spectre_writes: Long from Chainsawman in front of the trans and lesbian flags, saying "Blood." (Default)
[personal profile] spectre_writes

You know what that means?

It means there are like 30 chapters of this story under different names, and no good way to navigate them post-cohost!

Let's rectify that real quick.

Better Off Alone: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9
This is the original story, following an ill-tempered princess as she falls for her transfem knight and tries to cheat fate.

Necrosis: 1-2-3-4-5
A mini arc that follows the leader of the adventuring party Lunaeris and Kallixenia join up with, as she tries to figure out an impossible spell and a confusing catgirl.

Better Off Together: 1-2-3-4-5
One-off looks into some of their adventures.

Beast Of Burden: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-Epilogue
The second arc of Better Off Alone. Faced with Lunaeris' refusal to be protected by her oath, Kallixenia tries to navigate her relationship with her church and gods.

I also have a ko-fi now, if you like the story and want to support me check it out!

after work

Oct. 22nd, 2024 09:19 am
gullwingdoors: sketchy side portrait of gull, with many shards of color (Writing)
[personal profile] gullwingdoors
Based off the writing prompt "Girls who are in tents"(Eternal Sapphtember #19).)

""Sit still."

"What if I told you that sitting still is making it feel exponentially worse?"

"Just- *nngh!*"

Pop! "AUGH!"

"- long enough for me to do
that." Mira popped Noel's shoulder back into alignment, gear-teeth finally locking back together fully, and the intense pain in Noel's shoulder faded. "How's it feeling?" Noel only coughed in response, a faint magical shimmer visible in her breath from the dim lamp-light from above.

Her larger companion, who hadn't bothered to remove the plate from anything but her chest, sighed. "You know, I bet it's really pretty out there."

"Don't taunt me.""


(continuing doing stuff in this particular setting while we've got the inspiration! find it here!)
mentat_emulator: shadowy vampire girl with red eyes (dark vampire)
[personal profile] mentat_emulator
Written for Vamptober prompt number 9 (yes, I'm doing them out of order)

Vampire who is still growing in their new fangs.

It is approximately 1400 words long, or about 2 pages. It contains:
Captivity
Torture
Starvation
Mild Gore

It's a good deal darker than my usual work, but I do hope you enjoy!



The hunter arose at sunset, as befit one of her profession. She made her ablutions as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind forested hills dusted with the first snow of winter. With care, she made a circuit of the safe-house's interior, ensuring the wards were still in place at every possible entrance. Religious symbols and sacred herbs could not stop an experienced vampire for long, but they bought precious time to prepare for an intrusion. Each had been ritually bound to her, so that their destruction would not go unnoticed. Unlikely that her quarry's sire would find her this far from the city, but precautions were still warranted.

Satisfied, she made her way to the kitchen and prepared a small pot of porridge. The provisions here were meager stuff, but it was better than the travel rations in her pack. A warm bowl of anything was preferable to hard tack and jerky. She ate her fill, cleaned the dishes, and then prepared herself for the night's ministrations.

She donned her vestments, tied back her hair, strapped her tools to her waist, and finally drew on long gloves of brown leather, studded here and there with dots of silver. Her neck was protected by a steel gorget, engraved with the symbols of her order. She took up her book of observations, lit a candle, and thus armed, descended into the basement.

 

Read more... )

 

mentat_emulator: a bashful looking vampire girl (Default)
[personal profile] mentat_emulator
Written for Vamptober prompt number 6 (yes, I'm doing them out of order)

Vampire who can't thrall your mind, but can thrall your body.

It is approximately 1900 words long, or about 3 pages. It contains:
Implied Violence
Power Imbalance
Dom/Sub Dynamics

Dolls!
Please enjoy!




Great tapestries adorned the walls of the Dollmaker's home, each depicting scenes of service and humility, as one might expect from the products of dolls. Felicity stared at them as she and her Master were led through the impressive estate, wondering how long it must have taken to create so many, and how many dolls were dedicated to the task. Perhaps they were fast with a needle.

She glanced past her Master's shoulder, at the doll who escorted them. They were fascinating creatures, but they made Felicity uneasy. There was something uncanny about them, she thought, in the way they moved, the way their faces could emote only so much within the limits of their artificial construction. And there was the question of how artificial they really were. One could, as a vampire (or near enough), detect the vital essence, the life within any given doll. Was it all magic, or...? It gave her goosebumps.

The doll stopped at a closed door, and gently knocked. The voice of the Dollmaker came from within.

“Yes, my dear?”

 

 

mentat_emulator: a bashful looking vampire girl (Default)
[personal profile] mentat_emulator

Written for Vamptober prompt number 28 (yes, I'm doing them out of order)

Vampire who runs the underworld — no, it's a licensed bar and music venue, what do you mean?

It is approximately 1600 words, or about 3 pages long. Enjoy!




It was Wolf Night down at the Underworld, and Benny was feeling lucky. He'd gotten the idea in is head, encouraged by his cadre of admirers, that he deserves to lead his own pack. The young werewolves looked up to him, all of twenty-nine years old, and had been whispering in his ear about it for months. But he can't just declare himself a leader; he needs permission from at least three elders to split off from the Heights pack without serious repercussions.

And who should happen to be at the bar tonight, but Old Tessa (don't let her hear you say 'Old,' or god help you), the most reclusive of his pack elders. He had been in a room with her only once before, at his induction six years ago. She was memorable though – six-foot-four, built like a warhorse, with her short blonde hair giving way to silvery gray. The younger women swooned over her, pack of rabid lesbians that they mostly were, and even Benny had to admit that she had a certain beauty for her age. But Tessa only really kept company with wolves her own age (and, it was rumored, other things), and rarely gave direct guidance to the young. It must say something about her character that she was still highly respected, and maintained her title as elder, despite this.

 

Read more... )

 

amiserablepileofwords: A jumble of the components of "A miserable pile of words" (Default)
[personal profile] amiserablepileofwords

Note: This is a repost-as-is of a piece posted to Cohost on the 18th of September 2023 in response to a prompt by Story-of-normal-GuyGal that read: "Normal GuyGal who looks really butchy working on a car"


The apartment door slammed open, and Elaine filled the doorway like a vengeful Roman goddess, sporting the most bedhead ever beheld by woman. "What?!" she growled. "It's 6 in the god-damn morning! Nothing can be this important!" She looked down, and further down, until she finally found the monster that had awoken her at this ungodly hour. The bone-weary sigh that was about 80% yawn did... interesting things to her sleep tank.

Her downstairs neighbour Brittany smiled up, blinking innocently. "I'm so sorryyyyy, but my car won't start, and I really can't be late to work. Pleeeeeease?"

"Again?" the network specialist grunted dubiously.

"Sorry."

A long, considering pause while Elaine scratched herself. Another deep sigh. "Fine. I'll take a look." She spotted Brittany's pleased grin. "Next time, you're taking that piece of junk to an actual garage, okay? Or calling roadside assistance."

"Yes! Whatever you say! Thank you so much!" Brittany was bouncing with glee, like a Golden that'd just heard the word "walkies".

Read the full promptfic here

amiserablepileofwords: A jumble of the components of "A miserable pile of words" (Default)
[personal profile] amiserablepileofwords

Note: This is a repost-as-is of the second part of an ongoing serial story starring My Favourite Fictional Daughter first posted to Cohost on the 14th of September 2023 when a make-up-a-starship-pilot prompt that read "Starship pilot who sprung a leak" sparked... a Lot more Berry.

At time of reposting, the first volume is not complete yet (6 of 8 chapters written), and I can't promise a release schedule for it. Sorry.

Universe Protection Works Association Part 1

BR247516-I "Berry" sat quietly, unobtrusively, on a bench, engrossed in the goings-on of the main concourse level of Mars Central. Her operative Kyra had told her she had a surprise for her, so she waited patiently for her return.

The concourse of a major artery for intersystem travel was a new experience. Overwhelming. An incredibly busy, noisy and colourful spectacle. Ever shifting, ever changing. She could sit here watching it raptly for hours. So many beings. So chaotic. But also so ordered. Patterns within patterns within patterns. Fascinating.

So many naturalborn, more than she'd ever seen, strode to and fro. Stopping to buy things from the various little kiosks, or hurrying to catch their flights. Greeting relatives and old friends. Making new ones. She'd also seen some of her siblings from other gene-lines flit past. Lithe UP-S ones, dodging and weaving through the foot traffic, carrying urgent messages. At least two loaders crewed by a heavier UP-C had passed by her position, trying to swim against the steady stream of bodies. And she was sure she'd also spotted some willowy TR-Ys, taking notes as they trailed their corporate bosses. It was all so very interesting, quite unlike anything she'd encountered before.

Her observations were rudely interrupted, and she looked up into a man's face.

Read the full chapter here

amiserablepileofwords: A jumble of the components of "A miserable pile of words" (Default)
[personal profile] amiserablepileofwords

Note: This is a repost-as-is of a piece posted to Cohost on the 12th of September 2023 in response to a prompt by Making-up-Mech-Pilots that read: "Mech Pilot who takes a callsign to protect themselves from the Fae."

Be warned, I went very purple and pulpy on this one.


"Miserable human. What is the meaning of... this?" the offended, duplicitous Fae infiltrator that thought it had found an easy mark gestured at the pilot formerly known as Sarah Williams' mech. At the flickering display where her name and callsign were supposed to be etched, ready for the picking for its nefarious purposes. The old-timey CRT, unhackable, was busy drawing new, unpronounceable phosphorescent sigils every half-second, the overlaying patterns blending into each other. Muddying the waters. Giving the despised enemy nothing to work with.

"Oh, that?" the pilot grinned cockily, her perfectly made-up lips giving the smile a lurid, bloody sheen. A portent of things to come. "See, when I was assigned to the front lines, I was warned about your kind. How you trick our people. Good, God-fearing human souls. Take their names, make unwilling double agents out of them with your devilish powers. Make them do unspeakable things in your unholy name... Of course, I already knew this."

Read the full promptfic here

amiserablepileofwords: A jumble of the components of "A miserable pile of words" (Default)
[personal profile] amiserablepileofwords

Note: This is a repost-as-is of a the first part of an ongoing serial story starring My Favourite Fictional Daughter first posted to Cohost on the 12th of September 2023. At time of reposting, the first volume is not complete yet (6 of 8 chapters written), and I can't promise a release schedule for it. Sorry.

Universe Protection Works Association Part 1
beginning previous next

BR247516-I stared mistrustingly at The Big Wet — the sea — outside her cockpit. She did not like this idea. Did not want to be here. Who knew what this structurally unsound sand — beach, her brain helpfully provided — beneath her landing struts would do to her poor ship's engines?

She looked at her operative in the overhead reflective panel that showed her every corner of the ship behind her. "No."

"Aw, come on, Merry Berry." Kyra wheedled, meeting her eyes as she packed another towel in her duffel bag. "It'll be fun, I promise!"

"I was designed in space. I was decanted in space. I was made for space." BR247516-I — Berry, as her operative insisted on calling her for some reason. Not that she minded. It felt good to be... individual. Apart. Highly illicit. Inappropriate. Extremely incorrect. But good. — resolutely countered.

"Yeah, but you go down to planets now. With me." Kyra fired back.

Berry's mouth was a flat, disapproving line as she gestured at the world outside, barely visible through the rain lashing the viewport. Drumming on the hull. "There is weather happening out there." Offended.

Read the full chapter here

amiserablepileofwords: A jumble of the components of "A miserable pile of words" (Default)
[personal profile] amiserablepileofwords

Note: This is a repost-as-is of a snippet I posted on Cohost on the 10th of February 2023 in response to a Prompt from the Making-up-Mech-Pilots account.


"Look, man, I didn't mean to." Kris wheedled. "She didn't mean to. She'd never. It was an accident. You have to believe me." Pleaded. "How was I to know whistling that jingle from that old chewing gum commercial — you know, the one that goes..." Their foot tapped as they briefly hummed something that sounded like 'huminy homana nanana bubbly good' under their breath, half the lyrics long forgotten.

"... would cause all..." A weak gesture at the roaring inferno around them, their words barely audible over the panicked braying of the base klaxons. The wails of the wounded and bereaved. The intermittent crash of collapsing buildings. It was ridiculous. Impossible. Inconceivable. Indescribable. They finally settled on a lame "... this."

"Uh-huh." The SecuTex guard that'd accosted the pilot, his own once pristine white uniform covered in soot and blood, didn't seem inclined to believe them.

Read the full story here

amiserablepileofwords: A sitting woman, with an A for a head, and a standing, flexing woman with a B for a head, face each other across a huge ampersand (character dynamic)
[personal profile] amiserablepileofwords

A has just moved to "The Most Supernatural Little Town In The Country™", much to her displeasure and against her will, because she had to leave behind all her friends in the bustling city, which isn't fair, she didn't get to vote on whether they should move to this dead end or not

B has vowed to get rid of these filthy gentrifying humans stinking up the place once and for all. When she's done putting the finishing touches to her decades-in-the-making masterpiece, there'll be nothing to stop her, and peace and quiet will finally return to her home

eatthepen: (Default)
[personal profile] eatthepen
Started my Cohost with this, and that turned out pretty well overall, so here's hoping the luck holds, have some doomed critter romance:

Oh Ye Whom Wrath Consumes

Kydav of the Burning Arrow, Shield of Varr and Stallion of the Vale of Iems, limped towards the circle of firelight, his left hind-hoof dragging along the ground. In the distance beyond the fire, fully a third of the writhing sky was missing, obscured by the dark corpse of a God. That was the only landmark; all else was night.

The creatures around the fire must have heard his laboured footsteps, but they made no move to greet him, and so it was only when he paused just outside the light that he discerned their forms. This handful of survivors did not surprise him. Few could bear the sight of the sky seething with hatred. He was relieved, though, that none rose immediately to strike him.

Oricar, Chosen of the Seven Lands, Mistress of the Final Host, Who Blinked Only Once, lay belly-down in the sand, her long, segmented body stretching away into the darkness, her legs folded up into two neat rows along her back. Beside her squatted Ratri, Queen of Blades, King of Shadows, Assassin of Wars, the long spines on her limbs and back lying flat, indicating fertile rather than virile phase. Kydav took particular and sad note of that detail.

Opposite Oricar and Ratri, much closer to the fire, lay Uelho of the Earth, Mage of Bone and Sulfur, Peacemaker. The helix of their shell towered skywards still, but down in the sand, the grey hill of their flesh looked faded and old. Pale blue blood dripped gently down from the wound where their flank met their shell. It was a tiny break in the skin, fine like a papercut and less than a fingertip in length, but the wounds left by the accursed knife of the Cardinal of Bethwa never healed. For years, Uelho's bond with the Earth Spirits had preserved them, but the muddy patch of dirt where their blood now fell – the only patch of moisture Kydav had seen in hours – paid testament to the sacrifices that had brought them to this moment.

Facing Kydav through the flames was Scivin Godslayer, Mistress of the Lance, once called The Tender, Who Raised The Green Wall. Her blocky body rested more or less upright against a boulder. Although the season had been spring, the crags of her bark sprouted no new growth, and the ridges of her crown were charred.

Once they had been thirteen. Could the others all be dead? Lost for what to say, Kydav took another step. Scivin looked up, but held her peace. None of them spoke, as Kydav settled slowly to his aching knees, his scarred breast to the fire's meagre warmth.

After a very long silence, Kydav let out a low whinny of a sigh and said, "I have a stupid question."

Ratri began to bristle, a shiver running through her shackle-scarred spines, but Oricar spoke first: "Let him ask." Her eyes rolled heavenward and winced, "What harm can it do now?"

Kydav's face softened as he looked down at his former general. The light of the fire was kind to them all in a way that the rasps and gurgles of Oricar's voice could not be. There would be neither the speeches that could inspire stone to march nor the ice-cold orders that had punctuated the purge of the cult of Elsti any longer.

Again it was a long time before Kydav spoke. "Is it really so... No, that's not a stupid question." A rueful smile slipped up his cheek and fled into the gloom below his ear. "Did anyone ever figure out what the Witch of Uthpe was actually after?"

That was a stupid question. Again, Scivin raised her head, eyes baleful in their crags. Neither Ratri nor Oricar moved. The Witch of Uthpe had haunted Oricar's campaigns of unification across four continents, seizing a succession of minor but valuable territories at their margins and flanks. Even after unification, as the Elsti rose and were put down, the Witch had popped up again and again like vermin.

Scivin's glare had not faltered. The crevices in her bark swallowed the firelight, but Kydav saw little violence in her. Like Oricar, her voice was ruined. Where once she had spoken in breezes, now she sounded like a distant landslide. "Did you have to fight her too, after-?" She seemed to run out of interest, as much as energy to finish the question.

"Does it matter?" hissed Ratri. Even tense with hostility, her spines stayed layered almost completely flat. She had avoided her virile phase since escaping captivity, and now Kydav could see only hints of the King of Shadow in the dull grey scales of the Queen of Knives. Her voice was all hiss, no roar. "Let her claim whatever square of dry sand she chooses, the Gods will finish the job we never could. None of it matters now."

Uelho moved gently in his place, just enough to draw all their eyes. "Not all that matters is victory, Assassin of Wars." Their voice slid slowly, gently, over the words, without any sign of weakness. If their wound hurt, or the Peacemaker felt the steady approach of their long-delayed death, they gave no sign. "Nor for that matter is survival. Why are you here, Kydav?"

Again, Kydav gave a fleeting smile. "Don't all creatures seek light and warmth, in such circumstances?"

Uelho turned two of their eyestalks toward the Burning Arrow. "Beneath you are more who would shy from light than have ever seen it."

"I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me," Kydav chose his words carefully. Then, after a long pause, his bitter humour returned. "Hardly the first time."

Uelho gave one of the silent ripples the others had long since learned to recognise as a chuckle. "Perhaps your rashness will die with the world, Faithful, but I would not be surprised if it endured."

Kydav winced. "I relinquished that title."

"Did you think we would let you forget?" Snarled Ratri, drawing a flinch from the centaur.

"No, I... No." He shook his head, lank mane barely shifting with the movement. "But there are ways and ways of remembering. Let this be my way of asking that you remember my remorse as well."

"Can a name make such a difference in these circumstances?" Scivin lifted a bough to indicate the sky, and Kydav saw that all her twigs were mere nubs of char. "Surely the Gods will see to it that all is forgotten."

"They're not here yet." Oricar glanced toward the dead mountain. "Your victim took three decades to arrive."

"And should we sit in darkness for another three pondering the guilt of that one?" Ratri had anger only for Kydav, it seemed.

"Perhaps we should," Uelho said, and they sounded a little surprised to find the words passing their snout. "Perhaps now it matters more than ever that our deeds are accounted for."

"Then will you execute me?" Kydav's voice took on a peculiar edge. "There can be little doubt as to my guilt."

Oricar rippled again. "One more death would serve us little. Perhaps we might talk of titles instead."

With another wan flicker of his once-mirthful lips, Kydav said, "Where is Idmow? Doubtless he would want to be here for the occasion."

"Varr's Bane is dead," Scivin answered. "Struck down as he took up the Lance of Illbe."

Kydav lowered his head in understanding.

Quietly, Oricar said, "Would that the task had not fallen to him." Her eyes flicked between Uelho and Scivin, as if wondering whose forgiveness she should ask first.

The Godslayer made a pointed silence, turning her attention back to Kydav, but it was Ratri who spoke. "Are you not pleased at your foe's passing?"

"Shall I prance?" Humour fled Kydav's voice. "I, too, wish that the weight of the Lance had not fallen – not on any of you. Were Idmow here, we might stand trial side by side."

"None of us has a shortage of deeds to answer for, if it comes to that." Oricar still kept her voice maddeningly low, bereft of anger, and Kydav wondered if it was easier on her ruined throat that way.

"Then why single me out? For treachery alone?"

"As if your cult was not the worst of all our doings," Ratri snarled, "Or do you defend them even now?"

"That stopping the Dedicates of Elsti was a necessary evil," Kydav placed his words with the precision of a bricklayer, "does not make what was done any less evil."

"And what of what we found in the crypts of your citadel?"

The Burning Arrow snorted, a chuckle utterly without joy. "Desperation breeds ugly sacrifices." He made a shrug that encompassed the whole scene; Uelho's slow wound, the charred ruins of Scivin's spring growth, the scorched earth, the heaving sky.

Ratri subsided, chastened, but Oricar took over the attack. "You would suggest that comparison." There was heat in the Mistress's voice. "Does it not ring hollow in your own ears?"

"Our sacrifices were no less ugly," said Scivin, and Kydav heard in the rustling of her voice all he needed to know of what had befallen the Gardens at Illbe. "Were they any less futile?"

Oricar rounded on the Godslayer, but Uelho beat the words out of her mouth. "Peace, Chosen." Uelho's warm tone held them all still. "Speaking for the sacrifices, I am grateful for this last view of the stars, even trammelled as they are."

Scivin made a sound that was almost a sob. "Forgive me, Uelho."

"You have asked me that several times already, dear friend." The Mage of Bone and Sulfur paused. "And I know your heart already knows my answer."

Again there was silence.

Eventually, speaking directly over the fire, Kydav asked, "How many tried to lift it, in the end?"

"Oricar. Ijamd. Ennesh never touched it. Uelho. Ycehea, then Idmow. Then me." Scivin mumbled the list. "When I saw the Light Before Dawn fall, it changed me. I know not why. I saw the need of sacrifice. Had I but seen it sooner…"

"Had you indeed," Ratri snapped. Her spines rattled, the black patches of their scars dancing like spots in Kydav's tired eyes.

Scivin let out a noise that began as a high, whistling laugh and fell into a windy moan. It seemed to take her a moment to assemble breath afterwards. "Even now I do not know if I could spare you the Oeander-"

The Queen of Knives uncoiled faster than Kydav could track, and a blade flashed the light back at him as it flew past the fire. Scivin made no attempt to move or shield herself, allowed Ratri's knife to find its mark.

The blade passed through her eye, lost deep inside her trunk, and Scivin the Tender was no more.

Ratri did not settle. Spines lifted to full virile phase, he stood by the fire, facing the Godslayer's corpse. For the first time, Kydav saw the extent of the wounds left by the Oeanderan shackles. Wounds that Scivin could have prevented, had she the will to kill the King of Shadow as he was dragged away.

Well, who was to say there was no justice in this, either. Kydav watched Oricar, and wondered how the Chosen of Seven Lands felt now. Were her thoughts of the lover who stood over her, facing the darkness, or the old and treasured ally just departed to it? In her liquid, murky face, there was nothing to hint of an answer.

The night wound on, time marked only by the occasional faint breaths of a breeze. Oricar fuelled the fire with her old, dainty humility, passing brushwood up the ladder of limbs on her back from the darkness and tossing them into the light. She neither touched nor spoke to Ratri.

"My time comes." Now, at the last, Uelho's voice weakened. Kydav's head reeled suddenly, heat flooding through his body and up to his eyes. Oricar lurched to her feet, the ripple of her unfolding legs thrown awkwardly off rhythm. But she hesitated, rather than approach the dying Mage.

"Do you expect a speech?" Clearly now even those few words taxed Uelho. "I'm dying, there is no wisdom in this! We pass, and the Earth remains!" His stalks straightened, pointing the beads of his eyes to the sky. "If that…"

Then Uelho of the Earth, too, died.

Oricar moved forwards, seemed to trip, and landed in the sand with her face mere whispering inches from Uelho's. The motion exposed a good eight feet of her gelatinous body to the firelight, and Kydav saw what the Istnov poisons had done to her. Where once she had been clear as fresh springwater, so that she almost vanished when still, now she was riddled with black blotches, deep inside her body. It made her look lumpen, like frogspawn.

Ratri finally shifted her rigid pose, and Kydav watched her sink to the ground, eyes unblinkingly heavenward. If there had been anything left to say, it was surely gone now.

The fire burned low, low enough that the embers could no longer shame the suffering of the trio around it. So they sat, until the terrible, sunless dawn finally came.
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