Shock

He could hear the taps running, slowly filling the tub with cataracts of steaming heat, and laughter bubbled up his throat like the soap she was surely putting in he water. Soon! So soon! It was going to be a great joke. His best yet. She would love it.

Besides, it had been long day. She could do with laughter.

Within minutes, the pipes shuddered as she turned off the taps.

Gripping his surprise in his palms, he waited until he was certain she was in the tub, then crept up the stairs, slowly so his weight didn’t creak creak creak.

She was humming. The water splashed as she moved, and billows of steam belched from beneath the door.

Carefully gripping his prize, he opened the door.

She looked up and wiped sticky hair form an already sweaty face, and her brow crumpled in a frown. “I told you to leave me alone. I’m in the mood.”

Her eyes narrowed as he turned his back to her to prepare the surprise, then widened in time with her mouth as he turned and tossed the toaster in the tub.

Kneeling on the floor, he cackled and clapped.

“I only wanted to shock you. Get it? Get it?”

Ear

Listen close.
Can you hear it?

Growls of thunder—a thousand soldiers’ feet marching across a slate battlefield, rent by mires of dust and bone.

Use your ears, not your eyes,
For these are not soldiers who can be seen.

Torrential rain, weeping from the battles, a reminder of the loved ones lost and still to leave, faces melted by the poisonous clouds of war.

Fingers of lightning wrenching the sky asunder, jagged, pulling, sudden. The cries of generals; the tattoo of the drums, sharp and bold among the footsteps of thunder, the wail of dearly departed joy.

It’s all among the rain.

A call to arms.
Swords drawn.
March to victory,
Across a sky split by war.
Weeping battlefields.

Can you hear the fearful drums a-beating?
It’s here.
Now—
In the rain.
All you have to do is listen.

Listen close.

Slime

image from http://www.notsocks.co.nz/
image from http://www.notsocks.co.nz/

 

He paused, long fingers drumming on the shaft of his bow. The silence of the forest greeted him—that silence that never was. Shrieks of birds, buzzes of bugs, the crunch of something moving in the windblown trees nearby.

Maybe he imagined it.

Then it came again, dispelling that thought, and he jumped over the fallen log, long legs carrying him through the forest.

A scream. Desperate. Filled with terror—and maybe something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Bursting through a thicket, an arrow already nocked on his bow, he dropped to one knee, ready to fire—and froze at the sight before him.

In a large, open glade, a mud puddle seemed to be… consuming a young man.

He paused, staring, then fired the arrow. The young man shrieked again, thrashing so huge, thick gobbets of slime flung out of the mud pond and splattered on the grass and bushes. The fletching of the arrow was just visible in the muck, slowly being sucked in with a wet slurp.

Abandoning his bow as a lost cause, he ran over to the edge of the pond of slime and stretched out one arm. “Grab my hand!”

The young man—so liberally covered in goop that he couldn’t even tell what colour his hair was—managed to extricated one arm and reached, fingers trembling.

The mud pulled him in further, grunting and glugging.

Their fingertips grazed each other, then he caught hold and yanked. With a tremendous grunt, he dug in his heels and pulled, gripping the young man’s wrist with both hands. The slime was powerfully strong and seemed reluctant to release its victim, but after several minutes of vein-popping struggle, it relinquished the boy and sent him flying out of the pond. He landed with a thud, and they collapsed together, panting and soaked.

Leto blinked and looked down at the muddy man sprawled atop him. “You aren’t wearing any pants,” he said, surprised.

In the few spots not drenched with mud, the man’s skin flushed deep, violent scarlet. “Crumpets,” he mumbled, burying his head in shame.

Ignoring it, Leto lifted his head and frowned at the pond, burbling in quiet menace. “What was that thing?” he asked, wiping sludge from his lip.

The man scrubbed his face with a mortified groan and rolled off Leto to slump in the long grass, revealing fine blonde hair and embarrassed green eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Read more about Elfboy and his misadventures with slime over here!

Balloon

image from http://www.totalmerchandise.co.uk/
image from http://www.totalmerchandise.co.uk/

 

His abdomen was engorged, stretched like a balloon fit to burst. The hairy flesh was stretched taught over the swell, and he was covered in mottled patches of ashen white and flushed scarlet. Though his breaths came quick and short, his ribs creaking with effort, his pulse skipped and fluttered beneath clammy, butterfly skin.

It was only a matter of time now. Soon the screams and groans would stop, the frantic twitching of his eyes would cease, and those heaving ribs would stop straining under taut flesh.

And then… then it would be over.

The Time Between (The Sheets) – A Fan Fic

Hellooooo. Long time no see, eh?

My darling friend CB Archer got the idea to write a fanfic short story about two of my characters from CHANGELING, a story of mine that he beta read wait, idea? no no i told him i wanted to know what would happen if…

So he did!

Linked here is the post on his website. But be warned – he writes wonderfully filthy erotica, and you have any sort of aversion to same sex freakiness, maybe don’t go read it. Or do. But don’t bitch to either of us if you’re offended.

Enjoy!

I know I did 😀

The Time Between (The Sheets) – A Fan Fic

Apocryphal

image from wikipedia.org
image from wikipedia.org

“Did you finish your book report?”

“Yep!”

“Already?”

“Yep!”

“That seems quick.”

“Nah. It was easy.”

“… it was The Canterbury Tales.”

“Yeah, totally. Easy.”

“Right. Can I see? I’ve got a few more pages to write for mine.”

“Sure!”

“… you wrote this?”

“Yeah, totally.”

“You used the word apocryphal. Do you even know what it means?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“What does it mean?”

“You know. Why’re you asking me?”

“Did you plagiarize this?”

“What?”

“It means your book report is apocryphal. You’re never going to pass.”

“Whatever. Give it back. I’ve gotta put more stars on the cover.”

Fanart? Yes.

To quote my pal CB Archer on his post about fan art:

Contrary to popular belief, no one ever writes books, makes movies, or becomes a musician for fame, power, or money. They all do it for one thing and one thing only:
Fan Art.

I got my first fan art recently and by recently I mean a few months ago but I’m a mook and totally forgot to upload it and gush like another sort of mook.

Contrary to what one might think, it isn’t PURITY fan art, but CHANGELING, unpublished and collecting dust on my hard drive while I write its threequel, I swear. CB himself actually made this art – based on one of the early scenes of CHANGELING in which main character Aisling and her band of merry soldiers gets entangled with bandits bent on assault and robbery.

Aisling and Leir
Aisling and Leir

Bandits Beware!

Aisling (orange) is a pyrophoric mage – meaning she has the innate power to produce and control fire. Leir (blue) is cryonic – meaning she is basically Elsa and can control ice and snow the cold never bothered her anyway.

Tying into this, actually… I was recently writing USURPER, Changeling’s threequel, and I wrote myself into a corner in which I needed lyrics to a ballad. Being completely nonpoetic myself, I commissioned by friend Bethany, a songwriter and poet, to come up with a few lines for me. Inspired by the idea of writing a lament and also the lure of Mars bars Bethany jumped aboard with gusto and wrote not just a few lines, but an entire song – and then decided she wanted to write lyrics to a heroic ballad I had referenced elsewhere in the same chapter.

So, without further ado, one stanza of Winter Song, written by Bethany Sanjenko for USURPER.

When the winter winds came, he put on his boots
He opened the door and tightened his noose
Now he lays in a grave, shallow and cold
No one to have and no one to hold

I’m hella pumped on all this. And according to CB Archer, now I have succeeded!

Also, you should go check out his page and Bethany’s Soundcloud, both linked. His as of yet unpublished book is hysterical, and Bethany is seriously talented.