fantasy fiction

cyanidepoisoning  asked:

My species have dark green blood, which comes from biliverdin. They have developed a resistance against it, but that only makes it green. The atmosphere is only 7% oxygen, which is why it's dark. I want to have fire in this world, though. Could they have a specific way of getting oxygen? Air is combustible in our atmosphere, could their air be more combustible, to the point where fuel could be replaced by air? Would they develop ways to resource oxygen like we did with fuel (wood, paper, etc) ?

Hi. I’m honestly very confused by your question, but I’ll do my best. 

Fire needs an atmosphere of at least 16% oxygen to burn (ours is just under 21%). So in order to have fire, yes. You would need to figure out ways of producing more oxygen. Plants, of course, produce oxygen naturally, but if those were readily available in the supply you’d need to create that O2 for a fire, then it wouldn’t follow that the atmosphere would be so depleted of oxygen. Our oxygen comes from plants through photosynthesis (both from land plants and phytoplankton). But photosynthesis…and thus oxygen…comes from the sun, which you said it’s dark in this world, so I don’t know how you plan on having plants survive anyway. 

Our air is not combustible. It supports combustion. Something is combustible when it can catch fire and burn easily. Oxygen (the only flammable element in the air) is a component of the chemical reaction that produces fire. It is the reaction of a combustible liquid/item with oxygen that creates the fire aka the combustion. And creating an atmosphere which is combustible (something that oxidizes rapidly, releasing heat), could be really difficult to pull of without making it overly complicated or too inconsistent to maintain suspension of disbelief (how can a fire light without expanding through the atmosphere and burning everything up?). 

Here’s some “special situations” in which nitrogen (our air’s primary element) acts differently than normal. 

The last question I specifically don’t understand exactly what you mean…but it also seems like a question only you could answer. Would they develop other means of achieving goals we did? Probably. But I can’t answer that for you.

But aside from all of that…these answers are based in the science of our world. If you’re creating a new world with new laws and a totally new make up of elements, then you could likely find a way to achieve anything you want. A different atmosphere might have less oxygen, but what does it have more of? Nitrogen? Carbon dioxide? Something else? You control your world, so you have a lot of freedom, even if you have to invent fictional elements in order to pull of what you want. 

Happy building!

blake-broacher  asked:

So can I refer to real people as fictional things like Stalin and Gandhi. Because I want to reference them but my stories don't take place on Earth. I don't think I can make it actual history

Hey there.

It’s hard to say definitively without knowing the exact usage, but I think that this would be jarring for me as a reader. Those people weren’t fictional and hearing/reading the name calls to mind a very real person…and in another world, that would be confusing to me.

If it was a comedic work and the mention was somehow tongue-in-cheek, then it might work, but in a serious fantasy or sci-fi work, then I think the reference would pull a reader out of the story instead of make a point.

Happy writing!


Book is not for the heterosexual traditionalist. Plot is good, but book is ruined with the homosexual idealism.” — verified Amazon review

Centuries ago, the necromancer Kondo-Kana left a scar half a continent wide. Now Rowan is paying for the damage done. Exiled from her home for what she is, she takes the only chance at freedom she might ever get and runs away with a wandering Knight.

Dragonoak is a character-driven fantasy trilogy that spans years and continents alike. The final book in the series, Gall and Wormwood is out on the 23rd of February and available to pre-order now! To celebrate the end of the series finally coming out, books one and two, The Complete History of Kastelir and The Sky Beneath the Sun are currently FREE from February 3rd through 7th. Grab a free copy today!

More information can be found on Instagram at farren.books!

After reading a lot of YA fiction/fantasy, it’s hard to go back to adult because the covers are (in general) more boring, the content isn’t as fast-paced or daring, there’s often less character development… and authors aren’t as willing to take risks on strange, new concepts within or beyond their genre. 

But it’s okay, keep looking down at YA because our covers are pretty or our books are fun to read 

Blindsided - 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2  Chapter 4  

A/N: This story came to me in the middle of the night and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it. Sebastian doesn’t know you are pregnant; you are almost four weeks and you can’t bring yourself to tell him until faith intervenes.

I placed our breakfast on the table and turned my back as his sleepy silhouette slid into a seat in the kitchen island. I turned the kettle on and reached into the cabinet for two mugs. I retrieved two spoons when he spoke.

“I had a dream last night.”


“I dreamt that you were pregnant.”

The spoons clattered to the floor.

I bent down slowly and picked them up, placing them on the counter, my hand shaking as I thought back on last night when I told him I was pregnant, but he was in a deep sleep, did his subconscious hear me?

I laughed feeling his eyes as they followed my movements. “That’s too funny.” I say as I scooped two spoonful of grounded coffee into the maker and its low hum filled the kitchen a few seconds later.

“Isn’t it?” he laughed.

The kettle began to whistle and I filled my mug with the water and I stirred his coffee and placed it front of him. I sat across from him and reached for the bacon strip on my plate. His phone rings and he answered it, my phone buzzed and he slid it over to me. I swiped the screen and saw that it was a text from Ann asking if I told him.

I looked up at Sebastian who was fully immersed in his phone call. I replied and she volleyed another text, I replied again and I placed my phone on the table and dug into my breakfast. My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it as I bit into another strip of bacon. He hangs up a few minutes later, his demeanor tense.

“What is it?” I asked as I sipped my tea.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Doll, but there is nothing I can do.”

“About what?”

“Andie is going to be at the cast brunch, I thought she was overseas.” I stared at him blankly. “We don’t have to go.”

“And how would that look? You can go and I’ll stay back. I’m the unnamed plus one remember.”

He rolled his eyes at my comment. “That’s not an option, I want you there. If you don’t go then neither will I.”

“Don’t be silly.” I paused. “We’ll go.”


I was in the bedroom getting ready when I heard a commotion in the bathroom and I eyed the door cautiously.

“Sebastian are you alright in there.” I called out which was followed by a loud thump and then expletives one after the other.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed.

Sebastian emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet and annoyed with a towel wrapped lazily around his torso and his phone in his hand.

“What is it?” I asked as I peeled my eyes from his dripping body while ignoring the ache in my warmth.

“Change of plans, babe.”

“OK.” I mouthed as I stepped out of my olive dress and placed it on the back of the chair that I fell heavily into.

“Voicemail from Sal.” I nodded silently, knowing what he was going to say before the words left his mouth.

His agent Sal only left voicemails when he didn’t want to face the immediate wrath of Sebastian. He does this when he needed Sebastian to fly out with little to no notice; another joys of dating a celebrity, the unexpected change in their schedules.

“How long?” I asked.

“Doll, I’m sorry.” He says kneeling in front of me. I felt the moisture from his body dripping against my leg.

“Sebastian, how long?”

“The minimum three days.”

I sighed. “It’s not a problem.” I say.

He kisses my lips, praising me for being understanding and his sweet nothings and adoration worked because in the next moment his towel was discarded on the floor and he was now sitting on the chair and I straddled him.


Since the cast brunch was no longer happening, I decided to go for a walk while Sebastian and Sal met to discuss the details of his trip and his departure, which he told me was later that night. I walked into Twosie, a newborn clothing store and my heart immediately swelled, my hands automatically touching my stomach. I didn’t know exactly what prompt me to do this, but I found myself at the cashier a few minutes later. I tucked the bag into my handbag and exited the store.


I got back to our apartment, as he was finishing up his packing, which was a small carry-on duffle that held the essential things, everything else would be at the hotel waiting for him. He kisses my cheek as I came into the bedroom; he walked in and out of the bedroom grabbing items to put in his bag. When he went into the living room, I quietly buried the item I bought from Twosie in between the clothing he packed. He comes back into the room as I stepped away from the bag and sat on the edge of the bed, he drops an item into the bag and zips it shut. He turns and we gaze at each other silently before he takes a step towards me.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He says leaning down and kissing my forehead.

I nod. “I know, I just hate when you leave.” I say, wrapping my arms around his torso, my head resting on his stomach.

He massages my back our moment crashing back to reality as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He steps out of my embrace and knew what that meant. He kisses me profusely and grabs his bag. “I love you.” He says as he exited the the bedroom.

I followed a few paces behind him, he turns one last time to look at me and our unborn child that I already know will have his features. I smiled at him.

****This story ended up being quite long, so I had to make the ending it’s own story, which will be from Sebastian’s point of view. It’s already written, so I’ll post it later on this evening.****

Using prophecies in fantasy without making eyes roll

Good ol’ stand-bys, ubiquitous fantasy tropes, are difficult to avoid. And sometimes we don’t want to avoid them. Goddammit, sometimes you just need a good, solid prophecy to write the story your want to write. 

“It’s not my fault all these other people before me have written prophecies, too!” you say. 

And you’d be right. Unfortunately, they did. So us modern-day writers have to live with the it. So what do you do when you want or need to use a well-worn trope? 

Know the trope. Make it your own. 

Know that, no matter what you do, some readers will still hate it.

But you can’t make everyone happy, right? So let’s get started.

How-to guidelines from our predecessors

Prophecies in fiction have been used countless times. But there are reasons why we continue to use them. And while you don’t want to completely copy how it has been done before, we can all learn something from the basic form of real and fictional prophecies. 

1. Prophecies are often vague and general

The language and phrasing used in prophecies, because of its important and symbolic nature, tends to go for sounding mystic and grand over sensible and utilitarian. This language achieves its poetic goal, but as a price, the meaning can be allusive, vague, or even seem contradictory. 

A man named Jerry will kill a man in a fight on the corner of 3rd and Main on the fifth of January, 3820. 

On the dawn of winter in a forest of gray, when one life dims, another remains.

One of these actually gives you some useful information. The other could mean a vast array of different things at any point in time, but technically applies to the same situation. One of them (though poorly) reads more like something you’d find in a piece of fiction. 

2. Prophecies are often misinterpreted

There’s likely to be disagreement on the meaning of any yet-to-be-fulfilled prophecy. If it’s well-known, then common folk might take it to mean one thing, while the wealthy another. The well-educated might take it to mean one or two (or three or a thousand) things, while the uneducated take it to mean another. If there are two prominent schools of thought, then people might passionately disagree about the meaning. It’s possible that none of these interpretations are true. 

‘Tis the nature of vague and metaphorical language.

The culture of your world will influence how people treat the prophecy. Conversely, the prophecy and its interpretation might have a huge impact on the culture, government, or religion of your world. 

3. Prophecies are given in context

In the example above about the murder in winter, with no context that “prophecy” means basically nothing. Part of what creates nuances in interpretation of prophecies is variations in the understanding of the prophecy’s context. 

Upon the rebirth of the emperor, the dark messenger will be slain; the eagle will conquer the land.

In this sample, very little is made clear when there’s no context. We have no reason to care, let alone believe, what these words are trying to convey. But say that our myths tell the story of a vanished young emperor who would someday reappear to take his throne, that the messengers of evil are immortal, and that the eagle is symbolic of peace…

It all starts to make a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Any alteration in context, however, could vastly change the meaning. 

Prophecies don’t stand alone. They only work within their context. They aren’t created in a vacuum and they are not understood in a vacuum. Creating the vibrant world that surrounds your prophecy will go a long way to making it interesting and important.

4. Prophecies require a prophet

Why do people believe the prophecy? Why don’t they? When implementing a prophecy into your world, you need to pay attention to how people receive its message and ensure that that belief has a sensible backing. 

A prophecy came from the mouth (or pen) of a prophet. If the people of your world totally buy into the words of this prophecy, then there needs to be a reason. What made this prophet reliable? 

What not to do: There was this old woman and everything she said was totally batty…all except this one thing. This one thing will definitely be absolutely true, so help me, God.

Like any aspect of culture, the “why” factor is important. Why do people believe the prophecy? Why has it survived so many years? Or perhaps people don’t believe the prophecy…so why is that? 

Consider Nostradamus. He’s a pretty infamous prophet, even though only some of what he said every seemed true (and almost entirely in retrospect). For the most part, when you mention him, people will kind of laugh it off. It’s mostly a joke. However…his words might also be true! But it’s best not to put all your money on it. 

How are the words of your prophet generally received? How will this affect how your Important Prophecy™ is viewed and understood by the people?

“This Important Prophecy™ is believed because my story needs it to be believed,” is not a good reason. So make sure it runs deeper than that.

Pitfalls to avoid

1. Using a prophecy as a matter of course

Your prophecy should have a very integral part in your story and world. Using a pointless prophecy or using one just because you think, since you’re writing fantasy, you probably should, are one-way tickets to eye-rolls. 

Like any trope, if you’re sticking it artlessly into your story, then you doing the trope and yourself a disservice. Every element you choose to include in your story should drive it forward, should deepen your conflict or characters. No inclusion should be made flippantly. Be sure that if you’re including a prophecy, you use it to its full potential.

2. Making it too simple or mundane

If you’re doing it right, then your prophecy will be super important to your story. And if it’s super important, you’re going to want it to be super interesting. If a dull, run-of-the-mill Chosen One prophecy is, unironically, what your story hinges on, then you’re likely going to get some eye-rolls and, worse, readers who put down your book.

3. Going for too much

On the other end of the spectrum, prophecies that are convoluted or require the ten-page backstory to put into context are likely going to take too much attention away from your actual story. Prophecies tend to focus on one (general) event. It can cover a few facets of this one event, but if you try to outline too much you risk detracting from the here-and-now or getting too far in over your (or your character’s) head. 

Things to consider

  • Is the fulfillment of the prophecy a mystery even to your reader? Or does the story give the answer, leaving the path to the fulfillment to be the mystery?
  • Is your prophecy immutable? Is it Destiny and it will come true no matter what anyone does?
  • Is the prophecy self-fulfilling? How do the characters’ knowledge of the prophecy affect events? How might their ignorance of it? 
  • How does the fulfillment differ or align with the expectations held by the characters?
  • Did the prophet speak of their own freewill, with true foreknowledge, or were they a vessel for a deity, or some supernatural being?
  • How was the prophecy passed down to the present? Was it done so flawlessly, or might there have been translation, oral, or interpretation errors that happened along the way?
  • How widely accepted, or known, is the prophecy among the common people? 
  • How common are prophecies in general? Does this one stand out in some way? If so, how and why?
  • Does the prophecy give away an outcome, or does it simply set up a situation?
  • How detailed is your prophecy and how have those seemingly specific details been misinterpreted?
  • How certain is anyone that they understand the prophecy? 
  • If the prophecy proves to be false, how does that element find resolution within the structure of the narrative? (i.e. if you placed great importance on the prophecy with the intention of pulling the rug out from under your reader, how are you going to resolve the situation to keep them from feeling cheated?)

What do you think about the use of prophecies in fiction? What are some of your favorites or least favorites?

Happy writing!


Celebratory cake brought to you by Akela, known for her skills with an axe, baking the most indulgent cakes, being an actual ray of sunshine, and being all-around unreasonably attractive

please read dragonoak and tell me about the huge crush you have on akela i need emotional support

Landslide - 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

A/N: As told from Sebastian’s point of view. On the way to the airport he finds out that he’s going to be Dad.

What’s wrong?“ Sal asked. His eyes gazing at me as I looked out of the tinted window into the breezy New York night.

I shook my head. “Nothing, I just hate leaving her like this, I know it can’t be easy with me always on the go.”

“She knows what she’s signed up for being with you.”

“Yeah, I know, we’ve had that talk many times.”

“This morning I was happily having breakfast with Crissie and now I’m here with you flying out to Ireland. I know it can be erratic at times.”

I furrowed my brows. “At times? Sal it’s always like this.”

“That’s because your a hot commodity, Sebastian. It’s the nature of the business you know that.”

“How is Cristine? After the old man’s…” I trailed off.

“She’s dealing like most, she doesn’t say it, but I know she misses him like crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Sal. I know this can’t be easy for you either”

He waved it off. “That’s life, we all have to leave at some point.”

We looked at each other and then I returned my gaze to the bridge we were currently crossing. I reached into my bag blindly trying to find my headphones when a shirt of some sort snagged on the cord.

Sal looks over, “what the fuck is that?”

I glanced at him then back at the tiny pink fabric with daddy’s girl embroided on the front with a baby duck. I pulled it out completely and another tiny fabric comes out this one blue with the embroidery of a brown teddy stitched in the front.

We were both silent me more from shock, staring at the shirts resting on my knee.

“Holy fuck, man. Congratulations.” Sal says breaking the silence.

“I can’t go to Ireland.” I managed to say as the adrenaline filled my veins.

I rushed into the bedroom the onesies clutched tightly in my palm.

“Sebastian.” She gasped. “W-what are you doing here? You’re going to miss your flight.”

I ignored her question, holding up the onesies. “I’m going to be a Dad?” She nodded her eyes filling with tears. “Twins, we are having twins?”

“What? Oh my God! No, yes, maybe, I don’t know. It could be a boy or girl.“

I kissed her deeply. “I’m going to be a Dad?”

“Yes, Sebs, yes you are.”

“The cold you had. It really wasn’t a cold?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Morning, afternoon, middle of the night sickness. It hasn’t been fun.”

“For how long?”

“Babe your flight.”

“Dollface, fuck my flight. When did you find out?”

I sensed her hesitation. “I found out a week before I saw you on location.”

I calculated the time in my head. “It’s been over a month. You kept this from me this entire time.”

“Please.“ She begged. "Don’t be upset. I didn’t know how to tell you, I was scared, I still am. I wasn’t sure if this is what you wanted at this stage in your career and I—“

“Stop.” I interrupted. “You weren’t sure if I wanted this?” I placed my palm under her shirt. “This, this is us, we have created something beautiful, how could I not want this?”

She shrugged. “We didn’t plan this. Was this how you imagined it would happen?”

“Doll life isn’t perfect and you’re right this wasn’t planned, but I’ll be damned if my child grows up to thinks he or she was an accident.”

She dashes into the bathroom and I followed after her. I found her head in the bowl retching. I stared at her with both awe and excitement.

She lifts her head and rests it on her arm. “I’m scared.”

I sit on the floor behind her and she rests her head on my shoulder, my palms on her belly. I kissed her hair then whispered in ear. “Don’t be. You are not alone in this and don’t you think for one second that I am putting my career before this family.”

“Sebastian.” She whispered as the tears streamed down her cheeks and hit my arm.

“I love you, Dollface and our baby, babies.”

She laughed.

Dean x Pie

A/N: You and the handsome man in the red plaid shirt reaches for the last slice of apple pie. He’s trying to use his winning smile to coax you into giving him the last slice; will you let him have it?

I don’t know who got there first, but our fingers touched at the exact moment. I looked up at the tall and shockingly handsome man in the red plaid shirt with the effortless smile that touches his eyes.

“Sorry, but that’s my pie.”

“I don’t see your name on it.” I observed.

He laughs. “Lady.” He paused. “You cannot begin to understand the day that I’ve had.”

“Aww, poor baby.” I teased.

Exasperated the voice behinds him speaks. “Dean give her the damn pie and let’s go. You are making a scene.”

“Yeah, Dean, give the lady the damn pie.” I mocked.

He laughs sarcastically then turns to the figure behind him. “Sammy, I don’t care if I’m making a scene,” he whispers, “th-that that thing tried to kiss me,” he shudders. 

“We got rid of the nest. You’re fine.”

“It almost kissed me Sammy, you saw how close it came.”

“It is a she and you are over exaggerating.” 

“That thing with those fake boobs was not a she.” He says with finality.


“I want this pie. I need pie.”

I cleared my throat interrupting their strange conversation. 

He turns back to me, “you seem like a very sweet girl, maybe you would like a slice of cake instead. That chocolate cake over there looks pretty tempting.” He cajoles.

I turned to gaze at the sad looking chocolate cake then back at him. “Not as tempting as this apple pie with what looks like a flaky and buttery crust that melts in your mouth.”

“This has gone on for too long.” He says losing his patience. He reaches for the pie.

“I’m not fat, I’m pregnant!” I shouted, my eyes filling with tears.

All eyes were now upon us as a hushed silence fell upon the Diner.

“Great.” Sammy says, “now you’re stealing pie from a pregnant lady this is a new low for you.”

“She’s not pregnant.” He explained, repeating it louder, so that the entire Diner heard. “She’s not pregnant.”

I bawled. “I’m just a fat whale.”

“No, no.” He laughed defensively. “I never said you were fat.”

“Only that I’m whale.” I sobbed dramatically in my palms.

The customers whispered in disgust, shaking their heads at him disapprovingly.

“Let her have the pie,” someone yells.

“Yeah, give her the pie.” Another customer joined in until the entire Diner was chanting. “Give. Her. The Pie! Give. Her. The Pie! Give. Her. The Pie!”

I looked up at him with my watery eyes, his full lips forming a pout as his hand slowly retreats from the pie. Defeated.

The Diner cheered in union.

I smiled at him as I pulled the plate towards me. I cut a corner of the pie. “Oh sweet baby Jesus.” I moaned orgasmically in between chews. “This is soooo good.”

He glares at me then stalks off empty handed like a dog with his tail between his legs.

I went up to the cashier to pay. “On the house,” the cashier replied.

I thanked him for his kindness and exited the Diner.

“And the Oscar for best performance in a Diner drama goes to…” He announces as I walked passed his Impala.

I curtsied, smiled then winked at him as I filled my mouth with another spoonful of well-deserved apple pie.

In Between Dreams - 2

Chapter 1  Chapter 3 Chapter 4  

A/N: Many of you have requested this, so I truly hope you enjoy this story. You visited Sebastian while he was on location and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you are pregnant. Here we are two weeks later and Sebastian is back.

One of the joys after wrapping a film is the long break in between that I get with Sebs. Sebastian has been back for three days and he’s already received the script for his next film. I try not to think about it because it would be maddening to know that he will be on location again before I could finish this sentence. He flips through the script, grins to himself and places it on his pillow. He caught me staring at him and he winks, I look away blushing knowing that he still has that giddy effect on me.

“Tonight should be fun.” He says.

“Uh-huh.” I say refocusing on the task at hand as I slowly pulled my jeans up my thighs.

Tonight we are meeting a few friends for dinner and I should’ve known the night it was going to be when I couldn’t fit into my favorite jeans.

“Didn’t you buy those a few weeks ago?” He asked, watching as I struggled to button my jeans as he smoothly and effortlessly slipped his jeans on.

I glared at him, silently cursing at him, “they must’ve shrank in the dryer.” I lied.

He senses my annoyance and he quietly comes up behind me and rubs my stomach tenderly.

“I just want you to know that you do not look fat.”

I elbowed him. “Thanks for that.” I say rolling my eyes at him.

He laughs and kisses me on the cheek, “No, but seriously, you look beautiful, Doll.” He continues to rub my stomach and I place my palm over his.

Tell him my inner voice says.

“Sebastian.” I say softly looking at him through the mirror.

“Yes, Dollface.” He groans, breathing heavily into my ear.

I closed my eyes and rested my full weight against his naked chest, feeling him stir awake in his pants.

“Sebastian.” I say again all breathy.

He turns me around so that we are face-to-face, “hmm.” He hums before he devoured my lips. He pulls away a minute later, “what is it?”

I opened my eyes. “What’s what?” I asked as the sexual wave echoed and splashed around us.

“You were saying something…”

“Oh, yes.” I blinked. “I’m…I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

He knits his brow and slips his sweater over his head. “Okay.”

We met up with four of our friends at a low-key restaurant on the lower east side where Sebs and Alan were the comedians of the group. The second round of drinks arrived and since I didn’t drink it wasn’t unusual to be the only sober one in the group. I sipped my sparkling water and picked at the artichoke dip and toasted bread in my plate, wary of anything that could upset my stomach.

After the waiter placed a plate in front of each us I stared down at my wild salmon and roasted broccoli, it’s scent hit my nose and the bile immediately rises up to the back of my throat. I excused myself and made a mad dash for the bathroom.

“Are you alright?” I hear a voice ask as I flushed and emerged from the stall.

I turned on the faucet and rinsed my mouth with water. “I’m fine.” I reply, looking at my reflection.

“Sebastian said you were recovering from a cold and I thought I would come in and check on you.”

“Thanks.” I say, running my soapy hands under the water.

“You are one of the healthiest person I know and you being sick is…” Ann’s widened eyes stares at me through the mirror,“Oh my fucking God! You’re not sick, you’re preg-“

“Don’t say it,” I cut her off. “He doesn’t know.”

“Hun you have to tell him.”

“I know.” I paused. “I don’t know how to say it, this has happened so fast, I know he wants kids, we’ve had the talked, but—“ I trailed off.

“But, what?” Ann asked.

I shook my head, turned off the faucet and wiped my hands on the napkin. “Nothing.” I say. “Let’s head back, they might be wondering what happened to us.” I tossed the napkin in the trash and opened the door.

“I was about to call the cavalry,” Sebastian laughs as I took my seat next to him. He kisses my cheek. “Everything, alright?”

I inhaled his scent and kissed the soft spot between his neck and shoulder. “Everything is fine, baby.”

Ann glances at Sebs and quickly looks away when she noticed I was staring at her. Alan makes a comment and the entire table erupts in laughter, my dinner debacle forgotten.

Back at home and freshly showered, Sebastian and I are in bed, he flips open his script.

“Do you have to read that now?” I asked.

“No.” He says and places it on the table next to bed. I rest my head on his chest and he stroked my lower back. “Doll, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something is off. I sensed it when you visited. Is it Andie, do you still think? You know I’m not attracted to her.”

“What? No, oh my God, Sebastian. I haven’t thought about Andie, since you fucked that thought out of head.”

“Then what is it?”

“You’re right something is off.” I hesitated.

He sits up expectantly.

TELL HIM, my inner self screams.

I gaze into his warm blues. “I just haven’t been myself, recovering from this cold has been a slow process and I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure that’s it?”

No, no that’s not it. I am lying to you and you know it. I am six weeks pregnant with your child, I haven’t eaten a decent meal in two weeks because everything upsets my stomach. I am scared and emotional and I think I am losing my fucking mind, so no, I am not sure about anything.

I nod. “Yes, babe.” I say reassuringly.

Satisfied with my answer, he kisses my forehead and turns out the light. “Okay, love.”

I picked up the iPad and the screen awakens. It’s 3:08 AM. I turned to face him, my eyes adjusting to the darkness as I made out his ruffled hair and silhouette. I stared at him, his face serene and soft. “Sebastian, I’m pregnant.” I whispered. His arm jerks and he pulls me closer to his chest as his soft snoring continued.

After the reception we left the party to go to our honeymoon destination. It was a lodge about 20 minutes from the city. My husband was a quite drunk and so was I. I was wearing a short wedding dressand no underwear. As soon as we were in the car I started playing with his dick and then gave him a blowjob. Just out of town we drove into a police roadblock. He didn’t have time to put his dick away when we were stopped. There were two policemen. They could clearly see what we were doing. They told my husband to get out of the car with his dick still outside his pants. When he got out they realised that he was drunk. My husband explained to them that we just got married and are on our way to our honeymoon. They said that they couldn’t let us drive in this condition. They loaded my husband in the police vehicle and one cop got in behind the wheel. While we were driving he told me that they can arrest my husband for drunk driving and he will spend the rest of our honeymoon behind bars. Unless I agree to have sex with him. I agreed on one condition: my husband must never know. He started fingering my already wet pussy. When we arrived at the police station he told my husband that he is gonna keep him overnight for his own protection. My husband was worried about me but the cop told him he will take me to a hotal and we can continue tomorrow morning. They locked my husband in a cell and one cop left. The other one took me to an office and lifted my dress. He fucked me on the desk. It was good but he pulled out and came over my stomach in 2 minutes. He told me to go wash and he will give me a place to sleep. He took me to the bathroom. We passed a cell with 4 guys in. They whistled when they saw my short dress. I went into the bathroom and washed my stomach and pussy. When I came out the guys whistled again. The cop laughed and pulled me to him. He kissed me and pushed me against the bars. Not long I felt a hand on my ass and another under my dress between my legs. I tried to pull away but the cop held me in position while kissing me. A finger slipped into my pussy and started fingering me. Someone was pulling my ass cheeks open. The cop pulled me from the bars and told me to wait there. He took out keys and unlocked the cell door and told me to get inside. He told the guys that if anyone of them touches me he would kill him. There were about 8 beds and I went inside and lied down on the first bed. The cop locked the cell, went out and switched off the lights. It was so dark you could feel it. No window. I kept still and after while I started to relax. It was very quite. Then I felt a hand on my leg. I was too scared to move. The hand shot straight to my naked pussy and started to finger me. My pussy was still wet and you could hear the wet sloppy sounds in the dark. He opened my legs and then he started licking my pussy. There were hands mauling my tits and more hands rubbing my pussy and pulling at my lips. Then a dick was forced into my mouth. The licking stopped and was replaced with a stiff dick that started fucking my pussy. Soon I was sucking dick while another cock was fucking me. And then the lights came on and everyone freezes. The cop came in and looked at me with a dick in my mouth and another one in my pussy. He left but didn’t switch off the lights. The guys where really fucking me now. Taking turns in my mouth and pussy. And then one of them turned me over on my hands and knees. He pushed his dick into my asshole. They all fucked me in my ass, pussy and mouth and they all came 3 times. I didn’t count how many times I came. We fell asleep on the floor. During the night I woke up with a dick fucking my pussy. He came and we went back to sleep. This happened a few times during the night. In the morning 2 of them started fucking me again. One in my pussy and the other one in my ass. They were still fucking me when the cop came in. He told them to finish. They both came inside me. I got up and took my dress. He took me to the bathroom and I took a shower. I was covered in cum. I washed 4 times got out and dressed. The cop took me to the office and told me that my husband is awake and showering. He bend me over the table, lifted my dress and shoved his dick into my asshole. He fucked me hard and came in my ass. When he was finished he told me to come and he took me to the front. He told me that my husband thinks I slept at the hotel. My husband was glad to see me. We got in the car and drove to the lodge. We came there and we both took a shower and then we fucked for hours. I had to perform even though my pussy and ass was sore. He still doesn’t know about my gangbang.

Stephanie Sinnz 💋

(Fictional story)
Enjoy 👅

Shady Deals

“Are you saying that serial killers can’t be feminist?”

I sucked loudly at my drink, trying to get the rest of the nearly melted frappe. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well what are you saying?”

“I mean, anyone can be a feminist. But once you go around killing people, it’s not like it matters anymore. Now you’re just a murderer, regardless of your views on gender equality.”

“I’d still rather be killed by a feminist.”

I laughed, “Why’s that?”

“Because,” said Liz, waving her drink in the air despite the looks she got from the other people in the cafe, “at least then I know i’m not being killed by some prick who’s twisted idea of justice is taking out my ovaries because I had an abortion.”

“Liz, you’ve never gotten pregnant.”

“My killer doesn’t know that!”

I unwrapped the cookie we bought earlier, broke it in half and handed the bigger piece to liz. In between bites, I asked, “Why is your killer taking your ovaries?”

“It’s his signature. He takes the organs as trophies.”

“Geez, Liz,” I laughed again, “I think you’ve given this too much thought.”

“Promise me, Joni,” she said, taking my hand, “Promise me that If I die before you, you’ll turn my corpse into a work of art.”

“Oh my God.”

“I want to be posed beautifully. I give you full permission to do what you will. Take out my organs. Skin me and lay my skin suit down next to me as if it were my lover. Just make me look good.”

“Liz!” I could see multiple heads turn in our direction. They must have thought we were crazy.

“I want to die in style.”

“Well,” I said, reaching for my phone, “That day will have to wait. It’s already two. Are you ready to go?”

Liz stuffed her half of the cookie in her mouth, red lipstick smearing a little. Then she chugged her drink and grabbed her purse.

The walk to the park wasn’t far, fifteen minutes, but it felt like an hour. I was nervous and liz could tell.

“So what are you trading again?”

“This,” I said, taking an old iPod out from my purse. It was in great condition- the screen wasn’t cracked, and it was only half full of songs. “The guy was willing to trade his old film camera for it.”

“Oh yeah,” she said, turning the iPod over in her hands,” I remember you saying something about wanting to get into photography. Why film?”

I smiled, “Film is superior to other mediums. It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t use microchips to convert a real image into digital; it is real. I’ll show you when I start taking pictures.”

Liz shrugged. She didn’t get it yet, but she would.

“Thanks for coming with me by the way,” I said, taking the iPod back as she handed it to me.

She nodded, “Buddy system is best. Do you know what the guy looks like?”

“He said he’d be wearing a black hoodie.”

“That could be half the people in the park, Joni.”

“Well, just keep an eye out.” We arrived at the park then, and sat down on a bench. IT was warm from the sun, and the warmth felt great on my back.

I scanned the park, looking for a black hoodie. There were many. Liz gave me a look that I knew meant, see? Half the park is wearing black. I just shrugged, and continued to look.

I was about to send him a text saying we’re here, on one of the benches. Are you here yet? When a shadow fell across me and Liz.

“Joni?” He asked. I stared at him. I couldn’t see his face under the hoodie. It was so dark underneath- like the jacket swallowed up any possible light that could have revealed his face.

As I continued to stare, I realized it was his face. Or rather, he didn’t seem to have one. I tried to be polite.

“Uh. Yeah, yes, I’m Joni. Can I see the camera?”

“Of course.” His voice was harsh, as if he’d been swallowing big gulps of sand. If sand had a voice, his would have been what it sounded like. “It’s in excellent condition. I took it earlier to be cleaned- it’s working perfectly.”

When he handed me the camera, the metal body was cold. Liz was frozen next to me. I looked through the viewfinder, opened the back to get a look at the aperture mechanism. He was right- it was perfect.

“Thanks,” I said, and handed him the iPod. When he took it from my hand, I could see his fingers. Black as shadows and just as insubstantial. Like smoke.

He nodded under the hoodie, and stuck the iPod in his pocket. I could feel Liz’s arm grasp mine suddenly, as if she was afraid he would pocket me too.

He took my hand then, and liz held on to me even tighter. I held my breath but all he did was shake my hand and say, “Pleasure doing business with you, Joni.” His hands were very soft.

I looked into where I thought his eyes might be. I could feel the heat on my cheeks and prayed no one else could. Finally he let go, and turned to walk away.

“Wait,” I said, placing a reassuring hand over Liz’s. She was worried over nothing. “I didn’t get your name.”

He turned around. For the first time, I realized he did have a mouth. He smiled, showing off rows of sharp teeth. “We have been called many things. But you can call us… Rick.”

“Bye, Rick. Maybe…”


“Let me know If you ever have something else you’d like to trade.” I blushed again as I said it, but if Rick noticed, he just continued to smile.

“I will.”