Silly Rabbit, Trix Goes Straight to the Hips! (Patreon)

Hello, folks! Our first story of the month is here, and we greatly appreciate your. Patience with this one. As voted on by you, Tricks the Rabbit has finally gotten a hold of his favorite breakfast cereal, with predictable results. Picture by Brock and Cedric, and story by me. Enjoy!

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“I, uh, I’m not sure I understand this new approach…” the white rabbit sitting at one end of the table was staring down at his new contract. For decades, Trickstopher “Tricks” Rabbitson had served as the face of Trix Cereal, but after some commercials didn’t quite reach the numbers corporate wanted, the higher ups had renegotiated the contracts with several of their mascots.

“It’s quite simple, Mr. Rabbitson,” Mr. Trumbull rumbled. The head of the board of the directors, Mr. Trumbull was a bull not so much wearing a suit as he was poured into one with how tight it was over his mountainous shoulders and massive chest. “We’re trying to move things in a new direction here. Now, it is not that we don’t appreciate your years of service here at the company, but it is taking too long to produce new commercials and advertisements to keep up with the latest trends. So, to streamline the process, we’re moving away from a… traditional process of filming.”

Even though Mr. Trumbull had not said anything actually threatening, Tricks still squirmed in his seat. That bass voice rolled over him like thunder, and with just how big he was, it was hard to look anywhere else. The rabbit tugged at his shirt, and cleared his throat. “S-so… what exactly do you need me to do?”

“Well, sign on the dotted line first, Mr. Rabbitson,” Mr. Trumbull said with a small grin. The rest of the board, dwarfed in the bull’s shadow, laughed sycophantically. “We’re making your schedule more…” He lifted his steel beam of an arm, gesturing as he reached out for a word. “...flexible. Trust me, your job will be getting much easier from here on out. We’ll have you come in to read a few lines, model for our CGI people, and then, well! You get to enjoy the rest of the time to yourself. Of course, we’ll need to take a small cut to your salary.”

‘This, uhm… this k-kinda sounds like you want me to retire…” Tricks finally said, frowning deeply out of worry.

The board was silent. Mr. Trumbull exchanged looks with half a dozen other executives. “Mr. Rabbitson- Trickstopher- your brand is worth millions.” Mr. Trumbull said smoothly, leaning forward over the table, his chest the size of a car hood nearly splitting his shirt. “Believe me, even if we wanted to, we couldn’t afford to get rid of you. But, we need to be able to work with you at times when you may not be available, a celebrity of your caliber. Here, we have something that will compensate for the dip in pay… we’re removing clause 24 from your contract.”

Tricks’ long, floppy ears shot up, his pink nose twitching as he was shaken out of staring at the beefy bovine’s pecs peeking through the gaps between his shirt buttons. “You… you mean…?”

Mr. Trumbull smiled magnanimously. “That’s right, Trickstopher… no more method acting. We’ll give you as much Trix cereal as you want, to do with as you please.” The bull grinned, leaning back in his throne like chair. His mammoth back pressing against it made it groan ominously. “You might even eat it.”

Tricks shot up from his seat. “Where do I sign?!”

A few minutes later, the now jovial Mr. Trumbull was ushering Tricks out the door. The rabbit’s white fur bristled as the bull’s large, strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, effortlessly leading him out of the boardroom. “I’m glad you came around to seeing it our way, Trickstopher. We’ll be in touch.” The bull snapped his fingers, and another, far smaller executive opened the door for the rabbit. “Tell Mr. Strype we’ll be ready for him in a few minutes. And, yes,” Mr. Trumbull cut off Tricks’ next question, holding up his hand and smiling gently. “We’ll be sending the first shipment of Trix to your home as quickly as possible.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Trumbull, thank you!” Tricks attempted to shake the bull’s hand, but he was nearly lifted off his feet as the huge bovine gripped him, his hand swallowing up his entire wrist. Tricks’ cottontail wiggled a bit as he was set down, and the rabbit’s field of view was filled with Trumbull’s massive frame as he lumbered back into the board room. He was a whole lot of beef, that much was certain.

“Ah, hey, Tricks!” A booming voice called out, before a thick, striped arm was slung over the rabbit’s shoulders.

“Hm? Oh! Hey, Tony,” the rabbit looked up at the company’s darling, Tony the Tiger. The famous mascot for Frosted Flakes was probably the perfect mascot; tall, muscular, a deep voice smooth as molasses, and intensely charismatic, Tony had made friends with every other mascot, including Tricks, but he seemed to be hanging around the rabbit more often than usual. Not that Tricks minded. Who could say no to Tony?

“So! What’s the word?” Tony looked the rabbit over, probably studying him for how bloodthirsty the board was today.

“Oh, they were great!” Tricks grinned wide, then sighed wistfully. “Gosh, did you know Mr. Trumbull could be so wonderful? He’s the best!”

Tony frowned. “Mr. Trumbull? That, uh, doesn’t quite sound like him…”

“Oh, he’s great. Definitely my favorite big bull. He’s just made me so happy, Tony, you wouldn’t believe it!”

“Oh, uh, I’m happy for you, Tricks…” Tony was rubbing the back of his head, trying to make sense of the rabbit. “So, uhm… what did Mr. Trumbull say, exactly?”

“Hm? Oh-“ Tricks giggled a bit. He felt so giddy! “You know what? I think I want to keep it to myself, just for now. It’s been so long, I just… need to have this for myself.”

“Oh, right Tricks, sure,” Tony was frowning, his tail lazily twitching.

The rabbit finally looked his friend over. “Oh! I’m sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to make you nervous. They’re being really generous today. Let me know what they give you- they’ll be ready for you in a few minutes.” Tricks, barely able to keep his mouth from salivating, was bouncing off the balls of his feet. “Meanwhile, I’ve got to hurry home for a date I’ve been looking forward to for a long, long time.”

“Hah, grrreat Tricks, have fun!” Tony, after a sigh of relief, called after the rabbit as he raced down the hall.

Being the face of a popular breakfast cereal for a few decades had hardly left Tricks destitute. He only had one vice to spend his money on, and it had been out of bounds to him since 1959 by contract, leaving him with enough money for a very comfortable warren; a low, sprawling house built into the side of a hill. Bouncing his way into his spacious home, Tricks gasped, smiling ear to ear as he saw a small pyramid of Trix cereal, wrapped up in a gift basket as big as he was.

“It’s…” he sniffed, holding back tears. “It’s beautiful.”

This had to be done just right. Leaping to his kitchen, the lean, hungry rabbit grabbed his finest china, fresh milk, and plucked the cereal box off the top of the pyramid, and poured himself the first bowl of Trix cereal he had eaten in a long, long time. Raising his spoon to his mouth, trembling with anticipation, he took his first bite.

It didn’t disappoint.

Tricks’ mouth twitched a bit as he processed the flavor. It was just like he had always been saying, for all these years! Raspberry red, orangey orange, lemon yellow, grapety purple, and wildberry blue! Why did he ever agree to keep himself away for all these years? He wanted to find the person who came up with method acting, and slap them. The rabbit practically inhaled the rest of his bowl, and barely hesitated before pouring himself a new one. By the third helping, he had forgone a spoon, drinking the sugary, slightly colored milk and cereal straight from the bowl. The sugar high made his ears twitch as he emptied that first box, and looked back at the pyramid.

“Finally! Trix is for rabbits!”

“Uh… Mr. Trumbull, sir?” The graphic engineer regretted calling the bull over. The titanic bovine leaned over him, pinning the engineer to his own desk by Trumbull’s own cliff-like pecs.

“What’s the matter, Jeffries?”

“Well, the model here is a little… off,” the engineer wheezed, tilting his computer screen to show the bull. The CGI model, an uncanny resemblance of Tricks, showed the white rabbit grinning wide, and carrying a potbelly around his middle the size of a pumpkin. He was packing some serious haunches and thunder thighs, too, giving him a distinctively pear-shaped body.

Trumbull snorted, nearly cracking Jeffries’ back with the sudden force of his inflated chest. “I’ll take care of this.”

The bull lumbered down the hallways, practically filling them as he kept his eyes peeled for Tricks’ dressing room. He had to enter through the door sideways, his chest and lats scraping against the frame. “Mr. Rabbitson.”

“Hm? Oh! Mifter Trumphull!” The bull had caught the rabbit face first in a box of Trix cereal, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s. He gulped heavily, and the bull could practically hear it hit his slowly expanding gut, his fluffy white fur only adding to his soft, sloshing frame. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Mr. Rabbitson, we’re happy that you’ve become so… comfortable with the new arrangement here.”

“Mm-hm!” Tricks nodded emphatically, already grabbing another box of Trix. He had six of them lined up. “We should have done this a long time ago!”

“Quite.” Mr. Trumbull reached in, snatching the cereal out of Tricks’ hands faster than one could expect for someone his size. “But we’ve had time to re-evaluate the contract, and it looks like one of our lawyers made a slight error… I’m afraid in accordance with HR rules, we’re not able to continue giving you a continuous supply of Trix.”

The rabbit’s round, dimpled face deflated, as he moved to clutch his remaining boxes to his soft, pillowy chest. “W-what? B-b-but- you said!”

“Come on, Trickstopher,” Trumbull effortlessly peeled the boxes free of the rabbit’s grip. “This stuff is for kids. Now, try to clean yourself up a bit for next time. We don’t have any more motion capture suits your size.”

The bull left Tricks in shock, slumped over in his chair. After a moment, a friendly, feline face peeked through the doorway.

“Ah, hey, Tricks!” Tony grinned. As he stepped in the doorway, he was filling out the frame much more effectively than usual- his bandana was wedged between the cleft of his inflated chest, and he was spreading out his wide shoulders until they brushed against either side of the doorway. “You were looking great out there! Glad to see they can’t- Tricks, what’s wrong?”

“O-oh, T-tony!” The rabbit wailed, throwing himself on the buff tiger, sobbing into his chest. “Tr-Trumbull, he-he-“

“Oh, Tricks, no! Don’t tell me.” Tony patted the rabbit’s back consolingly, wrapping his strong arms around him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, buddy. You deserve better.”

“Y-you think so?” Tricks whimpered.

“Yeah, of course.” Tony sighed, resting his hands on the rabbit’s shoulders. “Look… I know it may be too soon, but, I think I can make things better.”

“You can?”

The tiger offered an encouraging smile. “Of course. I’d… like to be stronger for you first, though. Do you remember the Supercharged Frosted Flakes, back in the 90’s?”

Tricks frowned as he sniffled, wiping his nose. What did this have to do with Trix? “Uhm… yeah?”

“There’s some still here in the factory. I’m, uh, not allowed to have any… but, if you can get me some, just…” Tony grinned awkwardly. He was puffing up his chest, still resting his arm over Tricks’ shoulder. “Well, I could really make a big impression, if you get what I’m saying,” the tiger winked. 

“Uh… why can’t you have Supercharged Frosted Flakes?” the rabbit asked. There was a pang of sympathy for the tiger; he could only guess.

“Well, let’s just say it, uh… has a similar effect on me like Trix does to you.” Tony grinned, patting the rabbit’s belly.

“Alright, so… I help you, you help me?” Tricks clarified, blushing slightly as the tiger’s hand ran over the crest of his belly. “Scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

Tony put on the most confusing smile. “Among other things.”

Tricks blinked. Why was he acting so weird? “Right, well… just, uhm. Point me in the right direction, then.”

Per the tiger’s instructions, Tricks made his way to the factory. One of the most famous mascots for the company, Tricks turned a lot of heads amongst the workers. There was more snickering this time around, and the rabbit tried futilely to suck in his gut.

“Uhm, hi there, fellas,” Tricks approached a foreman, a burly bear with broad shoulders, in discussion with two orange vested workers. The rabbit was trying to appear casual as he leaned against the wall, as he awkwardly folded his arms with his belly pressing up against them. “So, uhm. Perhaps you can help me find something.”

“Sorry sir,” the foreman held up his hand. “But we got a message just a minute ago from the bigwigs. No more trix for you.”

“O-oh, uhm, no, I’m not looking for that.”

One of the workers scoffed. “What? The Trix rabbit doesn’t want any Trix? Finally learned that Trix are for-”

“Yes, I know, thank you,” Tricks snapped. “I’m actually curious about, uhm. Supercharged Frosted Flakes?”

The foreman exchanged looks with two of his workers before clearing his throat. “Just, uh, why are you asking about it, sir?”

Tricks shrugged. “Oh, well, you know… contraband cereal is something of a passing interest for me,” he chuckled nervously.

The foreman, his brow arched, nodded. “Well, it’s not something we can just cart out. It’s, uh, kept underground, beneath one of the grain silos. We need to keep them away from Mr. They’re Grrreat, you know?” the bear explained.

Tricks’ eyes widened. “He loves them that much? Well… which silo is it held under?”

The foreman smirked. “You know what, sir? Don’t even worry about it.” He shared one last knowing look with the workers, then headed back to work.

Tricks’ ears drooped. “Oh, I have a bad feeling about this…”

The rabbit snooped his way through the factory, weaving in and out of giant silos until his nose twitched, as he caught an unmistakable scent: Raspberry red, orangey orange, and just a dash of lemon yellow. The aroma lifted him off his feet, luring him over to one silo in particular like a fat fish on a hook. 

“Oh…” His eyes went wide. “Oooh.”

The silo was filled to the brim with Trix cereal. Every fruity flavor, every color of the rainbow, it was all there, a whole sea of it. The rabbit was salivating as he leaned over the guardrail to take a better look, his belly pressing up against the metal. Then his stomach growled.

Tricks quickly shook his head. “No, no! I’ve got to keep my eye on the prize.” He turned away, trying to think of the Supercharged Frosted Flakes. They were just beneath the silo…

“Alright, alright. Just one more look. It’s… so beautiful,” Tricks sighed wistfully. He leaned against the rail, taking in the sight of more of his own cereal than he had ever seen in his life. So lost in the sight of it, he didn’t hear the groaning and bending metal as he leaned a little too much of his augmented weight into the railing. Then, he fell headfirst into the sea of Trix, landing with a tangible crunch.

“Oh! Oh, no, oh no,” Tricks yelped, flailing his arms as he sank deeper into the cereal. It was up to his eyeballs by the time he opened his mouth to scream out for help, and then he was forced to gulp some of it down. After that, the rabbit started seeing this situation as probably the best thing he could have wished for: all the Trix he could possibly want. Wading through the cereal, the rabbit gleefully chomped down on mouthfuls, his maw too full of Trix to even spout out any of his taglines. 

But then, all that cereal he was inhaling had to go somewhere. His white fur coated by rainbow-colored dust, Tricks’ body was soon expanding out, every bit of him stuffed with grain and sugar. His belly swelled into a cauldron, his puffy chest like a pair of recently fluffed pillows, and the sheer reams of heavy fat packed on his limbs surged out in the middle of his feeding frenzy. It barely seemed to slow him down, even as his figure ballooned out in all directions. His cheeks billowed out as he sank further into the cereal, a tree-ring collection of chins piling up against his doughy chest, his arms unable to reach past his own augmented waist. Like an otter, he rested on his love-handle laden back, shovelling the piles of Trix collected atop the crest of his dome-like belly. The rabbit was so lost in the haze brought on by raspberry red, lemony yellow, and wildberry blue, that he didn’t shake out of it until his immense, car-sized rear pressed up against the bare steel wall of the silo, the sudden cold metal making him yelp in surprise and shaking him out of his reverie.

“Oh! Oh, oh dear…” Tricks finally looked at his heavily stained fur, streaks of every color on the rainbow running up and down his hill of a belly. With a subtle shift of his rolling, blubbery form, his belly also brushed up against the other end of the silo. The immense lapine blob craned his flabby neck as realization slowly dawned on him. He kicked his flabby legs, his feet no longer touching anything but air and brushing against the underhang of his gut. He had eaten himself into the circumference of the silo. “I… may have overdone this. Just a bit.”

The more he shimmied his overgrown frame, sending waves of blubber gently lapping against the metal walls he had wedged himself into, he sank further down, until his full weight slid down against the bottom of the silo. There was an ominous groan of metal that reverberated throughout the factory, and Tricks barely had a moment to question his life actions before the metal frame burst. He felt like a blubbery peg through an equally round hole, gravity slammed the roughly ton-heavy rabbit straight through the floor, and he landed with a slightly damp sounding plop, left laying atop his mountain of a belly.

Tricks, more than a little shaken, looked up. Perhaps his luck was finally changing, because right next to him, on a pedestal and lit by a lone spotlight, was a box of supercharged frosted flakes. “Hah! Well… at least that’s one problem solved.” 

“Uh… Tricks? Sir? Mr. Rabbitson? Are you alright down there?” The voice of the foreman echoed from the top of the silo. 

“O-oh! Yes, I’m fine, just, uh… I fell in!”

There was an audible groan from the foreman. “Right. I’ll, uh, let maintenance know. We’ll get you out soon.”

“Oh, take your time, I’m just fine…” Tricks replied. After rocking back and forth on his belly, his lard-swaddled arm finally reached out for the box of cereal. Slipping the box into the nearest fold of his belly fat, slipped the cereal box in, and smiled softly to himself. No one would be the wiser.

Tricks was sprawled out on the floor of his burrow, reaching for another box of Trix. He sighed contently, his foot idly rubbing against the overhang of his belly. It had been a month since he had smuggled the Supercharged Frosted Flakes out of the factory, and it was almost surreal how well things had turned out. Tony had been quick to show how grateful he was, and with how big and strong the tiger had become, there was a lot of gratitude to show. They had called in a favor from Lucky the Leprechaun that had ensured Tricks was no longer the size of a bus, but with how pampered his new tiger boyfriend kept him, leprechaun magic was not enough to keep him thin. His belly rose dramatically above him like a snowy mountain, burying his chunky thighs beneath the flab. He shifted a bit, making every part of him wobble like jelly as he got comfortable, shoveling in another handful of Trix. He couldn’t see Tony as he lumbered in, but he felt the tiger’s strong hand slam down on the crest of his gut, and gave it a good, hearty shake. 

“Snack break’s over, bunny,” the tiger rumbled. He leaned down, and Tricks could feel the tiger’s rockhard bulk press deep into his soft, doughy blubber. “You had your fill for now?”

“Oh, just one more box, Tony,” Tricks pleaded, playfully tapping the tiger with his toe.

“Heh. Open wide.” A titan of a tiger came into view; it was hard to see Tony’s face over the sheer, jutting cliff of his chest as he lifted a box over Tricks’ head, pouring it in. “Silly rabbit.”

Tricks gulped the cereal down, smirking up at Tony. “What can I say? They’re grrreat!”