Heeeeyyyy guuuuyyysss so I published my first fic ever on ao3 and if you like jmart one shots you should give it a read. Non explicit hurt/comfort that still ends with dread!
“You’re late.” I say as you walk into my office, and your adorable face prevents me from focusing on my work. You lower your head and make your way to your desk. “No,” I growl. Ready to sit, you stop and look up at me and see me patting my knee.
“Yes, Master,” you groan, and make your way to me as I watch every inch of your delicious body come closer, with fire in my eyes. Within reach, I pull you to me and bend you over my knee. You’re wearing the little skirt I bought you for work. Such a good Kitten. And look at this, nothing underneath, just as instructed.
Maybe I should let you off the hook.
Nah.
“Are you ready, Kitten?” I’m caressing the perfection hidden beneath your skirt. You whine something inaudible. “Use your words,” I say sternly.
“Yes.” you pause for a moment. “Yes, Master.”
Thunder comes from my hand meeting your soft, beautiful cheeks, over and over. The whimpers from your mouth turn to gasps, and yelps, as your skin becomes hot and red, so I stop. “Are you okay, Kitten?”
“Yes,” barely exits your mouth. As my fingers reach between your legs I can tell that this is what you wanted. You must have played me.
But what is an assistant good for, if not play?
I slide a finger inside of your pretty little hole, and the euphoria from your mouth tells me this is no punishment at all. So, I instruct you to get to your knees, and I make you taste yourself on me. With two fingers, I lift your chin to point your eyes at mine.
“Your punishment starts now. You’ll be here on your knees under my desk for the remainder of your shift, or until I cum. Whether you get lunch on time is up to you.”
Your work ethic makes it seem like this is not a punishment either.
what does love mean when you had to walk away from the two people in the world you loved more than anything, with no explanation or goodbye?
it means waking up in the night trembling and wandering into the small, warm kitchen to see joe sitting, sketching, a night owl mapping the lines of his early bird’s face from memory. it means settling with him and being given a page and a pen and doing the same for your brother, your mother, reminding yourself of where you came from and where you are going.
it means nicky makes your favourite food for dinner on the days that you forget you are made of starstuff and on the days when you are on top of the world. it means on the normal days that you get a soft smile and quiet italian instructions on how, exactly, you’re supposed to eat that. (and, the fact that it really did taste divine, even if you still don’t quite get chopsticks, that was definitely some kind of love)
it means teaching the people you love things they cannot have imagined learning. it means showing andy the beauty of humanity, and the desire to be better and more and wonderful, and that there are millions of people out there who want to build a better world that wouldn’t even need them anymore.
it means forgiveness, it means trying to do better. it means sometimes you have to break the rules and send postcards to a lonely little house in france, reminding the people who need to be better that they still can be, and that there will be a place for them when they have found their redemption.
it means when you stumble, a strong arm hauls you up and holds you steady and gets you moving because you are not weak because you need help, you are human and you are loved and you are whole.
it means that you learn to mourn for what you’ve lost but you don’t wallow in it, don’t let the pain take away from what can be, what should be, what you deserve.
it means family and hope and warmth and life. that’s what love means now.
I don’t normally like doing this because I don’t like sharing my writing here beyond snippets but @cadewrites said something very sweet about me just now and I guess I better prove they’re talking about a person and their writing rather than just, you know, reblogging a lot of stuff. xD
So, without further ado, the opening to my current project, a short story titled Solace.
Solace’s blurb: A convict is relieved of life-long incarceration after it's discovered that her murder charges were for the supposed death of a god.
As sirens sang in the distance, drawing closer to expose her on the cemetery grounds, she found comfort in her spotty recollection. There were no ways to prove it honest: the earth held too few witnesses to tell the whole, no listener to exact from her an explicit telling, and no person left alive who could decide the truth of the matter. Justice would sink her back into her previous cage; in the monotony of that dark silence, she could forget it all. To her captors, when they came, she meant to profess gratitude. Few knew her sins by sight, fewer would do the righteous thing and punish her for it. The grave beneath her feet had deserved its making, but not its secrets.
“This is the altar of a lost god,” she meant to warn those coming. “You trample on the dust of divinity.”
But none came to punish her. Though she prayed to the headstone and its name, the grave bed would not swallow her up. When all of night had cast aside its robes to greet the morn, she knew her fate better: she was alone, quite alone, in the world. There were no shrines left to house her; the burden of remembrance would not slip from her shoulders; she knew now the fear of her emptiness, the terror of a loneliness that could scrape her raw like guts upended on a butcher’s floor.
In years past, tears would hiccup into her eyes as she dwelt in the hollowest of miseries, a shock of terrifying wetness welling over dried eyes; and a bone-rattling ache would reach out from the well in her chest; and her vision would darken and her breathing slow in the wake of these agonies overtaking her; and yet, just as quickly as it came, she would banish it—leashed, muzzled, kenneled—into muteness, where no sympathies could upend her, and she was merely alone again. She did not deserve the intimacy of her own pain.
And yet, in yesteryears, with a fool’s whimsy, she had indulged herself with thought of a faultless, gushing companion, one who knew to watch her moods and tell one sigh from another, quick to offer affection when they saw her low. Not enough to make her feel pompous, but enough to bear witness to the passing pains of another human being. She’d held this dream and kept it close, bearing it like rivers clutched and smoothed the stones that paved their underbellies. In the pale grim light of dawn, it was to this dream that she disclosed another.
Betelgeuse: What’s something you can never forget about? Libra: Favourite colour? Asteroid: What does your dream life look like?
Betelgeuse: This one is a hard one... Like really hard. Um, one of the things I will never forget though was the first time I ever finished a novel. 700 pages in just over a year. A huge sense of accomplishment.
Libra: Something a little more my pace lol. Purple. Hands down!
Asteroid: My dream life definitely looks like me being able to quit my job and write books full time.
I'm so happy you have poly relationships in your story. I feel like there aren't a lot of writers that write polyamorous relationships, and even when they do it's usually to condemn them. So thanks! It really means a lot :)
No condemnation here, (this Kali is poly in fact) Solomon Academy will have a lot of up and downs in relationships, there’ll be some heartbreaks and incompatibilities (Is it even a spoiler to say Brooklyn?)
But we definitely are thinking about having some good healthy polyamorous relationships!
I usually wind up with an A project and a B project–my two main WIPs–and then I keep a couple C projects lingering in the background for when I’m blocked on the main two or I just need a breath of fresh air
21. Do you create aesthetics for your writing, ie. on pinterest or tumblr? If so, what’s the board or tag?
Not really, but I’m kinda halfway trying to start
So far I’ve been tagging them as #windswept and #aesthetic, just because I’m only really doing it for the one story, so far, and I’m super-good at this whole ‘being organized’ thing
I’ll probably try to up my game when I transition into my next project, though
24. Do you prefer first or third person? Why?
It depends on the needs of the story, but I usually default to third person for novel-length works, just because it’s what I’m most familiar with, and it allows me to quietly snark at my characters from within the narration
First person is still a lot of fun, though, and some stories demand that extra intimacy
So yeah–thanks again! I always have fun with these :)
