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mabelpodcast · 4 months

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Do you like reading pornography? Do you like super weird pornography set in Los Angeles? That you can read completely for free? If so, you should read my new short stories up at Anarchic Candy (the website where I publish all my romance fiction free of charge, instead of selling it, and myself, through an industry I despise). There's one about a mermaid and a failed screenwriter doing porn, there's one about a boy with a very strange garden in a canyon, there's one about a TV writer and a group of entities up on an old historic building in Downtown Los Angeles. There will be more, when I write them. They'll probably be even weirder. Some of them are true. They're all interconnected, too. You'll see what I mean.

Also there's COMEBACK, my novel that several super legit literary agents wanted to publish! It's about a has-been, rumoured-to-be-drug-addicted former teen superstar and her make up artist going on tour together. It's not pornography (though there is sex in it), but it is fun! And sad. And gay. And an indictment of the modern age. But in an entertaining way!

Download them all, for free, from Anarchic Candy.

How is the end of your year?

#b post #anarchic candy #free stories #smut #free fiction

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l-e-morgan-author · 4 months

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All twelve chapters of The Patience of Hope have now been released! I ended it a day later than planned because I had to take one of the days off, but with the last chapter having just been posted, that wraps up this story, which clocks in at 18,280 words and tips into novella land. If you like explicitly autistic characters, hopeful themes and surety of Christian love, you might like this story.

A couple of acknowledgements - thanks to both @graycedelfin and @stealingmyplaceinthesun, who helped me with betareading. Thanks also to the @inklings-challenge; I wouldn't have written this story without the Christmas challenge it's for.

I love this story so much, and I'm delighted to share it with y'all, even though it's far from its best, having had perhaps not enough time to marinate before I shared it. I hope to edit it in future.

Each chapter was set one day after the previous one. Don't squint too hard at the worldbuilding, either, because it was sort of set in the present time but also sort of not really.

Chapter one: Nativity was for Christmas day itself. Chapter two: Stephen introduced a character and plotline that featured heavily in the rest of the story. In chapter three: John, there was a somewhat difficult conversation, and a kind-of-sort-of cliffhanger. Chapter four: Innocents looked more at how the results of that conversation were going to affect Patience. Next up, chapter five: Shepherds brought a surprising situation into the mix. Chapter six: Joseph had a spot of conflict, as well as much-needed reassurance for Patience. Chapter seven: Magi brought more fluff, as well as a necessary conversation. Chapter eight: David showed one of Patience's favourite things, knitting for people. Chapter nine: Baptism was shorter than I would have liked, and I intend to revise to add another scene at a later date, but it's okay as it is. Chapter ten: James briefly brought back a character sidelined in an earlier chapter. In chapter eleven: Mysteries, her father returned to take care of Patience and try to clarify the situation she was in. Finally, the chapter that just released (chapter twelve: Epiphany) contained a hard conversation, surrounded by discussions of Bible verses and wordplay, and closed the story on a hopeful note.

Thanks for reading, and please reblog this post, and please tell me what you think of the story! Also see the most recent story on this post (or one of my most recent tumblr posts), for a short story from Rhona's POV during the events of Patience, Changing, "Patience in Recovery"!

#the patience of hope #free stories #free novella #christianity #patience #rhona #nathan #marcia #jude #james #patience changing

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luninosity · 5 months

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It's the annual JMS Books Advent Calendar - **free** LGBTQ romance short stories, December 1-24!

I'm Day 20 - we're allowed to mention our own! - but there're so many lovely authors to discover along the way!

Check back each day (here's the link) and discover a new author and free, brand-new, never-before-published short story!

And I'll just mention, without giving away the day, @thebestpersonherelovesbucky is in there too... <3

#lgbtq #romance #free stories #advent calendar #jms books

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blam-marie · 9 days

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Married to the Evil Wizard King - 02

Like this? Please subscribe to my Patreon!

Read all currently published chapters (a whole 40 of them so far!) here on Tapas

All things considered, Autumn didn’t mind living in a land bordering the kingdom of a Dark Wizard King. It was the sort of thing that you just eventually got used to. ‘Oh, have you heard that all of the sheep in the south pasture have been eaten by evil spirits? I hope the farmers don’t raise their prices again, I was hoping to cook some lamb for the pot roast…’ That sort of thing. People just couldn’t live in fear all of the time, and the Dark King had been part of the decor for a thousand years, after all. He was even somewhat predictable; war would be followed by anger, then a bride, then a period of peace, and then war again. Rinse and repeat.

But just because she could tolerate his existence, that didn’t mean that she wanted to be married to the man. Or eaten, or used in a dark magic ritual, or whatever it was that he did with the women sent to him.

“You must see this as a betrayal,” said her mother as she fussed uselessly with the fastening of her cloak. She kept opening and closing the brooch at her daughter’s throat as if the exact fold of the woollen cloth could change anything about what would happen next.

It was a nice brooch, as such things went. It was round, made of brass and engraved with the head of a stag, with a small ruby inset in between its antlers. Her sister Spring had given it to her for her birthday some years back, and now she wished that her mother would stop touching it. The only reason she was even wearing her cloak at all was because the summer had been a cold one, and that was because — well, because the wizard was angry. The one that she was due to marry.

They were assembled on the edge of the woods, shivering in the wind. All of her belongings had been packed, most of it discarded. She wouldn’t need much where she was going. In a few minutes, one of the servants of the king would appear and take her into the dark recesses of the trees. From there on they would allegedly make their way to the Wizard King’s castle, and then supposedly she would get to meet him. Or the creature would quickly and quietly slice her throat a few miles into the woods and bring up her heart for his master to eat. There was no way to know, really.

“Of course not,” she deadpanned. “All the little girls dream of being sacrificed to the Evil Wizard King.”

“All the smart little girls know that it’s a possibility, at least,” snapped back her mother. “Instead of daydreaming about algebra.”

“Geometry,” she muttered. “I daydream about geometry and I make beautiful sewing patterns.”

“Yes,” sighed the queen, suddenly deflating. “And we could have found you a nice husband just on the strength of that skill. But I’ve not chosen you for the Wizard King for your sewing patterns, child. And I’ve not chosen you because you’re an obedient, demure little thing. I’ve chosen you because you’re a handful.”

“Wow. Thank you, Mother.”

Far away, the rustle of an approaching carriage could be heard coming from the woods. There was no road here, nor even a path between the trees. Thorny bushes were packed so tight on the edge of the woods that one might mistake them for a solid wall from afar. But Autumn had heard that the trees of the cursed forest could move, and that once one of the king’s creatures approached, branches and trunks would simply spring apart to let them pass. It might have been an interesting sight to see on any other day, if it had not meant the prelude for her death. The queen grabbed her cloak tighter and spoke with urgency.

“No, listen to me, my daughter. You are the most willful woman I’ve ever met. We hired a bard for your birthday, and you bit him.”

“He knows what he did,” she hissed, wondering where her mother was going with this.

“We taught you embroidery, and you used the needles to stab the scullery maid.”

“She was an assassin sent to kill you!”

“We showed you poetry, and you turned to mathematics instead.”

“I studied both!,” she felt compelled to point out. She knew what the poetry was for, it wasn’t like she’d just ignored it altogether.

“My point,” continued her mother, “is that you have never listened to anyone in your life and you will not listen to the Wizard King now.”

Autumn felt her eyebrows rise in surprise. “You want me to die faster? Is that what you want? I thought the whole point — ostensibly — was for me to cajole him into a marriage.”

“You will die regardless,” retorted her mother, brutal as she’d always been. “Whether you secure the marriage or not, whether now or in ten years. The bastard has killed my husband, and he will kill my daughter. It cannot be avoided, and I won’t feed you some hogwash about how your sacrifice will save the rest of your people. You already know all of that. What I am telling you now, instead, is that when your death is inevitable, you don’t have to go easy. Give him hell. And secure the marriage before he kills you, if you can.”

The rustling grew louder.

“Understand that your father failed, ten years ago. I am under significant pressure from the other kingdoms to make up for that failure in any way possible. But if I am going to send anyone into a rat’s nest, then I will send a viper. Remember what I told you before. Do not give in to him.”

Autumn nodded. Her mother was referring to the only other conversation that they’d had on the subject of her sacrifice to the Evil King after it had been announced. The old woman had slipped into her bedroom after dusk to whisper urgently at her, as if the only real conversation she could have with her daughter had to be hidden in the dead of night, away from prying ears.

“Don’t let him touch you until your wedding night,” had been the brunt of her advice.

“Are we really still pretending that a marriage is going to happen?,” she’d spat, bruised and tired already at the thought of two months of trials and the reward of a certain death.

“You are about to enter a land where magic is real, and it has rules,” had cautioned her mother. “And one of the core rules of magic is that it works with what you give it. We are not pretending to the universe that a wedding will happen. We are telling it so.”

“Right. And as with any proper wedding, I have to go into it a proper maiden.”

“You haven’t been a proper maiden since you were of age,” had scorned her mother, and Autumn had felt her cheeks burn. The queen hadn’t been meant to know about the cook’s son. Or the viscount’s cousin. Or the knight(s).

“We are far past questions of propriety,” she had continued. “This is a matter of magic. Consumption is a powerful act. Once you eat of his land, you will belong to it. There is nothing we can do about that. You will be there for two months, and you have to feed yourself. But once you eat of him, you’ll belong to him, too. And you cannot allow that to happen before you’ve secured the wedding.”

“Right. Because…?”

“Because it involves a contract; and a contract signed on lands where the magic is alive and words become reality…” she had trailed off and raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

“… It will make his word unbreakable,” Autumn had breathed in realization. “You want me to make him swear us protection, out loud and on paper, during a sacred ceremony. While standing in a castle made out of magic. Shit. Okay.”

“Yes. And then I want you to seal the whole thing with the oldest, most powerful ritual at your disposal. I am not asking as your mother; I am asking as your queen. I want you to lure the Wizard King into a vow and to put the seal of your own body on it. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know,” she had told her mother honestly, mind reeling. “None of the other girls ever managed. But I can try.”

The fact that she might not even get the opportunity to try, or that she might not get a choice in the matter, had been such a clear evidence that neither of them had felt the need to point it out.

Her sisters had a different idea about things. The day after she had promised her mother that she wouldn’t spread her legs for the Wizard King until he’d wedded her in front of her whole family and kingdom, Summer and Winter had cornered her in the music room.

“You have to mount him the first chance you get,” had been their piece of advice.

It was a matter of magic, they had claimed, because all everyone ever wanted to talk about was magic. That, or sex. To be entirely honest, Autumn didn’t even know if sleeping with the Evil King was even a possibility in the first place. He had been alive for a thousand years! Maybe he wasn’t even human anymore, by now. Or he was really old.

In any case, Summer and Winter’s argument had been that if the Evil Wizard King was about to stake a claim on her, then her only option was to cut him off at the knees and stake a claim first. It would be a bold move, she had to admit. Like biting a cat that was about to bite you and then watching it try to process what had just happened. She might even have agreed with them, if it hadn’t been for the promise she’d just made her mother.

Still, it was an option to keep in the back pocket. Autumn liked having options. ‘Don’t die’ was an obvious one. ‘Stay a maiden’ might or might not be doable. ‘Mount the guy on his own evil wizard throne to make a point’ was terribly unsubtle, but at least she was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t see it coming.

As she stood on the edge of the forest waiting for her ride into hell to come and pick her up, Autumn reflected that this was probably not in any way, shape, or form what her mother meant when she said, ‘give the Dark King a hard time’. She tried to keep in a hysterical chuckle.

Hand in hand with Summer and Winter, she wished that their eldest sister, Spring, were here to say goodbye too. But she’d only recently given birth, and her husband (some chump of a duke) thought it too dangerous to bring their child near the forest. Never mind that the spirits hadn’t been seen for months. Never mind that she could have left the baby at home for a few minutes. Never mind that she would never see Autumn again, and that her child would never have the chance to meet his aunt now.

Never mind that Autumn was almost certainly going to die. But at least she would die with her head held high, after having given her best shot at securing a wedding vow out of the most evil man on the planet.

#married to the evil wizard king #writing #writing is hard #book update #dark romance #romantasy #dark romantasy #dark fairy tale #stories on tapas #free stories

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stanningjay2 · 1 year

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Marble & Bronze A weekly, *free*, original Story by me (aka Emmaline Strange). Chapters Post Weekly on Fridays! Laelius is a roman soldier sent to investigate the site of a comet crash in the hills beside his city. Was the falling star an omen from the Gods, or something else entirely? Rating: Explicit Pairing: MM See tags for content warnings! *** Marble & Bronze - Chapter One

Laelius gripped the shaft of his spear, trying to maintain his hold though his palms were slick with sweat. He had joined the ranks of the city watch for a warm bed and steady meals, and because Sinuessa was about as safe a place as any. The city’s Magistrate was synonymous with law and order, and the thriving port knew mostly peace, day in and day out. After barely escaping his war-torn homeland, this suited Laelius just fine.

That is, until tonight. There had been a lot of speculation about what message the Gods intended when they sent a falling star crashing into the hillside just outside of Sinuessa. Laelius had been walking the walls at the time, and he’d never seen anything like it, shining and beautiful and terrible, like a thunderbolt from Jupiter himself. Perhaps it had been, some of the men whispered in the barracks.

Unfortunately, there was a little-used, mostly abandoned temple on the hilltop, and the Magistrate decided leaving it un-investigated would be an affront to the Gods. He tasked the soldiers of the city watch with divining the meaning of such an aggressive omen from Olympus. The commander of the watch had spoken with his officers, at length, behind closed doors, regarding the best way to approach this unknown.

It was decided that the ten newest recruits would draw lots, and he who drew the short straw would be sent first on a scouting mission up the hill. Blessed day, then, for Laelius, when he drew the short straw. Now, he crouched beside an outcropping of rock, cursing his superiors and the Gods under his breath. He had not a coin to his name when he’d joined the watch, and would have nothing without them. Though he knew of course that being sent on this mission meant to them he was expendable, he had little choice but to complete it. His mission as to ascend the hill, discern any damage to the temple, find evidence of the omen, and return. If he did not return in five days, the watch would then send a larger squadron of ten men to recover his corpse and hopefully succeed where Laelius had failed.

He sighed. It was hardly the most optimistic of send-offs, but there had been some in the city convinced that it was simply a piece of the heavens grown tired, falling to earth because its time to do so had arrived, and it was pure luck that it had hit the hill beside Sinuessa. Despite this logical postulating, Laelius recalled the short straw resting on his palm and knew that luck had never truly been on his side. Continue Reading!

#alien romance #tentacles #gay romance #free stories #patreon #support #indie author #MM romance #consentacles #queer romance #historical fantasy #ancient rome #roman soldiers #original fiction #sj writes

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lauravanarendonkbaugh · 5 months

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A Midwinter Theft

"A Midwinter Theft" is currently #24 on Amazon's Free 45-minute SFF Reads list, which I guess is something? 😆 Anyway, it'd be lovely to have some reviews, so please review if you've read it, or pick it up free if you haven't yet. Thank you!

https://books2read.com/u/mdPlDW

#writers #am writing #fantasy #holiday #writing #books #amwriting #am writing fantasy #free stories #free book #free books #books and reading #reading #short reads #short story #stories

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b-a-pigeon · 1 year

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What From the Water Rises #1

Check out yesterday's intro post if you missed it—but tl;dr, @fellamarsh and I have a new project consisting of interconnected shorts taking place in the same fantasy world, and we're planning on releasing them for free on a biweekly basis!

If you like what you read, you can also follow us on Patreon to see our public posts (or become a patron if you want access to exclusive content & lots of other perks!) or subscribe on Substack to get the stories straight to your inbox :)

* * *

That night, Phaeon guarded the prince in silence.

For any other monarch, this was the norm; royals inevitably came to ignore the constant presence of their guard, and Phaeon’s training had emphasized the importance of disappearing into the background. In the prince’s antechamber, especially, he could’ve vanished among the clutter with little effort. The narrow space was almost overwhelmingly ornate, its walls crowded with ancient tapestries, paintings, and mirrors in gold-lacquered frames all the way up to the high, curved ceiling, which was itself inlaid with bright patterns of tilework.

It would have been easy for him to press his back against the wall and pretend he did not exist.

But the prince, unlike his relatives, always wanted to speak with Phaeon when he stood guard—sharing something he’d read, asking about what happened outside of the palace walls, inquiring about Phaeon himself. It was one of his little quirks, his quiet rejections of etiquette, like the way he insisted upon oiling his own hair, and demanded the royal guard sit while watching over him.

That night, though, he had yet to say a word after they greeted each other. He wasn’t ignoring Phaeon, which would have been easy enough to accept—but instead staring unsettlingly at him through his reflection in the vanity mirror, working a thin oil into his dark, wavy hair from the roots.

Phaeon recognized the silent demand to meet his eyes and did so, though he secretly wished the prince would turn away. It was inappropriate for someone of his station to look so directly at a royal, even through the barrier, even on the prince’s orders. It felt wrong, just as it felt wrong to sit on a cushioned stool with his sword leaning against the wall, rather than standing with the weapon heavy and secure on his hip. He’d learned to cope with that by reaching out to touch his sword every few minutes—and now he was coping with the prince’s scrutiny by occasionally letting his attention drift upward to the line of portraits depicting his ancestors above.

Circled by the gold frame of his mirror, the prince struck Phaeon as the most beautiful and most intense of them all. His features were so soft, so delicate—but his eyes were keen and piercing.

He was studying the prince’s face, running an absent finger along the curve of the pommel, when he finally spoke.

“You talked to the king about me today.”

Phaeon could not decipher the tone of his silky voice beyond recognizing that this was not a question. “I did, your highness.”

“What about?”

He hesitated, glancing up at the portraits again, weighing the expectation of confidentiality with the king against refusing the prince’s request. Certainly it was worse, in theory, to defy the king—but the prince was the one here to witness him, and Phaeon had to admit he was curious. “The king asked if I, or any other member of the guard, might teach you swordsmanship. He didn’t say why.”

At this, the prince’s sharp eyes fluttered shut; his fingers stilled where they ran through his hair and dropped to his lap. He breathed out a slow sigh. “He’s putting me on display, then,” he murmured.

“I’m not sure—”

“What’s the point of swordsmanship?” the prince asked derisively—though his glare softened as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean no offense. It’s a noble art, and it would be an honor to learn from you.”

“The honor would be mine.”

The prince ignored this obligatory show of deference and said, “If he wants me to learn, it’s for ceremonial purposes. Staging a public victory as a show of strength, or something.” He reached up to braid his hair, his nimble fingers working slower than usual. “A few days ago, one of the kitchen servants told me I’m expected to attend a dinner with some envoy next week; someone came up to my room to measure me for new clothes, but refused to tell me what they were for; my tutor has suddenly become much more concerned with my elocution. You know what all of that means.”

Phaeon did not, in fact, know what any of it meant, nor how to respond. The prince had slipped into the candid tone that subtly prompted his audience to do the same, but their conversation felt too strange for Phaeon to abandon the comforts of formality.

The prince half-turned, catching Phaeon’s eye from the corner of his; though Phaeon, on instinct, lowered his gaze to the floor, the prince must’ve recognized his ignorance in that glance alone.

“He wants to prepare me for the throne.” His lips pressed together in a bitter smile; the motions of his fingers, as he braided his hair, grew quicker and more aggressive. “It’s incredible that I made it almost to twenty-two without even a hint of my public debut—but my time is up. He wants me to be visible now, and he’s preparing to introduce me to the populace as the next king. It’s all happening soon.” The thin smile twisted into a grimace. “It won’t be long before he starts searching for a suitable wife so I can produce an heir of my own.”

With each word, Phaeon’s uncertainty mounted. Why would discussing his duty to continue the royal bloodline make the prince frown like this—make his voice sound almost hollow, as if in despair? The prince so rarely brought up his future, and on those infrequent occasions when he addressed it, Phaeon politely pretended not to notice his hesitance or insecurity. This resentment was something else altogether, and the only answer that came to mind was uselessly vague. “As is your birthright.”

The prince sighed with displeasure and lapsed back into quiet. After finishing his braid and tying off the end with a ribbon, he opened the top drawer of the vanity to return the crystal vial of oil. Phaeon watched, as still and silent as he was meant to be, while the prince examined the contents of his drawer and began to halfheartedly rearrange them, pulling out little pots of kohl and multicolored glass containers of powders and oils.

It was almost like he was stalling, Phaeon thought, reaching out to run a finger along the carvings on his sword’s hilt for reassurance; for a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were the clinking of glass and the crackling of the fireplace on the wall between them.

Then the prince abruptly broke the silence. “Phaeon, what do you know about Ezu-anvashe’s island?”

Phaeon’s hand froze on his sword, startled by the drastic change of subject. “I know it’s a dangerous place,” he said, barely managing to keep his voice even, “full of criminals and wizards—”

“I’ve been doing some research,” the prince interrupted, “and I’m starting to doubt the narrative we’ve heard.” He slammed the drawer of his vanity shut and met Phaeon’s eyes through the mirror again, his jaw set. “Would you check the hallway for me? I’d prefer our conversation remain private from here.”

Phaeon’s training overtook his blank confusion. He stood, lifting his sword and clipping its scabbard to his belt in one fluid, practiced motion, and crossed the room to its sole exit. There was no one in the hall, as he expected; nobody came to the prince’s private chambers except to guard him. Still, he lingered in the doorway, taking in a slow breath to steady his heart. Something strange was happening; the prince was up to something, and not one of his typical schemes, either. He was being too vague, his choice of topics oddly disjointed, leaving Phaeon no room to glean what he was after.

When he shut the door and returned to his post, he found the prince leaning forward on his elbows, narrowed eyes searching Phaeon’s face through the mirror.

“The records from the earliest explorations of the island still exist in the archives of the imperial college,” he said, as if there had been no interruption. “I bribed someone to hunt them down a few months ago, and now I have everything—all of the reports sent from those first settlers to my grandfather before they declared their independence from Sehmera. Since then, I’ve had a courier intercept letters to the king on my behalf—and I caught a few from some distant cousin of mine, an ex-viceroy from one of those expeditions who never left.”

The prince’s eyes were bright with excitement as he spoke, but Phaeon was too wary to find his intellectual curiosity as charming as usual. “His descriptions of life there have been very… illuminating. It’s not half as violent as we’ve been told.”

An expectant pause followed, like the prince wanted Phaeon to express his curiosity—but, still nervous in unfamiliar territory, he was careful to keep his interest purely practical. “May I ask why the king is corresponding with a resident of Isle Ezu?”

“Oh, it’s not a correspondence, as far as I’m aware. I doubt any of those letters even make it to the king. They’re all about trying to convince him to open trade, which is too absurd to acknowledge. Even if he wanted to legitimize it as a state by trading with them, Ezu-anvashe would never allow it.”

“I’ve heard the sea god is volatile.”

The prince frowned, drumming his fingers on the surface of the vanity—impatient as he always was when he recognized the way his servants were trained to speak to him, repeating and lightly elaborating on his points rather than truly responding to them. But Phaeon could not guess what conclusion the prince was angling toward with enough accuracy for a meaningful reply, anyway.

“Not volatile, I don’t think,” the prince said. His frown had vanished—but enthusiasm no longer shone in his eyes, either, leaving him expressionless. “I’ve read enough by now to understand that his motives are consistent. It offends him when we travel through his domain for what he considers petty human desires—conquest, profit. As long as our causes are pure, and we play by his rules, he’s perfectly accepting.”

“I see,” Phaeon said, failing to glean any insight from the prince’s impassive face. He would have to guess where this was headed. “Are you suggesting, your highness, that you might delay your debut by… visiting this place?”

The prince laughed humorlessly. “I’m not suggesting anything. Certainly the king would never permit me to vacation there, and we couldn’t exactly send an envoy. It’s just interesting to learn about the roles the gods play. Did you know, on the island, there aren’t any real leaders other than their patron god? They have elections, but their positions only last three years. They have no kings—and no money, and no wars.”

“No laws, either.”

“There are laws! Fewer than we have, but there are some, both divine and human. I don’t mean to suggest it’s perfect. It’s a flawed place—but so is this one.” With that, the prince finally broke eye contact, studying the hands he’d interlaced on top of the vanity; Phaeon, unable to hide his confusion now, was grateful for the reprieve. “It would be unwise of me to critique the empire my ancestors have built, wouldn’t it?”

Phaeon chose his words with great care. “To critique without purpose, perhaps, but using those critiques to improve—”

“If I’m going to become king, I have to first accept that I have no freedom here. Do you understand?” He grew softer, quieter as he spoke. “I can talk about change all I want, but my future is set in stone: the king will find me a suitable wife so I can have a son, and abdicate the throne as soon as I am eligible. I’m not ready. Not now—and I don’t think I ever will be.”

“I’m sure it’s frightening to have so much responsibility.” Phaeon’s head spun; none of this made sense, and he knew his words were useless, but he kept stammering them out. “The burden—your sacrifice—”

“It’s not about that. I’ve studied statecraft long enough to recognize that I cannot rule over this empire. I’m no warrior—or maybe I’m just a coward. But there is no empire without war; we’ve pushed too far, too hard, and now if we relent on the borders we’ll be swallowed up, colony by colony, until Sehmera is destroyed and I’m killed along with it. I can’t preside over that bloodshed, and I can’t accept my death knowing how many others would first die in my name.”

“You’ll make an excellent king,” Phaeon said, because he had to.

“I won’t.” The prince spat out the words, but his tone softened when he said, “There is no need to lie to me. Please, Phaeon, forget your duty to defend the empire for one moment and listen to what I’m telling you. I cannot and will not be king; after all these years, you know me well enough to understand why. I’ve made the decision to reject it.”

Phaeon’s lips parted, but he could not manage even the most banal of polite responses. What other option had the prince imagined? To continue the bloodline was his obligation; as the king’s firstborn son, he was the true and only successor. His anxieties were understandable, but rejecting his responsibility could only mean one thing.

The horror of this realization must have shown on his face, because the prince’s expression tightened with anticipation.

He meant to abandon the throne, ending a dynasty spanning centuries out of childish fear.

“This is high treason,” Phaeon breathed.

The prince sighed and shook his head, looking almost disappointed. “Yes, it is. You can tell the king if you’re so concerned with my defying him. I might do it now, if I were you. Stay too long and they’ll consider you complicit, won’t they?”

Phaeon suspected this to be true—but he remained firmly in his seat, despite the consequences. He wasn’t sure why. A decade of training in the royal guard and a lifetime of loyalty to Sehmera screamed at him to run straight to the king, throw himself to his knees, and confess everything he’d heard, begging mercy for them both. At the very least, he should have implored the prince to swallow his misgivings and take the secrets he’d revealed to his grave.

Surely, though he’d sworn an oath to protect all three, his loyalties to king and country should outweigh his commitment to the prince—

But Phaeon stayed, and could not imagine doing anything else. He stayed, knowing his presence here for the death sentence it was, letting his personal feelings cloud his judgment and not caring.

“You mean to abandon your destiny,” he said quietly.

The prince spun around on his stool to face Phaeon—who froze under the blazing intensity of the eye contact, of the starkness of his fierce beauty seen directly, his conflicted mind going blank with shock. “I mean,” he snapped, “I believe my destiny lies elsewhere.”

“Where? Ezu?”

“Anywhere. Not here. I can’t do it, Phaeon, and if I want to live, my one chance at freedom is running away before it’s too late.”

“Your highness, if you want to change the empire, you can do that by becoming king,” Phaeon urged, almost dizzy with desperation to change his mind. “You can reshape the empire to your desire. That’s what it means to be king! You have responsibilities, but you also have ultimate power.”

With a bitter laugh, the prince said, “It’s truly not possible, I promise you. I’ll spare you a lecture on statecraft, but there will be no more empire for me to rule if we stop waging war. I could handle responsibility, Phaeon, but I can’t live with being at the helm of a machine that runs on blood.”

“Who taught you all this?”

“I concluded it myself from everything I’ve learned. Nobody could’ve taught me; questioning the empire would be treason. Do you see my problem here? What does it say if the second most powerful man in this nation doesn’t have the freedom to interrogate the necessity of bloodshed? I can’t stand it—any of it. Setting aside my moral objections, I’m a captive here. If I want my freedom, I have to let them put me on display, like an object—and get some poor stranger pregnant before she has the chance to decide if she wants to. It’s all so horrible. It’s suffocating.”

“I hear you, your highness,” Phaeon said, his voice shaking, “and I understand your discomfort, but please consider everything you would have to give up. Even if you were allowed to live, after defying the king—once you leave here, you’ll have nothing.”

“Of course I understand,” the prince said coolly, gesturing at their surroundings with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “The entire problem is that all of this is the spoils of war. Do you want me to tell you what I’ve learned in the dispatches from the frontlines? Do you want to know what our army is doing to civilians in the colonies?”

Phaeon did not need to be told; he already knew. When he thought of the sweet, sheltered prince learning the realities of war, of conquest, his breath caught in his chest. There would be no changing his mind. “Your highness—”

“Should I read you the reports from the viceroys, out in the borderlands, bragging about impoverishing and enslaving people on their own land?” Below the prince’s practiced calm was an unmistakable fury; his dark eyes blazed, their unobstructed intensity as overwhelming as looking into the sun.

“To be frank—if I’m entertaining the idea of you leaving—I’m not sure you do understand all it would entail,” Phaeon said, a harsh edge to his tight voice, all his courtesy stripped away under the prince’s radiance. “Never mind wealth, you would have to work to survive for the first time in your life. You’re guaranteed nothing in this world if you aren’t a prince. Not food. Not shelter.”

“In Sehmera, perhaps, I would die in the streets and no one would care—but that’s not how things work on Ezu.”

“Ezu!” Phaeon groaned, screwing his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a shaky breath; the prince said nothing, but Phaeon could feel the sharpness of his gaze as he attempted to collect himself. “You know nothing of that place beyond fifty-year-old dispatches and letters from some mad viceroy, correct?”

“I know about their patron god.”

“But their god isn’t always watching! Would he be able to stop them from kidnapping you for ransom? Killing you on sight?” He dared to drop his hand from his face, to look up at the prince again—and found his eyebrows raised in surprise at Phaeon’s vehemence.

“I’ll disguise myself.” His tone was gentler now; Phaeon felt a flash of guilt for letting his emotion overwhelm him. “I can abandon my identity. Nobody outside of the walls of this palace has seen me in over a decade. They haven’t even learned my name.”

Perhaps—but the prince looked royal, his skin the pale color of sand, flawless and uncalloused. Everything about him was soft and youthful in a way that spoke to his isolation as well as his station. “They might guess. You don’t look like a commoner.”

“Well, viceroys are living happily on the island, so as long as I’m not taken for a crown prince, I assume it won’t be a problem.” The prince’s brow knitted as he studied Phaeon’s face, so far beyond the point of polite composure that he could not imagine how distressed he looked. “I’ve done my research and thought this through. I understand you think I’m being foolish, but—but could you give me a moment to explain myself?” When Phaeon gave a weak nod, he said, “Come here, please.”

Without thought, Phaeon obeyed, lifting his sword and approaching the prince to kneel before him, face pointed toward the floor. The prince dragged his chair toward him, leaning forward—coming close enough that Phaeon could’ve reached out and touched him. Close enough that, when the prince leaned forward and his long braid fell over his shoulder, Phaeon could smell the lightly floral scent of the oil in his hair.

“I’m sorry,” the prince whispered. “I don’t want to frighten you. Please look at me.”

Phaeon could not—but the prince’s soft hand cupped his jaw, lifted his chin so their faces were impossibly close. Those eyes were now more imploring than intense.

“Listen. I’ve thought about this for so many years, and the island presents my best option for escape. As soon as I swear my allegiance to Ezu-anvashe and commit to living on his land, according to his law, I belong to him. If the king were to send men to claim me—to attempt to take ownership of Anvashe’s possession, one of his precious few worshippers—he would retaliate. He’ll capsize ships to protect his land, his people. He always has.”

Phaeon swallowed hard. It was never easy to argue with the prince when he was so sincere, but he had little recourse. “Your ancestors conquered gods before.”

“One god,” the prince corrected him. “One god, whose domain was limited to the original Sehmeri territory—not the entire ocean. I am going to take refuge with Ezu-anvashe, and I’ll find my freedom there.”

“But if any of the people on the island who are hostile to the empire—and there are many, displaced by our imperial efforts, exiled by your father, forced to flee to continue practicing their cultist rituals or magic—”

The prince’s eyebrows shot up. “You know a lot more about the world than you’ve let on.”

“It’s my job to know your enemies.”

Though he looked thoroughly pleased by this, the prince shook his head. “They won’t find out.”

“What if they did? I’ve sworn to protect you, your highness—and in the interest of keeping you safe, I cannot allow you to run away to some lawless place to seek the mercy of a mad god.”

“So come with me.”

How difficult it was to suppress the first instinct to obey—to swear he would follow the prince and keep him safe no matter where he went.

“You can come with me,” the prince added when Phaeon said nothing, “or you can flee elsewhere, but you can’t stop me—and either way, you shouldn’t stay here. You’re a traitor now.” The prince straightened in his seat, averting his attention to the fireplace. “I haven’t just told you this because I trust you, but also because I don’t want to betray you. I knew you wouldn’t defy me—”

“Did you?” Phaeon murmured.

“Of course.” He looked back at Phaeon, his head tilting to one side. “I was certain you’d listen; I suspected you might even help me—but in telling you, I have sealed your fate. You will be the last person to see me before my disappearance. If they don’t kill you outright for letting me leave, they’ll torture you into confessing all that you’ve heard, and then they’ll kill you for withholding it.” The prince’s jaw tightened; his pale hands seized the loose fabric of his pants, clenching into fists. “You can refuse my request to join me. I’m not your prince anymore—or, if I am, it’s just for the night. But please, take my advice and run. If not with me, then anywhere else.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“I know.” A faint note of desperation crept into his voice and shone openly across his eyes when he said, “So tell me you’ll come.”

Phaeon’s breath caught in his chest. Never before had he felt so conflicted. Logic and emotion struggled within him; the instinctive loyalty instilled by years of service would not allow him to accept, but when the prince looked at him with such hope, it was impossible to imagine doing what his duty demanded.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his defenses wane. How typical for the prince to cling so stubbornly to an idea that sounded good in theory, and carefully construct his arguments to dismiss all criticism. How utterly unsurprising that this boy, hidden behind lock and key with little company but his books and teachers, was so naive and yet so capable of arguing his position with ironclad confidence.

“Your father always said you were overeducated,” Phaeon murmured, partly to himself. “Now I see what he meant.”

The prince let out a startled laugh. “How can he complain when he chose my tutors?” he asked, flashing a slight, nervous smile. “He could’ve curated my books better.”

“Not with you bribing servants to raid the college’s library on your behalf.”

“I never bribed, I just asked,” the prince objected, as if his favor was not a reward in itself. “To the point, though—I notice you have not yet said no or run for help. Should I take this as acceptance of my offer? Will you come?”

“It’s… it’s a lot to consider,” Phaeon said, though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. No amount of stalling would coerce the prince to abandon his grand plan—and he, himself, had already made his decision by staying. “You are asking me to choose between my sworn loyalties.”

“It would be wise to choose your country over me.”

“I know that, but I still can’t.”

“No?” Some of the tension melted from the prince’s body. “Well, I’ll tell you my plan, at least. I already stole some peasant’s clothes from the servant’s quarters and planned to cut my hair; maybe you could do that for me. We might consider cutting yours, too—if you decide to come, that is. Obviously, you won’t be marked as royal, but it might draw attention.” He reached out to tap one of Phaeon’s coiled red-brown curls; his touch was so gentle, so tentative, it made Phaeon hold his breath until his hand withdrew.

“Tonight,” the prince continued, “I’ve arranged a disturbance to draw the guards from their posts on the eastern side of the building, about an hour before dawn. The people responsible for that distraction don’t know who requested it, or why, by the way—just that they’ll receive their payment only if they succeed. I can slip out then; it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve snuck past the guard, so I’m not worried.”

“Tonight?” Phaeon echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes—I’m sorry. I really couldn’t risk telling you until the last minute. Do you have anything you need to take care of before we go?”

Of course, his answer was no; Phaeon’s highest priority was the prince, and even if he cared to say goodbye to his colleagues and mentors in the guard, he could not tell them where he was going or why. But his hand, out of habit, went to the iron hilt of his sword as he considered—and he ran his fingertip over the inlaid jewel shining from the pommel, remembering with a shock of disappointment that it was not his to take. “I can’t leave with a sword of the royal guard. I’ll have to exchange it for another from the armory.”

The prince nodded, but his brow knitted with uncertainty. “Phaeon, I know we’re talking about our plans, but—but you haven’t said yes yet. Would you tell me, for my sake?”

“Yes.”

Just saying the word filled him with relief and terror in equal measure; it brought his entire future into sharp clarity. No longer one of many guards serving a future king in this palace for the rest of his life, but the prince’s sole protector elsewhere—and an enemy of the state, besides, a traitor with no choice but to die or flee.

He said it again, stronger: “Yes. Of course. If I may be honest with you, your highness, I am still not convinced this is wise—but I’m sure it’s too late for me to change your mind, and I will not allow you to leave without me.”

“You have my eternal permission to be honest with me,” the prince said, half-smiling, “but my final order to you will be to never call me ‘your highness’ again. We’re equals now.” His eyes brimmed with such shining gratitude that Phaeon could hardly bear to hold them; it would take some time for him to accept the prince as an equal, as a vulnerable human like himself. “I’m sure you’d like to prepare, but could I have another minute of your time before you go?”

“Of course, Azarion.”

His eyes widened for a moment at hearing his own name, but he grinned before turning back to the vanity and searching through one of its drawers. Phaeon watched him, unguarded and shameless, trying to wrap his head around the reality that they were going to run away together—that he would see this angelic face up close, without a barrier, every day, and keep the prince all to himself. Was this, he wondered distantly, the selfish desire that made him stay?

The prince—Azarion—made a triumphant little noise and whirled back to face Phaeon, a thin pair of scissors dangling from one extended finger. “Will you think I’m childish if I ask you for this? Will you humor me anyway?”

“I’m sorry—what are you asking for?”

“Oh, do you not remember?” Azarion frowned, lowering the scissors. “When I was young—young enough that I could play with other children, I mean—we’d exchange locks of hair when we made promises.”

“Really?” Phaeon tried to mask his distaste at the faint whiff of magic in the ritual. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Yes, really! I’m not sure if it’s true, but they say that’s how we used to make oaths, back when Sehmera had gods and magic. I’m not saying this is a spell, but—but it’s something sort of mystical, and it feels right, if we’re putting our fates in the hands of a god.” He glanced down at the scissors as he ran a finger along the parted blades. “And I don’t mean to imply I don’t trust you, but if we’re letting each other out of our sights…”

He trailed off—and, without waiting for Phaeon’s answer, pulled a perfect lock from the ribbon binding his braid and snipped off the tip. He extended it toward Phaeon, who gingerly accepted, holding the loose curl between two fingers. “What do I do with this?”

“Hold on to it for now—and give me some of yours, too. Maybe we’ll throw them into the ocean once we’re on the island.” He shrugged, holding out the scissors. “I don’t know if it matters; I think it’s the symbolism that’s important.”

Phaeon just stared for a moment, then tucked the prince’s hair into the pouch on his sword belt and accepted the scissors for himself. Absurd as it was, he kept his expression solemn as he cut off a coil of auburn hair from behind his ear, then dropped it into the prince’s expectant palm. Azarion wrapped his fingers gently around it and nodded, equally serious.

“Now you can go exchange your sword. Make sure nobody follows you—but of course, I don’t have to tell you that. Remember, our opportunity to escape will come an hour before dawn.” He glanced up at the enormous wooden clock on the mantel, frowning. “We have a few hours, I suppose—but return soon. We’ll need to disguise ourselves, and I need your help finding something valuable enough to bribe a sailor to drop us at Ezu.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Phaeon promised, and turned to leave.

Part of him had wondered whether some sort of spell would be broken along with their eye contact—if, when he wasn’t looking directly at the prince, the commitment to abandoning his life, his king, his country, might waver.

But he found his conviction growing stronger as he crossed the room and reality began to descend over him. The faint twinge of sadness that he would have to persist without his favorite sword was his only regret as he pushed out of the room, heading down the hall and sealing his own fate.

#what from the water rises #b pigeon #fell a marsh #my writing #queer fantasy #lgbt fantasy #fantasy stories #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short fiction #free stories #free short story #short story #queer authors #indie authors #authors on tumblr #queer fiction #free to read

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lrgcarter · 4 months

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Hi everyone,

I've been pretty disabled recently. As in, 'not been able to work and now that's about to bite me in the ass' disabled.

Not only have I been unable to attend the nine to five job, I've also been failing to do any creative stuff. I'd really like to. I'd love to be able to write my stories and make my comics and do loads of art. But nope, all my time is spent going to doctor's appointments and then recovering from doctor's appointments and then waiting for months for the next appointment because there isn't enough doctor coverage for reasons we are all aware of.

So, does anyone want to buy some stories I've already written? I mean, they are free, so you can read them without paying. But then, if you like them, you could maybe send me some money with the provided links? That would be totes cool.

I'm going to let this post gather the clicky clicks, then in a day or two, spoon depending, I'll be back to explain the stories in more detail! They already have blurbs at the above link but I'll be able to write up something more tumblr friendly over the weekend.

So, in conclusion: follow link, read stories, pay me money for two decades worth of on/off labour if you like them?

Thanks!

#Free stories #Fiction #Adventure Stories

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deardragonbook · 2 years

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Free Stories to Read

The best way to learn to write is to read a lot!

Personal experience tells me that writing with the intent of improving and receiving feedback is also extremely important! But I did read an inhuman amount during my teen years.

Now I really just a human amount.

And reading can be expensive! Especially if you’re set on a specific genre.

So, I thought I’d throw together a post with the free stories that I have to offer and invite other authors to re-blog and add their stories! (Is this just me trying to add to my TBR while not having money for books? Maybe).

Make sure you add a link and the genre!

Out of Body Experience. Novella. Genre: Dystopian-Fantasy. Status: Complete.

Oppida Institute for Reformation. Prequel. Genre: Fantasy Adventure. Status: Ongoing (to be complete before next summer).

Love, Coffee and Dragons. Related short stories. Genre: Cozy Fantasy Romance between two women. Status: Ongoing

Other fantasy short stories on my website.

I left synopsis out because there is a synopsis after you click the link. I think the best way to make this list more accesible would be to be brief but obviously do as you see fit!

Hope to have some new stories to read soon!

#fantasy story #fantasy novel #fantasy stories #fantasy #ya fantasy #young adult fantasy #dystopian fantasy #cozy fantasy #romance #books #ebooks #ya books #read #fantasy book #fantasy books #fantasy book recs #book recs #book rec #free stories

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l-e-morgan-author · 4 months

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Patience in Recovery

They said she was full of hope, all that time.

They said a lot of lies. I knew because I'd listened at the door, when they didn't know I was in the room at all. I'd overheard the doctors talking, and I knew what they said.

They weren't particularly happy with the way things were going. Nobody was quite sure if her voice would recover properly, because of how long she'd been breathing smoke. Mine recovered just fine, and I wasn't hurt as bad as Patience was.

It was irony, I guess, when you thought about it, that her name was Patience, because now we all had to wait to make sure she'd get better. The doctors had talked to her, and she wrote back answers (carefully, and with her right hand, because the left was still in plaster).

They told me she was brimming with hope, like the way my eyes had been when I woke up in hospital and they told me what had happened. She was ready and waiting to get better.

But I heard them discussing worriedly among themselves, how she was lying there and not actually wanting to get better, like it was too hard. Her body was battered, and seems her mind was, too.

I don't understand. She brightened up a lot when I first came in, and I thanked her for saving me, and she smiled, just a bit, and made a thumbs-up gesture. She was awfully white, and made the sheets look skin colour, and there were all sorts of bulky dressings everywhere, but she whispered, in her hoarse voice, that it was "worth it". I can still hear that if I think about it.

They said she'll walk again, all that sort of thing, but they're worried about the way her hand was damaged, and the amount of burns she got. They don't know if she'll be able to comfortably knit again.

Knitting is her safe thing, her biggest hobby; what would Patience do if she couldn't knit?

She told me she'd knit me a jumper when she was out of there, and that was as good as telling me she loved me, for Patience. Seems she warmed up to me at last.

I was trying not to complain; you know how it is, though, sometimes? When you're living in a house and someone else in the house doesn't like your existence. I guess it was pretty sudden, and Patience is a cagey old dear, but it doesn't feel nice.

Mum wasn't cheerful anymore, not how she used to be. Her expression was worn and like she hadn't slept in a week. I heard her crying one time after she and Dad met with the doctors. Then she and Dad got into an argument, the worst argument I've ever heard, and that's saying something. It was just words, but words are important. Some of the things they called each other weren't very nice, and I shan't reproduce them.

Grief can tear apart a family. I hope it doesn't ours. I hope Patience gets better soon, and all better, because otherwise I don't know what we'll do. She's important, though I'm sure she doesn't realise how important. She better get better quick. I pray for her every night, and I wouldn't like to tell her how much I cry about it. She wouldn't be in trouble if she hadn't saved me. Then again, they say I'd probably be dead.

I guess she figured I was worth saving. Guess I'd better buck up and be someone worth saving.

Get better soon, Patience, and I hope when you're better I can show you how much I care, in a less obnoxious way to how I did before. Rhona out.

&&&&&&&

Added this story to my page of free stories, found here. There's almost 6k of writing on here, all told, and I continue to add to them on a fairly regular basis.

#my writing #the patience of hope #rhona #This is from Rhona's pov #and the first time I've tried writing her pov #it's fun!#I suspect I messed up the tense but I couldn't work out how to get it right #people who are good at tense please advise #it's the combo of getting the sense that she's writing shortly after the event so it's a mix of present and past #probably has a specific name but I don't know it #writers of tumblr #patience #free stories

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avagarde · 11 months

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Happy Mote-Versary

Who knows how many more we'll go on for, but I will say, this first year of the comic has been some of the sweetest work I've ever done.

In the meantime please checkout motecomic.tumblr.com and hit START READING if you're new or CHAPTER SELECT if you're getting back in

#mote comic #comics #mspfa #ava draws #web comic #free stories #choose your own adventure #inspired by among us #inspired by problem sleuth

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luninosity · 7 months

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Happy Thursday!

Would you like a present? Would you like a free short story of mine?

"Staircases and Stories" is up for free over on the RoMMantic Reads 'zine today, as the final story in our summer photo prompt challenge!

I'd already written something for the sand sculpture prompt, but I wanted to do the staircase as well, because, well - this one was my photo, taken at a local historic hotel that dates to 1876.

I don't know why this one wanted to be a 1920s period piece, but it did! So...have a meet-cute (with, er, speculation about good locations for murder and possible crime?) in which a mystery writer and a lawman meet atop a vertiginous staircase in a historic hotel..

Also, all the names are sneaky references to classic mystery and crime writers, just for fun. Enjoy!

#romance #m/m romance #1920s #k.l. noone #lgbtq #writing #free stories

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bookspotlight · 1 year

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ FREE PROMO ⋆⁺₊⋆

no romance/sci-fi: D&L!

sapphic rom/fantasy: FAHF!

m/m rom/fantasy: TMATC!

enemies to lovers/fantasy: TVN!

dystopian/sci-fi: The Outlands!

forbidden love/fantasy: AGOWAM!