Fuck the System

In a cyberpunk world, a punk panthress is brainwashed into being a police officer while a shy jackal finds a new, more punkish self through body modding. Explicit.

Opal stuffed her small red mohawk into a hat made of electrodes, elastic straps, and a tangle of wires. Her natural panther bulk made her an imposing figure, and her black fur only more so. Rows of piercings climbed up her ears and a set of rings jutted from one of her eyebrows. Her chest was stuffed tight into a tank top and her big boots held big paws. In short, she was what the Party called an 'improper citizen'. It was a term Opal took with pride.

At the other end of the wires sat Cai. At his most rebellious, the young jackal looked like an office intern. His pointed ears were the only remarkable thing sticking out of his polo shirt and slacks. But behind that squared-off demeanor and tight-combed black fur was a networking genius with a burning distaste for the status quo. Opal had found him years ago, and now they were partners in hacking.

"Ready to fuck shit up," Opal said.

"Just be careful," Cai said. If you wanted to hack these days, you had to go full immersion. Riskier than good old screen-and-keyboard like Cai preferred, but you could move as fast as you could think. "Here we go." He flipped the switch for the neural rig.

Go Chargers!

Billy gets stuffed into a Bully Charger mascot suit and has to find help before the suit takes over.

It was the night of the fall dance and Billy was on the floor of the supply closet with a knee in his spine.

"Quit wiggling, you dweeb," said Ryan. He grabbed Billy's left wrist and cranked it behind his back. With his free hand, Ryan shoved a long glove onto Billy's left arm. Ryan was the absolute worst. He didn't just have confidence and good hair and a great jawline. He was also the only male cheerleader on the school team.

"Let go!" Billy shouted. He ground his chest against the floor. A layer of foam and synthetic blue-and-white fur separated him from the carpet. Ryan had already managed to wrestle the mascot's padded torso onto him.

This was all about Julie. Ryan didn't even have to say her name; Billy knew it. To Billy, Julie was the prettiest girl in the school, with blonde hair kept back in a ponytail and a big, bright smile. Through some insane stroke of luck, he'd made friends with her. Julie was a cheerleader too, though. That meant that, every day, she spent time with Ryan during practice. Billy was sure Ryan wanted to date her, as sure as he was that Ryan was jealous of what he and Julie had. Or, well. What they could have. Billy hadn't asked her out yet. He was going to do it at the dance tonight, he'd told himself for weeks.

Going Nuts

A girl working at a TransCo gas station starts craving nuts, then turns into an eager squirrel girl. Mature.

Julie worked at the last gas station this side of the Nevada border. Three hours' drive west to the next pump. Nothing quite like the ‘No Services For 200 Miles’ sign to remind her she was in the literal middle of nowhere. The desert sun glared in through the windows in its daily battle against the rattling AC unit on the roof.

At nineteen, she was insanely ready to get out of town. But if she wanted to move out, she needed money, which meant she needed to work, which meant stuffing the TransCo ballcap on top of her messy hair, pulling on the flannel shirt that protected her from the air vent right behind the cash register, and going to work at the least interesting gas station in the state. It was enough to drive a girl...

Nuts.

La Dame de la Louve Blanche

A wolf pursues her friend through noir-Paris, while getting hypnotized into an elegant femme fatale. Explicit.

Two blocks from the private investigator's office, Vicky heard the narration kick in.

“The water came down in sheets, giving Paris the cold shower it deserved. The city of love? When you’re lucky, love chews you up and swallows you whole. When you’re not, it tears you to shreds and leaves you drowning in the gutter. Whoever decided to make a city of love was mad, or French. The two were close enough.

“Anyone with sense was inside. Which was why one rain-drenched wolf climbed through deep puddles and streams of water running down the streets: madness. Or love for a friend. Close enough.

Vicky got the idea. She was inside a film noir that was set in Paris; she'd figured out that much when she showed up and everything was black-and-white except for her. She was still baffled how Liz had gotten here in the first place, but that wasn't important. What was important was finding her friend.

Matat Lounge

In a side story to ||||||||, a fox couple goes to a hookah bar and get turned into faceless latex drones. Explicit.

Jason couldn't stop staring at the sign. It said 'Matat Lounge' in simple, backlit black-on-white. There was nothing wrong with it. The longer he looked, the more the vertical strokes stretched in his eyes, the smaller everything else became until the letters were meaningless shapes. They were uniform blocks of black and white that meant nothing. A primal fear of emptiness rose from deep in Jason's mind.

Elle flicked his stomach with the backs of her fingers. Jason flinched and gasped and blinked. The sign said 'Matat Lounge' in simple, backlit black-on-white again. There was nothing wrong with it.

"Are we going in, or do you need some more stare time?" she asked. She leaned her elbow on top of his shoulder until he gave way. He couldn't find the words to explain the fear in the pit of his stomach. It was already retreating from the forefront of his mind like a bad dream.

Jason smiled at his vixen girlfriend instead. "Yeah, sorry, just zoned out," he said. He flicked his keyring into the palm of his hand, checked the car door to make sure it was locked, and then stepped up onto the sidewalk with Elle.

The Dragons Womb

An adventurer becomes host to a parasitic worm that turns her into an egg-laying dragon-insect hybrid. Explicit.

Talia walked through the ribcage of a dragon. Ten feet above her, its spine jutted from the rock ceiling. Its ribs were like curled pillars embedded in the rock walls. A tiny stream ran down the middle of the floor, fed by the trickle of water dripping over the ancient bones. With one eye on the floor and another ahead of her, she followed the slow incline of the tunnel. Up. Up to the mines, and then up out of the Dragons' Tomb.

A bag of drake scales rustled inside her pack. She'd plucked them fresh off a centipede drake's hide: her prize for braving the Tomb. Eline had said it wasn't worth the risk, but a suit of scale armor was a precious thing to have. Talia had found enough scales to make gloves for her roguish friend, too.

Her torch cast a flickering light over the damp. It lit her body: her banded steel armor, her short, dark hair, her young but stern face, and the muddy grit smeared on her cheeks. The centipede drake was still fresh in her mind; wet chittering, hundreds of scuttling claws, and a head that bulged with far too many eyes. She had only nearly bested it.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, shifting in the shadow beyond her torch. Her heart quickened. She gripped her mace. Torch low, she advanced step by step.