Sin

A quick sketch of a priestess being corrupted into a serpent. Mature.

Sister Juliel knelt in front of the shrine of Al-Esh and tucked her white habit beneath her knees before bowing her head and beginning the night-time prayers. At the hour of Vigils, each of the seven shrines that ringed the convent had to be given prayer and their candles lit. It was a lonely, sleepy task, but a peaceful one.

A warm breeze crossed through the open windows of the shrine. Juliel paused, her lips sliding shut as she lifted her eyes and glanced out the window. Nothing stood outside but the shadow of the trees in the orchard. For a moment, she studied the dark, expecting to see the eyes of some owl or cat glinting at her, but there was nothing. Head bowed, she completed her prayer, then lit a thin taper from her lantern and held its tip, one by one, to each of the seven candles.

As she was about to light the final candle, a sudden wind blew so fiercely Juliel thought she had been struck. Tumbling to the side, she landed against the wall of the shrine, suddenly plunged into darkness. The candles and her lantern both had gone out.

Juliel crouched where she had landed for a few moments, wide-eyed and listening. There was not even the rustle of wind in the leaves from outside. Quietly, she traced the sign of the seven-pointed star on her chest, and began to whisper, "Blessed Al-Esh, please guide and protect my spirit..."

All Chained Up

A quick sketch of a post-apocalyptic doberman transformation. Explicit.

When I wake up, my hand goes straight for my knife, which isn't there. I roll around until I can get my knees beneath me, then stand up nice and slow. There's a heavy weight around my neck, and the clank of a chain as I move. I grab at my neck—there I find the collar, and the thick chain hanging down from it.

The sun's as bright as it always is, but if I squint, I can start to make out where I am. Outside of some raider encampment, it looks like. I wince and cradle my head as last night barrels right into my skull, right up until I see a pipe swinging for my head.

Could be worse, I guess. I could be inside the camp.

I follow the chain back to its end, where it's been wrapped tight around some bent, rusted rebar sticking out of a concrete block. I don't like this. It doesn't make sense, chaining a girl up outside the camp and just leaving her there. I try all the things you'd expect to get free, but the collar's been welded shut and no amount of scrabbling at the chain will get it off the rebar.

Winter Weather

A quick sketch of a fluffy arctic fox transformation.

The snow whirled down outside so thick it looked like static, a haze that swallowed up anything more than about twenty feet from Kate's hotel balcony. Kate glared out the window as she stripped out of her skiing gear piece by piece, slapping her gloves on the counter and kicking her boots over by the kitchenette.

"Closed due to snow? You're a ski slope," she grumbled to herself, giving her left boot another kick, then zipping open her coat and tossing it over the edge of the couch. With her scarf and snow pants pulled off and tossed aside, she was down to just regular pants, wool socks, and her shirt and sweater.

With a sigh, she heaved herself back onto the bed, and lay there for about ten seconds, staring out the window, until she hauled herself back up again and over to the thermostat. It was too hot in her room, too. Seventy-six? In the middle of weather? That seemed ridiculous. She squashed the rubber triangle with her thumb, ticking it down to seventy before flopping back onto the bed.

Since she had her knees over the edge and her feet hanging down, she didn't see what was going on. Her toes wriggled in her wool socks, her ankles bent and then stretched, and then with a soft poof of fluff, the socks vanished, and in their place were a pair of thick white-furred paws, dangling just above the floor.

Sanctuary

A quick sketch of a deer-taur transformation folktale.

Men tell many tales of the Lady of the Wood, of her cruelty and caprice. They say that any son of man who enters into her Greenwood must either be fool, or desperate.

Desperate indeed I was on that night. The king's hounds were upon my trail, and his men so close behind I could hear their hue and cry. I had little choice but to enter the wood, or face the sword. I hoped, perhaps, that the men would turn their horses back at the edge of the kingdom, that they might be more superstitious than I, but still I could hear them. They were more distant, slowed by the branches and bramble that pricked my cheeks and tore at my legs, but still they pursued me.

I fled deeper into the forest, under roots taller than a man, over streams that wound silver in the moonlight. My breath was ragged, my face stained with blood and sweat. Still I ran, until from the woods around me, I heard a voice speak, "Halt."

The word chilled the blood in my veins, but I could not have moved even if I had wished. Where I stood, roots rose from the ground and twined about my feet, such that my legs were held fast, like a striding statue.

Good Girls Get Milked

A quick escapist VR cowification sketch. Mature.

It's one of those days that stretched on way longer than it should have, from rushing out in the early morning to driving back under an unpleasantly gray sky, bundled up in a coat I'm sick of wearing, after staying late for a job I'm sick of having. By the time I finally get home, it's dark. I manage to get off my shoes and coat and stick some frozen chicken in the oven, but after that, I'm spent.

Still in my shirt and slacks, I slump down onto the futon and just sort of hang there and stare at the ceiling. I stare over at my TV. I stare down at my VR set. It's been a week or two since I've used it—just too busy. But I need it, even if I feel like I'm not too far from passing out.  The metal contacts in the strap settle against my neck as I slip the goggles on. I lay down, and flip the switch.

There's a half-second of nothing, then the sensory drivers click on, and suddenly I'm standing. Then, chunk by chunk, the grass loads in under my feet, and the sky rolls blue and bright above me, and a light wind brushes over my shoulders, carrying the scent of hay and warm dust.

I take a breath, then exhale so deeply I feel like I'm deflating. I flop down onto the ground. It's soft underneath me, and the blades of grass are cool and slick under my fingers. As I sit up, I realize I didn't even get my socks off. I bend down, tug them off by the toes, and pitch them over toward the nearby tree.

Relax

A stressed-out college student relaxes by turning herself into a bimbo. Mature.

Kris thunked her face down into the middle of her textbook and let out a groan. Her lips stuck to the pages, which was probably gross, considering she'd bought it used. Dragging back her red hair, she pulled herself up, then folded her arms and flopped back down.

Midterms could eat a dick. Her first one wasn't until next Monday, but she'd been studying all day and she'd barely gotten through the first two weeks of class. She hadn't even changed clothes. She was still wearing the blue, palm-tree-patterned pajama pants and old high school Quiz Bowl tee shirt she'd worn to bed. It wasn't that she didn't want to take a break, it was that she couldn't. Even if she tried to nap, she'd just lie in bed stressing out over her impending doom until her stress headache came back.

What she needed was to relax.

Kris tipped her head to the side and glanced up at the shelf above her desk. Sitting on the side next to her closet was a round red button with a silver base. She reached up and pulled it down, setting it on the desk in front of her. In bold white letters across the was printed 'RELAX'.

Kris tapped her fingers across the letters. She'd never used the button before; never really had a need to. Now, between her headache and gnawing anxiety and her inability to get some rest, this was as good a time as any to try it out.

Her fingertips danced on top of the button while she pursed her lips. Either she should do it now, or put it away, she told herself. She pushed the button with her palm. It sank until hitting the bottom with a ker-click!