#cat transformation

[19silvermirrors]

Meet the one and only Meowster Shen, ever the gorgeous in any and all forms🥰

[pobblebonked]

going kitty mode

[aventurineswife]

Y’know the “My partner got turned into a cat” trend? Quite a few people wrote it awhile back, and while I was glazing ideas for Sylle and Noah… I think I have a request.

Just as it reads, I wish for a fic written with Sunday, Noah, and whomever else of your choosing. With a reader who got transformed into a cat. 🙏 Surely they’ll find a solution and return to their human form... Even better if they’re like snuggled up together then boom! Back to their regular figure unexpectedly.

A Cat’s Gaze, A Lover’s Soul

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Noah (OC) x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Comedy, Cat Transformation, Mild Angst, Established Relationship, Snuggling & Cuddling, Protective Behavior, Magic Gone Wrong, Unintentional Chaos, Sudden Transformation, Found Family, Lighthearted Shenanigans.

Warnings: Minor Violence, Implied Past Trauma, Touch-Starved Behavior, Mild Possessiveness.

Soft light filtered through the grand halls of the Astral Express as Sunday delicately traced his fingers over the rim of his teacup. It had been a week since you’d mysteriously transformed into a cat—a small, fluffy creature. Despite the bizarre circumstances, Sunday had remained composed, though you couldn’t miss the gentle melancholy in his gaze every time he stroked your fur.

“It seems the universe has a cruel sense of humor,” he murmured as you sat curled up in his lap, your tiny paws kneading the fabric of his coat. His feathery wing twitched behind his ear, a subtle tell of his unrest. “Even in this form, you seek comfort.”

You meowed pointedly, earning a soft chuckle from him.

The situation was frustrating, but if nothing else, being a cat meant you could curl up against Sunday’s warmth, nestled beneath the folds of his long scarf. You weren’t sure if it was your imagination, but each night you spent snuggled against his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you, his hold grew just a little bit tighter. He wouldn’t admit it, but he feared losing you entirely.

Then, one evening, as you rested against his shoulder, his quiet voice barely above a whisper, you felt an odd shift—a warmth rushing through your limbs, a sudden weightlessness that made you blink.

And then, just like that, you were back in your human form—wrapped tightly in his embrace, limbs tangled as you pressed against his chest. His breath hitched, eyes wide as realization struck.

“Ah,” he said, his voice laced with an unreadable emotion. “...I suppose I should let go now.”

But for a moment, he didn’t.

The darkened halls of the Afterlife Judiciary/Palace of Justice echoed with the rhythmic clicking of boots. Noah sat lazily on his throne-like chair, his sharp teeth glinting in amusement as he flicked your tail with a gloved finger.

“You’re absolutely pathetic like this, you know that?” he purred, a sadistic glint in his one visible eye. You swiped at his hand in protest, earning a chuckle that sent shivers down your tiny feline spine.

Despite his cruel words, he was oddly possessive of you in this form, carrying you around in one arm or letting you perch on his shoulder as he doled out his merciless justice. He claimed it was just convenient, but you knew better.

At night, when he thought no one was watching, you’d find yourself nestled against his chest, his fingers buried in your fur, his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep. He’d call you a nuisance in the morning, but his actions told a different story.

Then, one fateful evening, he was cradling you absentmindedly while reading through case files when a sudden surge of energy rippled through you. A blinding flash later, you found yourself sprawled across his lap, back in your human form, hands gripping his coat for balance.

Noah blinked.

Then, slowly, a wicked smirk spread across his lips. “Oh? Now that’s interesting.” His fingers traced your jaw, sharp and teasing. “Guess I’ll have to figure out new ways to keep you on my lap.”

“Now, now, little thing. If you wanted my attention this badly, you could’ve just asked.”

Aventurine lounged on an opulent couch, a glass of rich crimson wine in one hand, while his other traced circles on your feline head. You huffed, swishing your tail as he laughed, his golden accessories jingling with the movement.

He had taken your transformation with surprising ease, treating you as if this was just another high-stakes gamble the universe had thrown his way. You’d caught him betting with himself about when you’d turn back, whispering outrageous odds under his breath.

But despite his teasing, he never once let you stray too far. You always ended up curled on his lap, his warmth radiating through his elaborate suit as he hummed in amusement.

Then, one evening, as you stretched across his chest, his fingers lazily stroking your back, you felt the familiar warmth take over. A rush of sensation overwhelmed you, and suddenly—

You were human again.

And somehow, still sprawled across Aventurine’s lap.

He arched an eyebrow, a slow grin creeping onto his face. “Oh? Didn’t think you’d be so eager to stay close, darling.” His fingers trailed up your spine, amusement flickering in his eyes. “If you wanted to be in my arms so badly, you could’ve just said so.”

You smacked his shoulder. He only laughed.

[bruciestfs]

Become Skitty (⁠^⁠.⁠_⁠.⁠^⁠)⁠ﾉ

[worache]

Chapter II – Patterns

Jacob didn’t have a peaceful night. There were no dreams he could remember, no fragments of images he could return to and try to make sense of. It was a sleep interrupted by his own body—short, sharp returns to awareness where he would inhale, tense up, and feel an undeniable certainty that something had just changed. He couldn’t name it. It wasn’t pain, nor a specific shift he could pinpoint. It was a quiet, persistent knowledge that his body was no longer in the same state it had been moments before. He lay in the dark, listening to the silence of the apartment, and gradually realized something else—that the darkness was no longer as impenetrable as it should have been. The outlines of furniture, the edges of doors, even the subtle movement of a curtain were visible, as if light lingered in the air longer than it should. He blinked, sat up, and stared ahead, unable to decide whether it was real or just the aftereffect of exhaustion. “That’s not possible…” he whispered at last, but his own voice sounded hollow. He didn’t know his eyes were changing—that the brown iris was occupying more space, that the pupils expanded in darkness and narrowed into thin slits in the light. He only knew he could see. And that he shouldn’t.

Morning didn’t bring relief. His body felt rested, but not in any familiar way—it hadn’t gone through the usual cycle of fatigue and recovery; it was simply… ready. Movements were precise, immediate, without hesitation, as if the gap between intention and action had disappeared. He noticed it right away, but tried to explain it away—leftover tension from the climb, adrenaline, anything that fit into a normal world. The explanation didn’t hold for long. First his hands. Then his teeth. The hair on his chest. Everything shifting, step by step. Not abruptly, but relentlessly. When he ate, he understood another layer of the problem. It wasn’t just how he looked—it was how his body functioned. The moment he took the first bite, the movement of his jaw changed. It wasn’t conscious. His teeth sank in differently, his canines taking the lead, his jaw working in shorter, stronger motions. He tore instead of chewing. He tried to slow down, to impose his old rhythm, but the moment his focus slipped, his body returned to the new pattern. It didn’t feel like something controlling him. It felt like he had stumbled upon a pattern he didn’t know—but his body did. The realization came in a quiet, unsettling moment. And then came the vibration—a deep, rhythmic purring rising from his chest. Not painful. On the contrary, strangely soothing. And that was what frightened him most.

He spent the rest of the morning searching. Systematically, almost coldly, as if that alone could give him back control. He went through possibilities one by one. Genetics was the first to go—too fast, too precise. Chemistry followed—he hadn’t injected anything, hadn’t consumed anything unusual. Every logical path ended in a dead end. And then there was only one possibility left. The one he would have dismissed without hesitation just a day ago. Magic. An idea his world didn’t accept, or at least didn’t take seriously. And yet it was the only explanation that didn’t contradict what he was experiencing.

The afternoon brought another shift. This time in his legs. When he stood up from the computer, he knew immediately. His weight shifted forward, onto the balls of his feet. His heels barely touched the ground, as if they were secondary. Every step was quieter, softer, more precise. When he looked down, he saw that his feet weren’t the same. Not dramatically different—but enough. His toes were more defined, actively engaging with each step. The skin on the underside of his foot was different—not hard like a callus, but flexible and firm at the same time, built to take repeated pressure. And the hair. On the top of his foot, along the sides. Where there hadn’t been any before. “I need to stop this… or I’ll grow a tail by tomorrow,” he muttered, but the attempt at humor dissolved before it could take hold.

That evening, he immersed himself in searching again. This time without resistance. He went through forums, notes, stories he would have dismissed in seconds before. Most of it was nonsense, but certain patterns repeated. Wishes spoken without thinking. Objects acting as triggers. Changes that started subtly and then accelerated. It wasn’t that he believed it. It was that it was the only thing that didn’t contradict what was happening to him. Time blurred. When he finally pulled himself away from the screen, it was past two in the morning. Exhaustion hit him suddenly, heavy and deep. “Damn cat,” he muttered as he stood up, and only a few seconds later did he realize why the words unsettled him.

The shower didn’t help. The hot water only amplified the sensitivity of his skin. Every touch was precise, every part of his body reacting. The hair on his back was thicker, more pronounced. His body continued to change regardless of his attempts to slow it down. When he lay down, he fell asleep instantly. And the changes intensified.

They began in his feet. The skin on the underside thickened in specific areas—under the toes, beneath the front of the foot. Not as protection from strain, but as adaptation to it. Flexible, firm, responding to pressure differently than before. His toes curled and spread in his sleep, as if testing a new range of motion. The arch adjusted, tension shifting. Even in sleep, his weight moved forward.

Morning made it undeniable. The moment he stood, he knew. His weight shifted forward even more than before. His heels were secondary, not foundational. His feet were slightly narrower, longer, his toes more active. And his body treated it as correct. The mirror only confirmed it. Thicker hair, spreading further. More growth across his shoulders. His ears had changed shape, the Darwinian tubercle more pronounced, fine hairs visible along the edges. His eyes reacted instantly to light, pupils narrowing into thin slits. “What’s happening to me…” he exhaled, but no answer came.

After eating, he returned to the computer. This time without doubt. Magic was the only possibility left. He kept reading, and the more he read, the more the pieces aligned—not as proof, but as direction. And then it happened again. His body. Another shift. He stood, looked down—his feet, the hair, the movement—all one step further. And in that moment, it clicked. The cliff. The ledge. The stone. The coin.

He moved immediately toward the pants he had thrown over the chair. He stepped almost entirely on the front of his feet now, silent, precise, as if it were natural. He reached into the pocket and pulled it out. The bronze coin. Worn smooth, with a small hole at the edge. Still the same. He held it between his fingers and waited. Nothing happened. No reaction. Just the cold of metal.

But this time, that was enough.

Because for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was holding a random object.

But a key.

[pamiwerewolfybunterfly]

He’s so cat so I have to make this!

Ngl I instantly fell in LOVE with Do Not Watch This Show so new favorite show unlocked!!! And I’m lowkey starting to LOVE Wizz so I decided to turn him into a cute kitty thanks to @vinylv1 for showing me DNWTS :3

[limpandcontrolledblog]

Jade’s 2nd Session, from Tranced Beauties

Jade’s 2nd Session, from Tranced Beauties

[not-a-silly]

CAT FANFIC

This is what Yuuma was up to a couple of days ago while Kouki was having his existential crisis. Just a short fic, Mera's POV

The cat sitting in front of her was very small, and very scrawny. If Mera didn't know better she would have said it was a kitten, but she knew the bugger well enough to be sure that if Yuuma could speak to her right now, they would tell her that they were absolutely NOT a kitten; they were a savage full grown cat with claws like razors, and if she tried to pick them up one more time they were going to make her hand look like it had been through a shredder. 

Their expression was saying as much; glaring up at Mera with pupils blown wide, thrashing their pointed little tail so hard that their body twitched with every movement. 

Mera, however, was not about to be intimidated by something shorter than her forearm. She reached forward without hesitation and scooped the cat up by the armpits. Taken by surprise, Yuuma let out a noise somewhere between a growl, a hiss, a gag and a snort, but didn't have the initiative to do much else. 

"Sorry bug," Mera soothed as she stuffed them into the cat carrier she'd borrowed from Maeko and closed the door. She didn't want to have to pick Yuuma up against their will, but it wasn't like she had much of a choice. They couldn't stay here.

Yuuma's parents both seemed to be out working — something that made Mera a little anxious, because she should be working; having a two hour break between school and her job was crazy, she should really get a different job with longer hours and higher pay — 

Yuuma let out a colourful growl as she opened the front door, as if to remind her that they were still there.

"Not far!" she said, giving the box a little squeeze. 

Yuuma really did make an adorable cat. Their coat may have been sticking out in oily spikes but that only made their huge eyes bug out further, and they had remarkably kitten-like features despite being an adolescent. They were an ugly kind of adorable, like one of those weird hairless cats. Though as Maeko would say, it was impossible for a cat to not be adorable.

They warmed up to Mera's room surprisingly quickly, once she'd got her siblings out of the way and locked the two of them in. They did only come out from under her bed when her back was turned, and she did have to stop them from picking on the carpet and scratching at her chair once, but this was both normal for cats and expected from Yuuma. All she had to do was distract them with a scrumpled up piece of paper for them to disembowl, and everything was fine. Mera left them to it while she got ready for work. 

Kouki hadn't answered her texts since the day before. This was worrying, because Kouki usually took great care to answer people back unless he was having an existential crisis. Mera hadn't realised that telling him he was faking his guilt would have such an effect on him — which, thinking back, she definitely should have realised. In her defence, he'd been trying to tell her something she really hadn't wanted to hear, so of course she'd panicked. She would have said anything. 

Mera looked at the time. She should really check to see if he was alright. She hadn't meant to get him into such a state, but if he was catatonic and refusing to eat then it was technically her fault. She had time. Besides, if she knew anything about Kouki he would probably come out of this crisis and straight into another one if he realised that he'd missed Yuuma turning into a cat.

Luckily Kuriko had come over as soon as she'd found out Mera had custody of her best friend, so she didn't have to get them back into the cat carrier alone. They didn't react well to Kuriko trying to handle them either, even though they'd been purring on her lap just ten minutes prior. It seemed they just had an aversion to being put places. 

---

Kouki was laying so still when they arrived that he looked a part of the furniture. He didn't react to the creak of the door, not even to Mera sheepishly greeting him with a "Hey, Kouki…"

It was the silence of an empty house. 

"Are you good?" Kuriko said from behind her. 

Still nothing. 

Mera slowly put the cat basket down, wondering if she was doing the right thing, if there was anything else she should be doing. Surely seeing Yuuma would cheer Kouki up a bit, right? Having a cat around would definitely cheer him up. Even if it was a cat who would probably spend the whole time hiding and/or hissing at him.

However, when she opened the box Yuuma took a few moments to survay the room with their enormous eyes, bobbing their head up and down as though checking for danger, then shrank further into their cage. She'd expected them to zoom straight under the bed. Mera got a few cat treats out of her pockets and attempted to coax them out while Kuriko walked over to Kouki's bedside and gently tapped his forhead.

"Don't hit him," Mera warned, looking around. Kuriko turned to face her with a completely unreadable expression.

"I would literally never."

It didn't look like Yuuma wanted to come out, so Mera let Kuriko try while she rearranged some of Kouki's bookshelves in an effort to be helpful. She would have made Kouki something to eat but she didn't trust herself around his food right now — she was too hungry. She listened to Kuriko murmering to her friend as she did so.

"— don't have to. I'm gonna get my computer out and do some Kokomin stuff. You can come out if you want to."

A shift on the carpet, then the click clacking of a keyboard.

Then a moment later, the unmistakable sound of a set of paws running across the carpet, followed by a tiny "prrp!"

Mera turned silently to see Yuuma padding onto Kouki's bed, lifting each paw high as though they were walking through deep snow. They sniffed delicately at Kouki's shoulder, and a thin rumble filtered through the air. 

Mera glanced at Kuriko, who was also watching intently from where she sat cross legged on the floor. If either of them spoke, the spell would break.

Yuuma was now standing on Kouki's chest, digging their paws in one after another in a classic breadmaking motion — no, Mera needed to stop thinking about bread. They then settled down into an oily doughnut shape (STOP thinking about doughnuts!) stretching one paw out as they relaxed into a deeper purr. Kouki's eyelids fluttered. Then, with the effort of someone swimming through deep water, he raised a hand slowly into the air and placed it on top of Yuuma.

The outstretched paw pulled itself back under the cat as they tucked themself into a perfect circle, still purring their rhythmic song.

Mera would leave them to it. She'd checked on Kouki, and she trusted Kuriko to stay with him and Yuuma until the powers at be decided to turn them back into a human.