beachballtf

This story contains themes of transformation, you have been warned The crook was fast, almost too fast for the rubbery hero to keep up. He had just robbed the bank, his bag shedding crisp fresh dollar bills as he ran, but for someone who was probably carrying a few hundred thousand in cash he was surprisingly hard to catch up to. The robber had dashed through a few alleyways and Elastacy had almost lost him, but as she had exited the dark alley she noticed a door close in the distance. Quickly she ran up to the building in chase, throwing open the door and dashing inside. If she had been smarter she would have taken a moment to observe the building, to maybe understand what she was getting herself into, but Elastacy was no such hero. A blinding amount of light and color blinded the rubbery hero as she entered, disorienting her for a moment. Everywhere she looked was a different color of the rainbow assorted to a variety of shapes. If her prey had been smart he would have taken the

Madame Evelyn’s House of Wonder, or at least it was until the government shut it down for malpractice. It ends up having a track record of missing staff, and numerous customers, will do that. Even if there was a lack of evidence. Now it is just studio seven at 127 Penatos Drive West. But regardless of the trivial they are still very much open for business. Those who wander into those doors are often never seen again. The shop is always stocked with curious and oddities, with a thriving online presence, driven by rumor's and speculation. Rumor's that attract the curious, but the rest fall victim to the trickery of the shop odd owner. Will you be her next play thing? Hot, fresh, summer air. The taste of salt against ones lips. The rolling of the tide. Evelyn’s unexpected trip to the beach had turned out to be a wonderful idea, and she had her new blue inner tube to thank for the idea. Andy was being such a wonderful dear, keeping his master floating above the rolling waves while

Madame Evelyn’s House of Wonder, or at least it was until the government shut it down for malpractice. It ends up having a track record of missing staff, and numerous customers, will do that. Even if there was a lack of evidence. Now it is just studio seven at 127 Penatos Drive West. But regardless of the trivial they are still very much open for business. Those who wander into those doors are often never seen again. The shop is always stocked with curious and oddities, with a thriving online presence, driven by rumors' and speculation. Rumors' that attract the curious, but the rest fall victim to the trickery of the shop odd owner. Will you be her next play thing? Ding Ding The electric bell on the door to the studio chirped out as the it opened and a lost looking man stepped into the store. His eyes scanned the store room, spotting shelves of clutter and crap, with such a lack of a central theme it looked closer to a thrift store than pool supplies store he had been looking for.

This story contains topics of transformation. You have been warned The motorized fan whirred beneath you, giving structure to your fabric like form. Children in a wide variety of costumes streamed by, many dragging overloaded pillow cases behind them. Their parents stood by at the curb of your house, smiling and laughing as they took pictures of their kids in front of your new bloated form. But this isn’t where your story starts. It had begun hours earlier, with you and your sister setting up the Halloween decorations. “That’s the last box” you stated aloud, hoping your sister could hear you. You had promised to help her set up the Halloween decorations, but you hadn’t expected her to take you up on the offer. “You sure?” she responded as she rounder the corner of the house, a questioning look in her face “I think something is missing.” “Nope! That’s it. That was everything from the shelf. Need anything else?” you answered with a slight impatience to your voice. “Now hold on”

This story contains topics of transformation, you have been warned “Crap crap crap!” Jess yelled as she slid down the sloped ground. All it had taken was one simple mistake to seal her fate. The door had been labeled innocently enough. Organic Packaging. The name had brought Jess hope after having wandered past so many others over the last few hours. A packaging room must lead to a shipping room and therefore a way out. But in her haste to escape the Funwall factory she had made a rather simple mistake. Checking to see if the Organic Packaging room had a floor first. Her first step into the room had been her last as it took only a moment for her to pitch forward and begin to tumble down the incredibly steep floor. The world spun frantically for Jess as she tumbled down what seemed to be a metallic shute, her arms flailing uselessly in a vain attempt to stop her fall. Meter after meter she fell gracelessly down, only stopping when a floor rather unexpectedly appeared just inches