒͑̑ͦ̔ͬm̰̻͓͂̂́̂͌p̯͕̤̘̌l̲éͤ̀̿ͭ ͮͯ́̓̊̂h̪̥͈͖̃̍̄ͫ́́o̝͈̎ȑ̢̦͑ͦ̍̈̚s͚̞̩͖͑ͦͬẹ͖̿͛͌̽͋͌̃͠s̼͇̳̀ͬ͑̀.͞”

Trent swung his head slowly as he emerged from the trough. He curled his upper lip, exposing his massive flat incisors as he sampled the air. Horses. He smelled something coming from himself strongest. His own natural scent. Then the others. So many. He felt a warmth in his nether regions as the blood flow increased. A pleasant scent caused his new sheath to open, and he nickered his want as the weight of his scrotum increased, pulling down to hang comfortably between his much wider legs. He felt the brush of his feathers and fetlock hairs brushing against his fur as he clopped around. The stall felt smaller, but not uncomfortably so. The voice was so much garbled words now. He didn’t need to think about it. What he needed was one of those mares.

Time passed. He didn’t know how long. A simple workhorse didn’t care much for time. He simply went about his business, eating hay, drinking water, and relieving himself as he needed.

“Ah, there you are, Tremor. Come here. Let me get a look at you.”

The voice was strange. The horse didn’t quite understand, but it sounded familiar. And that sound … Tremor. Yes. That sounded … right. He approached the small creature and lowered his muzzle to the extended hand. He smelled something and stuck out his tongue to lick. Sweetness danced across his taste buds. He let out a sputter of contentment as his tail twitched behind him and the long hairs brushed against his rump.

“I was wondering when that would finally grow in.”

The sweet-giver bore its teeth as it patted Tremor’s muzzle. Tremor’s lip curled up, and he sampled its scent. It was familiar, somehow. Was this thing a part of his herd?

“You’re going to earn us quite a bit of money, Tremor. Congratulations, and welcome to the superior race of Equine kind.” It turned to another thing. This one smelled female. “Josephine, if you would,” the sweet-giver asked. It had a strange thing on its muzzle. Tremor could see himself in it, only he looked smaller. Tremor didn’t feel smaller. He tossed his head uneasily, and felt a reassuring pat from the sweet-giver. “Easy now. Easy. You’re a good horse, remember?”

Everything stopped for Tremor, and he lowered his head at the words. He felt something scraping gently against his fur, and nickered in contentment as pleasure ran over his body.

“Good horse,” the sweet-giver praised.

Tremor felt very sleepy by the end of the stroking, and swayed on his hooves as his eyelids drooped. His ears flicked absently at the sound of the sweet-giver laughing. He heard something rustle, then felt the guiding hand of the sweet-giver point him towards the center of his home, where a pile of warm, fresh hay had been laid down. Tremor needed no further encouragement. He clopped over and laid down on the makeshift bed, before closing his eyes and falling into sleep, where the last vestiges of his humanity would soon be trampled by his new equine mind.

Josephine shut the gate quietly with the shredded remnants of Trent’s uniform hanging in a bundle under her other arm. “I believe your experiment was a success, Doctor Silao. The subject has become completely equine in all ways, and stands at a full twenty-four hands tall.”

“We’ll need to keep monitoring him for the next few weeks. I want to see how well his new body reacts, before we move on to the next test subject. After all, we want to be able to offer whatever form a future customer may desire, even if their mass is significantly less. I believe we’ll go for an ectomorph next time. I want to see the results when there’s less mass to work with. Make sure to add that to the agenda, Josephine. Then take the samples you collected to genetics, and put a rush job on the records department. I want proof of lineage on my desk by closing time.”

“Of course, Sir.” Josephine bowed her head. “I’ll take my leave.”

Silao smirked as he looked back on the recumbent Shire Stallion. His sleek black coat, white muzzle stripe, and shiny white feathers made for a stunning appearance. The hairs Josephine had acquired would prove most enlightening in genetic analysis. Assuming this subject turned out as well as it appeared, then it was only a matter of time, until he could market this new product to all manner of companies: gyms, rehab clinics, hospitals, doctors. So many avenues for practical application. So many delicious ways to cure humanity. He chuckled to himself as he clopped his way past the cobblestones and out into the afternoon sun, then began to whistle as he spun his cane in the air beside him. He could hardly wait.

Howl’s Persona(l) Pred-dominance

This is a commission for an anonymous donor. I am open for more commissions, if people would like them. Just send me a message here on tumblr or email me a Omnikitsune@gmail.com with the subject header: Commission Inquiry. I also have a patreon and Ko-Fi. If you want unique content you won’t see anywhere else for muscles, jocks, hypno, or other modes of tf, feel free to peruse the tiers and select what fits best for you. Or just donate to help me in my desire to write and create for you full time. Thanks! And now for the story. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Greetings to the both of you, and welcome to my humble establishment.” The creature that stood before the men grinned, baring sharpened fangs and curling back surprisingly realistic artificial lips. His three tails swished behind him as his red eyes pulsed a fluorescent bloody red. His fur was predominantly black with bright red accents, and he wore a smart red vest over his torso as he addressed the pair. “I am Ronoc, One of this store’s main proprietors.” His lips curled into a sinister sneer. “How may I help you today?”

Both men shuddered as the fursuiter shook their hands.

“Uh, thanks,” Jason murmured. He cleared his throat. “We were looking for something for Halloween.”

“Hmm. A little late to be shopping, isn’t it, gentlemen? Most stores are out of the good stuff by now, and you never can tell what quality you’ll get when you order online.”

“Yeah, we know, but the invite sort of came last minute.” Jackson chuckled nervously as he ran a hand through his dark hair. The thick curls bounced back the moment he passed them.

“Naturally, naturally.” The man chuckled as his tails swished behind him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything in stock, would you?” Jason asked. His green eyes flickered briefly under the lights overhead.

“I have something for every occasion, Sir. It’s simply a matter of finding what you need.” He looked intently at the two, and the pair suddenly felt very small. “Choose well, gentlemen. Halloween has a way of changing people. And you know what they say about clothes and men.” He chuckled and turned aside. “Go on. Have a look. I’ll be waiting.”

“Um, where exactly are the costumes?” Jason asked. But when he turned, Ronoc had already disappeared.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jason.” He seized his friend by the jacket and pulled him down an aisle. “We’ll find what we need ourselves.”

Potions, swords, bows, accessories, wigs, vials, knickknacks, and even a funhouse mirror all flashed by. And then, at long last, the shelves gave way to the meat of the matter. Row upon row of masks, heads, shrouds, cloaks, mail, armor, and more gazed back at them.

Jackson grinned. “Jackpot.”

“‘Only one costume is allowed to be tried at a time per person. Please return your costumes to their place before you try another,’” Jason read. “‘Take your time. Omnistore wants you to feel comfortable in your new skin.’”

“New skin, huh?” Jackson smirked as he pulled a bulky costume off the rack. Its chest piece was loaded with padded inserts that simulated muscle mass. Two thick tusks jutted out from the lower jaw to frame the broad, flat face of the mask’s headpiece. He chuckled as he draped the frame in front of him and pitched his voice as deep as he could take it. “Berklug like. Berklug make strong warrior for party. Me take prize. Berklug will conquer.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Put it back, barbarian. It’s not like you’ll fit in it, anyway.”

Jackson sighed as he returned the costume to its rack. “A man can dream.” The eyes on the costume flashed red briefly, and Jackson frowned. “Man, they even light up….”

“Let it go, Jackson.”

Jackson sighed. “Fine.” He gingerly took his hand off the hanger and strode farther down the aisle. “But admit it, I would’ve rocked that character.”

“I’m sure you would have. Now let’s find a costume that works.”

“No elves,” Jackson growled.

“You really think I’d make you wear something so stereotypical?”

Jackson smirked. “You should be more worried about what I might make you wear.”

“I swear, if you try to stuff me into that sheep costume again….”

“Please, if I wanted to pull that stunt again, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“May I help you gentlemen with something?” The hellhound that stood behind them grinned as his polished curled horns glinted in the light.

A whole shelf nearly collapsed under the sudden impact of Jackson’s body. “You mean aside from not sneaking up on someone?”

The hellhound shrugged. “What can I say? I like a silent scare sometimes. Now, then, I believe the two of you were looking for the right costume, yes?” He grinned, baring all his teeth. “One might say these characters have a life of their own. I suggest finding one that suits your desires.” He raised a mask from a pedestal. “Take this, for example. The mighty werewolf: confident, brusque, dominant, powerful. He takes what he wants when he wants it, and he doesn’t care what other people might think or say.” He handed the mask to Jackson. Its insides were still warm as he placed his hands in it. “I think you’ll like being Howl.”

“And what about me?” Jackson asked.

The hellhound stroked his chin. “You strike me as one who’s a real party animal. You enjoy having a laugh and showing off your personality, but you’re not necessarily a jerk about it. Well, except maybe for when you’re drunk. Then you might be a little more … free with your expressions and opinions. You enjoy being with others in a crowd, a herd of sorts.” He sneered. “Yes, I think I know just the one for you.” He pulled another costume of the rack. This one carried bulky football pads and guards. The headpiece was an intricate creation coated with artificial fur that bristled and scraped like a deck of cards being shuffled. Murky brown irises seeped into the broad rectangular pupils. A box filled with clever inserts designed to mimic hooves was soon opened and revealed to Jackson’s gaze. “His name is Jack, an Italian from IPDB.”

“And what’s that supposed to be?” Jackson asked.

“Il Paese dei Balocchi. He works there in his time off, hanging with his bros, helping the herd. It’s a real tourist attraction. You know it better as Pleasure Island.”

A bray carried out the donkey’s gray muzzle.

“And it comes complete with sound effects and a unique throat spray designed to help modulate your voice to fit the character at no extra charge. On a temporary basis, of course.”

“I don’t know if a frat jock is really my thing.”

The hellhound grinned. “You won’t know until you try, now will you?”

“What’s your name?” Jackson asked suspiciously.

The hellhound bowed. “Judas Scarymutt at your service. I’m a ruthless retailer with a flare for making lucrative transactions.”

“And contracts are your specialty?” Jackson rolled his eyes.

“He catches on quickly, doesn’t he?” Judas asked Jason as he shoved the costume at Jackson. “Now go on, try them on. I think you’ll both be surprised at how well they fit.”

Jason was the first to emerge from the dressing room. His nose and mouth were slightly disfigured, having pushed outward while the nostrils became upturned and black. A hint of white stubble had grown in over his cheeks and jaw while his upper torso was mostly bare, save for some dustings of thicker silvery hairs over the shoulders, the back, his chest, and parts of his arms. The green in his eyes has lightened and pierced with the same intensity as the hellhound, albeit without the glowing to accompany it. His nails had lengthened ever so slightly, and callouses had begun to form on his hands. Two wolf ears poked up and swiveled in the higher portions of his head.

“There. Now what did I tell you? You and Howl are getting along swimmingly.”

“What did you do to me?” Jason finally managed to say.

Judas rolled his eyes. “Always with the drama. I didn’t do anything to you, boy.” He reached over and yanked Jason’s ears. Jason winced, but with a sudden pop, Judas was holding the mask again, and Jason was fully clothed. “There. See? Nothing wrong. You’re perfectly normal.”

Jason groped at his face and hair. No beard, no fur, round ears firmly situated on the side of the head, and no signs of claws or a muzzle.

“I guarantee you won’t find any costumes more real than the ones you buy here.” Scarymutt grinned. “Our customers usually prefer to keep them after. I can’t say that I blame them. Being something else for a while is very relaxing, especially if you have a friend to do it with.” He smirked. “Howl warmed up to you the minute he saw you. Take good care of him and he’ll take good care of you.”

Jason gaped at the canid as he grinned and his tail wagged behind him.

“Scared yet, human?”

The steady clop of hooves on the floor drew their attention away before Jason could answer. The door to the changing room creaked open to reveal a hulking form. The broad muzzle stretched forward as those same brown eyes stared blankly, surrounded by a rim of white fur. His shoulders grazed the sides of the entry as he passed into the costume department. His jaw was thick and firmly cut with rigid rectangular angles. A bristly mohawk stretched from the top of his head down his neck and back. Two large ears ringed with black and filled with white on the inside swiveled back and forth. His nostrils flared as his chest heaved inside the costume. A long ropey tail with a rigid tassel swung idly behind him and occasionally flicked at the air.

It stood there for a time, breathing deeply as it stared at the pair. Then its lips pulled back to reveal broader, flatter teeth. He still had his canines, but the rest of his mouth had altered to suit his more equine nature. His voice rolled over the pair as he opened his mouth. “Bro….”

Judas raised a skeptical brow. “Really? That’s what you chose to say first?”

Laughter rocked his frame as Jackson’s much altered voice reverberated, occasionally punctuated by a high-pitched bray. “I didn’t think it’d work, but damn, it fits like a glove.”

“A little effort often gives you the better quality in the end. Is it cumbersome? Perhaps,” Judas acknowledged. “But it is well worth it in the end. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister…?”

When Jason didn’t respond, Jackson took the responsibility on himself. “Jason Pettigrew. And I’m Jackson Morris. How are you guys still in stock when you have such amazing stuff?”

Judas shrugged. “You might say we’re more of a niche market. We only take certain clients. You two just happened to make the cut this year.”

“And how long is this stuff supposed to last again?” Jackson asked as he raised a small white bottle with a donkey’s head on the label.

“It varies. A few sprays should cover you for at least an hour or two.”

“That long?” He whistled. Jason wasn’t sure how the mouth moved to replicate the sound, but the noise came loud and clear, all the same. “So, I’m gonna be talking like this for a while, no matter what.” He sighed. “Great.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Judas assured him. “In fact, you might grow to like it.” He chuckled. “I can’t begin to tell you the number of customers we’ve had asking after just the spray, because they want to sound more masculine.” He clapped his hands. “But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? How do you like the costume?

“Fits a lot better than I thought it would.” He flexed a bulging arm and watched the spandex rise and fall with it. “Good feel to it, and realistic motion for the packaging, too. Has a great range of motion.”

“Naturally. You’re supposed to be a sports star, after all,” Judas said. “Among other things.”

“And heir to a fortune?”

“Certainly to a position of authority. A man has to lead and protect his own, now doesn’t he?” The hellhound smirked. “And you’re certainly fit enough to lead a herd, wouldn’t you say?”

The costume’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, bro.”

“I’d say we’ve found our winners.” Judas grinned. “Let’s get things settled, so you two can be on your way.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Believe you me, I know a thing or two about these sorts of things. You don’t have to say you want it for me to know you do. Desire is one of many things I can detect very easily. And I can tell by how you keep feeling up the costume that you desire it very much, indeed.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t think—”

“I’ll ring you up.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Jackson avoided eye contact with Jason as the two hailed a cab. They arrived home, and Jason was swift to expel himself from the costume.  After all that time spent with the much taller and broader shape, Jason felt a strange sense of disparity, seeing his roommate stride out of his room in regular clothes. Pale skin, dark hair, no mane, no fur, no hooves or football gloves. And no muzzle jabbing into the air.

No muzzle.

Jason shuddered as he thought back to that moment at the store. The heightened scents and sounds, the confusing sensation of his own ears twitching and shifting. Surely, it couldn’t have been real. Surely, it was some form of illusion, maybe a feverish dream prodded by his overexcitement?

“Scared yet, human?”

He barely suppressed the urge to shudder. Judas had played his role perfectly, perhaps a little too well. He could almost swear he’d smelled sulfur around that man. The swish of his tail, the many directions if flowed. That was too intricate to be randomly caused by a machine. And yet, the idea of magic being real, of actually taking over his body, turning it into something else. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!

“Stop thinking about it,” he muttered to himself.

“Thinking about what?” Jackson asked. The effects of the spray still hadn’t worn off yet. It would take at least another half hour. That was the one thing that remained different about his friend. The rest was familiar and well-grounded in reality. His bright eyes and spherical pupils. His curly dark hair springing naturally atop his head. The distinct location of his ears to either side of his head behind the temples. These were real. These were fact. The rest could not be.

“It’s nothing.” Jason shook his head. “Just got a little freaked out by that store clerk is all.”

Jason nodded in sympathy. “He was kind of a creep, wasn’t he?”

“He just got a little too into character for me, called me human, asked if I was scared. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but….”

“It did?”

Jason nodded.

“Aren’t you at least going to show me what you look like in your costume?”

“Maybe later.” Jason shook his head. “Right now, I just want to relax a little, de-stress.”

Jackson chuckled. “I hear you, man.” Jackson hopped onto the couch and flipped on the TV. A few minutes later, ESPN was commenting on the brilliant footwork of a running back that had busted past the blockade to break for the goal post.

“Seriously?” Jason asked.

Jackson shrugged. “What? Might as well study up to get into character. Besides, I happen to like the Colts.”

“They’re going to lose.”

“Now why do you have to be such a downer? Have a little faith, bro.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that to me.”

Jackson smirked. “Better get used to it. We’ve got a party to prep for.”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening air was cold and bitter as the two friends strode into the night. A well-toned six-pack stood out prominently from Jason’s abdominals as they walked, and his shoulders seemed a little broader. The hair was thicker than it had been when he first put the mask on, and the way it spread in such a way as to emphasize and accentuate the size of his muscles. The tattered remains of a shirt draped from his waist over a tight pair of jeans as a long flowing tail curved between his legs. His ears drooped low as he trod the cement on bare feet. The skin rippled over his bones with every shift, and the casual observer could easily note the darkening soles. Whether it was dirt or actual padding, however, would be up for debate.

“You sure you haven’t been working out behind my back, little bro?” Jackson asked. The addition of his hoof inserts had given him another three inches of height, projecting the illusion of a taller, brawnier equine. The throat spray rested in a fleece-lined fanny pack that jutted in front of his torso.

“Cut the crap, Jack. I’m not in the mood.” Jason reached back and touched his new appendage gingerly. He barely suppressed the shudder as new nerves told him just how very real the addition was.

“Aw, come on. I thought I sounded pretty good.”

“Yes, and everyone is going to be so impressed at how well you mimic a big dumb jock.” Jason rolled his eyes.

The lips on the headpiece drew down into a frown as Jackson laid his gloved hand on Jason’s shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

A low whine slipped out of Jason’s throat, and tears welled beneath his eyes as he shuddered. His chest hitched as he struggled to control his breathing, exposing his ribs with every intake. “I’m scared, Jackson,” he finally managed to say. “All this?” He motioned to himself. “This didn’t come in the package. I didn’t buy it separately or get it mailed. This is me, but … not me. Hell, this tail wasn’t even part of me when I tried the thing on at the store! At this rate, I’m of scared for how I’ll look by the end of tonight. I’m … I’m scared I won’t even be able to take it off.”

A startled yip escaped Jason’s throat as Jackson flicked one of his ears. “Then pull it off, bro.”

“What?”

“I said pull off the mask. Show me for a minute.”

Pulling the mask left his skull feeling almost like clay as he braced himself and pulled against his ears. It hurt briefly, but then the sculptor went to work pushing, massaging, and molding the snout back into a human face that slowly emerged from the rubber. The mask felt more like a second skin as he pulled it off. He could almost feel a heartbeat as he held the thing in his hands and shuddered. The sidewalk was much colder on his bare human feet, and the wind swept over his diminished frame without mercy. He looked up at his friend and was shocked to find that he looked even taller now than when they’d first left the apartment.

Glassy eyes stared intently for a time, first to the mask, then to his friend. Finally, he spoke. “You feel any different now than when you had the mask on?”

Jason shook his head.

“Did it hurt taking it off?”

Jason averted his gaze. “Just when I grabbed the ears to start it.”

“And did you like it?”

“What?”

The burst of a sigh escaped as a snort through the equine nostrils as Jackson doubtless rolled his eyes beneath the headpiece. “Did you like it? The mass, the fur, the tail, you know. Everything?”

“I … don’t really know?”

Jackson shrugged. “Then find out. Wear it for the night. Worst case scenario, you can take it off in the bathroom or something if you need a breather.” The lips curved into a smile. “Now come on. Put that mask back on. I wanna try something.”

The mask settled back into place again, and just like before, the artist squeezed and molded. Jason’s face pulled forward, his teeth sharpened, the thickening hairs returned, as did the ears and tail.

And then mindless bliss. Thick hoof-like nails dragged, rubbed, and massaged his scalp. His shoulders slumped, the world melted, and by the time he came back to reality, his tongue was hanging over his mouth as he panted. Jackson hunched over to whisper in his ear.

“Keep it on all night, and I might just do that for you again after we leave.”

Jason looked at his wagging tail in horror, then to his friend. “What did you just do?”

“Scratched your scalp. Most dogs enjoy it. Humans, too, actually. We’ve got a lot of nerves on there that send pleasure, if you know the right spots to touch.” He shrugged, and the shoulder pads rose along his artificially broad neck. “Now come on, doggo. We’ve got a party to get to.”

Surprisingly, Jason felt a flicker of anger at the nickname. “If you’re not going to call me by name, at least use the costume’s,” he groused, even as he avoided eye contact.

Jackson chuckled. “Sure thing, Howl. Whatever you say, bro.”

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun bleeding through the blinds finally woke Jason from his slumber. He groaned and stretched in bed. The last night had been a bit of a blur, but he remembered having fun, at least. He curved an arm idly behind his head and peered at the dresser across the way. The mask rested on its display stand. Its hollow eye sockets seemed almost to stare back at him as he yawned and scratched his stomach. “Morning, Howl.”

Naturally, the mask didn’t respond. Jason got out of bed and stretched again as he strode toward the bathroom in their shared apartment. The sight that greeted him at the mirror was his usual self. He scratched the stubble on his face and played with the wisps of hair that had grown on his chest. Once he’d brushed his teeth, he turned to the side and took another look at his body. The stubble helped to accentuate some of his more masculine features, and his black briefs hugged in all the right places. A hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “I’m looking good this morning.”

The first thing to strike his senses was the sizzle, followed shortly by the sharp and luscious scent of fat cooking off for that oh so crisp and salty joy that was, “Bacon….” Jason had to swallow back the tsunami of saliva that rose in response to that olfactory earthquake. He raced back to his room and quickly jumped into some pants and a shirt, then strode back into the kitchen, doing his best to avoid looking eager.

Jason was already at the stove, turning the food over with a set of tongs. His long black curls pushed angrily at the cap that even now held them in check, with only a few that broke free at the font of his head through the gap above the backstrap. The duck bill of the hat stretched out behind at a jaunty angle, and he grinned as he turned to face his friend bare-chested. “So, the wolf emerges at last from his den. Welcome back to the land of the living, bro.”

“You know, you’re not in costume. You don’t need to keep saying that.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s fun. Besides, it’s not like I’m bothering anyone with it.” He motioned to the table. “Take a seat, bro. Breakfast’ll be ready soon. I hope you like oatmeal.”

“At this point, I’d settle for leather, if I could get it now. I’m starving.” His stomach growled its hearty agreement.

Jackson smirked. “I could get you a rawhide bone, if you like.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he took his chair and scratched himself absently. “Not my kind of bone,” he muttered, then paused. Where had that come from?

“What’d you say, bro?”

Jason shook his head. “Nothing. We going to have eggs, too, or just the goop?”

Jackson gasped. “Excuse me, sir. I’ll have you know that my oatmeal is the finest in the land, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, because instant oatmeal is so hard to make.”

“It is when you add your own secret ingredients.” Jackson smirked.

“You’re not going to try to poison me again, are you?”

“As I recall, the poison in question that you’re so worried about coincided with a very nasty stomach virus that your own doctor verified as such. Don’t blame the cook for your body’s poor performance. Speaking of which.” He tossed an orange, and Jason was surprised to find he caught it almost immediately. “Eat up. You need more Vitamin C in your diet, you carnivore.”

Jason sniffed disdainfully. “You make it sound like such a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re about to get a heart attack from it.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t.”

Jason rolled his eyes and smirked. “Oh, shut up, jackass.”

Jackson turned and quirked his eyebrow. “What was that?”

“You’re the donkey. You tell me.”

“Ah,” he said as understanding dawned. “I’d be more careful about those kinds of jokes if I were you. This jackass might not always be around to save your sorry hide otherwise.” He smirked. “But I’ll let it pass this once. And only for the small price of one of your pieces of bacon. Isn’t that a bargain?”

Something in Jason’s chest lurched, and he could almost feel a physical pain at the declaration. “How could you be so cruel?” he asked forlornly.

Jackson shielded his eyes, as though they’d been struck by the sun directly. “Since when did you use puppy-dog eyes?”

Jason raised his brow in surprise. “Since never?”

“My heart would beg to disagree. I almost had a cute attack. Seriously, dude, turn those things off!”

“Okay, now I know you’re just pulling my leg,” Jason groused. “Come on, man, the fun’s over.” He sniffed the air. “And more importantly, the bacon’s about to burn. Flip it over.”

Jackson cursed as he whipped back to the stovetop to literally save his bacon.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The heavy thump of music pulsed through the night air as the two friends strode into the dark. With every passing streetlamp, the wolf man changed. Skin was gradually consumed by a lush coat of silver fur that seemed almost to glow as he strode forward. Silent, padded feet were soon replaced by thick bestial paws that clacked on the cement as they walked. His face contorted into a full bestial muzzle as they carried on. His furry ears swiveled to home in on the heavy clunk of Jackson’s new cleats. The equine hadn’t worn them to the first party in favor of adjusting to the new hooves instead. Now, he’d grown even taller with the help of the spikes embedded into the special shoes that had been designed with an insert specifically for hooves.

“Looking good there, little bro,” Jackson praised.

“It’s getting worse,” Jason noted. “I thought I was just supposed to be a partial werewolf. This is—”

“Cool.” He let out a brief husky chuckle. “Jase, you’re supposed to be big, snarly, and fierce. Own it. Don’t shy away.”

“Maybe,” Jason admitted as they passed into another pool of light. He paused a moment to flex his new muscle. The tension of his claws against the pads in his hands as the muscle pulsed and the blood surged filled him with a strange sensation. It wasn’t entirely pleasure, but not really painful either. More … anticipatory.

The pop of the pant seams in the dark heralded the next stage of Jason’s metamorphosis, and Jackson couldn’t help but let out a deep guffaw at the sight under the next street lamp. “Damn, bro. Somebody’s packing.” Jackson continued to bassoon as he smacked his padded thigh.

Jason had lost the tell of a blush, but canines are an expressive species by nature, and wolves are no different. His ears dropped low as a growl reverberated from his throat. “Look who’s talking, jock boy.”

“Hey! Don’t diss the Jack, bro.”

“Well, isn’t that what your character is supposed to be?”

Jackson grinned. “Bro, you wish you knew what I got up to on that island.”

“You mean what Jack got up to on the island.”

Jackson shrugged. “Gotta get in character. Shouldn’t you, too?” They passed through another gap. When they emerged in the light, a loin cloth had replaced the tattered remains of Jason’s clothes. “Your costume sure seems to think so.” He chuckled again. “How you feeling?”

“Honestly?”

Jackson nodded enthusiastically.

“Energetic and….”

“And?”

The growl that followed was deeper, and Jason’s voice soon followed as his chest barreled out and his neck thickened with muscle. “Swear you won’t laugh.”

“I swear.”

The hairs on Jason’s rapidly developing mane flared as he flushed with embarrassment. “… Aroused.”

Jackson grinned as he wrapped a huge arm around Jason’s shoulders. It was only too clear how much he struggled to hold back. “Alpha bod like that, I ain’t surprised, bro. Sounds to me like Howl needs to go on the prowl, if you know what I’m saying.”

Jason’s eyes couldn’t help but fall on the artificial padding at the donkey costume’s crotch. With each flash of light, it seemed … bigger than before. The compression gear was tighter over his thighs, and the padding in the arms gave a little too easily to be the typical foam or air insert. His nose twitched, and he detected hay, cologne, a hint of sweat. It was new, different, and yet … familiar. Was he turning, too? Was Jackson merging with Jack the same way Howl was merging with him? Was that … okay?

They’d stopped moving. Jackson was staring at him. The two were now much closer in height, maybe a couple of inches’ worth of difference. “Bro, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re bros. We’re supposed to be horny. Just gotta channel it in the right place. If someone wants to judge for it, screw them.” He squeezed Jason’s shoulders gently. “Bros gotta stick together, am I right?”

Jason’s mouth suddenly felt dry as the loin cloth tightened. He looked down past his still-developing chest.

The cloth hadn’t shrunk.

“Uh….”

“Come on. A good walk will help work it off,” Jackson promised. “We’ve still got time before the party.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Jason’s eyes roved over the gathering as he drank his punch. The first party had been spent alone to the side. He didn’t really need people to comment on his costume then. It was frightening enough just dealing with all the stares. Now, he was staring at them.

Before, it had been out of curiosity, a mere study of the costumes and interaction. This time felt more … purposeful. The loud thump of the music in his ears left him wanting to snarl, but he bore it with dignity as the rest of the partygoers reveled. It wasn’t their fault they had such poor hearing. It was sort of pathetic, in a way. Jackson was the only other one who seemed to understand. His ears swiveled like great satellite dishes, struggling to home in on the next sound. And yet, he seemed perfectly at ease. The social cues and interactions left many smiling or whispering after he left. The music was too loud to focus on trying to hear them. Jason could only hope they were speaking good things. If they weren’t….

It took him a moment to realize he was growling. His lips had pulled back to expose his fangs and sharper teeth. A good deterrent, but he didn’t want to deter. The whole point of this party was that he was supposed to be social and have fun. It was Halloween, for crying out loud! Or at least it would be soon enough.

The werewolf rose to his full height and sampled the air discreetly. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. It just felt right to do. He shoved awkwardly through the gathering, still not used to the mass he’d accumulated. Every brush against his fur, every bump on his side, every thump of his tail against someone’s leg struck him with new and strange sensory input. For a time, apologies flowed easily from his lips, but after enough rude comments and judgmental stares, his hackles began to rise. If people were going to be rude, he had no reason to give them respect.

They should show respect to him.

The anger should have clouded his judgement. Instead, it granted clarity. He could see clearly across the room. Cleopatra, Dionysus, mummies, dragons, centurions, and many more sorted through the space. Some were dancing with partners. Others sat to cool off or enjoy refreshments. Others still socialized with friends or built new acquaintances.

“Hey there, Mister Wolf. Care for a dance with Little Red?”

This Riding Hood was anything but little. Her red cloak shimmered in the light and cascaded like water down her back. Her hair was long and lush with vivacious curls and an artful smile that hinted at a primal hunger, one that the werewolf could sympathize with very well, indeed. Her dress was far from the simple village outfit most red riding hoods are associated with. One could say it came closer to the Scarlet Witch in its design with sparkles woven throughout the fabric that glinted with every motion she took. The tight bodice emphasized the curves at her waist and near her chest. Instead of a skirt, a pale translucent body suit colored to look like skin stretched down to a pair of high scarlet heels. All she needed was a crown to complete the ensemble.

“Last I checked, the wolf was the last one Red would want to see,” he countered.

“Fortunately, this Red isn’t a little girl.”

Jason sighed. “One dance,” he allowed.

“We’ll see.” She smirked as the two entered the dance floor. Jason was far from graceful, but the girl more than made up for it. And beside that, he soon found himself adapting to the pattern as they waltzed. He still couldn’t control his tail well, but the couple were able to dance well enough. Those who attempted to complain were met with an angry snarl.

“And what should I call you?” Red asked.

“Howl,” Jason said brusquely. He didn’t know this woman, and he liked her even less. She was being too forward, and her body language read differently than someone looking for a good time. When the dance came to an end, he stepped away. A soft hand grabbed his. “I said one dance,” he reminded her.

“And I can’t treat you to a drink?”

Jason deliberately reached to the woman’s hand and carefully dislodged it. “No,” he said simply. And then he left. It didn’t take long to locate Jackson. He was busy chatting it up with some of the other more serious costumers. The wolf in him always kept track. Was it worry that caused him to keep such a close eye, or something else? Frankly, he wasn’t sure.

He settled down next to the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender’s face was painted to replicate a skeleton, and his hands were coated in gloves with a similar skeletal design. His shirt and vest highlighted a svelt figure, and Jason couldn’t help but notice the tone that pressed lightly against the shirt. This tender was modest, but he was clearly well built.

“Having fun?” the tender asked.

Jason shrugged. “Could be better.” He shook his head. “No date.”

The tender nodded sagely. “That’s always tough. There are a lot of people here, though. You could probably find someone, if you really wanted to look.” He shook the blend, then poured it into a glass and passed it down. “Careful. This is strong stuff.”

“I think I can handle it.”

The tender chuckled. “I’ll tell you what. You drink that and don’t get buzzed, and the next one’s on the house.”

“Won’t that take a half hour, at least?”

The tender shrugged. “I don’t mind waiting. It’s not like I have much else to do.”

Jason took a deep breath. The sterilization of alcohol and other products was strong here, but mingled with it came the smell of aftershave, a hint of spice, and something else that set his heart to pounding. The loin cloth tightened under the counter, but no one could see it, so Jason did his best not to draw attention to it. Surprisingly enough, his consciousness seemed to listen, and he leaned on the counter with both elbows. “I suppose I can spare a while.”

The bartender grinned. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Call me Howl.”

“Then I guess you can call me bones.”

“Bones, huh?” His mouth pulled into a grin, baring his teeth. “I like bones.”

The skeleton smirked as he pushed the glass toward the wolf, drawing the big clawed hand over to the stem. There was no fear or judgement in those eyes, only an invitation, a desperation, a hunger. “I think you’ll like this even more. Let me know what you think.”

Both men licked their lips. Jason raised his glass. His eyes drifted again over that frame. Again, that surge flowed through him, and a giddy sort of high came with it before he even took a sip. His tail wagged. His teeth flashed. He’d found something. Something important. And he wasn’t going to let it go, whatever it was. “I will,” he said as he downed the concoction.

Howl needs to go on the prowl. That’s what Jackson had said. Perhaps, perhaps Howl had found what he was looking for.

Bones grinned. “Now comes the fun part.”

Howl grinned in turn.

There wasn’t much thinking left to do by the end of the night.

Only taking.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

As he had a week before, Jason rose from his bed. His head was groggy, but surprisingly, no headache followed. He felt … good, full, … satisfied? This time, he brushed the fur of the mask. “I don’t know what we did last night, but damn do I feel good.”

He grinned at himself in the mirror. Beautiful white teeth and sharp canines bared back at him as he brushed his teeth and attended to the morning queue. He lingered in the shower, relishing in the sensation of the warm muscles, the pump they seemed to generate. Whatever was in those drinks last night must have done wonders. He laughed as he left the shower and stood in front of the mirror again. The stubble had thickened into a proper short beard. His jaw looked sharper, his eyes brighter, and the sight of his chest rising and falling was practically mesmerizing in and of itself.

The cry of a sportscaster shouting, “Touchdown!” over the television speakers in the living room pulled him back out of his trance.

“Aw, hell, yeah!”

Jason lumbered into the television room out of curiosity. A man with broad shoulders and a black Under Armour compression shirt hooted from the couch. The sides of his head were shaved down to stubble, with a long black strip running down the middle. There wasn’t a single sign of a curl to be seen.

“Jackson?”

Jackson grinned when he turned to face Jason. His face was broader, his forehead more prominent. His neck had filled with muscle, and his arms were pumped from a morning workout. “Well, look who finally woke up.” He chuckled. “Finished resting on the laurels of your conquests, Your Majesty?”

“My … what?” Jason blinked in surprise.

“You were a fucking beast last night,” he crowed. “The girls were all over you, and you snuffed every last one of ’em. You’re gonna be infamous!” He chuckled. “And it gave me plenty of time to comfort a few of them after you let them down.” The compression gear he wore highlighted bulky thighs and held the bulge that pressed there. While not so large as Jason remembered from last night, he knew this wasn’t normal for Jackson.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jackson?”

“Never been better.” He strode to his roommate and smacked him on the back. “And call me Jack, bro. I told you before, it’s easier.” He transferred the hand to Jason’s head and rubbed furiously.

The whole world melted under that touch, and Jason’s shoulders slumped in ecstasy. Jackson’s laugh brought him around again.

“You go get dressed. I’ll prep you something to eat. An alpha’s got to take care of himself, right?”

“Uh … yeah….” Jason blinked and broke the contact. “I’ll, uh, see you in a few.”

Jack waved dismissively. “Take your time, bro. The food won’t be in a hurry to cook itself.”

Jason nodded slowly and stumbled back to his room. He patted his head, then shook it to try to disperse the sensation. He closed the door and got dressed. The pants felt oddly constricting, and his skin almost itched when he pulled on a shirt. Finally, he flung it to the ground and stalked up to the mask. “What did you do to me?” he snarled. “What did you do to Jackson?”

Naturally, there was no response. The mask remained silent. That didn’t stop him from imagining what it might say, though.

I gave you what you wanted. Confidence, power, strength, the ability to take what you want without fear, without worry, without consequence. And you did. You may not remember it clearly, but you did, and you loved every minute of it.

Conquest.

The brush of lips against his snout.

Control.

Snatching a stray body onto the dance floor.

Dominance.

Scrawling a number. Adding to contacts.

Compulsion.

Hot breath over a soft neck. A sharp nose near the ear. The whispered command. “Call me….”

Presence.

Jackson’s words reverberated in his skull. He would be infamous. Snuffing the girls. Every one of them. But … then who had he asked to call? Whose lips did he touch? Who … who brought out the beast?

You know. You just don’t want to admit it.

Admission. Admission of what?

The night flashed again. The bulging crotch in Jack’s costume. The tone on the barkeep’s build. The resistance to his grip as he pulled the man onto the floor. The smooth, deep voice that sent goosebumps up his flesh at the mere recollection—

…

The man.

…

It was a man.

They were all men.

“Oh, god,” he swore. A sympathetic tingle rose in his crotch. This time, when he looked at the mask, he could swear it was smiling.

His appetite was gone. The dry mouth that followed came from shock, rather than lust. His phone went off. He checked the screen.

A wall of text bubbles cascaded down the screen.

Hey. You told me to text you, so … yeah. This is Jim.

John here. Had a great time last night. What’s your Facebook info?

Phil checking in. You doing okay, man? You looked sort of out of it on the way out of the party.

Jason wanted to be sick.

He wanted to be, but he wasn’t. Instead, his body betrayed him as blood surged and a familiar tightness rose in his crotch.

Passing faces. Eyes, ears, necks. Bits and pieces and parts of wholes, each associated with the names flashing by on his screen, like a collection or a trophy rack or a, a—

His eyes widened in horror as he looked back at the mask. “A pack,” he rasped.

The mask didn’t move. It didn’t need to, even if it could.

“I’m not gay. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not!” Jason shook his head violently as he fell back onto his bed. “Get out!” he ordered. But his brain wouldn’t listen. Like a barely lucid dream, he had no control. He could only watch as piece after horrifying piece fell into place in the weave of his memory.

His chest tightened. His breathing came faster. The sheets felt suddenly cool as his rapidly beating heart pumped hot blood through his flesh. Heat for denial, and for arousal.

“I like girls,” he cast into the air. Whether he was talking to himself, the mask, or both, he wasn’t sure. “I’ve dated them loads of times. Hell, I’ve had sex with them and enjoyed it!”

Yet now, when he thought back on those times, the blood flow lessened. His body calmed. He barely got a twitch.

“This isn’t right,” he said softly as he shook his head.

The phone went off again. This time, his whole body tensed. The hairs along his arms stood on end and thickened as he looked over the words. His breathing sped.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about that invite you gave me. If you’re still okay with it, I’ll be glad to come with you next week. Just text me the address.

~Bones

Bones had texted him, just like the rest.

The scent of old spice, licorice, and those beautiful blue eyes that seemed almost to glow under the blacklight in the bar. So intoxicating, so inviting, so … much … want.

The pressure against his legs forced him to spread them. He watched in horror as the bulge pressed against his crotch. It wasn’t obscene, but it was prominent. And it was his, not Howl’s, his.

But … Howl may have used it. Why else would he be this way now? Why would he be feeling these feelings? Why would he go after those handsome men and … and…?

A donkey’s bray snapped his attention back to reality.

Jason bolted toward the source. The door burst open in his haste to reveal Jackson’s room. The donkey head was still on its stand, right next to the pads and gear. Jackson turned in surprise to look at his friend. The sprayer was in his hand, the plunger already depressed. “You okay, bro?”

Jason trembled. “Jack, what’re you doing?”

“Testing the costume. Some idiot knocked me upside the head last night. I just wanted to make sure everything still worked.” He pressed a button in one of the gloves, and the braying sounded again.

“Jack, I … I don’t think we should keep wearing the costumes.” Cold. It felt so cold. Why was it so cold all of a sudden?

Jack furrowed his brow. “You don’t look so good, bro. Maybe you should get back in bed.”

The room spun. Jason leaned on the door frame for support. “I … I get the need for testing the suit, but … why the spray?”

Jack blushed as he hastily put the cap back on. “I … I just like it, okay bro? I like sounding like this. I like playing the big bro. I just feel … better like this. Like—”

“Like another person,” Jason said bluntly.

Jackson looked like a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar. “Well, yeah, I guess. It’s just … I kinda like it.” He popped a flex. “I mean, look at me. Look at us, bro.” He chuckled, and his eyes rolled as his chest heaved against the fabric. “Fuck,” he swore. And then he did it again. “Huhuhuh….” He triggered the mechanism. “Huhuhuh-HAWWWWW!”

Mask and costume spun around the man with the whorl of Jason’s rushing heartbeat, Jackson’s laughter, and the donkey Jack’s. The ghostly apparitions seemed almost to fuse as the world faded into a blur, and then came the darkness and merciful silence.

The scent of sausage, cheese, tomatoes, and spices pulled him around. He found himself laying in his own bed. Before he could even think, the tasty treat was already in his mouth. Gooey cheese blended with seasoned hash browns and tangy salsa. He chewed. He swallowed. The world cleared.

“Jason. You okay, man?”

Jackson was there. His broad frame blocked most of the window as he stood up with foil-wrapped breakfast burrito in hand. His voice had returned mostly to normal, though there was a definite timbre that pulled to the lower registers of his regular voice.

There was only one logical conclusion to make as Jason drew himself up in the bed. Jackson must have carried him in. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough.” Jackson frowned. “I didn’t think a costume could get you so worked up. If I’d know, I wouldn’t have … I don’t know, I would’ve done something different. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jason’s stomach growled. “I will be after I get that burrito down.”

Jackson smiled weakly. “Well, at least your appetite’s not affected.”

“Appetite’s probably the only thing.” Jason frowned as he took his burrito and tore another chunk out of it. “Jack, something’s wrong with me.”

“We talking doctor wrong or—?”

“I’m talking me wrong, like my body, my head, I … I don’t know, not like hospital bad, but I’m just … I’m messed up and I’m freaking out because of what’s been going on.” Tears welled in his eyes and coursed down his cheeks as he took another heavy bite, tearing part of the wrapper with it. He fished it out of his mouth, then chewed and swallowed the rest.

Jackson took a seat on the side of the bed and laid a supportive hand on Jason’s knee. “Tell me.”

“Jackson—”

“Jack,” he corrected gently.

“Can we please not start with that right now?”

“All right, man. But tell me what’s going on.”

Jason averted his gaze. “I … I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But somehow, someway, I … I’m….”

“Yes?”

“I’m turning gay, man!”

Jackson blinked silently a few times. “Is that all?”

“Is that all? My entire sexual orientation is pulling a one-eighty and—oh, god damn it,” he swore as his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment in equal measure. A tent had formed under the sheets. He quickly moved to cover it with his hands.

Jackson shrugged. “Bro, I’m bi. I just slept at other peoples’ places so it wouldn’t get awkward, you know?” He shrugged. “Maybe this is just a side of yourself you’ve been holding back on.”

“I would know if I was gay before, Jackson. I’m not some homophobe, but this is seriously unsettling for me! I mean, put it in your perspective. What if you went from bisexual to asexual overnight? No attractions, no way to get little Jack there to buck. Wouldn’t that freak you out?”

Jackson frowned. “Maybe a little,” he allowed.

“Exactly! I don’t hate gay people, but I don’t want to be gay, man! I liked liking girls! It’s who I was—am.”

“It’s part of who you are,” Jack corrected seriously. “A small part.” He stood up and flexed. “Look at me, Jason.”

Jason looked away guiltily.

“I said look at me, bro.”

Jason kept staring at the sheets. Two hands seized his head and twisted it.

“I said look at me, little bro.”

Jason suddenly felt breathless. The blunt face, the rugged features, the deep, low voice. And this time, he didn’t need the spray. Was it a residue, was something else altering it, was it just a figment of a wild imagination? Either way, he shuddered. The rush flowed again. Heat. Swelling. Manhood.

Dominance.

Jason’s hands seized Jackson’s wrists and squeezed. “Don’t touch me,” he growled. “If I want to do something, I’ll do it. I won’t have someone do it for me.” Despite the lack of mass, he held his own against Jackson. Or maybe Jackson was holding back. He didn’t know, and part of him didn’t seem to care either way.

Jackson smirked. “Make me, bro.”

The two wrestled like Spartans over the bed. The sheets were tangled and then kicked aside as they rolled and kicked and kneed and elbowed. Back and forth, blow for blow.

“That’s it, bro,” Jackson said with a cocky smirk. He nearly had Jason pinned. “Work it out.” Then he sneered. “Or would you rather beat it out?”

Jason snarled at the lewd reference and broke the hold with renewed strength. They continued to grapple for the next five minutes. Neither gave ground. In the end, however, Jason finally found himself straddling a heaving chest. The sleek black material glinted in the room’s light, further highlighting the hard muscle that lay underneath. The blocky features and broad nose were pulled by a grin.

“Fuck, bro. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Jackson panted.

Jason hovered over Jackson’s face. His breath mingled with that of his conquest. “I didn’t either,” he admitted.

“So, what’re you going to do now?”

“I … don’t know,” Jason admitted. “Maybe just … stay here a while?”

Jackson’s smile was warm and gentle as he looked up at his friend. “I’m good with that.”

The two laid there together, both chests heaving, both pumped full of blood and testosterone. And though they hadn’t lain in the biblical sense, the two had been joined on a different, almost instinctual level.

Jason finally rolled off his roommate and panted. Jackson’s hand interlocked with his. He didn’t pull away this time.

“See, bro?” Jackson asked. “It’s not so bad.”

Jason’s head lolled to the side. The mask and its stand had been knocked off the dresser. Its empty sockets stared into his eyes. Once more, things felt heavier, thicker, tighter below. But for once, he didn’t care. He was high on the victory. So very high. And so damn tired. Too tired to focus on denial.

“Yeah, … I guess so, … Jack.”

“Huhuh. That’s my bro.”

“Shut up and let me enjoy this.”

“Is that an order from the Alpha?”

The pleasure doubled. His vision of the room cleared. He had dominated. He had won. And he had just received acknowledgement of that victory. His voice was deeper when next he spoke. “Yes, Jack. Yes, it is.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The two friends strode confidently down the street. The cold air didn’t bother them, nor did the noise of the city. Their ears had long since adjusted. The equine had guzzled the rest of the voice treating bottle in one go, and the effects were far from disappointing. A thick adam’s apple jutted from a heavily muscled neck. Jack’s gear strained against burgeoning muscles he definitely didn’t have last weekend. His thick brow and wide forehead emphasized the bestial features of his “mask.” White buck teeth were bared in a witless, giddy grin. A water bottle sloshed at his side, connected by a strap to his waist.

“What are you planning, Jack?” Jason growled suspiciously. His thick meaty paws were silent as he prowled along the sidewalk with his friend. Unlike the previous weekend, the costume hadn’t felt the need to have a loin cloth. The moon shone brightly on them, and with every step, Jason felt more powerful and confident than ever before.

“Just a little fun, bro.” Jack smirked.

“What’s in the bottle?” The question rang with the tone of command.

“Just a little something I brought from home for just such an occasion.”

“Home?”

“Good old IPDB. Bro’s gotta have a herd to hang with, ya know?”

“What, I’m not good enough?”

Jack punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Nah, you know it’s not that, Howl. It’s just … sort of a need, you know? You need a pack, and I need a herd. Don’t tell me you’re not planning on making a few new wolves tonight.”

“That’s my affair.” He sighed. “All right. How many bowls are you planning to spike?”

Jack grinned wider.

“You’re not going to spike all of them,” he snarled. “I like you, Jack, but if you touch any of my claims….”

“Whoa, whoa, chill, bro.” Jack raised his gloved hands placatingly. “I may be a dumbass, but I’m not suicidal.”

“Good. I’d hate to lose one of my favorite chew toys.”

Jack smirked. “Glad to see you’re getting into character, Howl.”

“I liked it better when you called me bro.”

Jack’s brown eyes dulled as he guffawed. “Huhuhuh. Whatever you say, bro.”

“Because…?”

A bray passed into the night as the bulge in Jack’s crotch swelled. “You’re the alpha, bro.”

“Good donkey.” The werewolf leaned closer to his companion and chuffed in his ear before he whispered, “And don’t you forget it.”

The entrance to the conference center was flooded with people. More than half the city had to be assembled or be assembling for the gathering. Jason was worried about finding Bones in the crowd. Howl, however, remembered his scent well. The pair shoved the other partygoers aside as they approached an alcove to the side of the main entrance. There he was, in full costume. His bones seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. Howl slavered at the sight. Jason kept the alpha in check, albeit only just. It wasn’t time yet.

…

Whatever that meant.

“That’s quite an entrance,” Bones noted.

“I like to make an impression,” he responded.

“Is that so?” Bones smirked. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Jack, my roommate.”

“Sup, bro?”

Bones raised a curious brow.

“Believe it or not, he talks like that all the time.”

Jack shrugged. “I like to KISS.”

“Well, that’s … pretty up front.”

The werewolf rolled his eyes. “It’s one of his jokes. KISS: Keep it Simple, Stupid.”

Jack grinned. “You know you like it.”

He let out a longsuffering sigh. “Oh, the burdens one bears to have a roommate.”

A light punch to his shoulder was followed by a quick guffawing bray. “Shut up.”

“Well, you two look cozy,” Bones noted.

Howl wrapped his arm around the man and pulled him close. “Nah. This is cozy.”

“Oh, my.”

Jack laughed again. “Okay, Takei. I’m gonna let you two love birds have some fun. Catch you later, bros!”

Dancing, chatting, games, laughing. In the matters of physical prowess, Jason left it to Howl. In the matters of social interaction, Howl left it to Jason, barring certain interlopers who might want to interrupt the evening. The more time passed, the more difficult it became to differentiate between the two. Was it Jason who pulled Bones for another dance or Howl? Did Howl bare his teeth at interlopers, or was that Jason not wanting to let go of the fun from the evening? Who swept Bones out of the way when a waiter was about to crash into him? Whose mouth watered at the chicken salad Bones heaped on a plate? Who shoved the food into a gaping maw with both hands, then licked the food after?

…

Who dragged Bones to the bathroom with a paw over his face and teeth near his throat?

“Quiet,” he whispered. “Let me explain. I won’t hurt you.”

The loud brays and guffaws from Jack drew the attention of much of the crowd as he challenged foes to arm wrestling contests and other forms of entertainment. The revelers high on the donk’s special concoction probably helped, too. Howl knew he’d owe the lug big time for that distraction.

The handicapped stall was the only option that would work, given his size.

“I’m going to take my hands off you now.” He grit his teeth. “I’m … asking you not to scream.” The face paint was smudged when the werewolf finally removed his hand. He backed away and squatted on his haunches, though his whole body was tense. It was easy to read how much Bones wanted to run, and he had to be ready to prevent that. “Please don’t try diving under the stalls. I really don’t want to have to pull you back. I just need you to calm down.”

“What…?”

“I’m still the same wolf you met last weekend. Same personality, same allure, same confidence.” He looked away. “… Same attraction.”

“Attraction,” Bones repeated almost disbelievingly.

“I’m a wolf, not a monster.” His tail drooped. “And I’m still a man. Others, I could take in a heartbeat. I’d wrestle them, hold them, make them mine. That’s what I’m supposed to do as the alpha. But you, you’re … different.”

“How?”

“Look, I can’t put it into words, okay? You’re just … different!” A low growl rose in his throat. He bit it off quickly. “If you were like me, I could explain it a lot easier.”

“Like you?”

“Yes, like me! I’m a wolf, damn it! We speak with our bodies a lot better than our words. Hell, I thought you read me just fine last weekend.”

This time, Bones looked away. “And are you always, well, … you know?”

He shrugged. “I’m a wolf, Bones. My mother named me Howl after Howl’s Moving Castle, not because of our species. Does it even matter? I’m still a man, whether I’m like this or furless.”

“How do you deal with … everything?”

The werewolf shrugged. “One day at a time. It helps having a pack to fall back on. And there are a few allies who help keep things relatively secret. But … I don’t think they matter to me right now.”

“Because?”

He lunged, Howl and Jason together. Both pinned Bones to the stall. Both breathed on his neck. Both felt the heat between their bodies, and it was electric. “Because I want you, damn it. I want to be with you. I want for there to be an us.” He pulled back slightly, and his wide eyes glistened under the fluorescent lights. “Don’t you, too?”

“I…”

“Please, Bones.”

“I … I don’t—” His body began to shake.

“Join my pack. Join me.” Both breathed heavily as Howl stooped closer. “Barring that,” he whispered. “Just kiss me.”

“… Oh, god,” Bones rasped. Then arms wrapped around the wolf’s neck and pulled. Black lips touched black and white. The stalls rocked.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Two wolves strode confidently out of the bathroom holding hands. One wore only his fur, the other the tatters of his dress shirt and casual slacks. The loudspeakers carried over as a familiar figure with curling dark horns chortled on the stage.

“The witching hour has come at last. Let revelers play and spirits dance. Set all those human cares aside. It’s time to dance on the wild side.” He chortled, then broke into a familiar crooning song. “I put a spell on you … and now you’re mine….”

Jack brayed in delight as men and women tore through their clothes to reveal familiar crosses developing on their backs and broad blocky muzzles. The more he brayed, the faster the changes went.

Not to be outdone, the wolf raised its head and howled as the clouds parted through the skylights above to let the moonlight filter down on the dance floor. Officers shredded out of their uniforms. Snarling men clawed their suits apart as their chests expanded with muscle and their faces gradually extended into sharp-toothed maws. Fur and tooth and hoof and claw replaced the skin and delicate features of the creatures that had once inhabited the dance floor.

By the time the song reached its final refrain, everyone was dancing.

“So, do you regret your decision, Bones?” Howl asked as he stared into his mate’s eyes.

“If you treat me like that every night? Not in a million years.”

Howl chuckled. “That’s my Bones.”

“Bout time, bro!” Jack hooted his approval and pumped his fist as he danced past with a jenny in one arm and a swelling jack pulling the pumping fist in question around his shoulders for the other.

Jason and Jackson were both long gone. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say they evolved into something more, something they wanted, or perhaps needed. Regardless of the case, Howl and Jack were both very satisfied customers, and things were about to get very interesting, indeed, in this city. Judas sneered as he continued to croon.

“I put a spell on you, and now you’re gone….”

Curse Chapter 3 (Patreon Preview of Final Part)

Jack became … I don’t know if I would call it obsessed or not. It’s difficult to describe exactly what he was like at this stage of things. He continued to grow more muscle mass. And while he was still feeling cocky, he even went so far as to shave his head in a fade cut to look more “manly.” Every once in a while, when I caught glimpses of him, he’d be adjusting his crotch.

His exploits became more common knowledge. There were no charges, of course. He was still technically a minor, and the girls he had sex with were only too eager to please him. Apparently, a scouter or two had come as well to see just how well Jack was doing as he played. Nothing too fancy, mind you, but enough to stroke his ego. And Jack reveled in it as he showed off for the crowds.

The first sign of something strange came during lunch break. Jocks have a tendency to be loud and boisterous. But in their defense, you kind of have to be if you want to be heard over the chatter of an entire lunch room full of teenagers. I still don’t know what it was that set him off. All I know is he found something funny, and he was laughing himself to tears. He rocked back and forth on the lunch table’s bench and smacked his hand against the tabletop.

Now, when people laugh, there are times where they almost seem to exhaust themselves and their chests and throats. The breath comes more like a series of gasps, and eventually can degrade to a raspy sort of inhalation that catches in the throat. That’s basically what happened here before one particularly strong burst of sound emerged in a mighty, “HAWWWWW!”

That was enough to snap Jack out of his little laughing spree and rub his throat, though the rest of his friends on the team teased him over it. I wasn’t one to stalk a bully, especially when I was under careful watch, myself, so I pretty much just let things slide for Jack. I didn’t really know how bad things got for him.

---------------------------------------------

If you want to read the rest of the story and enjoy some of my other works for muscle or transformation, follow this link to my patreon. To go directly to part three of this story, follow this link.

"Giggity giggity get out of my swamp"

So, uh, I just knew this animation evoked some memory.. And.. Guys, I figured it out.

Like, find a difference.

 Shhh. You can't. There is no difference.

donkey anything else?

A little bit late but day 8.

Doodle of my Cuphead OC Donkey Shot.

(∩ ͡°ᴥ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ.* Click on the picture for better quality

Guys I just finished Eo (2022)and I am NOT ok!!

I was literally sobbing the whole time like UGHHHH

A lovely donkey I met on a rainy day in Italy.

A new friend. 

I visited the donkeys again today.