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[b][u][center]Out of the Vortex

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

The Creativity Vortex.

It was something that had emerged somewhere in the depths of the earth almost…two years ago? It was something like that, long enough to be something that everybody knew about, but new enough to be fascinating at the same time. According to scientists, it didn't go anywhere that they could tell, but authors, artists, and other creators…

Well, they told a different story.

I'm one of those authors, by the way. My name is Spencer, and I've been working with –

Oh, right. Sorry. This is probably getting ahead of myself. Let me finish telling you about the vortex, first, and then this will all make sense.

The Vortex appeared…well, the first one appeared in the Grand Canyon. Most people complained about how it spoiled the view, but that only lasted until something came out of it. A little otter, something that would have been weird enough on its own.

But then the otter put on a top hat, and started offering people cookies. It started looking around, asking for someone, trying to find a person that it seemed to be bonded to. It asked everyone it found about this person, and the more it asked, the more it…changed. It went from cartoony to humanoid, though never losing its otterish features. It gained clothes from somewhere or other, and it set out on a road trip, seemingly endowed with strange powers and strange stamina.

Other creatures began popping out of that portal, and then more portals started appearing. Not just in the US, either, but all across the world, each of them oozing with strange creatures, monsters, and occasionally people. All of them looking for someone, all of them searching out a specific person.

Now, remember how I said I'm one of those authors that thinks it went somewhere, despite what scientists say? That's because about twenty-eight of those creatures – and a number of more shadowy ones that didn't have full forms – ended up at my house. And I knew each and every one of them, from the stories that I had written over the years.

The scientists can say whatever they like about the Creativity Vortex just being a hole in space. I want to know how the hell someone managed to open that big a hole in my head and encourage these characters – or, people, I guess – to fall out.

But, again, I'm kind of getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you how the first ones came to visit.

It was about…hmmm...a year and 11 ½ months ago…

#

I'm just getting out of the shower, a used towel hanging from the doorknob and a rather misted up, cracked mirror in front of him. It's been about two months since I moved out and got my own place, a ratty little apartment on the edge of town. Not much, but as much as I can afford on a writer's earnings. Which, let me tell you, isn't that much when it comes down to it.

There's a few clean clothes left before I have to go do laundry later today, so I slide them on. A pair of jeans that's got a hole in the back by one pocket, a pair of boxers that are almost see-through, a t-shirt that I can't even read anymore. All comfortable, at least, even if they're rough. I look in the mirror, drag my fingers through my hair, and feel a bit more presentable.

As I wipe it down and dry stuff up as best I can, I hear a buzzing down the hall. Probably my phone, I guess. No landline, just a cell; can't really afford a hard-line, these days. I ignore it, thinking I'll check my messages later, but then it buzzes at me again. And again.

[i]Must be one of the commissioners,[/i] I think as I give up wiping down the bathroom in any meaningful way. It's just gonna have to stay like that. Shrugging, I step into the living room, and then past it to my bedroom. The cell phone's on my bed, still buzzing away, and I pick it up.

No name on the number, but that's not new. Most of the people paying me for writing these days like to stay anonymous. Ever since branching out into the other fetishes…

I wince and open it up.

[i]Let me in.[/i]

I blink at that. That sounded more like –

Buzz. Another one.

[i]Let me in. I'm right outside the door, and this guy wants his cell phone back.[/i]

I blink again, feeling a little freaked out. And why not? This is starting to get weird. I don't have any visitors planned, and hearing that someone's right outside my door and wanting to come in isn't the way I planned to start my day.

Still, it's not like I have anything beyond writing and maybe a little 'fun' planned for the day. I might as well see who it is. I have a peephole for a reason, after all.

My apartment isn't very big. Just a door at one side of the living room, and going around clockwise from that, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. Almost nothing in terms of space, so it doesn't take me long to get to the door. I lean up to the peephole.

At first, all I can see is white. Then the 'person' on the other side leans back, and my eyes go wide.

“How the…"

Buzz. Buzz.

[i]Okay, look, Spencer. Just let me in, okay? I could blast the door down, but I'm guessing that I don't have my hoard here to pay for it yet. So, before you freak out or faint or anything, just open the door.[/i]

I look at the text and shake my head.

“That's easy enough for a dragon to say…"

At least I know this dragon. He's familiar enough, as well he should be. There's only one dragon I've ever read of and written about that has white eyes like that and covered in black scales. Not to mention that, until today, I was pretty sure that dragons weren't real.

I open the door, and he steps in. Thankfully, he's at least wearing something, unlike in half of the stories I've written about him. Draconicon's signature black robe sweeps around him, dusting my doorway before he walks by me. I look out of the apartment, up and down the hallway. I see an older man, his eyes glazed over as he stares into nothingness, a cell phone neatly tucked into his pocket. Apparently, the dragon made his jump from fiction to reality with his magic intact.

Shaking my head, I slowly and quietly close the door, and then lock it. Tight. The last thing I need is the old guy busting it down to try and demand explanations.

By the time I turn around, my fictional creation has already taken a seat on the couch. He's sitting with his tail running up the back of the couch between wide, leathery wings, and his robe is pulled open a bit at the chest, just wide enough to show off the scar I gave him a few years after coming up with his concept. He looks at me, and shakes his head.

“You know, I thought that my creator might be a little bit…"

“More fit?"

“Not to be mean, but yeah."

“How do you think I have all the time to put you into stories?"

“…Good point."

I know I'm not the best-looking guy. I haven't had the chance to go to a gym in ages, and while I'm not [i]fat,[/i] I'm certainly not slim. I make up for it with a good face and carefully trimmed goatee-mustache combination, as well as keeping clean, but I'm not fooling myself here.

I slowly walk over to the dragon, hardly believing what I'm seeing is real. It seems impossible. For that matter, it should be impossible.

(Keep in mind, at this point, I didn't know about the Creativity Vortex. Most people hadn't; it was kept quiet by the government.)

I barely have a chance to look down from the dragon's face to his chest before he crooks a finger. A tingle that I recognize as the magic I've described hundreds of times wraps around my body, both pulling me forward as well as lifting me off of the ground. Biting back a yelp, I try and hold back my own dizziness as he spins me around in the air, turning me every which way. I can tell he's examining me, for some reason, but there's not much I can do to get free of it.

He leaves me horizontal, floating about four feet off of the ground, my bare feet pointed in his direction.

“Well, you are definitely Spencer."

“I could have told you that…"

“And this is where you're supposed to live, from what people said."

“You know, I think…I think we're kinda skipping over a pretty important detail here."

“You're probably right. Are you comfortable?"

“Not the detail I was meaning, but…yes?"

“Good."

“…Any reason I can't just sit down?"

“I guess not."

“…"

I groan to myself. This was answering a few questions already, including whether [i]everything[/i] about the character had made their transition. Knowing my character as well as I do, I'm pretty sure that the black dragon has me like this just so he can stare at my feet. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd pulled something like this.

Even so, I don't bother bringing it up. There are other things I know about Draconicon, and I feel like I can get control of the situation if I have to. Whether he's a powerful mage or not, he's still someone [i]I[/i] made, and I know every weakness that he's got. So, I don't protest too much.

“So…why are you here?"

“I popped out of a hole in the sky, and I knew I wasn't where I was supposed to be, mostly. I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to be the last one here, either."

“Okay, hole in the sky? What?"

“Somewhere in a canyon, long way from here. It took me a while to fly out of it. Lots of people in jackets, as well, most of them holding guns."

“…Guns. And in a canyon."

I'm starting to put it together, but I know that it's still one of those things that are going to take a while to penetrate. Just like the fact that there's a god-damn dragon in my living room still hasn't quite gotten through my skull. I'm pretty sure it will, in time, but it's going to be –

DING!

Theeeere it is. I sit up, a wide grin on my face as I look at my dragon. My first big character that I've carried around for a while. This is…just amazing.

“Can I get down? And…and look at you up close? I've imagined you a lot of times, and, um, I'd like to see how many details came through…"

“…"

“Please?"

“I guess."

The black dragon releases me from his magic, and I am thankfully lowered to the floor rather than dropped to it. I immediately lean in, starting to look over the parts of Draconicon that aren't covered in his robes.

The first thing I notice are the scales. I always vacillated between bumpy and smooth things, between armor and more silky, cool things, but it seems like this version settled somewhere between the two. The black scales are just bumpy enough for texture, enough to make me wonder how it might feel to be pressed against it a bit more, but with enough firmness behind them to be armored. Not as much as the tank-like versions of him I'd used in off-canon stories, though. Maybe enough for a small caliber bullet.

His horns are just a bit swept back, long enough to be gripped…and I don't bother taking that thought any further, just in case he starts seeing that thought in my head. His eyes are like clouds moving around, misty and empty, and I wonder if that hypnotic ability I've given him is still as strong as I've imagined it.

I work down from there, feeling his arm. It's leaner than I expected, but then again, Draconicon had been turning from less of a physical power-house and more of a magically oriented character, of late. A glance from the side tells me that the plumpness I've been giving his ass has definitely taken hold, even through the robe. I chuckle to myself, shaking my head, and Draconicon glares at me.

“You know I used to be a total top."

“Yeah, I know."

“And then you got bored of that."

“…Was that a bad thing?"

“…Not entirely, but it's something I never really understood. Just because you changed, did you have to make me change?"

“That's, uh, a pretty good question, actually."

I haven't thought about that until this moment, and it's rather disturbing in its own way. Admittedly, I doubt that there's any reason anyone would think about the morality of that question, considering that fictional characters aren't supposed to come to life, but it is an interesting one.

I file it into the back of my mind as I continue my examination of his body. He's one hell of a specimen. His chest is pretty firm, hardened with scales and some bits of muscle beneath the little bits of pudge I've given him lately, and – while I resist reaching down to his crotch – I imagine that it's the bigger size I've described rather than the little one. That, or he's using an illusion for that.

[i]Or that might be my own size queen nature,[/i] I suppose. [i]Big things are good.[/i]

Down to his legs, and then down to his feet. I've spent so much time describing those big, black stompers that I know exactly how they look, and they do not disappoint. Five-toed beauties that are as dark as pitch and shiny as a fresh-polished piece of furniture, I can't help but smile to myself.

“Heh…looks like they came out just as I hoped…"

“Seriously, you designed all of us with some sort of foot fetish or another. You're a little obsessed, Spencer."

“And you're telling me that you don't like having good feet to play with, or be played with?"

“…"

I'm having a hard time believing that I'm talking to someone I've just met in person about this sort of thing, but at the same time, I [i]am[/i] the one that made him. I know Draconicon, and I have known him for a long time. It's not that different from talking to my friends online, at times.

I conclude my examination of his feet after a few strokes of my finger along the underside, shaking my head in amazement. Despite the cleanliness of the soles, I know he's walked here – or flown, I suppose – from the canyon he came from, so there's probably magic at work. Just like there's the pheromones…

The pheromones.

I pull back, walking to the bathroom and throwing open the outside window, before going over to the kitchen and doing the same.

“What are you doing?"

“I'm making sure I don't end up foot-zonked."

“You think that'd happen?"

“I didn't think [i]you[/i] would happen, and you did. I don't want to take any chances."

“Heh, what, are you worried that you'll end up under my feet instead of me under yours?"

“I wouldn't necessarily call it 'worried,' if you know what I mean."

I shake my head. Now that I've gotten over the sheer shock of having a dragon in my living room – well, mostly – I can't help but think about the other possibilities. If Draconicon has come to life, does that mean that the others will, as well? Will they start making their way across the country to find people? How will that go? What happens if they get hurt? What happens if –

Buzz, buzz.

I look at my phone again, and see a friend is calling me. The name's one of the better ones, and I look over my shoulder.

“I have to take this. Do you mind?"

“I'm finally able to sit down and I don't have an insane compulsion in my head to keep walking to find you. I'd say I'm good."

“Thanks, thanks."

Walking out of the room, I accept the call and press the phone to my ear, shutting the bedroom door in the process.

“Ide, is that you?"

“Yeah, yeah, it's uh…it's me."

I'm surprised. He sounds a lot more run-down than usual, and he almost sounds like he's getting…

“Are you…busy at the moment?"

“Maybe a little bit. But not much. I just have a, uh, surprise visitor."

“…"

“You are not going to believe this."

“Uh, I think I might. Does this visitor happen to be about your height, fuzzy, brown furred, and wearing a top-hat?"

“HOW THE FUCK –"

“I'm having a Watermelon situation myself."

A little code-word, long-since agreed on for when the world goes insane. Just to show that they aren't joking with each other, or playing around for a game. It saves time, and I hear Idesin immediately groan.

“So, you got the dragon in there with you, huh?"

“Yep."

“Has he, uh, bent you over yet?"

“I'm not sure if he's going to go that way or the other way, personally."

“Considering how you've been writing him, good point. Mmmph…"

“And you? Is Idesin sucking you off?"

“Sooooo fucking good..."

“Heh, I'll leave you to that, then. Just try not to start shooting blanks."

“No promises…"

I hang up. So, I'm not the only one getting people visiting. Considering the number of furries out there alone, I know that there are going to be problems with this. Draconicon came through with his magic; that means that there are going to be monsters coming through, as well, with powers that will be…

[i]Oh geez…this is gonna turn into an anime, isn't it?[/i]

I can already see it in my head. The 'good' characters are going to line up to fight the villains, and there's going to be all sorts of task forces and everything else. If the fact hasn't already occurred to Ide – or, rather, Mick, I guess – then it's only because his brain's down in his dick at the moment. It'll hit him soon enough, and I'll be dealing with one of the biggest geek-outs in the history of our friendship.

I look down at the phone, considering texting some of the others in our little circle, or even some of the local authors and artists I know. Is it just furries? Could be, but what if it's not? What happens when Lovecraft's characters start showing up, and we need our own god characters to smack them down? What happens when Dante's Inferno comes to life as some of the more fucked-up ancient fanfiction, and then the weirdness of our own creations start bleeding out into reality with it?

The more I think about it, the more my head spins, and I'm feeling rather dizzy as I walk back into the living room.

Draconicon has discarded his robe, probably because he knows he doesn't need it. I get confirmation of his dick status – long and circumcised, dangling over fist-sized balls – as I sit down beside him, leaning forward and groaning.

He pats my back, and I slowly shake my head.

“This is going to get real bad, real fast…"

“I think I know what you're thinking."

“Really?"

“Lovecraft, crazy fanfics, etc.?"

“…How the hell…"

“I don't know. It was popping into my head while you were in the other room. I'm guessing it's some sort of bleeding-over effect between created and creator."

“Wonderful. That's going to be juuuuuust peachy."

In the back of my head, I can tell I'm running through a series of emotions here. Shock, then giddiness, and now a form of despair. I wonder what will be next.

Helped by Draconicon, I lean back on the couch, looking out the window at the city ahead of me. Tacoma has always been a rather comforting sort of place, one of those small places that's big enough to be a city, but not a very big city. Just enough to have a lot of options while people can still look out for each other.

And now, I have a dragon in my room. How the hell am I going to explain this?

As I try to think it through, I feel Draconicon lift my legs off of the floor and then place them on his lap. I feel his dick starting to harden beneath my heels, and then slide up along the bottom of my soles. I look from the window to him, arching an eyebrow.

“You seriously are getting hard right now?"

“Spencer, you made me and just about everyone else in that head of yours for sex at some point or another. I don't think there's a situation on earth where I wouldn't be able to get hard if someone else needed it."

“And you think it's needed now?"

“Someone does."

“…Well…"

I sigh a bit.

“Well, you did just take a long trip from one side of the country to another. I guess I can let you go ahead."

“Heh, I'm good with this for now. Just enjoying the feel of them on my cock is fine."

“Right. You're also lazy sometimes."

“Think of it this way. You get to see how your characters would work out in real life, rather than just in contrived circumstances."

“...This is going to be the worst writing review I've ever seen."

“Or the best. You never know."

I shake my head, even as I try and get comfortable with a thick dragon cock between my soles. It's not the easiest thing in the world, but I do my best. It gets a little easier when he starts dripping pre on my feet, and it feels a little more lubed up, a little more slippery. There's something rather nice about the sensation. And I do mean, [i]nice.[/i]

Trying to ignore my own reaction, I turn towards the television and turn it on. There's a flicker of news that catches my eye as I start changing the channel, and I quickly turn it back. The local newsman has a camera turned towards a theater in the middle of town, showing a lion that's throwing things around, dodging things by a hair. And I am surprised to recognize him.

“That's…that's Taiko's character. The Nemean Lion."

“And he's down here, huh? He's one of the villains, right?"

“Yeah, telekinetic stuff around him that keeps things sliding off. Always looking for more stuff. I'll bet that he's trying to make his way up north, and stopped for some fun."

I pause, looking at Draconicon again.

“Did you make a straight shot here, or…"

“Let's just say that there are some guys at rest stops that are walking funny and leave it at that."

“..."

“I promise, it was consensual. They were geeks just out from some con or another."

“Oooookay. Well, I think we should get down there. If I remember right, Nemean's gonna –"

“Well, he just blew up a coffee place."

“Ai yi yi. Alright. Let me get some shoes, and I'll show you how to get there."

“Me?!"

“You're an archmagi, you can handle him. And besides, it's not like we can leave him to just trash things."

And just like that, I realize that I'm getting sucked into this whole meta story, whether I like it or not.

[i]I better get some fun out of this,[/i] I think as I jam my slicked-up feet into a pair of old shoes. [i]Ide's the whole boy-scout hero, not me.[/i]

[b][u][center]The End?[/center][/u][/b]