Archive | May 13, 2015

Attack on Cloverleaf, a ficlet for @inspectorCaracal

Set in Austin’s first year of Doomsday.

They were on a field trip when Cloverleaf was attacked.

Miss Ascha had, after four weeks at school, agreed to take the new class down to the city to see the shops. Austin was sticking close to Sianna and Sweetbriar, because Sianna stuck close to Sweetbriar and Sweetbriar knew the city already.

Everything was okay – the city was a lot bigger than the place Austin had grown up in, but it still had open space and green. No fields, of course – nobody planted crops in the middle of population centers – but it made the walls feel less like a trap.

They were at a clothes shop, Sianna picking out shirts and Sweetbriar rolling her eyes at Austin, when the alarm sounded. Miss Ascha grabbed them, holding Sweetbriar with one hand and Austin with the other – like they would run off, well, all right, they probably would – and steered all eight of them towards what she called a shelter.

“But Miss Ascha,” Austin squirmed in her grip. “That’s a dragon!”

She paused and looked to the sky. “No, that’s a wyvern. See how it only has two legs?”

“Who’s going to fight it?” He didn’t squirm again, because if he squirmed, she’d make them all go underground.

“Well, probably sa’Doomsday and sa’Inazuma and the city guard, with some of the other teachers.” She shrugged her shoulders the way she did when she was giving in. “All right, all of you stay very close, and we’ll go where we can watch it.”

The watchtower on the main street was only a floor taller than everything else, but it was plenty tall enough for them to watch the battle. Miss Ascha spoke a long long long line of Workings, encasing the whole class in some sort of clear bubble.

Austin leaned as far out as Miss Ascha’s grip on the back of his kimono would allow, watching the way Professor Inaauma and Professor Doomsday – and the rest of them, of course – attacked the wyvern. It was like something out of a story, all broad gestures and shouted words, long streaks of lightning and rumbles where the walls themselves seemed to attack the wyvern.

Austin’s nose was pressed to the bubble and, next to him, so was Sweetbriar’s, Miss Ascha’s hand firm on the back of their uniforms. The wyvern went down, and they cheered until their throats were raw.

“I’m gonna be a samurai,” he told Sweetbriar.

“Damn right you are. And I’m gonna be a Valkyrie.”

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In Which Amrit is Confused (FaeApoc, Amrit/Mieve)

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which Amrit is Gagged Again.

please note: I am posting two chapters at once.

Fae Apoc, approx. now.

Content Warnings: This setting, although not this ficlet, contains rape, mind control, and dubious consent situations.

This particular story contains kidnapping and slavery, bondage, violence, and will eventually contain Stockholm Syndrome.


There had to be a catch. Nobody was nice just to be nice. Amrit worked his mouth around the new gag, slammed the axe into another log, worked his mouth around the gag again. It didn’t hurt anywhere. It didn’t chafe anywhere. It was even gentle on the places already hurting, and — assuming the hawthorn got out of his system soon — would probably not interfere with his own healing.

There had to be a catch. She had bought him from a slave market, dragged him here, chained him to the bed. She’d threatened to break his leg if he tried to run away. Not that it would stop him for long… but Amrit had broken bones before, and he didn’t like it.

She’d kidnapped, enslaved, and threatened him. But she’d put a nice gag in his mouth that didn’t hurt him, and, even after telling him he’d get no lunch, she’d fed him. He worked his mouth around the new gag and split another log.

The pile he had to split didn’t seem to get any smaller, but the pile he’d already split kept getting bigger. It was getting bigger more slowly, though, as the day went on, as his muscles ached and his body tired. He had another foot of height to go before he’d get his “reward.” Another foot, and the sun was beginning to set. Where was she? He split a log, looked around. No sign of her. He split another log, looked around. The plow lay idle, up against the garage.

Three more logs. He might finish at this rate. He looked at the chain hooked to his ankle. No, not yet. He split another log. He wasn’t sure if he could even do a Working, and his regeneration wasn’t all the way returned. No. Now he had to focus on convincing her to take the gag out. He split another log.

“Time for dinner.”

He hadn’t seen her coming, and Amrit had the axe in the air and ready to swing at the intruder before he realized it was her. Carefully, he set it back down.

She, surprisingly, hadn’t choked him yet. “Time for dinner,” she repeated.

Amrit shook his head fiercely. He had only one row to go, and he’d have earned his reward.

“It’s nearly dark. Come on.”

He shook his head again and gestured at the pile. So close. It wasn’t fair.

“Aaah. All right.” She muttered a Working and the light in the area rose like it was on a dimmer switch, gestured with her hand and floated another log into place on the block.

Amrit split it like he was splitting this whole wretched situation in half, and it fell apart in one hit. Another log replaced it, and he did the same to that one. And another, and another. The axe seemed a bit lighter. The hitting seemed a bit more fun. And then there was no next log, and Amrit looked up to see the rack entirely full.

“It’s time for dinner now,” she repeated. He thought she looked a little tired herself. “Put the axe away, there,” she pointed at a wall-mounted rack, “and come on in.”

He did as he was told. There was dinner in it for him, after all.


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In Which Amrit is Gagged Again (FaeApoc, Amrit/Mieve)

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: Amrit Splits Wood.

Fae Apoc, approx. now.

Content Warnings: This setting, although not this ficlet, contains rape, mind control, and dubious consent situations.

This particular story contains kidnapping and slavery, bondage, violence, and will eventually contain Stockholm Syndrome.

Her new slave’s mouth was stained with blood, his lips cracked open. That gag was truly a nasty thing.

Meive watched him drink his water and cataloged his body. Nice muscle, no scarring, none of the lopsided development slaves sometimes got. Tanned, but it had that look of someone who had tanned to look good, before the End. Or maybe he just had a Working for it. What damage had been done to him was beginning to heal already, and he was, if not so blasted frustrating, rather handsome.

She waited until he finished the water. He handed it over and waited, silently this time. His eyes were on the gag in her hand, and his tongue darted out to touch the wounds on the sides of his mouth.

She dropped the gag into the pocket of her work apron and pulled, from the same pocket, the hopefully-gentler piece she’d fashioned in the early morning. His eyes followed every movement. He licked his lips again. He looked like he was thinking. “What-?” he tried. He paused, watching her. She gestured, please continue. No Working started with Wha-

“What is that?”

Meive held up the gag. “It’s a gag.” She tried not to sound perplexed.

He picked his words with care again. “Why – why a new one?” His tongue darted out again and he licked the wounds.

“Because you’re not going to cooperate easily.” She knew she sounded tired. She felt tired. And it was only noon. “And the old one was cutting your mouth.”

“What does this one do?”

Mieve raised her eyebrows. He sounded so resigned. She didn’t believe it, not for a minute, but she responded carefully, as if she did. “It’s softer, so it won’t cut your mouth, and it shouldn’t cut your face or your tongue.”


“Because whether or not you’ll accept it, you’re my responsibility.”

He grinned suddenly and fiercely. “Careful,” he warned. “I might do something bad with that.”

“I don’t doubt you would. Let me gag you, and you can get back to that pile of wood.”

He hesitated, not moving towards her but not clamping his jaw shut either. His tongue darted out again. “Lunch?” He added, very careful-sounding, “please?”

Mieve relented, if only a little. she pulled a meat roll from her apron pocket, split it in two, and handed him half. “Some lunch, if only because you said please.”

“Fu -” He took the roll carefully. “Thank you.”

He ate it slowly, the first bite cautious and the next bites as if he was savoring it. Mieve matched his pace, nibbling slowly on the roll. They were one of her favorite things to make, but they didn’t keep well and they didn’t last. Some days, she really missed proper refrigeration. Or a Kept who knew refrigeration Workings.

Her captive looked more alive when he finished his roll. His eyes darted to the water bottle.

Mieve passed it over without comment and let him sip and rinse his mouth. She had sympathy for his position – but she couldn’t risk her own. “Time for the gag.” She tried to make her voice gentle this time.

“Fuck you, lady.” His voice held no heat, and he opened his mouth without further complaint.


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Rough Landing, a story for the Giraffe Call (@ellen_million)

Written to ellenmillion‘s prompt here to my Giraffe Call!

The trip had been, by turns, terrifying, nauseating, and strange, but, stuck in the cargo hold, there had been nothing they could do but wait it out. The door to the rest of the ship did not open from the inside, and the food was delivered via a very well-designed dumbwaiter that would not move upwards if laden with more than it had come down with.

The measures that had been designed to keep involuntary passengers under control very likely saved their life when the freighter encountered trouble. The first they knew of it was the sound like metal screaming and the sudden sensation of moving very quickly in the wrong direction.

They scrambled for their bunks, the thin mattresses and straps designed to be just about the minimum required protection against re-entry pressures, holding on to their lash-in straps. They tried not to scream, tried not to cry, but the world had just gotten even stranger, and few of them stayed stoic. At least one of them prayed.

The impact was awful, a bone-jarring, tooth-shaking crash. The secondary impact – what they would later learn was the rest of the ship crashing to the ground – bounced their portion of the ship again and shook loose what cargo that hadn’t shaken loose the first time. Kegs of rum and whisky rolled everywhere, followed by the heavy cases of Schirsner ore. The best Donegal dust-silk landed on top one set of bunks – bales and bales of it, but at least it was softer than the whisky kegs.

Nur got to her feet first. She was the oldest of the cargo hold’s sentient stock, just past her fifteenth birthday. She’d held together on the journey by minding the younger kids, telling them stories, singing them songs.

Now she started counting heads and pulling kids out of bunks. “It’s all right. We’re going to be fine. Someone will find us soon. It’s a big freighter. Someone will notice. It’s all right… Where’s Tod?”

She gathered them together, injured or no, scared or crying or wetted or no, in the clearest place in the center of the cargo hold. The whole thing was listing at a shallow angle, but it was, at least, not moving. “We’re going to be okay,” she lied to them, like she’d been reassuring them since they’d been loaded into the ship. “Just like the Swiss Family Robinson. Have I told you that one yet?”

If you want more – and I definitely have more in mind for this one! – drop a tip in the tip pack below.

Giraffe Call rates apply: $1/100 words.

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Landing page Landing Page

I write a lot – much in established universes, some in one-off settings. Below is an index of my universes; each ‘verse has its own landing page with an index of stories within.

The Faerie Apocalypse is liveblogged at [personal profile] faeapoclive, [ profile] faeapoclive, and [ profile] faeapoclive. What what happens when the gods return to our world.
Stranded World (LJ Link), modern fantasy seen through the eyes of 4 siblings who work the webs of the world, each in their own way.
Reiassan (LJ Link), high fantasy in a world just recovering from centuries of battle.
Edally Academy (LJ Link), Steampunk Boarding School in the world of Reiassan.
Tir na Cali (LJ Link); technically modern fantasy, alternate-history timeline, primarily lifestyle-kink erotica.
Faerie Apocalypse (LJ Link), a dystopic modern and post-modern fantasy/apoc world. Faeries and gods live among us, disguised as humans, their culture underground.
Addergoole (LJ Link) is a school within the Faerie Apocalypse setting.
Doomsday is a school created by graduates of Addergoole, generations after the Faerie Apoc.
Vas’ World (LJ Link): the team was sent to explore the planet for colonization. They could never have guessed what they’d find.
Dragons Next Door (LJ Link)is a fun high-fantasy-in-the-burbs setting with a few good-with-ketchup crunchy dark bits.
Facets of Dusk (LJ Link) is a mystery waiting to be revealed; come along for the show!
The Planners (LJ Link): When the Apocalypse came, they were prepared. Very Prepared.
Unicorn/Factory (LJ) of the costs of progress.
The Aunt Family (LJ) – a mysterious family with some very strange magical artifacts.
Space Accountant (LJ) All Genique wanted was a nice vacation.
Shadow Rebellion (LJ) It all started with the shadows moving…
Science! (Lj) Why haven’t Mad Scientists taken over the world yet?
Fairy Town There’s something about the city. Something in the water, maybe?
Inner Circle (LJ) Getting to the Inner Circle can take a lifetime – or cost you your life.
Things Unspoken (LJ) – The Empire encompasses many things. Some are better not spoken of. Or to.
Aerax/Expectant Wood (LJ) – Floating Sky Islands. Adventure. Trouble!
Setting Nursery – these one-off stories may blossom into settings some day (incomplete)

Occasionally I open up a call for prompts; the Giraffe Call’s landing page is here and on LJ.

I hosted a 30-days of flash fiction meme: its landing page is here (LJ Link)

My Donor landing page is here (and on LJ); you can tip (tips go in a general pool to sponsor longer stories, voted on monthly), sponsor an already-written story, or commission a story to be written. Or you can become a Patreon Patron and unlock even more fiction!

My Patreon Landing Page lists all Patreon-published stories.

Want more? There’s always more to read!


What Follows,
an apocalyptic anthology:
How would an Immortal deal with
the End Times? The world will
inevitably come stumbling into
apocalypse, and They will be
there to witness it.
Shifting Hearts,
a therian anthology:
It is said that the eyes are the windows
to the soul, but what if the soul that looks
back isn’t as human as you first thought?

Addergoole, a completed webserial

Edally Academy, a new webserial

Tales for the Sugar Cat, my ebook

Kazkah Press, a flash-fiction webzine

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Kendra’s Homework

“I have homework,” Kendra informed Ofir.

She had orders to inform him about homework. She could lift her chin up and be firm about that. She had to do her homework.

Why, she had no idea. But in all the myriad of stupid orders he’d given her, she liked that one more than most.

“All right. Do you need the library?”

Her own copies of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban were tucked away in the box of stuff she’d hidden in her old room. She hoped the library had copies. She knew there were computers there she could use. “Yes, please. I need to do some reading.”

“Fine. I’ll walk you there. Get your stuff.”

It took only a few minutes for Kendra to be settled into the library, with Ofir’s firm and unneeded order not to leave until he came to get her. She settled the books beside the computer and started writing.

    S… S… Solange Carrieter sat in the corner of the compartment of the Hogwarts Express…

    She had only been in London for a few months when her Aunt Taffy had given her the letter. “You should have gone to Esterwind, of course, but with your parents missing, I arranged things so that you could go to Hogwarts. I think you’ll like it there.”

    Solange looked around again. Magic was real. She’d always known her parents were hiding secrets, but this… but magic…

    A kind-looking boy with a round face peered into her compartment. “Oh, hullo. Have you seen my toad?”

Possibly the first in a series. Kendra and Ofir are characters in Addergoole; the rest is obviously J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter.

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When One is Being Hunted… (A story for the Giraffe Call, for @Rix_Scaedu)

Written to Rix_Scaedu‘s prompt here, and in re. a conversation cluudle & I were having about BDSM AU’s.

New/unnamed ‘verse.

What do you do when you’re being hunted?(8)

Aisleigh was making spaghetti and meatballs when she found the boy in her cupboard.

He was skinny, probably too skinny, and he was staring at her with wide, terrified eyes. He’d probably thought he was safe in the canning pantry. Certainly, everything in there had enough dust on it.

“What are you–” She dropped her voice as she heard the unmistakable sounds of the Force outside. Working on an instinct she hadn’t had to use in a long time, she closed the pantry door, taking only the tomato sauce she’d been looking for.

The Force was moving from door to door. She could hear their radios, the hearty chatter that was half-casual, half-intimidation, the way their boots hit on the sidewalk. Her hands were shaking; she reminded herself, carefully, that she was a legal citizen now. That she obeyed the law, paid her taxes, and owned her home outright. There was very little the Force could do to her, and she had cameras installed on her front and back door and the large windows, just to be sure they remembered that.

The knock on her door came while she was seasoning the sauce. She waited until she’d gotten just the right amount of parsley and oregano into the sauce and turned the burner off before she answered, wiping her hands on her apron.

She didn’t look like a threat, she knew. Even as a young woman, she hadn’t looked like a threat. It had served her well against the Force’s predecessors; she hoped it would serve her well now. “Sorry, I was in the kit- oh, hello, officers. Nothing’s wrong, I hope?”

She had a premature streak of white in her hair that she hadn’t dyed over, and she was wearing a ruffled apron over sweat pants and a Metallica T-shirt; she did not look like a soldier and she did not look like an easy lay. They barely glanced at her. “Looking for a fugitive, ma’am. Have you seen any? Just about 6’4″ tall, armed. Injured a Force Officer.”

Good for him. “Oh, no, I haven’t seen anyone that tall around here. Is he a runaway sub? I hear that happens some times…”

“Nothing to worry about, ma’am. Let us know if you see him.”

“Oh, but if there’s someone dangerous – you said armed, didn’t you? – then we really ought to know what’s going on in our neighborhood.”

She saw the moment the lead officer utterly dismissed her as one of those. People who said “really ought to” never actually did anything.

“It’s nothing at all to worry about,” he repeated. “Johnson, O’Malley, with me.”

Aisleigh waited until the sounds of them had passed the next three houses. She put the finishing touches on her sauce and dished it up with her pasta – one plate, but a large one. She “accidentally” pushed the complex 17-button sequence that deleted the last 24 hours of footage from all of her security cameras, and then the 24-key sequence that deleted that backup. She closed the curtains on the one window she’d kept open to let the sun in. And then she pulled a large, flat jewelry box from her safe.

It had been a while. Fifteen, no, eighteen years since she moved to Clinton. Three years since her last sub had moved on to other things. This wasn’t quite how she’d found the last one…

…he’d actually been running away when he ran into her.

She opened the pantry door and passed the box inside. “I’m not asking questions yet.” Her voice was quiet. Just because she’d swept for listening devices last week didn’t mean there wasn’t one she’d missed. “But you pissed the Force right off.”

She closed the cabinet and set the table. Normally, she’d eat in front of the TV, but company, even company in your pantry, meant doing things right. She sat down at the head of the table and counted to ten.

On nine, her pantry opened, and the boy emerged. He really was tall, and far too skinny, and, aside from that, quite good looking, in a pretty sort of way.

He took a look at the kneeler set beside Aisleigh’s chair. He was still carrying the box, glancing between it and the kneeler. Slowly, as if fighting against himself, he knelt.

“The thing to do when you are being hunted–” She had his attention already. She knew her voice sounded like a different person than had answered the door to the Force. She felt like a different person. “When you are being hunted,” she repeated, and watched him flinch, “you need to lie low for as long as possible. Predators can be very patient. But after a while, even they wander off in search of juicy prey.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. He opened the box and looked down at the silver collar sitting there, and the small matching rings that would fit Aisleigh’s ring fingers.

Aisleigh continued. “As a sub, you don’t exist legally. No paperwork, no name, no taxes. As a sub, you’re entirely off the radar – for as long as you need. When you’re being hunted,” she repeated, “you need to become invisible.”


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Looking for an Icon…

(aren’t I always?)

I tried a few images, but nothing looked quite right.

What I’m looking for is something a little more subtle than my Kink Bingo Icons – something like a really pretty lock and key, or the back of a collar – something that says “D/s” without screaming it?

Yeah, that’s really vague.


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