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Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Pony
Gender Trans (Female)
Size 1363 x 1280
File Size 1.68 MB
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![[Commission] Cosplay Conversion (with story!)](http://d.furaffinity.net/art/ferret-badger/1603401516/1603401506.ferret-badger_sfw_fa_fluttershy_tf.png "Click to change the View")
[Commission] Cosplay Conversion (with story!)
A detailed shading commission with a story for an anonymous commissioner.
John sagged down on a chair under the stairwell with a sigh of relief. Conventions were great, filled with everything he could ever be interested in – voice actors, panels, vendors and artists, people with similar interests from around the globe, a chance to show off his rule 63’d Fluttershy cosplay – but for someone as shy as him they were also absolutely exhausting. He needed to take a break to unwind, and maybe he’d draw a bit before diving back into the chaos. His sketch of Fluttershy was coming along alright, he thought, but he needed to work on the proportions a bit before he went into any of the identifying details.
He reached into his bag for his pencil, hoping to continue sketching, but his heart sank as he realized the outside pocket he usually kept his drawing supplies in was half-open and empty. He must have not zipped it up properly, and by now his pencils and erasers were probably scattered all over the convention center. He sighed, looking around in the faint hope that someone he knew was nearby and might have a pencil he could borrow. He didn’t see anyone, but…
There! A mechanical pencil probably ten feet away in the middle of the floor, its sleek metallic teal casing glinting in the harsh overhead light. It wasn’t one he remembered owning, but it was possible he’d just never paid much attention to it. Anyway, he reasoned, he could just use it for now and leave it on the chair when he left. Even if someone was missing it, it would be there when they came back, and he would be rescuing it from being stepped on.
“Ow!” A shock leapt between the pencil and his fingertips as he bent down to pick it up. He rubbed his tingling hand, frowning at the carpet. Must be these new loafers; they were great for the cosplay, but he did kind of build up static when he wore them.
He shrugged, sitting back down to consider how best to draw Fluttershy’s mane. As he touched pencil to paper, however, he felt a sudden wave of dizziness and pins-and-needles tingles from his drawing hand, down through to his toes, and up across the back of his scalp. He stopped, confused, and swallowed around a lump in his throat. Maybe it was dehydration, or hunger. He had been kind of inconsistent with eating and drinking properly during the convention and leaning down probably made the blood rush to his head too.
Well, a snack and some water couldn’t hurt. He palmed some quarters from his pocket and stood up, intending to walk to the nearby vending machines, but hadn’t taken a single step before something in his ankle gave way and his leg twisted beneath him oddly. He tripped over the empty chair on which he’d set all of his stuff, barely catching himself from falling but sending his quarters, sketchbook, convention schedule, vendor cards, and assorted con merch flying.
Something about his feet didn’t feel right at all. He felt awful, his vision was tunneling with stress, his ankles and knees felt swollen and shaky, and his toes suddenly seemed crushed inside his loafers, curling under themselves in the tight space. To make it worse it he suddenly felt hot, so hot and dizzy, like he was burning up with a fever.
John’s heart felt like it was hammering a million miles an hour. He needed to get to the bathrooms and figure out what was going on. Or, better yet, his hotel room. Which way was it again? He suddenly felt trapped and began to quickly walk away, taking off in a near-random direction.
People’s eyes roved over him as he hobbled along, sweat dripping down his forehead, cheeks flushed pink. He found it hard to keep walking, even harder to keep balance, and he hunched more and more forward, out of breath. Something must be very wrong with him, because all his joints ached, and a bitter kind of pain like he’d been running too much was engulfing his legs.
He looked down and stopped dead in his tracks on the garish carpet of the skywalk bridge between the convention center and the hotel. The thighs of his pants were bulging in the sunlight that streamed through the glass walls, fabric stretched tight around thickening muscles. His ankles were not just shaking but actually seemed to be sliding upward as his shins shortened and feet lengthened. Sturdy brown leather strained and stretched, his shoes’ glue and stitching giving way along the seams with a series of sharp crackles and pops as his heels were forced out the back. All the while the seat of his pants stretched tighter and tighter before suddenly giving along the rear seam with an echoing riiiiiiiiip, exposing his rear to the hall.
“Eep!” His unintentional exclamation was louder and, embarrassingly, much higher pitched than he would have liked. He slapped a hand over his mouth as the sound echoed around him and surrounding conversations fell silent.
A nearby group craned their necks over and a frown marred the face of a Doctor Whooves cosplayer and his plushie-laden friend. “Hey, are you alright?”
John frantically nodded, hand over his mouth and cheeks burning, wishing desperately they would turn away. Their mouths only fell open in shock, eyes widening as they took more of him in. He must look awful because he could hear others gathering around him, some asking if he needed a medic, others exclaiming in fear, and then someone laughed at his ripped pants with a comment that made him burn with embarrassment and wish that he would just wake up from this nightmare or sink into a hole in the ground and… without warning his poor khakis could take no more, bursting their seams. There was a series of loud rips and a metallic tear as his zipper broke and button popped off, sending the shredded fabric falling to the floor. Droplets of sweat ran down his forehead, chest, and stomach, catching in the waves of butter-yellow fur that suddenly pushed up out of his skin.
John’s spine abruptly shifted with a sharp crackle and pop, shoulder blades and spine tilting forward with a lurch that twisted and locked his arms in position in front of his body as gasps and a muffled scream from the crowd caught in his ears. He could feel his rib cage widening and barreling out. His shirt and sweater vest now felt tight, too, not only pulled around a barrel chest entirely unsuited to their tailored pattern but also because John could feel something – things? – massive pushing out from his back. His delicate cosplay wings fell to the side, straps snapping, as the cloth undulated beneath them with new growth and splitting pain arced outward from his spine down his shoulder blades. He tried to reach behind him but found that was no longer an option with his current shoulder configuration. Instead he watched his fingers fold in, hardening and melting together into yellow hooves. He reeled in shock at the ghostly sensation of two new limbs sprouting from his back and, unbalanced, fell to all fours with hand/hooves and feet on the floor in a quadrupedal stance that both felt much more stable and fundamentally wrong.
The cloth of his clothes strained, stretched, and gave way with a massive rip as two featherless wings burst forth. He flailed as his brain struggled to understand how to control the extra additions, unconsciously flapping frantically as they itched and prickled. First gooseflesh raised before pin feathers burst forth, each slowly unfurling as they grew and expanded into delicate flight feathers. Primaries were followed by secondaries and coverts as the vanes smoothed together and fluttered in the skybridge’s air conditioning, sending shivers down his wings and back.
At some point his loafers had slipped entirely off and he could now see just how much his legs had changed, balancing with just his toes on the ground as the muscles, tendons, and bone rearranged into an unguligrade form suited to distance running. His toes pushed and ran together, nails thickening and keratinizing into thick hooves, the ball of his foot condensing into a heavy shock-absorbing pad. He could still feel that the carpet was soft, but its texture and definition was muted, like he was wearing shoes that were actually a part of his feet.
“Oh no, oh dear, oh – aah!” The bridge of his nose popped, pushing outward into a field of view that was suddenly rapidly expanding, and he was left gasping. It felt like his skull was being ripped apart from the inside, re-forming as sockets widened to make room for his rapidly growing eyes, his field of view expanding exponentially around and to the sides even as his face pushed farther and farther out into a pony’s blunt muzzle in the front. Teeth flattened in his mouth, front incisors growing to shear hay and grass, canines re-shaping, molars flattening and broadening to grind and chew tough plant matter. Even his tongue changed, oral muscles shifting and adjusting. It felt weirdly mobile as he pushed it against his teeth and palate, like he could use it to grip and manipulate food or objects.
On the sides of his head his ears folded into themselves, growing longer and taller, sliding up as delicate short waves of buttery yellow fur encased them. He yelped as they buzzed and popped with a sudden pressure change, and suddenly he could hear everyone much more loudly and clearly. New muscles on the back and sides of his head twisted his ears back, flattening them against his skull as he heard snippets and exclamations from the crowd: “What in the…?” “What’s going on?” “Oh my god, what the hell is that?” “Don’t look—” “Someone call an ambulance!” “Freaky!” “Quick, turn on your camera—” John awkwardly pushed back through the crowd as best he could, hoping to back himself into a corner or a side room or hell, even a broom closet, but was stopped by the cold glass of one of the skybridge’s windows instead.
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, closing in around him, staring and wondering in horror and fascination… and if anyone on the street below looked up, they’d see his furry yellow rump pressed up against the glass. As the thought crossed his mind and it suddenly felt as though his entire spine twisted and pushed outward, tail bone elongating as extra vertebrae formed under stretching skin that prickled as strands of light pink tail hair burst forth in flowing silken waves long enough to drag the carpet.
His – her? – entire world abruptly condensed down to the strange sensations of her transformation completing at an exponential rate: fur and feathers filling in, a tickling feeling passing over her eyes as the irises shifted from brown to vivid teal, the shells of her ears settling into their final delicate shape, the last vestiges of her fingers and toes slipping into hooves, and her ligaments and joints settling into their final configuration. In the middle of all of these people, this place, it was just too much. She was missing something that she couldn’t put words to. If only she could be surrounded by her animals instead of in this horrible crowded place, maybe she could clear her head enough to figure it out…
With a jolt of realization three delicate pink butterflies imprinted on the outer curve of each of her thighs in a flash of light, and then all was still as she stood there, panting, on shaking legs.
A moment passed before she realized that everyone was still staring, all silent except for a lone shutter click as someone took a picture with their cell phone. She flushed again, hit with another wave of embarrassment, and shyly pulled her mane around her face with her hooves.
“Oh, um… oh dear.”
John sagged down on a chair under the stairwell with a sigh of relief. Conventions were great, filled with everything he could ever be interested in – voice actors, panels, vendors and artists, people with similar interests from around the globe, a chance to show off his rule 63’d Fluttershy cosplay – but for someone as shy as him they were also absolutely exhausting. He needed to take a break to unwind, and maybe he’d draw a bit before diving back into the chaos. His sketch of Fluttershy was coming along alright, he thought, but he needed to work on the proportions a bit before he went into any of the identifying details.
He reached into his bag for his pencil, hoping to continue sketching, but his heart sank as he realized the outside pocket he usually kept his drawing supplies in was half-open and empty. He must have not zipped it up properly, and by now his pencils and erasers were probably scattered all over the convention center. He sighed, looking around in the faint hope that someone he knew was nearby and might have a pencil he could borrow. He didn’t see anyone, but…
There! A mechanical pencil probably ten feet away in the middle of the floor, its sleek metallic teal casing glinting in the harsh overhead light. It wasn’t one he remembered owning, but it was possible he’d just never paid much attention to it. Anyway, he reasoned, he could just use it for now and leave it on the chair when he left. Even if someone was missing it, it would be there when they came back, and he would be rescuing it from being stepped on.
“Ow!” A shock leapt between the pencil and his fingertips as he bent down to pick it up. He rubbed his tingling hand, frowning at the carpet. Must be these new loafers; they were great for the cosplay, but he did kind of build up static when he wore them.
He shrugged, sitting back down to consider how best to draw Fluttershy’s mane. As he touched pencil to paper, however, he felt a sudden wave of dizziness and pins-and-needles tingles from his drawing hand, down through to his toes, and up across the back of his scalp. He stopped, confused, and swallowed around a lump in his throat. Maybe it was dehydration, or hunger. He had been kind of inconsistent with eating and drinking properly during the convention and leaning down probably made the blood rush to his head too.
Well, a snack and some water couldn’t hurt. He palmed some quarters from his pocket and stood up, intending to walk to the nearby vending machines, but hadn’t taken a single step before something in his ankle gave way and his leg twisted beneath him oddly. He tripped over the empty chair on which he’d set all of his stuff, barely catching himself from falling but sending his quarters, sketchbook, convention schedule, vendor cards, and assorted con merch flying.
Something about his feet didn’t feel right at all. He felt awful, his vision was tunneling with stress, his ankles and knees felt swollen and shaky, and his toes suddenly seemed crushed inside his loafers, curling under themselves in the tight space. To make it worse it he suddenly felt hot, so hot and dizzy, like he was burning up with a fever.
John’s heart felt like it was hammering a million miles an hour. He needed to get to the bathrooms and figure out what was going on. Or, better yet, his hotel room. Which way was it again? He suddenly felt trapped and began to quickly walk away, taking off in a near-random direction.
People’s eyes roved over him as he hobbled along, sweat dripping down his forehead, cheeks flushed pink. He found it hard to keep walking, even harder to keep balance, and he hunched more and more forward, out of breath. Something must be very wrong with him, because all his joints ached, and a bitter kind of pain like he’d been running too much was engulfing his legs.
He looked down and stopped dead in his tracks on the garish carpet of the skywalk bridge between the convention center and the hotel. The thighs of his pants were bulging in the sunlight that streamed through the glass walls, fabric stretched tight around thickening muscles. His ankles were not just shaking but actually seemed to be sliding upward as his shins shortened and feet lengthened. Sturdy brown leather strained and stretched, his shoes’ glue and stitching giving way along the seams with a series of sharp crackles and pops as his heels were forced out the back. All the while the seat of his pants stretched tighter and tighter before suddenly giving along the rear seam with an echoing riiiiiiiiip, exposing his rear to the hall.
“Eep!” His unintentional exclamation was louder and, embarrassingly, much higher pitched than he would have liked. He slapped a hand over his mouth as the sound echoed around him and surrounding conversations fell silent.
A nearby group craned their necks over and a frown marred the face of a Doctor Whooves cosplayer and his plushie-laden friend. “Hey, are you alright?”
John frantically nodded, hand over his mouth and cheeks burning, wishing desperately they would turn away. Their mouths only fell open in shock, eyes widening as they took more of him in. He must look awful because he could hear others gathering around him, some asking if he needed a medic, others exclaiming in fear, and then someone laughed at his ripped pants with a comment that made him burn with embarrassment and wish that he would just wake up from this nightmare or sink into a hole in the ground and… without warning his poor khakis could take no more, bursting their seams. There was a series of loud rips and a metallic tear as his zipper broke and button popped off, sending the shredded fabric falling to the floor. Droplets of sweat ran down his forehead, chest, and stomach, catching in the waves of butter-yellow fur that suddenly pushed up out of his skin.
John’s spine abruptly shifted with a sharp crackle and pop, shoulder blades and spine tilting forward with a lurch that twisted and locked his arms in position in front of his body as gasps and a muffled scream from the crowd caught in his ears. He could feel his rib cage widening and barreling out. His shirt and sweater vest now felt tight, too, not only pulled around a barrel chest entirely unsuited to their tailored pattern but also because John could feel something – things? – massive pushing out from his back. His delicate cosplay wings fell to the side, straps snapping, as the cloth undulated beneath them with new growth and splitting pain arced outward from his spine down his shoulder blades. He tried to reach behind him but found that was no longer an option with his current shoulder configuration. Instead he watched his fingers fold in, hardening and melting together into yellow hooves. He reeled in shock at the ghostly sensation of two new limbs sprouting from his back and, unbalanced, fell to all fours with hand/hooves and feet on the floor in a quadrupedal stance that both felt much more stable and fundamentally wrong.
The cloth of his clothes strained, stretched, and gave way with a massive rip as two featherless wings burst forth. He flailed as his brain struggled to understand how to control the extra additions, unconsciously flapping frantically as they itched and prickled. First gooseflesh raised before pin feathers burst forth, each slowly unfurling as they grew and expanded into delicate flight feathers. Primaries were followed by secondaries and coverts as the vanes smoothed together and fluttered in the skybridge’s air conditioning, sending shivers down his wings and back.
At some point his loafers had slipped entirely off and he could now see just how much his legs had changed, balancing with just his toes on the ground as the muscles, tendons, and bone rearranged into an unguligrade form suited to distance running. His toes pushed and ran together, nails thickening and keratinizing into thick hooves, the ball of his foot condensing into a heavy shock-absorbing pad. He could still feel that the carpet was soft, but its texture and definition was muted, like he was wearing shoes that were actually a part of his feet.
“Oh no, oh dear, oh – aah!” The bridge of his nose popped, pushing outward into a field of view that was suddenly rapidly expanding, and he was left gasping. It felt like his skull was being ripped apart from the inside, re-forming as sockets widened to make room for his rapidly growing eyes, his field of view expanding exponentially around and to the sides even as his face pushed farther and farther out into a pony’s blunt muzzle in the front. Teeth flattened in his mouth, front incisors growing to shear hay and grass, canines re-shaping, molars flattening and broadening to grind and chew tough plant matter. Even his tongue changed, oral muscles shifting and adjusting. It felt weirdly mobile as he pushed it against his teeth and palate, like he could use it to grip and manipulate food or objects.
On the sides of his head his ears folded into themselves, growing longer and taller, sliding up as delicate short waves of buttery yellow fur encased them. He yelped as they buzzed and popped with a sudden pressure change, and suddenly he could hear everyone much more loudly and clearly. New muscles on the back and sides of his head twisted his ears back, flattening them against his skull as he heard snippets and exclamations from the crowd: “What in the…?” “What’s going on?” “Oh my god, what the hell is that?” “Don’t look—” “Someone call an ambulance!” “Freaky!” “Quick, turn on your camera—” John awkwardly pushed back through the crowd as best he could, hoping to back himself into a corner or a side room or hell, even a broom closet, but was stopped by the cold glass of one of the skybridge’s windows instead.
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, closing in around him, staring and wondering in horror and fascination… and if anyone on the street below looked up, they’d see his furry yellow rump pressed up against the glass. As the thought crossed his mind and it suddenly felt as though his entire spine twisted and pushed outward, tail bone elongating as extra vertebrae formed under stretching skin that prickled as strands of light pink tail hair burst forth in flowing silken waves long enough to drag the carpet.
His – her? – entire world abruptly condensed down to the strange sensations of her transformation completing at an exponential rate: fur and feathers filling in, a tickling feeling passing over her eyes as the irises shifted from brown to vivid teal, the shells of her ears settling into their final delicate shape, the last vestiges of her fingers and toes slipping into hooves, and her ligaments and joints settling into their final configuration. In the middle of all of these people, this place, it was just too much. She was missing something that she couldn’t put words to. If only she could be surrounded by her animals instead of in this horrible crowded place, maybe she could clear her head enough to figure it out…
With a jolt of realization three delicate pink butterflies imprinted on the outer curve of each of her thighs in a flash of light, and then all was still as she stood there, panting, on shaking legs.
A moment passed before she realized that everyone was still staring, all silent except for a lone shutter click as someone took a picture with their cell phone. She flushed again, hit with another wave of embarrassment, and shyly pulled her mane around her face with her hooves.
“Oh, um… oh dear.”
Category Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Pony
Gender Trans (Female)
Size 1363 x 1280px
File Size 1.68 MB
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