Despite being very sick, and having a whirlwind of problems pop up, I want to give a B I G thank you to  com50c for being able to finish the commission, even when bogged down with so many things. >u< She deserves ALL the love on her page, briskly followed by  ifeelodd who out of the kindness of their own heart, wrote this piece its very own story! With a creepy twist... (as they often do!) Please wish them both well with watches and favorites!

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They found it at a garage sale, second hand, at the bottom of a ziplocked bag.

“Hey, check this out.”

It was a playing card - a joker. A rabbit stood uncertainly in the center in full clown garb, thighs pressed tight against each other framing its captured bulge. Her outfit was split red and yellow. Ridiculous blue ruffles framed her neck and unsteady looking arms. Her paws plaintively rested against the “front” of the card - It gave the impression of someone leaning against a window. Rattling the bars of a cage. The mortified look on the rabbit's face only strengthened that reading.

The card had… definitely seen better days. Its edges were chipped, paint long since scratched and faded. When the collector absentmindedly ran a finger along the groin of the thick-thighed blushing rabbit painted on the front she couldn’t even squirm from the intense stimulation. Being touched felt different when you were a card.

When you're pressed so flat and thin you seldom get to feel much other than yourself. Any contact is an all encompassing brain ruining tide of sensation - one you can’t even move into to prolong. It was mortifying at first, but after so long in the quiet and the dust that need becomes all you have. All you are. Compressed flat into a ridiculous archetype.

The collector wobbled the card around some, holding it to the light to inspect its flaws. Their friend suppressed a laugh at the lewd nature of the thing. Somewhere in the dusty recesses of its fibers the rabbit briefly experiences a spark of hope.

"Kinda weird, seems like some stuff you’d see at a convention. Maybe it’s a custom deck?”

Wait. Do they know? Is someone going to figure it out? Can she go home? Barely remembered images of a life that scarcely feels like hers slip by. She doesn't recall what her name was and the version of her in her head still has the clown suit on, but- but maybe she could make it work. If they figured it out they could turn her back and...

“Eh. Eight bucks?”

"Screw that. Let’s just get those Pokémon cards instead.”

The bag was returned to it's spot in the cardboard box.

Plop.