werewolvesversus:

Pageant contestant Rose transforms into a look designed to make an indelible impression upon the judges and her competitors in nothere’s WEREWOLVES VERSUS: FASHION story. Here’s an excerpt, and don’t forget to check out this preview of Amber Aria’s accompanying illustrations!

Leaving Mildred and Doris to their chatter, Irene and Rose slipped into their own changing room. Most pageants had a communal room, but werewolf etiquette had demanded private suites, three to a mobile trailer.

“Everything’s ready,” Irene said. “I’ll lock myself in the closet, and you’ll go out there and knock ‘em dead. The Third Annual Werewolf Miss USA contest will be integrated before they even know it’s happened.”

Rose slid out of her humiliatingly maid-like ensemble, grasping the fallen duds with her big toe and tossing them in the trash for good measure. “Thank you, Irene,” she said, pulling the custom-fit gown off of its hanger and draping it over herself. It was saggy and lumpy as one might expect, given that it had been tailored for Rose when she was wearing an altogether different skin. “You think it’ll still fit in this humidity?”

“You’ll grow into it,” Irene laughed. “Well, go on, Rose! Don’t stand there with your ladies hanging out, or the other girls will get jealous and I’ll have to fight them off.”

“Of course,” said Rose. “We wouldn’t want this to be the last annual Werewolf Miss USA pageant, since you and I both know you’d tear through those powderpuff wolves out there like a blowtorch through buttery tissue paper.”

Irene arched her eyebrows. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Rose, darling,” she said. “Now go on, change before someone sees you like this and has their prejudices challenged ahead of schedule.”

Rose nodded and gritted her teeth. Instinctively, she clenched her fingers and toes as well, as the pain her claws caused while growing in was a welcome bit of electricity in the process. Changing still required concentration, yes, but it wasn’t the sweaty and panicked event it once had been. Recalling her first change, in the bunk bed at Aunt Mandy’s, there was nothing but horror and pain and shame. Now, there was only a sense of firm purpose and a gentle burning.

Silky tufts of fur burst from Rose’s skin up and down her body. It was a silvery grey, nothing like the tight dark coils atop her head, and as the fur reached her human hair, the latter obligingly receded. She let out a gasp as her chest swelled with new muscles, and her limbs crackled with bones settling into wildly different but familiar lupine patterns. A world of scents and subtle perfumes exploded into being at the tip of her face as it grew into a muzzle, and she instinctively licked at her teeth as they shed all pretense of omnivory in favor of a forest of points.

Most importantly for the pageant, Rose’s body had swollen into precisely the shape needed for her forest green gown. Her feminine curves had been softened by the change, as they always were, and as she examined herself in the mirror she found the fit was near-perfect, without much of the friction tight dresses suffered from when she was furless.

“You wear it well,” Irene said. “You always have.”

“The dress, or the fur?” Rose said. Her voice was a half-octave deeper, enough so that anyone who’d heard her earlier was unlikely to make the connection.

“Both,” Irene said. She trotted over and planted a kiss on Rose’s snout, and scratched affectionately behind the ears. “I never could figure out which Rose I liked better: the human or the wolf.”

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More of nothere’s work can be found here and here.