Archive | November 9, 2015

A Storm Brewing Over the Skies of … Setting

“My Father is going to hear about this!”

He knew how he sounded. He knew exactly what they thought when he turned his back and stomped off.

The sycophants, they would think his father, yes. And his mother. They have the power, and that much power might rub off on us.

The Other Side, The Enemy, they would think what a prissy little ponce. But they would know that his father and mother had power that they weren’t ready, yet, to cross.

And the ones that didn’t care either way, the ones who were very determinedly Team No Hat, they would think what a loud little bitch and go on looking for power in some other way, some way that didn’t mean being For or Against the Young Dragon’s family.

He watched that all flicker across their faces, even as he wished he could cram the words back down his own throat. My father will hear about this. What stupid child said things like that?

He counted to three silently. Dragons did not take things back. Dragons did not ever concede that the power of the family wasn’t all-important and all-encompassing. “Unless…”

Dragons did not say unless. They didn’t bargain.

He met her eyes. Her. The Enemy. The born daughter of everything his family stood against. “Unless, daughter of the Leviathan, you’d care to settle this right here?” He lifted his left hand in a post of magic and challenge.

She watched his hand as if it were a strange object. A beat passed. Another A third. “Don’t be foolish, young dragon. The leviathan do not duel.”

She left him hanging just long enough that he was ready to gather up his pride and stomp off again. And then she smiled.

She smiled, daughter of the sea and all things cold and unforgiving, daughter of the Leviathan. “But if you’d like… Taranis… we might settle this over a deck of cards and a pint of beer.”

The Leviathan and the Dragon did not drink together. The son of the dragon raised his eyebrows in perfectly patrician surprise.

“Let’s,” he agreed, surprising not only the crowed that surrounded them, that always surrounded them when they fought, but himself and perhaps the daughter of the Leviathan as well. “Tomorrow at 8, at the Crooked Rooster.” He picked out of the crowd one of those who determinedly didn’t care. “Perry of the Lion. Bring a deck of cards, would you?”

It got a laugh. And when he looked back at Levina of the Leviathan, she was grinning at him.

The son of the Dragon decided his father didn’t need to hear about this one just yet.

If this sounds like a certain school with a certain blonde bratchild and some other certain people just a bit here and there, I blame this version of Fall Out Boy’s Centuries and what happens when you let youtube have its head after that.

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.

Let’s Play Turnabout

Content includes insinuated rough sex and manipulation.

“That’s it, my Master. Lay down, right here.”

Landyn wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this. He was the Master, as she’d said, and she was his slave, bought on the market, fair and square. She’d been marked and collared and chained. She was a possession.

And he was a Noble.

But “let’s play,” Keely had suggested. Keely liked to play, and for some reason, Landyn always found himself agreeing to her games.

“Let’s play,” she’d said, and they’d been running around the forgotten sections of the old Habitat. “Let’s play,” she’s purred, and they’d put on Citizen’s jumpsuits and covered her collar and his tattoos with scarves and jewelry and gone running through the town-bubbles like they were just normal Citizen kids. “Let’s play,” she’d whispered, and they’d dressed up in their finest and crashed the wedding of a rich Citizen’s eldest daughter.

“Let’s play,” she’d suggested, and now Landyn was wearing no clothes at all, nothing except a makeshift collar made of his own belt, face down on the bed while his own slave crawled up over him, her long hair dangling over his back and the token chains on her wrists and ankles jingling.

“This isn’t how it happens, not really,” she whispered in his ear. “Because I like you, my Master. And because you play with me. And because you’re a Noble. If we played for real, if we did it the way it happens…”

“What?” Landyn’s voice was muffled against the pillow. He craned his neck, trying to look at her.

Keely put her hand over his eyes, blocking his view. “The way it happens when you become a thing. When they take it all away from you.”

Landyn swallowed. “Just play, you said. Just play.”

Her hand trailed over his back. “Just play, of course, my Master.” Her fingers slid down lower, down to the bottom of his spine. “Like I said, you’re a Noble. And everyone knows that the Nobles couldn’t handle the hard life.”

It stung his pride, even as he found himself lifting his hips to her touch. “I’m not weak. I’m not delicate.

“Of course not, my Master. Bite the pillow, that’s a good boy, and show me how not delicate you are.”

Landyn wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this, but as he arched to her touch, he knew there was no way he was going to back out this time. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t some frail Habitat-hider. He’d been out in town. He’d…

As his moans grew louder and she shoved his face into the pillow, as he bit down on the feathers, transfixed between pain and pleasure, it occurred to Landyn, if only for a moment, that perhaps that was exactly what Keely wanted him to try to prove.

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.