How do big chubby Pokémon like this even fight? I’m not sure how battles go down... they’d probably just fall over... At least they're super cute! Just like this one here, who's Ty - who you can find here... !!HERE!! Huge shoutout to Ty for the awesome idea of a big, chubby Typhlosion TF and please check out Surii's amazing work, (with another big shoutout) !!HERE!!

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He tugged the sleeves of his hoodie down as he walked, eyes fixed on the tiled floor. The fluorescent lights above hummed, casting shadows on the corridor’s boring sterile white walls.

Did anyone like walking through these?

There wasn’t much a point to these lengthy hallways that took trainers from one section of Johto to another. I guess that’s what you get when you spend all your taxes on fancy league stadiums and animated Poké Balls for your gym leaders…

These places felt like afterthoughts, like someone had remembered at the last minute that, oh right… crud. People still had to get from Goldenrod to Ecruteak somehow. No murals. No benches. Not even a vending machine. Just endless tile, hum, step, repeat.

His sneakers squeaked softly with every step. Behind him, somewhere distant and unseen in reality, vast curling claws brushed the edge of the world, listening in. He kept his head down, jaw tight. Ughh... I just wish everyone would see me as I want... I hate being a fucking human…

"Relatively easy, I’ll grant it," came the low murmur of the Ahamkara, though no one was around to hear it. Not really. Who would be? At the edges of time and the ripples of torn space, the only thing that it had to keep itself company, were the hijinks it could pull on humans.

The thought continued to simmer, unspoken yet screamed through the cosmos. It echoed not just in his own mind, but in something else's. He didn’t notice the shadows thickening behind the glass walls of the hallway, silhouettes gathering, indistinct and unblinking, coupled between the other trainers and citizens stumbling through the corridors to their destination.

As he passed, whispers slipped between the cracks of reality, following just behind his shoulders. Soft, airy voices that should’ve been impossible to hear but cut through the bumbling ambience like a knife.

“Wow...”

“Such a big Pokémon...”

“So cute!”

“Powerful.”

“I wish I looked like that.”

“Look at the pretty eyes...” 

"Are they... making fun of me? Seriously?" he quietly muttered, glancing around with a suspicious nervousness, the smudged shapes moving behind planes. There wasn’t any Team Rocket idiots about, so who was saying those things?

“…What the hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He kept walking. The hallway didn’t end. It should’ve, logically, this was just a connecting corridor between wings, lined with glass, bland and clinical. But now the corners never came. Just more tile. More lights. More shadows on the other side of the glass.

More whispers.

“Bet he waddles when he runs…” 

“Look at those pudgy little digits…” 

“Aww, he’s trying to act all tough!”

His brow twitched. He was sure he hadn’t gained weight. His hoodie hung the same as it always had. His hands, he flexed them, felt normal. Maybe a bit stiff, but still hands. Still fingers. Still human. Right?

Now someone was giggling, faint and teasing. He could feel the heat rising behind his ears, frustration burning in his chest. He spun around, eyes wide and furious.

Oh.

An old lady stood there, blinking at him with a puzzled look, a small can of coffee in her hands. Her eyebrows raised slightly, just surprised.

He stared at her. She stared back.

“…Sorry,” he muttered, face flushed as he turned back around.

Had he been poisoned? That thought came with sudden clarity. Some Pokémon’s ability? Some stray effect clinging to his system? He’d brushed past a few on the tram ride over, one of them had looked at him funny, hadn’t it?

He scratched his scalp and frowned. Maybe he’d brushed too close to a Musharna? Or… something psychic?

His steps slowed. Up ahead, just to the side, the glass wall caught him in profile.

A reflection.

Finally!

He stepped toward the glass, expecting to see himself, rumpled hoodie, tired eyes, maybe a little hunched from the weight of everything in his head.

But what stared back wasn’t him. Not exactly.

It was a Typhlosion.

Broad, thick, unmistakably powerful, with fur that fluffed slightly at the neck and hips, too soft for the old battle worn look he’d seen in pictures. Its paws were big. Clumsy looking. Cute, even. And on its head, tilted at the exact same lazy angle he always wore it, was his hat.

He staggered back a step. “Wait… the- fuck?!”

A suited man walking a small Vulpix jerked around to glare at him, covering his Pokémon’s ears with an exaggerated scoff.

He didn’t even notice. “Is that me?” he whispered.

Then, a breathless, half panicked, “Whaaa-”

And the sound cut short in his throat.

His breath caught.

The reflection rippled in the glass, not like water, but like something underneath the glass was pushing outward, as if reality itself was stretching. He felt it before he saw it… a strange pulling deep in his face, a pressure crawling forward through his sinuses, dragging his features outward.

His nose popped forward into a short, blunt snout.

“Wh-!” he yelped, hands flying to his face. It was warm. Soft. Covered in velvet fuzz. He stumbled back, gasping, heart hammering in his chest.

No one around him reacted. The suited man had turned the corner, already forgotten. The Vulpix was gone. No new passersby seemed to give him a second glance.

But in the glass?

The shadows were still there. Behind the surface. Watching. Pressed against the reflective surface with blank, shifting outlines and wide, hungry eyes.

“Look at that nose! He’s almost there.”

“Typhlosion suits you better, doesn’t it?”

“You’re not even resisting…”

He stared, chest rising and falling in ragged jerks. He tried to form words, to say “What’s happening to me?” but his mouth no longer moved the same way. His tongue felt too big. Too flat.

“...haapeeening- ttyph- meee...”

His voice cracked into a breathy whine, the vowels flattening, slurring around a jaw that no longer seemed to hinge right. Something was off in his head, too, a soft, buzzing pressure at his temples. Thought wouldn’t hold still. Everything was drifting, slippery, half lost the moment it formed.

Can’t… think…

His fingers twitched. Or tried to. They didn’t bend properly anymore. They looked thick… too thick. Clumsy and broad. The nails were gone, smoothed over into soft keratin stubs. A dull heat pulsed under his hoodie sleeves, running along his arms like syrup, reshaping him from the inside out.

The shadows in the glass twitched and pressed closer. They were grinning now.

He clutched at his chest, only now realizing how tight his hoodie had become. It clung to him like it was a size too small, rising as his torso expanded underneath, barrel like, plush with fresh fur and muscle. His belly pushed forward, rounding with every breath. The thick tail blooming behind him swept low and heavy against the ground, unnoticed.

“This isn’t what I wanted!” he tried to say, but his tongue didn’t work like it used to. It was broader, thicker, suited for growls, not syllables. The words came out twisted, warped.

“Thhhssh ishhn’t wha’ I- I’m…”

A dull sensation slid through his skull as his ears stretched, pulling upward and rounding out with soft tufts at the tips. His cap remained, stubbornly perched between them, but it looked comical now, balanced atop a face that wasn’t his anymore.

“I’m…”

The thought tried to form again. He felt it crumbling even as he said it.

“...Typhloshion…!”

He slapped his paws over his face, desperately, but even that felt wrong. His fingers had merged halfway now, thick pads replacing knuckles, blunting his grip into something better suited for swatting or waddling than grasping. His claws scraped clumsily at his cheeks, trying to hold onto something that was already melting away.

“Ty… Typhh… looo…” he groaned, drool trailing down his chin.

No… say something else! Say anything else!

“Typhhhlosssh…” he gasped again, slurring it like a moan. His tongue lolled out. His jaw hung open as he tried to look around, but his focus shattered like glass. Every movement felt heavy and warm and soft, his own breath steaming up the glass.

Panting. Drooling. Swallowing between slurred, useless syllables.

“Phlo… Ty… phff- phloshhhhnnn…”

The seams of his hoodie gave a sharp rrrip as his shoulders pushed outward. Fabric strained over his bloating form, then tore fully as his thickened belly burst free, pale fur brushing against cool air.

Then the pressure of his growing thighs shoved his sweatpants down inch by inch until they could no longer hold, his hips too wide, legs too round, every step jiggle heavy and unstable.

“Typhff- phloshhiiiee…” he whimpered, blinking slow and dumb, gaze unfocused as he pawed uselessly at the collar of his shirt. It snapped beneath his bulk, fluttering down with a pathetic rustle.

Behind the glass, the shadows leaned in. Watching. Smiling.

“Where’s your name, Typhlosion?”

“Did you forget already?”

“Bet you don’t even remember how to hold a pencil with those stumpy paws.”

“Who needs thoughts when you're this cute?”

He swayed, unsteady on his paws, chest rising and falling in slow, dragging breaths. A puddle of drool clung to his lip, trailing down his chin, soaking into the fur that now coated his thick, plush neck.

The reflection in the glass had stopped reacting altogether, it only stared back with a dopey, glassy eyed smile. Tongue out. Hat still tilted proudly on its wide, dopey skull.

He blinked, ears twitching, jaw slack. There was something… someone he’d been thinking about. A name. His name. But it just… slipped past, like fog. When he reached for it, it wasn’t there.

Looking to his left, two teenagers walked by, talking loudly, not even glancing at him. A businesswoman on a call brushed right past his tail, barely muttering an apology. To them, he was just… normal.

This isn’t normal, he thought, or tried to. But even that came slowly. Slurred. Uncertain.

“Ty… phf…” he muttered, swaying.

No. Wait. I’m not… I was-

“You were what?” the shadows giggled.

He stared at the glass. At himself. At what he was.

And what he had always been. Right?

“Typh…” he echoed softly, tail curling around his legs as the last strands of resistance began to fray.

The last of the changes settled in with a heavy, contented sigh that he didn’t even know he made. His chest rose and fell in deep, lazy breaths. His arms… not arms. Forelegs. His forelegs hung loose and soft at his sides, paws curled inward, thick and velvety.

His hoodie was long gone, reduced to tatters barely clinging around his shoulders before slipping off completely. Only his red cap remained, balanced proudly between his rounded ears, and the bone necklace that still hung snug around his thickened neck.

He blinked, slowly. The world looked… simpler now. Softer. The edges had dulled, the voices faded, the rush of thoughts that had once spun endlessly in his mind had quieted into a pleasant hum. There was no panic. No pressure to remember. Just warmth. Softness. Stillness.

The glass before him reflected a complete Typhlosion now, tall, plush, proud in its build. Blue flames faintly shimmered from his mane, though they pulsed gently, more decorative than threatening. His cheeks were still dusted red with blush from the strain of the change, his lips parted in a loose, slack smile.

Behind the glass, the shadows began to recede, their giggles melting into silence. Their job was done.

Somewhere, distant, beyond sight, maybe even beyond the real world, a voice echoed. The ahamkara, lounging unseen.

“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” it asked no one in particular.

The Typhlosion flicked his ears, tilting his head slightly.

“Now everyone sees you the way you’ve always been…”

A pause. The voice softened.

“Even you.”

The Typhlosion blinked once, then turned away from the glass with a happy little grunt, plodding off down the corridor. Tail swaying. Mind empty. Whole.