Team, 92

Fish tasted funny in small bites. The rice it was on was weirdly sweet. Cal wasn’t anywhere near the ocean.

But he was enjoying the little bites of fish and he was enjoying the company, the boy he was with smiling and laughing at him as he tried to pick his food up, and Cal was content and happy. He kept eating, kept listening to his friend tell a story about something he’d never heard of. He was having the time of his life here.

“Hi,” said Jesse, sitting down at Cal’s table.

Others, 25

She didn’t feel the cold wind as she flew south, flew home. The wind was always cold, and there was no point in feeling it, so she didn’t bother. She had more important things to worry about than the wind. The wind would always be there, until it wasn’t any longer, and when it wasn’t, Zmnatch’gykldyra’djdzarkyln would have larger problems than nostalgia for a breeze that no longer blew.

This was her territory, hard won. Humans called this region the Cliffs of Angels, but they were called the Blood Cliffs by those who lived in them. Long ago a battle had shaped these cliffs, between two factions of former humans. Zmnatch’gykldyra’djdzarkyln and her offspring had intervened in that fight because it threatened their territory, and had claimed the cliffs as their own after the humans had retreated. Now Zmnatch’gykldyra’djdzarkyln had claim to all these cliffs and the lands beyond, and protected them zealously. Few had dared to impugn on her sovereignty of late.

Others saw her as she flew and she them. She paid them no heed, satisfied that they banked in all directions, eager to be clear of her path. Zmnatch’gykldyra’djdzarkyln had no time for petty challenges and pettier attempts to earn favour, and for the moment, it seemed that her petty challengers and favour-curriers had no time to be beaten.

Team, 63

There was blood under his feet, pooled everywhere. The floor under it was mosaic tile, depicting the end of the war that had saved creation from its creators, and with the central component being the tower that guarded the world from itself. Not that any of it was visible now under all the blood Nathen had spilled.

The bodies of the people who’d spilled the blood were lined up against the northern wall. A small conference of them, regional gods meeting to talk about how best to subjugate the poor humans living in the territory they thought was theirs. Or possibly how best to defend themselves from the psychotic murderer approaching them at a walk.

Nathen’s sword tip rested against the tile, scratching a gouge in it under the blood. He stood, looking at the pools, resting.

“You have to stop this, Nathen.”

Slumber Party

Since this is the last day of Magic Meat March, I want to thank the folks who put together this fabulous event, which I had a ton of fun participating in this month, and to thank everyone who made all the awesome works I got to spend all month being amazed by, and everyone who took the time to read my endless entries. You are all awesome!

With that said, onto the final work for the month, for which my partner suggested I invert that most classic of tropes: the sleepover. I tried to squeeze in as many of the tropes you expect as I can, though I fully admit that I am not an encyclopedia of fanservice and may well have missed some important things.

Tell Me My Truth, My Future with You

“And prosperity…onto your house…for generations to…come,” Jesse gasped as he felt the man finally finish inside him. The man, a young military official, tensed, his face screwed up in quite a stupid-looking way, as he spilled his seed. He pulled out from Jesse, panting.

“Thank you,” the man had the decency to say, and suddenly he looked even younger. Jesse wondered if that had been his first time. He certainly hadn’t had a lot of stamina.

“I’m pleased to have delivered the gods’ plan for you,” Jesse said with a mysterious smile that he’d been practicing. He stood, carefully not shuddering as the man’s cum ran down his legs, and picked up the white gown he’d been wearing, stepped into it again.