Our Finest Gifts | 2 of 2

And to think, I almost quit writing forever without giving you this.

So much gore. So much.

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Our Finest Gifts

Part 2 of 2

The smell was the first indication that he was conscious again. The smell was also the first indication that something was very, very wrong. It was the stink of roadkill made ripe by the sun, and maybe turned over with a pitchfork for good measure. It filled his sinuses, spilled into his throat, and set his eyes watering as he gagged. Devon rolled, clutching his side, and slowly opened his eyes.

He was still high, but not high enough. It was too easy to think, even with the electronic clicking of the lights amplified within his ears. There were too many colors. Devon squeezed his eyes shut.
   
“Weeeeeeelly well well. Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke the fuck up. Was startin t’think I’d have to find your faggy ass a prince or somethin’. Shit.”

And so I return, with a little more noise than I left, and no explanation as to why either event has occurred.

Kindly forgive the inconvenience. I'll have Part 2 of that last story up after the weekend.

~marcus

Our Finest Gifts | 1 of 2

I've been recovering from concussion & contusion. Not at all conducive to writing. I'm mostly better now, but still botching up words & word order. And dropping things.. but that's got little to do with stories. Anyway! I mention this in the hopes that you can forgive me if the following story makes absolutely no sense at all.

Your humble wastrel,
~m

P.S. - Warnings for... pretty much everything. This is a Nasr Devon story, and is therefore full of gore and noncon of the worst sorts.

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Our Finest Gifts

Part 1 of 2

Red and orange and yellow. Green and blue. Wide, fuzzy circles of light seemed to sway in his field of vision. Devon watched them dance, fascinated in how they contorted and pulsed, as though respirating at different rates. The fact that they did not keep time with the music playing from the noisy speakers of his laptop made him vaguely queasy, but it didn’t stop Devon staring. He angled to the side, attempting to have them dance in tempo. Perhaps he could undo the churning of his belly.

Celebrate!

Let's celebrate the return of my computer with some good old-fashioned smut.

Piety update here.

Entire thing is here in .pdf, or here in html.

This update is full of gentle consensual lovin', so if noncon and violence with sex aren't your cup of tea, you can just download that first link for your idea of a good time. For those who don't mind abusive themes, feel free to read the whole durn thing.

Happy belated holiday to my American readers. I am thankful for you all.

Also, as a promo, donations over $20 will get shorts written to the theme of the donor's choosing. The donation button is there on the right, and also available @ avenier.org.