Merry Christmas yall~

New year, new me, right? I've decided to rework Denya a bit in a way that should hopefully make him feel a bit more unique/interesting, heh. He's now a kitsune/dragon hybrid! With that, I'm also a big fan of modern fantasy settings, so I decided to try my hand at setting up a universe with that scenario!

Enjoy a story about a hybrid of two completely opposite species and parents, trying to find out where he fits in with the world. Unfortunately, at his size it's hard to fit in anywhere~

I hope you all enjoy! 9.3k words (I need to learn how to write shorter stories...)

---

Dragons and Kitsunes don’t mix well.

At first glance, one would assume it’d have to be due to the size difference between the two, as dragons regularly tower over 8 feet in height, and a kitsune would be lucky to reach even half of that. However, they’d be ignoring the signature kitsune ability to alter one’s appearance at will. Their shape and size are as malleable as clay, allowing them to take on any form they’d find most convenient. This, of course, includes a dragon, or any such similar species.

Rather, dragons and kitsunes never meshed well due to their ideologies.

Kitsunes prefer crowded cities, while dragons enjoy the outskirts with their own kind. The smaller vulpines were social and bubbly, while the larger lizards tend to be a tad more serious and stoic. Kitsunes like sweet food, dragons like spicy food. Socially, politically, both species were almost always on opposite spectrums, all down to the most minor of preferences. Like oil and water, toothpaste and orange juice. It was a rare sight just to see the two species in the same room as each other.

So imagine the odds of a kitsune and dragon tolerating each other long enough to spawn romance? And for that romance to spawn an offspring?



“Mom, I really don’t want to go over to dad’s.”

This wasn’t the first time Denya complained, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last either. It was the kitsugon’s only method of protest as he stood stock still, looking down as his mother buttoned his shirt. The older kitsune was having a bit of trouble getting the last few buttons together, much to his embarrassment.

“Sure you do. I know your father is dying to be -close- with you!” His mom grunted that last word as she forced those buttons together, her many tails waving in unison. “There we are. Squeeze your wings through, let me know how it feels.”

Sighing, Denya leaned forward, grunting as if to stretch. Soon, two black, webbed wings peaked through the shirt’s back slits, tentatively flapping about. “They fit,” the kitsugon remarked, knowing his mother couldn’t see his tiny wings past his not-so-tiny body.

“Wonderful!” Her paws clasped together. “And they fit just fine in your dragon form?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Can you show me?”

Denya pursed his lips. He already felt quite…large as is, squeezed into a suit that was already several sizes bigger than anything his mom could fit in. The kitsugon’s own tails lay limp along the floor, starkly contrasting the other vulpine’s more energetic nature. Rather than oblige his mom, however, Denya decided to instead change the conversation, knowing his excitable parent would jump from topic to topic with ease. “But why do I have to go? You don’t even want to go!”

“Because I can’t stand your father, sweetie.” The kitsune smirked, standing upright to adjust the tie on her portly son’s chest. “He specifically asked for you, Den. You know Boseg Napja is strictly a dragon holiday.”

“And I’m not strictly a dragon.”

“Stop that.” Denya felt his mother’s paw playfully pinch his round cheek. “You’re plenty dragon, just like you are plenty kitsune. And yes, that is a fat joke. Tongue.”

Denya stuck out his purple tongue, watching as his mother quickly brushed her paw against it, rubbing it through his thick blond hair to make it puffier.

“Aaaah, perfect! There’s my handsome man!” The kitsune beamed, clasping her paws together. “You don’t need any magic to look so good!”

The hybrid sighed in response. He wasn’t sure a suit and tie would really fit him well… at least, not in just the literal sense. Barely four feet tall, the kitsugon felt he looked more like an overstuffed plush impersonating a business man than a dragon about to celebrate Boseg Napja. Kitsunes did prefer more colorful and vibrant clothes, whereas dragons traditionally wore simple, drab garments. Yet another stark contrast between the two species that made Denya wonder just how in the hell his parents managed to tolerate each other long enough to produce him.

Well, while his parents may not tolerate each other, it was clear they both still loved him, at least. Swallowing any doubts he had, the kitsugon forced a smile. “Thanks, mom.”

“Of course, hun.” The shorter kitsune hugged her son warmly. “Now go have fun, and say hi to your father from me. Pretend I said it in a real nice, sincere way too, like I miss him or something.”

Rolling his eyes, Denya turned to leave, but not before hearing his mom shout out one last time. “And tell him not to feed you too much! I’m starting to see your butt past your tails!”

---

Dragons and Kitsunes don’t mix well.

There was, of course, the obvious difference in body size and shape, as well as the contrasting personalities and opinions. Yet, in these modern times, many people tend to forget that magic compatibility is still something that exists.

Arranged marriages to produce magically-gifted offspring had been banned for several decades now, as the world started to slowly drift towards a more “fair and balanced” society, where inherited gifts didn’t automatically set you up for stardom. However, it was still clear that those gifted with the arcane still held an advantage, and wouldn’t have trouble finding work.

Denya, of course, wasn’t one of these people.

Kitsunes were renowned for being able to magically alter their bodies. Dragons all share an inherent resistance to magic. Combine the two, and you receive a hybrid whose special talent is not being able to do a damn thing to alter his body.

The chubby kitsugon grunted as he hopped onto the train seat, letting his legs dangle over the edge. It was nice to finally have a moment to himself after leaving the house; dealing with the crowded commute over to the train station had worn him out, particularly with the many stares thrown his way. Perhaps he was more dragon than kitsune in that regard, he figured.

He was “born in a brand new era” as his teachers had phrased it, back when he was a young kit. The era of industrialism, where massive cities and steam-powered engines slowly replaced small towns ran by magic. Cities full of creatures of various races, both magic and non-magic, coexisting as peacefully as they ever had in written history. Because of this, Denya was one of many new hybrids popping up around town; one of his classmates was a griffon-unicorn, in fact. But the griffon-unicorn could still fly, and was a hell of a runner, having gone to state for track and field in junior high.

Denya remembered watching him on TV, while sitting on the couch and eating an entire pizza on his own.

The hybrid snorted as he recalled that memory, leaning his arm against the window to prop his head up. Denya wasn’t anything special, only that, despite possessing both a kitsune and dragon form, he ended up looking like neither of those. Glancing out the window, he saw his own reflection, the chubby foxish face glancing back at him longingly.

A kitsune’s fur can vary from a bright orange-red to a sandy tan hue. Denya’s mother was no exception, possessing light brown fur like an autumn leaf. Yet Denya himself bore pitch black fur, parting into a snow-white fur below his muzzle and around his middle, as well as his many tail tips. A thin, sky-blue strip separated the two different fur colors as well. Inherited by his father, of course, who was colored quite similarly as well, somehow including the light-blue tribal tattoos his clan was known for. That alone was enough to separate him from practically every other kitsune he knew, yet still the hybrid possessed a pair of comically small wings, which served little purpose other than to fan his backside on warm days.

Then, there was the matter of his weight.

The train lurched forward, and Denya felt himself bouncing a bit on his seat, his rotund middle wobbling on his lap. Born with the appetite of a dragon, and the stomach capacity of a creature much smaller than that, Denya was easily the fattest kitsune he knew (or at least, so he thought. It was quite easy for them to change their appearance, after all). Ever since he was a kit, he was a fussy eater who demanded seconds or thirds at dinner. Alas, his dad encouraged this behavior on the rare times he visited, wanting his son to grow into a proper dragon.

Alas, Denya grew more out than up.

Still looking out the window, the hybrid could see his thin foxish muzzle adorned with a pair of soft, chubby cheeks, round like little golf balls, yet soft like water balloons. His head in general was more round than angular, thanks to the second chin visible beneath his muzzle. Lower still was an even rounder torso, with a prodigious stomach that could comfortably fit in his lap. If it wasn’t for his mother’s strict dieting, his belly would have most certainly reached the edge of his knees, and while he was grateful for being able to comfortably fit in most clothes, the hybrid wasn’t so sure the tradeoff of lying awake at night with his stomach growling was worth it.

And if he had been raised by his dad, Denya would most definitely need to be rolled around, like a giant 4 foot wide yoga ball full of pudding.

Dammit, he was going to see his extended family soon.

Denya groaned, leaning further into his seat, his toes just barely able to reach the ground. He’d lived with his mom his whole life; would he get along with the others well? Dragons were solitary for a reason; how would they react to having a half-kitsune among them during an important holiday? Yes, his dad could vouch for him, but would they still tolerate him? Could he manage a whole weekend of getting the cold shoulder, all the way out in the boonies without any cell service? This would be worse than when his mom invited the family together when the hybrid graduated high school, and his aunt kept digging into him about how “uncouth” it was for him to be so round, or to have those “weird” wings.

She said uncouth, but Denya knew what she meant. “Un-kitsune like.” Not a kitsune. Not a dragon. All Denya knew was what he wasn’t.

His pointy ear perked up when the door to his cabin opened, the hybrid looking over to see an older jackalope poke her head in. “Hello dear,” she smiled warmly, pulling a cart into view. “Are your parents nearby?”

Denya huffed at that. While his kitsune form made it easier to get around, it often led to him being mistaken for a child at times. But, admittedly, he did take advantage of that just earlier today to get a cheaper train ticket, so really this was just karma coming back to bite him. “It’s just me,” he responded, hoping his voice was enough of a tell that he was an adult.

Judging from the jackalope’s jovial expression, it wasn’t. “How nice,” she smiled, patting the cart. “Would you like anything off the trolley?”

“I’m good.” Was what Denya meant to say; however, he was feeling a bit hungry, and his mother wasn’t around to say anything. “I’ll, uh, take a twinkie, please.”

His stomach rumbled as he dug into his trousers for a wallet, his tails drooping in embarrassment. “Actually, make that four.”

---

“Now approaching: Wyvern’s Way.”

With a grunt, Denya’s head shot upward, sending empty wrappers scattering around him. Whoops, he must have fallen asleep; fortunately some part of him was conscious enough to kick himself awake when he heard the name of the destination. It would have been a horrible first impression if he’d kept his dad waiting at the platform just because he was a heavy sleeper.

Shaking himself more awake (and tossing more wrappers onto the floor), the sleepy hybrid checked outside the window. The afternoon sun had transitioned into an evening one, the sky aflame with bright oranges and reds. However, rather than it being hidden behind the highrise buildings of the city, the sun’s rays peeked through a forest’s worth of trees instead, with hardly a building in sight.

Denya was born and raised in the city, so the idea of living out so far away from other people was a little unnerving. However, he couldn’t deny the natural beauty the surrounding forest provided, with its various hues of greens accentuated with occasional flora. If he could, the kitsugon would have popped open his window; that fresh pine smell must be heavenly.

Well, this would be something he could look forward to when stepping off the train, to offset his rising nerves. Shit, he was going to see his dad soon…

He took a sigh, feeling the train start to break already. Better now than never. He flicked three of his tails, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he could feel his feet planted firmly on the floor, with himself taking up much, much more of his seat.

Again, he looked at the window to gauge his appearance, noting how much higher he sat in his seat. Denya’s dragon form was significantly taller, well over six feet, in fact. However, he was also proportionately wider, hence why he almost never used this form in front of his mother’s side of the family, or when taking public transportation. Another large downside was, much like how his kitsune form still had dragon-ish features, his dragon form was still very foxlike. His muzzle, for example, was only barely wider than in his shorter forn, still easily recognizable as a fox face. As a result, his larger fangs poked out from the top even when his mouth was shut, giving him a bit of a snaggletooth appearance. The entirety of his body was still more-or-less foxish, covered in fur and still sported large, pointy ears and thin, lengthy whiskers.

His wings, however, grew much broader and could comfortably wrap around himself like a cloak if he wanted it to. His five furry tails were replaced with one larger, broader, and unfortunately fatter tail, with four dull spikes protruding along the top. His claws a bit longer, his pupils more ovoid shaped than round, even beneath his thick fur, there were scaly ventral plates along his belly, but while these scales were meant to be natural armor, they did nothing to detract from the hybrid’s supple figure. He was still very, very squishy.

Still, this was Denya’s only real unique magical ability, one that he could claim as his own. It was common for kitsunes to have a few forms they preferred to shift into, but this one was as natural to the hybrid as his kitsune form, in that it was the only other form he could transform into. There were many instances of him sleeping peacefully in a kitsune-sized bed, only to wake up on the shattered remains of it after shifting into his dragon form in the middle of the night. It was as though his single soul was meant to inhabit two bodies, instead of his dragon form simply being a magical transformation.

Or, maybe he was over thinking things. Afterall, his suit still fit him perfectly, due to its fibers being constructed with kitsune hair to allow it to shift to match the user’s form. With a grumble, Denya failed to realize that his wings did feel a bit pinched in this form due to the tight suit. Shoot, maybe he should have tested it beforehand, like his mother asked.

For now, he’d have to make due in rotating his wings in small circles, hoping the fabric would gradually loosen up over time. Doing so, he waited for the train to stop before stepping outside, ducking his head to avoid bumping it against the lower door frame.

The train was mostly empty, as this was one of the last stops. This was fortunate, as Denya felt himself taking up a fair bit of the hallway as he shuffled through. He briefly considered shrinking back down just until he reached the exit, but the hybrid didn’t want to be caught dead looking more fox than he already did in front of his dad.

Besides, he loved the shocked expression the older jackalope gave him when she recognized him as the same little kitsune from earlier. It was hard not to crack a smile as he started thinking about what the stewardess must be thinking. “Four twinkies did that to him?!”



Stepping off the station, Denya took as deep of a breath as his tight shirt allowed him to, sighing loudly out of his nose. The pine smell was indeed invigorating, and something he wished he could bring back home with him. No wonder country folk tend to be more athletic and energetic, whereas those in the city tend to be a little lazy and sedentary, with Denya being no exception. Who knows, maybe he’ll finally work up the energy to lose a little weight.

Optimism aside, he walked along the wooden platform, scanning the crowd for his father. Of course he didn’t have to look far, for dragons were quite easy to pick out in the crowd, the hybrid’s ears folding back shyly as he locked eyes with the only drake around.

His father was actually a little short for most dragons, yet he still towered over most other species at seven feet tall, a full head taller than Denya. Much like Denya, he shared the same color palette: Small black scales along his head, tail, and limbs, with white scutes on his underbelly, even if many of these features were also hidden beneath a suit matching Denya’s. But rather than a mop of blond hair, Denya’s father sported two large white horns that peeled back, adding even more to the drake’s already-impressive height.

And adding more to his imposing nature, as the drake strode straight towards Denya, his expression unreadable. Swallowing nervously, the hybrid did his best not to show much emotion himself as he approached his father, their green eyes meeting one another.

“Denya.” His father stoically greeted his son.

“Father.” Denya echoed the firm tone.

The larger reptile’s eyes glanced down, before back to Denya’s face. “I see you’ve been eating well.”

Denya groaned. “Not you too!”

His father smiled humorously, and stepped forward to embrace Denya. “It’s good to see you again, son.”

Despite his nerves, Denya smiled back and returned the hug. “You too, dad. It’s been a while.”

“I know it has,” the older drake stepped back, gauging his son. “You’ve grown up so much since I’ve last seen you. You’re, what, fifteen now? Sixteen?”

“I’m twenty five.”

“Really?”

Denya’s ears fell back. It was impossible to tell if his father was joking or not.

---

With how far out they were from home, the two dragons needed a trolley to reach their destination still. It really felt to Denya as the farther he traveled from the city, the smaller the modes of transportation were.

Hopefully they wouldn’t have to hop on anything too much smaller, as they both barely fit on the trolley to begin with. They were wedged hip to hip, with the two of them completely taking up their row of three seats, with part of Denya’s hips spilling over somewhat. It was rather embarrassing, especially since the hybrid knew he could easily transform to remedy this issue, but he felt relief in knowing he wasn’t the only one struggling this time. Granted, he felt bad his dad had to tuck his knees in quite a bit while sitting down, but it was nice not being alone.

They were both given quite a few stares, as a dragon taking public transit was next to unheard of. Why bother being crammed with other people when drakes vastly prefer flying to their destination on their own? Knowing his father would rather suffer the cramped spaces to spend another hour with his son did make the kitsugon feel warm inside.

As such, he felt a bit more at ease to talk to his father throughout the trip. The dragon wasn’t really one to open up about himself, and never said more than two or three sentences at a time about himself even when prompted, but at the very least he seemed interested in what Denya had to say. A couple times, he even smiled and chuckled at a few quips the drox made, although Denya had a hunch the dragon didn’t get the joke and was just laughing to humor his son. He was a very literal man, after all.

But still, after sitting by himself for half the day, it was nice to finally chat with someone. He almost forgot about the cramped seating arrangements, even if he felt someone brush against his wobbling sides at a few stops. Soon, Denya found himself rambling not just about his school or social life, but just whatever came to mind, even if his father struggled to understand.

“So this…zombie game,” the dragon frowned as he said this, as if trying to pronounce a foreign word. “It’s fun pretending to cast big spells, and kill them?”

“Well, you’re not really ‘killing’ them, since they weren’t alive to begin with,” Denya responded, bending two fingers on each hand. “I mean, they’re trying to kill you to begin with, right? You’re just defending yourself.”

“And you’re not scared?”

Denya laughed. His father genuinely meant that, too. “No! If you fail, you try again. There’s a lot of strategy to it, you know? Kinda like chess.”

“Chess isn’t scary.” The dragon frowned.

Again, Denya snickered. Why couldn’t mom tolerate this guy? He was hilarious! “No, but chess doesn’t have teamwork! You play with friends in the zombie game. Well, we play over the internet, so they’re not in the same room as me, but we’re on a call while we coordinate, strategize…or just goof around.”

“I see.” His father nodded, scratching his scaly chin. “It still sounds scary. I don’t want something to try to kill me.”

As Denya opened his mouth to retort, the dragon grinned. “But, you play with friends who are far away, right? I like that a lot. Maybe your mother and I would enjoy each other more if we played games like this, right?”

Denya snorted. “Who knows. She said to tell you hi, by the way.”

“Did she?” The dragon raised a brow. “Did she tell you to pretend she misses me?”

The kitsugon’s ears folded back.

The dragon smirked, rubbing his claws along those pressed ears. “Tell her I said hi, as well.”



Denya was relieved when the trolley finally stopped at their location. His legs were killing him, and his sides were feeling sore from the amount of times someone brushed into them. His father must have agreed, for the older dragon groaned quite loudly when it was time to stand up, muttering about his poor knees. Denya could now easily see why his dad wasn’t too fond of the big city, especially since not every place was accommodating of creatures his size.

Stepping off the trolley, the drox felt as though he’d stepped back in time. Gone were the concrete floors and towering skyscrapers of the city, but the cobblestone paths and thatched houses of the past. Denya had only seen a building with a straw roof in history books and old photos of his dad; seeing them in person really was something else.

Even more eye-catching were the abundance of dragons walking around. It was rare enough to see a pureblood drake in the city, so seeing a whole host of them strolling about was incredible, like catching back-to-back shinies in Pokemon.

They were all taller than him, however. Much taller. To Denya’s embarrassment, the only other dragons near his height were those noticeably younger than him, such as teenagers. No wonder his dad mistook him for a fifteen year old. Even the buildings, while not as massive as skyscrapers, had much larger openings and windows.

Large among kitsunes. Small among dragons. Did Denya really fit in anywhere?

While Denya’s large tail drooped shyly, his father smiled and patted the hybrid’s back. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He said proudly, gesturing to the large, small town. “Would you like to live here?”

“U-um.” Denya gulped. That was a little sudden. “It’s nice! But, erh, I don’t think mom would like it if I moved out without any warning.”

“Bah!” The large dragon waved an arm. “Don’t worry about what your mother thinks. You’ll like it here!”

“I’ll, uh, take your word for it.” Denya smiled and nodded. He thought otherwise, but wasn’t sure how else to put it without ostracizing himself from his father. His dad had been nothing but nice to him, and the last thing the hybrid wanted to do was mess that up.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I’m freaking starving!” Oops, he didn’t mean to blurt that out as bluntly as he had. The kitsugon couldn’t help it, though. All he’d had to eat today was breakfast and those four twinkies on the train. Well, it may have been more than four. Denya chose not to remember how many wrappers he was covered in when he woke up.

Thankfully, his father took no offense to the outburst, even smiling when he heard it. “We should hurry, then. Boseg Napja begins soon, and we reserved a wonderful tavern tonight.”

Denya tilted his head. “A tavern? But I thought the first day of Boseg Napja was supposed to take place at home.”

“Usually, yes.” The dragon smiled, rubbing his son’s wing. “But this year is a special occasion.”

Denya didn’t quite understand what that entailed. Was it because there were a lot of people in the family celebrating together today? Did they have to reserve a tavern just because of him? Man, not even five minutes into stepping into and Denya already felt like a problem. At least he didn’t have time to stew in his own insecurities as his father quickly marched off, with Denya all but running to catch up.

It was a quaint town to look at, at least. Walking through it made Denya think he was stepping into a picturesque postcard. While still missing the comforts of his city home, the kitsugon could at least appreciate how beautiful the scenery was, and could understand how his father would be uncomfortable living in the concrete jungle, besides the obvious size issue. Heck, Denya even enjoyed how much less confined he felt. No big crowds on the sidewalk, no narrow doors or traffic. He was free to remain in dragon form with plenty of wiggle room. It was rather liberating.

The only caveat was that everyone here was a dragon. Everyone he saw on the cobblestone path were drakes similar to his father, quickly rushing home to begin Boseg Napja. Some of them actually slowed down to make a double take towards the kitsugon’s direction. Of course Denya was used to having strange looks thrown his way, but he grew up in a city, otherwise known as a melting pot full of freaks and weirdos like himself. To get looks like this in a purely dragon-inhabited town just felt…

He wasn’t a dragon. He just wasn’t. Denya didn’t speak a lick of Draconic, he couldn’t fly from location to location. He was short compared to them, and covered in thick fur even as a drake. Sure, with his friends, he’d assume his draconic form and made jokes about how he was about to kidnap a cow from a field, or sneeze and set a house on fire, but outside of silly stereotypes like that, he knew next to nothing about dragons outside of what little time he spent with his father as a kid, or what his mom would say. Should he just sit in the corner, smiling and nodding at his relatives for the entire weekend Boseg Napja took place? Or would that offend his father, who had already gone to great lengths to retrieve him for this festival.

Suddenly, Denya wasn’t so sure he was hungry anymore.

Trapped within his mind, the hybrid didn’t realize he’d trailed behind his father until he noticed the dragon stepping towards the large wooden tavern, opening the door and gesturing for his son to follow. Huffing, the portly kitsugon jogged forward, ignoring how his belly bounced with every stride.

“Look on the bright side,” he thought to himself. If anyone would be the most accepting of his weight, it would be dragons, right?

Yes, because dragons themselves are all surprisingly varied. Denya noticed that when he stepped inside after his father, finding a single large table within the dimly lit room seated with many, many dragons. They were all relatives; cousins, aunts and uncles, et cetera, yet all of them looked rather distinct from each other. Some had longer horns that almost resembled a ram’s horns, others had little nubs. Most dragons had claws at the ends of their wing’s “fingers” but there were a notable few who didn’t. Heck, not even every dragon was black and white like Denya and his father; three drakes who sat next to each other were a rusty red and creamy yellow instead. Some were slender, others muscular, and a few even sported obvious beer bellies. Not quite as rotund as Denya, perhaps, but it was nice not being the only fat one in the family for once. It was rather interesting, looking at all of these dragons who were Denya’s extended family.

But it was also horrifying, as all of these dragons who were Denya’s extended family were also all looking straight at him.

Brows were raised, and the general chatter amplified noticeably. It was all in Draconic, so Denya unfortunately couldn’t understand a single word of it…no, that's not true, he understood his name being brought up again and again. The hybrid fidgeted awkwardly, his legs suddenly feeling very weak, his tail curling tightly around his ankles. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn out and run back to the bus? Or just run back to the station on foot. Or just run back home.

“Welcome, Denya!”

The kitsugon’s ears raised. A short-horned, spiked-winged, skinny dragon got up from his seat to walk towards the hybrid, smiling and carrying a colorful box. “It’s, erh, wonderful to meet you. I hope your trip was a good one, yes?”

“O-oh, it was alright!” Denya nodded, smiling. The other dragon - perhaps a distant cousin - spoke with a heavy accent, emphasizing his r’s. No doubt he wasn’t used to speaking common, making the kitsugon wish that Draconic was an option as a language elective in high school.

The dragon smiled, holding out his hand. “It’s Dimitry. Nice to meet you.”

“Y-yeah, nice to meet you.” Denya’s ears folded, taking the claw and shaking it. Was this a dragon’s greeting?

Dimitry pulled back, holding out the colorful box. “This is for you! For your stay here, I mean. Please, open!”

Denya blinked. “Oh! Thank you very much!” He sliced his claw through the present’s wrapping, tilting his head as he opened the box. “Shampoo?”

“Yes!” Dimitry sounded so excited, it was hard to believe the other dragon was practically looming over him. “For fur! We, uh, don’t have much fur, so when you take a…a…”

He paused, muttering in Draconic before snapping his claws. “Bath! Sorry. Yes, a bath. Now you have good shampoo for you. Do you like it?”

“It’s…” Denya’s tail had slowly unfurled from his ankle, now wagging softly as he turned the bottle in his paws again and again, as though he were holding a timeless family heirloom. “It’s perfect. Thank you Dimitry.”

He literally could not have asked for a better first impression. Looking up from the bottle, he saw the family of dragons, his family of dragons, smiling at him from the table. Freaking hell, he felt so stupid for thinking they’d judge him for not being a ‘real’ dragon, when they had already picked out gifts to make his stay a bit more comfortable with them! Denya felt ready to cry, from how warm and fuzzy he felt on the inside.

Alas, he couldn’t cry, for the shampoo bottle said “No More Tears” on the label.

---

One by one, various relatives came up to introduce themselves to the kitsugon, who found himself rooted to the doorway shaking hands and smiling. Some spoke Common better than Dimitry did, others needed Denya’s father as an interpreter; regardless, Denya felt at ease talking with them.

He did his best to memorize all of the names that came before him, knowing that he struggled a bit when it came to that, but to the hybrid’s surprise, he found himself able to assign names to the dragons with ease. It must have had to do with each reptile having a noticeable, physical difference between the others. Dominic had a scar along his cheek. Derek was the only one with four horns instead of two. Drekthar’s tail was a bit shorter than the others. Maybe Denya was only bad at remembering kitsune names, as the magical foxes oftentimes transformed into more attractive, generic versions of themselves when in public.

Denya would have loved to stand there and greet each and every dragon, but alas, his aching feet and growling stomach drew his attention from the smiling faces to the loaded table. God, the wood on that table was some strong stuff if it can carry that much food! The hybrid could barely even see the table itself beneath platter after platter of meat soups, dumplings, roasts…goodness, was that an entire pig?! Nearly everything was garnished with a nice layer of spices as well, the entire tavern smelling like a roaring, high-end kitchen. The kitsugon was so busy imagining himself going nuts at that table, he completely zoned out from the conversation, leading the dragoness standing before him a bit confused.

But before Denya actually started drooling, an older gray dragon who introduced himself as his grandfather earlier, cleared his throat loudly. “We have time to fawn over the fox after the ceremony. The sun has already set; any later, and our ancestors will be most displeased.”

The fox. Denya wasn’t sure how to react to being called that, but he had to agree with the elder dragon that the ceremony was important, yes. Anything to get him closer to that delicious food! The kitsugon rubbed his paws eagerly as he sat at the table, between his father and Dimitry.

His grandfather spoke again. “Please, everyone, join hands as we ask for blessings from our ancestors.”

Ah, then it was a good thing Denya rubbed his paws then, they’re now warmed and primed for hand-holding. The hybrid took his father’s and Dimitry’s hands and, observing what the others were doing, lowered his head and closed his eyes.

“Negi kavazs neltemletre. Mezsih tza timalav kenzsetgem ygoh, kenkoso za monozsok. Dotal trem-”

Denya’s eyes slowly open. This just wasn’t fair. The hybrid already had difficulty sitting still without something to distract him, but he was expected to do just that and not touch the delicious food in front of him?

Well, he was only half dragon, so it was fitting for him to follow half of the procedure, right? He’d still hold hands and keep his head down, but the kitsugon’s eyes darted left to right. Yeah, he’d start with those dumplings first. They looked delicious, with that red sauce covering them. Maybe start on the ham next, or perhaps combine the two on his plate. That sounded awesome!

“Visek.”

“Visek!”

Denya nearly leapt in his seat. That was sudden. “Visek!” He cried out, a full second after everyone else had said that word.

His grandfather’s gaze shifted towards him quickly, but thankfully the older drake didn’t say anything. Instead, he opened his arms and gestured towards the spread of food. “Now then, with our ancestors all here and present, let us enjoy ourselves to the fullest tonight, so that they may vicariously live through us once again.”

Finally! Denya had to hold back his eagerness, and thus loaded up his plate as calmly as a hungry, fat drox can be. He took a big forkful of the dumplings, toes curling with delight. Hopefully, his ancestors would enjoy watching him have a full on food-orgasm at just how amazing this tasted! Years of dieting from his mom had practically left his tongue dying for anything with actual flavors, and by goodness did these greasy, saucy noodles do the trick.

“You like the food?”

Denya grunted, whipping his head to look at Dimitry. The other dragon chuckled, possibly at how ridiculous the chubby drox looked with his cheeks stuffed like that. It took the hybrid a moment of chewing before his maw was empty enough to speak. “Mmmf. Oh yeah, it’s delicious! Best I’ve eaten in months.”

“That’s good!” Dimitry smiled, grabbing a bottle of cider from the table. “You don’t have food like this where you’re from?”

“Not like this, no.” Denya saw Dimitry offer to fill his cup, and held it out to the taller dragon. He took a brief swig, sighing. Bubbly and fruity, somehow complementing the rich meaty sauce covering the dumplings perfectly. “This tastes much better than anything back home.”

Dimity looked surprised. “But your belly is quite large! You must enjoy it a little, no?”

Denya paused midbite, turning to look at the dragon. He had half expected that to be yet another jab at his weight, but his relative looked more curious than malicious. Dimitry was just pointing out the obvious, not calling the hybrid out on his weight, right? At least, that’s what Denya chose to believe.

He shrugged. “I just eat too much in general.”

Dimitry chuckled. “No such thing here! You eat as much as you want.”

“Gladly!” The hybrid already shoved another huge forkful into his mouth, rumbling softly. He already liked how these guys think! Maybe his dad wasn’t crazy at all for suggesting he move in here so suddenly. Sure, all this good food maaaaay impact his waistline, but the fresh air would encourage him to go out more and exercise. Probably. Maybe.

The hybrid reached for a slice of bread when he noticed the dragons opposite of him make eye contact with him while speaking with his father beside him. Alas, Draconic was difficult to listen in on when you don’t speak it, although Denya heard his name brought up several times. He turned to his dad, who coincidentally turned to him. “Denya. Your aunt would like to see your kitsune form.”

“W-what?” Denya’s ears folded back. No, not in front of these guys. He was already smaller than them all in dragon form; he’d look like a toddler if he shifted! “E-erh, dad, this is my kitsune form.” The hybrid chuckled awkwardly, hoping his father would get the hint.

It did not. “No jokes please, Denya. They’re very curious.”

The hybrid sighed. Well, at least his father asked nicely. In an instant, he shifted back into his kitsune form, his legs now dangling over the edge of the chair, with the backrest rising above him.

“Woah!” The entire table erupted in a clamor, although Denya couldn’t quite see all of their reactions as he was now eye-level with the table itself. Soon, though, he heard the tell-tale sounds of chairs scraping against the ground as several of his family members stood up to observe him, the kitsugon feeling very, very tiny.

“He’s so small!” One dragon called out.

“His suit got small too!” Another exclaimed.

“His belly is still big!” Denya wrapped two of his tails around his midsection at that remark.

Even Dimitry looked astonished at the sudden transformation, his fork clattering on the plate as he sat there frozen at his seat neighbor. “Atza,” he muttered, which Denya assumed was the Draconic word for “wow.” He leaned in closer. “You have five tails! What are they for?”

Denya blinked. “It’s so I can look like the NBC logo.” The kitsugon raised his tails behind him, waving them gently.

Dimitry nodded; Denya figured his relative didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. It was the hybrid’s favorite joke to make whenever anyone mentioned the tails, even if he was one tail short of making that joke more appropriate.

When he felt as though everyone got their fill, Denya shifted back into his dragon form, watching as the others gasped at the sudden change. Being able to use any magic was next to unheard of for any dragon, he figured, hence everyone’s reaction. But seeing so many shocked at his transformations, something that should be baseline for a kitsune, was honestly a little flattering. He even found himself smiling shyly when a few drakes started applauding him.

Unfortunately, newfound fame made it difficult to find time to eat, as soon the hybrid found himself bombarded with questions from Dimitry as well as his other relatives. Denya didn’t mind answering, as most drakes normally didn’t care of the world outside of their territory; perhaps this was just their way of making him feel more comfortable and welcome there. In any case, he made sure to answer without any snark or sarcasm; he learned quite quickly that jokes did not land well among his draconic kind.

One helping done, Denya reached for another. He half expected a kitsune paw to appear out of nowhere to smack his hand away, claiming he’s had more than enough. But, fortunately that never happened. If anything, Dimitry actually noticed him reaching for the stuffed cabbages and grabbed a large helping just for the shorter dragon. It really paid off to have a dragon appetite, as Denya couldn’t imagine anyone on his mom’s side of the family being able to stomach half of what the hybrid had already eaten. Alas, thinking about what his mother said right before he left did leave a knot in his stomach, for said stomach was pressing heavier than ever against his shirt buttons…

The general conversation soon shifted away from Denya, as the drakes continued to converse with each other. The hybrid listened for any happening in Common, just so he could jump in so he wouldn’t look like some stranger who came just to perform a few magic tricks and stuff himself. Unfortunately, the only Common he heard were talks regarding the strange hybrid sitting at the family table, talking about his pointy ears or wet snout. A bit strange, Denya thought; shouldn’t these be the conversations that should happen in Draconic, just so Denya didn’t overhear them talking about him?

Dragons were weird.

Eventually, however, he heard a question asked in Common, directed not at him but at his father instead. “How did you and Denya’s mother meet?” The person beside Denya’s dad asked.

The hybrid snorted, taking a sip of cider. Good luck. He could barely get much of anything out of his father on the bus ride here. Surely he wouldn’t say anything, in front of all these people-

“Oh, yes! I met her twenty six years ago, in this big noisy bar.”

Denya nearly spat out his drink. No way! Was he finally about to hear how his parents met?!

Ears perked, the hybrid listened as his father spoke. “Derek told me there was a bar close to that big city, run by a dragon. They sold Dreher, as well as other kinds of our beer. We decided to investigate… I would not recommend flying in the city. It smells.”

He wasn’t wrong. Denya sat up, wide-eyed as he listened. “We got there, but there were no dragons. The bar was called The Black Dragon’s cave, or something silly. Derek and I, uh, we didn’t want to look like fools, so we stayed for a drink.

“Our Common wasn’t very good. We couldn’t read the menu well. I asked the bartender what was good, and this little fox woman with eight tails loudly told us that Paulaner was the best. I could tell she had a few drinks herself.”

Denya groaned, rubbing his forehead. Dammit, he shouldn’t have been surprised. His parents met at a bar, and his mom was tipsy. And his dad wouldn’t have even gone to that bar in the first place if he hadn’t been misinformed. Talk about one hell of a coincidence. Still, the hybrid wasn’t too thrilled that the fabled meeting of his parents involved alcohol.

Unfortunately, it got worse. “Derek and I tried this Paulaner. It was very weak, like drinking bitter water. Horrible. I told the little fox this, and she argued with me that I was wrong. It was very bizarre. Derek got frustrated and left, but she told me to try another drink instead, and promised I’d like it. I took it as a challenge to try these drinks. So I tried every drink she gave me. All twenty seven of them.”

Denya’s head thudded with the table. Alcohol wasn’t just involved, it was practically the driving force behind their relationship! Cripes, dragon or not, his father must have been freaking plastered after that!

But his father kept going. “I was…not fit to fly after that.” He muttered, awkwardly scratching his horns. “But the fox offered to let me rest at her place for the night. I didn’t want to intrude, but she insisted. And she was rather cute, this small, tiny thing trying to boss me around. It was funny.”

In a strange reversal, Denya did not laugh at his father’s joke.

“I told her such. And then, she transformed in front of me, looking just like me, but a woman! I was very surprised. But also…well…”

He blushed, and the other dragons chuckled. Denya’s ears folded back. Oh no. His dad wasn’t about to say what he thought he’d say, right?

“Anyways, we go to her place. I’m still a little, erh, out of it. She meant to lead me to the couch, but I accidentally fell on it…and then she fell on me…and then-”

Horrified, Denya grabbed his ears and pinned them down, looking down at his lap. Holy crap, he was actually saying that! If this wasn’t a special dragon holiday event, the hybrid would have punched his dad in the face by now. Instead, he sat there as red as a christmas light as his father recounted that night’s events, in vivid detail if the grins of the surrounding dragons were anything to go by.

Even Demitry seemed invested, as he gently nudged the hybrid’s pudgy sides. “You’re so lucky!” He mouthed.

Denya just shook his head no.

When his father’s lips finally stopped moving, the hybrid slowly released his ears, letting the sound of laughter and cheering fill his head. Turning to him, the older dragon beamed, still blushing somewhat. “When I went to the city to visit you, I’d always stop by that bar for a Paulner. Good memories.”

The hybrid groaned. “Wonderful. Is there any here?” Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget this all happened.




Despite that…story, Denya was enjoying himself immensely. His third helping of food gone, the hybrid sighed as he slumped back in his seat, rubbing his bloated belly. Man, he ate more in this one meal alone than he’d normally eat all day at his moms, and goodness did it show. The buttons on his suit were practically creaking, struggling to hold back his broad white belly. Brushing his paws over his belly, the hybrid could feel his undershirt showing behind the gaps in between his buttons. A good thing his mother helped button it before he’d stuffed himself; there was no way she’d be able to do it now!

While Denya had tapped out, Demitry was grabbing yet another plate for himself, the dragon curiously looking over at his sibling. “Are you done already?”

The drox let out a muffled burp in response. “Yeah, unfortunately. I wish I could keep eating, though.”

“Then keep eating! You have this big belly, you need to fill it with food!” Demitry smiled, patted the hybrid’s stuffed stomach.

Again, Denya couldn’t tell if his relative was being coy or just pointing out an observation. “I-I dunno, Demitry. I’m so-”

But the dragon stopped listening, reaching over to plop a very thick pancake over to the fatter hybrid. “At least try this! It’s very good.”

The drox sighed. “Alright. I’ll give it a try.” Honestly, he found it quite humorous how he’d gone from eating too much, to not enough. He didn’t want to be rude to his very polite guests, so he dug his fork in, scooping up a big bite. To his surprise, the pancakes were actually stuffed full of beef minced into small pieces, reminding him of a burrito more than a pancake.

But then he took a bite, and the hybrid groaned. This was better than any burrito he’d ever had! Tail flicking, Denya found himself taking another bite, and yet another, groaning as the rich, savory flavors danced across his tongue. Was every dragon dish this meaty and delicious?

More importantly, were they all this heavy? The greedy drox couldn’t help but to eat the whole thing, because of course he couldn’t, but gods was he stuffed afterwards! He could barely even breathe, just taking short, shallow breaths, his paws roaming along the side of his much tauter stomach. He felt like a balloon that was just a few puffs away from popping.

And here was Dimitry, poking him with the proverbial needle by placing yet another plate of food before him, this time a thick pastry cake with walnut and almond jam filling. “Try this one next! You don’t have to finish it, I promise.”

Denya groans. “Dimitry, you and I know I’m going to try to finish it if I take a bite out of it.”

The dragon said nothing in response, simply smiling and nodding his head.

Denya snorted. He barely even had the energy to reach for the table, and instead grabbed the entire plate to rest it atop of his belly. It made a great shelf at the moment, with how broad and taut it felt.

And it was only going to get broader and tauter.

The hybrid grumbled softly, taking a forkful to his mouth. He swore he could hear his entire body groaning, like rubber being stretched to its breaking point. When was the last time he’d pushed himself so hard when it came to food? And just how much bigger would he wake up tomorrow when all of this digested? By all accounts, he should just stop eating after that bite, like Dimitry insisted.

But Denya kept eating, slowly bringing that fork from his plate to his maw. Maybe this was his dragon half coming out, that competitive nature of his rising up to overcome the challenge of finishing off whatever food was handed before him, much like how his father overcame all those beers…to mixed results. In any case, he fell into a pattern, reminding the drox of the zombie shooter game he’d talked with his dad earlier. Instead of run, loot, shoot; it was chew, swallow, bite.

Chew, swallow, bite.

Chew, swa-

“Bwuuuuuwrp.” Denya didn’t even bother trying to stifle that burp. He barely mustered up the energy to wipe the crumbs from his chubby muzzle. Just doing that was taxing and painful, like his body was angry with him for using muscles not devoted to digesting the enormous mound of food crammed into his poor, poor belly. Mayhaps a nap would help ease the intense pain he felt at the edge of his stomach…

His nose twitched. The drox perked up, horrified to find another slice of cake placed before him, this one a deep, rich chocolate. “One bite. Just try it.” Dimitry repeated, smiling with all the innocence an 8 foot dragon can have.

And like a goddamn fool, Denya leaned forward towards the cake when-

*ping*

-his buttons flew off of him. Not button, buttons, as in plural, as in Denya just ruined his freaking suit in front of everyone on Boseg Napja!

Faces turned towards him, and Denya wished he could shrink smaller than his kitsune self, until he disappeared off the face of the planet. Dammit, could this happen?! Dimitry just said one bite, and he didn’t stop at one bite, and now his fatass just blew his suit on a very special holiday, in front of all of his relatives he’d only just met. In front of his dad who brought him here with nothing but the best intentions, who will probably have to apologize to his family for his fat, disgusting slob of a son. The fat fox whose stomach was shockingly close to reaching his knees, who made the chair creak despite fitting dragons several feet larger than himself, who didn’t know when to stop eating! He hid his fat face in his fat hands, waiting for the comments about him to be thrown about.

Only to hear none.

In fact, Denya soon heard the sounds of silverware on plates yet again. Looking between his fingers, the pudgy hybrid was shocked to find his family still eating, as though nothing had happened just now. Heck, the dragoness who sat across from Denya held up one of Denya’s busted buttons with a shy smile, reaching over to set it next to his plate before reaching for a slice of cake.

The only one in the room who really seemed to notice that bit was Dimitry, whose face tightened in a worried expression. “Are you hurt? What is wrong, Denya?”

“Um…” What was he supposed to say? The only thing that was injured here was his pride; well that and his special kitsune-hair suit that he just burst. His mom was gonna be pissed. “I’m, uh…fine, I guess. Just embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Not proud?”

“Proud?” Denya furrowed his brow. “Of what?”

“Outgrowing your clothes.” Dimitry smiled. “It’s tradition. Dragon children wear their clothes until they rip. Only then do they receive new clothes.”

“I’m not a child, Dimitry.” Denya rubbed his forehead. Even here, he can’t avoid that stigma.

Dimitry chuckled. “But this is new to you, right? Bursting your clothes?”

The pudgy hybrid looked down at himself. He’d always worn clothes woven with kitsune-hair, just so they wouldn’t burst whenever he’d shift. Instead, these clothes burst because his base size was simply too large; no magic involved, just fat. He looked down at the big round belly filling his lap, the undershirt riding up to reveal a big ball of white fluff. Denya certainly felt fat, with all the food stuffed inside him, but now he could see he definitely looked the part as well.

“Yeeeeees?” He muttered after a while. “Yeah, this is, uh…this is a first.”

“Then congratulations! You are officially an adult dragon!” Dimitry smiled, patting the hybrid’s back.

And Denya smiled back, albeit a winced one from the harsh patting. “Thank you. That means a lot.” No sarcasm there, the drox actually felt a moment of pride in being considered an adult dragon, even if it was through overeating. For perhaps the first time in his life, Denya actually felt like he belonged somewhere.

And with a cheeky grin, he reached forward to scoop up a big bite of chocolate cake, suddenly finding much more room in his stomach now that his belly wasn’t obstructed by his own clothes. “Sorry mom,” he muttered, stuffing that bite into his maw. “Your son’s as much dragon as he is kitsune.”