Pre-Christmas Check-In

Two more days to go until my exam! I feel guilty for not writing the last few weeks, but it had to be done. I tried writing once or twice, but studying English Literature and Linguistics and then trying to not drift off into analyses of the words I just wrote was impossible. I confused myself, so I had to put my stories aside and concentrate on the studies.
Yeah... I didn't do well with studying. :D I found a million excuses to do something else, but couldn't quite get into the spirit of learning stuff.

At least my fish tank is cleaner than ever.

Never mind that, though. I've always had a problem with anxiety ("exam nerves", which sounds too cute for my taste - it's a debilitating anxiety disorder, people) and I know how this will work out. I will fail that exam, become much calmer and take it a second time in better spirits. And I'll be able to write again!

I wish you all pleasant holidays!
Love,
Hannah

Cats, Exams and Christmas

My dearies!

Some of you probably wonder why there hasn't been a Friday Fade-Out yet, and I'm sorry for that. I found a kitty cat that's occupying a lot of time, and of course, exams. There always seem to be exams in times where I wish I could write more! Since I've had bad exam nerves for all of my life, I'm all but unable to function in the weeks before an exam, and there go my Friday Fade-Outs... Sigh-worthy!
At least I'm making progress with my secret novel project and editing Shapeshifter, so maybe there will be something to buy for you soon! :) Fingers crossed!

Love,
Hannah

Shapeshifter has a cover!

I'm so happy, I could burst into confetti made of little hearts!
My artist friend finished the cover for "Shapeshifter" and it's glorious! I'm still editing the story, but now that I've got the cover, I've got a reason to speed things up and get this done quickly.
Check it out:

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Chapter 17

I found out I actually can work after skipping the sleep thing, it's just a bit harder. ;) Don't mind the typos, I wrote this going on three hours of not very pleasant rest.  
Find the entire story here!


Luckily, the talk with Ilydra had ended on a positive note. Her delight over Rhysling’s plans for his human pet had made her giggle and swoon, and the boisterous chat had almost made Rhys forget the time.
He felt invigorated, a mood only strengthened by the soft sighs and moans welcoming him to his private quarters. Rhys may have been able to move like spider’s silk in a breeze, quick like lightning on a cold spring night, but creeping towards the bound, helpless, lustful man still felt like a child’s game of hide and seek. He felt clumsy and giddy, with prickling fingertips and reddening cheeks.
Stopping in the shade of the doorway, he took a moment to let his eyes wander over the human’s body. The Dragon’s Tail in the wound salve had set his body on fire to such an extent that not even the cool breeze of the room could keep him from sweating. The wounds had closed beautifully, if probably painfully, leaving the stitches as cruel, dark reminders of past torture, and a healthy, rosy color had bled all through his pale body. Niro was hanging in the shackles like so much dead weight at this moment, but Rhys had no illusions about the inner turmoil he was still going through; Dragon’s Tail was like a whip to that hot knot deep inside each living being, slapping their lust and need to screaming life, just to let it fade and then repeat the cycle.
Rhysling stepped into the bed chamber with a resolute sigh and walked towards the bound man. Niro’s reaction was slow, but when he finally raised his head to stare at his master, there was still fire in his eyes. Oh, the things that human probably wished on Rhys!
The Ailill slowly circled around the splayed and bound body, smiling at the sight of his hard, dripping manhood, and trailed over to his commode nonchalantly. As he opened the drawers and rummaged through his private garments, he could feel his pet’s angry look burn into the back of his head, but for now, both of them kept their quiet, visually stalking each other.
Rhys carefully took off his tunic, folded it and set it on top of the commode. This broke the spell and the human couldn’t stay quiet any longer.
He snarled, trying his best not to sound as breathless as he probably was. “Let me go, you bastard.”
“Your erection looks painful,” Rhys pointed out, taking a flask of oil and a pair of clamps out of the drawer before closing it.
The human twitched, blushed and started tugging on the chains. “That’s none of your business, elf,” he hissed angrily. The heated flushes were racing over his taut body, almost as if following Rhys’ gaze to wherever his eyes wandered, but his eyes settled on those rosy, perky nipples. Rhys wandered closer, sliding onto the bed in front of Niro in nothing but his dark linen pants, just close enough to be able to touch him, but with enough distance to enjoy the whole sight.
“I plan on making it my business,” he purred, adjusted the first clamp in his fingers to a rather soft setting, and held it up. “Do you know what this is?”
Niro frowned. “No.”
Rhys smiled a slow smile. This was going better than anticipated. Reactions to the Dragon’s Tail weren’t always a true indicator for a person’s sexual desires, but he had seen the human’s reaction to the first stages of whipping. It had been promising, very much so, and today he would find out if he had been right in his judgement of the bound man. With a quick, agile movement, he slipped the first clamp over Niro’s right nipple, letting it snap closed and retreating before the first gasp wafted out of Niro’s mouth.
It wasn’t the tightest or strongest clamp Rhys had, but the human shuddered and hissed anyway. His eyes widened with the sudden, increasing burn, then a shiver ran through his body and right into his manhood, making it twitch and throb and drip clear fluids. His face was a mask of surprised pain, but the rest of his body spoke a different, lewder language.
“Let me go, you damned bastard! No, don’t—”
Rhys had to fight down his own excited shiver when the second clamp bit into Niro’s left nipple, cutting off his curses and sending his body into short, tempered convulsions as he fought his twitching body for air. Sweat rolled down the male’s prone body, slithering down the grooves and dimples between his prominent muscles and finally disappearing either into the bush of pubic hair, or dripping down into the bedding. The air was filled with the tangy aroma of arousal and fear, sweet, cloying and heady. The sight was almost too much, too inviting, too decadent to stand, but Rhys kept his prickling fingers in check.
“Say you want me to touch you,” he demanded, outwardly calm where inside, he was anything but serene. His teeth itched with the need to leave a mark on the already scarred body, and with a lust for other, darker things. The hunger that was unique to his kind reared its ugly head, tempering his giddy desire with a thread of fear. The knowledge of what would happen if he lost control was enough to rein in his appetite. For now.
The human tugged on his chains, snarling at him, even though his cock jumped in beat with his pulse, dripping a steady stream of pre-come. “Never!” he barked.
Rhys flicked one of the clamps with a hand gesture quick as a striking snake, his fingers pulling back just as fast as they had thrust forward, sending a ripple of burning pain through the sensitive nub. Niro bucked in agony, groaning loudly as the waves of pain and pleasure rushed through his tense body, blushing even deeper when his lance dribbled another line of excited liquid.
“Say it. You know you want it,” Rhys said, leaning closer as he flared his nostrils against the stink of human excitement. Such crude creatures they were, those humans, but there was something about that raw, violent energy that was simply too attractive to turn away from.
The question sent another shiver through Niro. His face clearly stated how close he was to spilling himself, how desperately he wanted to, and how alien the concept of being touched really was to him. His face didn’t so much look like the expression of someone trying to withstand lust, but rather someone who didn’t connect touching with desire. And he desperately didn’t want to come like this, shackled and tortured and watched by a stranger.
His usual game wouldn’t work on that one, Rhys saw that. “You are a virgin, are you not?” he purred, and flicked the other clamp with just as careful a force as the first one, humming happily when Niro bucked and groaned through gnashed teeth and goosebumps. But this time, instead of waiting for an answer, Rhys didn’t let him come down. The Ailill wrapped his long fingers around the weeping length and gave it an experienced tug from root to tip, just once.
Niro shouted, more out of surprised euphoria than with pain, and exploded violently. The orgasm raced through his body like a wave of stinging heat, tightening muscles in his stomach and crotch that he hadn’t known he possessed until now, cut off his air, and made him thrust into the tight, hot-wet grip around his length before he knew what he was doing. Little stars danced through his sight as he sagged into the chains, gasping for air and groaning at the same time, all but boneless with ecstasy.
Rhys lifted his soiled hand and watched the globs of white semen thread a  web between his fingers, fighting down another wave of hunger that came with the beautiful sight. And to think, that human would be his for however long he wanted him…
“Now you understand, don’t you? We will try this again, but no free rides for you anymore. The next time, you will have to ask for it,” he said and watched Niro’s eyes widen as he raised his hand again, towards his nipple, just as promised. This would be a long night, Rhys promised himself.

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Chapter 16

I know I'm late, sorry! I didn't want to drop below the 1k-mark, so I had to keep writing. ;) At least I got one of the three plots unfolding in this story done, and I re-wrote the storyline I lost. Yay!
Find the entire story here!


“We don’t meet here often,” Ilydra quipped, casually looking through the front parlor of the regent’s palace. “Has something happened to your private quarters? Or have you accommodated private company there you don’t want me to see?”
Her gown was beautiful, albeit of a simple cut; a dark, autumn-orange dress with knotted, wide-cut bell sleeves offering glimpses of her creamy arms, tight below her bosom and around her hips, but spreading and flowing down her legs like falling leaves. A sparse smattering of jewels adorned the upper hem and enticed the eye to look at her womanly features, but still didn’t make a point of the expensive decoration. A lesser Ailill woman would have used a dress like that for a high feast, maybe even a handfasting, but for Ilydra, this was casual evening wear. Any Ailill noble would have been lucky to court her, rich, beautiful and powerful as she was, but in spite of that, she still chose to spend most of her time with the one unavailable suitor she had ever met.
Rhysling lounged across the sitting arrangement, filling the settee with his limber form, a smoky, dark blotch next to her sunny form. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t appreciate the special honor her constant companionship bestowed on him, because he did. The reason why he chose and enjoyed to spend so much time with a fae woman was simply her mind. There was and always would be more to life than fucking or rallying more power, and where other nobles just saw a beautiful woman ready to be claimed, Rhysling saw a powerful woman ready to savor all of life’s offerings. Adding to that, there was an art to a good verbal spit that only a chosen few people had mastered. Ilydra was the only one in Rhysling’s select circle, who managed to survive the fights with him unfettered and unperturbed, and still wanted to associate with him.
He threw her a lazy smile. “I might have indulged myself, indeed. There is nothing wrong with sampling wares I procured, is there?” he purred, fighting against the vision of his human pet bound and twitching beneath the effects of the healing salve. Had he been younger, or less experienced, he wouldn’t have been able to withstand the delicious draw to go back and secretly spy on the boy’s torture. But still, no matter how many times he had played games like this with other suitors, his body still shivered and twitched with lust, urging him to throw away all caution and composure.
And Ilydra knew, saw it on the way he was sprawled, noticed all the little signs he tried to hide so valiantly. “I don’t begrudge you this little infatuation, you know this,” she said, then frowned softly. “But aren’t there more important tasks you are to fulfill? I do seem to remember hearing my uncle uttering something of an order, concerning you and that Lamia bitch, Seryth Tasden. Why are we here, wasting time on political banter and rutting, broken humans?”
Rhysling stilled. As much as he loved dear Ilydra, her eaves-dropping on the Ailill king of Yahir and actually knowing about his assignment, if only in part, was shocking and dangerous beyond reason. Not reacting further to her revelation was all he could do, but even that wasn’t enough to discourage her.
“I am right, am I not?” she squealed in a burst of youthful glee, clapping her gloved hands softly. “Oh, don’t look so dismayed, I have known about your profession for decades. Did you actually think I wouldn’t catch on to your travel routes coinciding with the sudden deaths of important royals? I’m not a simpleton, you know.”
“That you aren’t,” Rhys agreed, sighing. This complicated matters. Where the surprising find of that human had been a happy coincident he intended to use for his own benefit, Ilydra’s knowledge didn’t make her any more useful in reaching his goals and fulfilling his task. Under different circumstances, he would have killed whoever stuck their nose into his business, but that was not an option with his sponsor’s niece, his best friend and companion. No, he’d have to find another way to work around her, without hurting her feelings.
“You are already plotting to keep me out of your way, like a little, lost pup, aren’t you?”
Rhys smiled. There was no use in trying to hide his feelings from her. “Yes.”
“Well, stop it right now. I am not a little pup. I don’t intend to botch at your trade and I don’t cherish the illusion of being able to do an assassin’s work as some kind of holiday distraction. You know me better than that— I know better than that!” Ilydra took a deep, calming breath and picked up her glass of wine, if only to busy her fluttering hands. She only gestured when she was upset, thinking it a peasant thing to do, but it told Rhys how his fears stung her. “All I am saying is, you have a magician at your side. If you need something more than a pack of puny spell bracelets, please don’t hesitate. I trust you enough— more than you trust me, obviously— to not ask questions if you order weirder items from me.”
Weirder items, she said. Rhys couldn’t hold back the grin threatening to split his face. He knew exactly what she was talking about. There were items imbued with forbidden magicks, things that would split a person in two, right through the middle, or turn them inside out, at the wielder’s wish. Artifacts and relics so dangerous, only the highest of mages even knew about them. And Ilydra had fought hard to find herself in those ranks, high up amongst those of notorious renown.
“I don’t plan on using ‘weird’ items, but it is encouraging to know I could, should the need arise. I am sorry I didn’t trust you, my dear, but I am not used to having civilians in on my plans, or work. I’d rather keep you on the sidelines for as long as possible, but I won’t treat you like a helpless pup anymore, I promise.”
“So you won’t spill your plans to me for crooning over? A shame,” she sighed, then winked at him. “Now, tell me more about your guest in your private parlor. I want gory details.”

Supporting the arts

A friend of mine is an artist, one of those who show their works on Deviant Art and other sites, but hardly earn money with it. She loves painting and drawing, and people still think that you're supposed to get stuff from artists for free, because they need the "exposure". Draw for free, play music for free, write for free,... That's not okay.
I decided to stop this circle and hired her to draw a cover for one of my books, "Shapeshifter". It worked great, the picture is absolutely beautiful, and I'm the happiest author in the world right now. When it's finished and I'm through editing the story, I'll show it here so you can drool over it. And I'll be more than happy to give you the contact details for my dear artist friend ;)

On another, equally happy note: The crazy dog lady lawsuit against me was dropped, yeah!

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Chapter 15

Yay! Still no finished plot, but I found a few outline notes, so I know where I wanted to go with his. Excuse the errors, I had a last-moment writing spree and just typed this down.
Find the entire story here! 

The decision to run had come too late. The Ailill’s steel grip on his throat was unbreakable, his strength shocking as the lithe elf dangled him inches above the floor with one arm and no sign of exertion. Niro flailed, trying his luck at kicking his captor, but all that got him was a rough shake and a slap. None of that helped with his increasing need to breathe, or the panic bubbling up in his chest.
Niro knew this game. It was meant to break the spirit, to prove superiority, to crush resistance. It had almost cost him his life as a boy, and the only reason he was still here had been old Cyril. The halfbreed had pulled away the Ailill drillmaster in the last possible moment, just inches from drowning the young human who wouldn’t stop bucking and struggling, no matter what. And after saving Niro from suffocation, Cyril had beaten him up so badly, he hadn’t been able to walk straight for a week. That had taught Niro to at least act the part of the subdued scholar, if only to escape Cyril’s bull whip, and he had gotten good in it.
With a cut-off snarl, Niro let his body slump, reined in his instincts to fight for his life and waited. If he stopped struggling, the Ailill would let go, this was how the game was played. Any moment now. Just a little longer. Colors bled out of the world as his sight started to weaken with lack of oxygen. His heart beat faster and faster, jumping against his ribs with the increase of panic. The Ailill smiled broader, his bone-white teeth glittering in the lamplight. His fingers tightened like murderous stone around Niro’s neck, casually crushing his windpipe, his arteries, his nerves. Niro’s mind started screaming, don’t trust him, this is not a game, he will not let go, save yourself, kill him, and finally his will gave beneath the growing pressure of self-preservation.
Niro threw his remaining strength against the Ailill’s grip, gargling through the pressure against his larynx as he struggled, tugged and kicked, but it was too late. He had waited too long and risked too much. His body was already growing faint, his sight turning darker, his fingers getting numb and hard to move as he slapped and kicked against the immovable body in front of him. At least he would go down fighting, instead of dying bound to a pole and surrounded by cheering people. Being strangled was a honorable way to die, was it not?
Niro didn’t feel the impact of his body on the ground when the Ailill finally let go. The colorful carpet burned his back as he was dragged over to the bed, but his body still didn’t obey his frantic orders. The only thing he could do was cough and gasp as he was heaved onto the bedsheets, and groan as he was lifted to close the shackles dangling from the bedposts around his wrists. The stitches holding his back together twinged and burned enough to make him groan even in his half-conscious state, but it took a little longer for him to come to his senses.
The harsh grip on his hair helped with that. The Ailill pulled his head back in a dangerous angle, staring down at his face with that intimate smile. “Be silent,” he ordered.
Niro snarled, then opened his mouth to say what he thought of his master’s orders, but the second his lips parted, the Ailill poured a honey-colored liquid into his mouth. Coughing and gasping, Niro tried to spit it out, but the angle made it all but impossible and all the coughing only forced him to swallow faster. It tasted bitter, fruity with a hint of cinnamon, like an expensive Yahirian tea. It also prickled through his throat, numbed his tongue and rushed to his head faster than it should.
With his deed done, the Ailill let his head go and stepped back, putting the stopper back into the little flask he had emptied into Niro’s mouth.
“This healing potion is quite strong, so don’t be alarmed if your wounds start itching soon,” he explained, still smiling. “I also overdosed you, which means you will have to endure a few side effects. Probably a little vertigo, increased salivating, certainly heightened libido, which is why I shackled your arms. We don’t want you to get carried away and play with yourself, now, do we?”
As much as Niro would have loved to yell at the pointy-eared bastard, the prickling in his throat had increased so much, he had a hard time doing anything else but swallowing convulsively. Worse, he could feel the first tingles on his back, a promise of things to come that he didn’t want to experience. His whole body felt warmer, thicker somehow, and all that warmth was just starting to slowly creep down his chest and towards his crotch. It felt eerily familiar, although he had never felt it in this intensity.
“Dragon’s Tail,” he hissed, tugging at the shackles wide-eyed. “You gave me Dragon’s Tail? Are you trying to kill me after all?”
The Ailill huffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic, pet. This was hardly enough to kill someone who frequents the dragon baths as much as you.  Now, just ride the waves and be calm, I have a guest to tend to.” And with that statement, the Ailill turned and walked towards the door.
“Wait! Come back!”
The door fell shut. Niro couldn’t do anything but stare at it dismayed, left alone in the lavish bedroom. His heart was beating so loud, he could hear it jump against his ribcage in the sudden silence. Then the itching on his back started, and he hissed through clenched teeth. “Good-for-nothing loiter-sack, snivelling, stinking wandought, if I get my hands around your neck,—” The itching spread all over his back and no amount of twitching or twisting bore any relief. The lone thought of having to hang there and endure this for any amount of time was unfathomable, but then the heat creeping down his belly reached his crotch, filling his length until it strained against the linen pants he was wearing. The vertigo hit him almost simultaneously, intermingling the opposing sensations until one bled into the other and his whole body was on fire.
A groan forced its way out of his throat, shivering through the empty room like a call for help. Niro closed his eyes, gasping as he started to sweat. If this was the penalty for attacking his master, it was an effective one, if unusual. But would he come if Niro called for help? Would anyone come?
Fear settled in his stomach like a stone. He wouldn’t call for help. He didn’t need help, he could endure this, he would endure this. After all, with this, he already knew what he was in for. Better than to call out and then realize that nobody would come to help. They never came, they never helped. He wouldn’t humiliate himself, not again, not anymore.
Another wave of tingling lust rushed through his body and into his cock, sending twitches through the hard length. A wet patch appeared on the cloth of his pants, another moan crept out of his throat. Niro closed his eyes harder, frowning with self-restraint. Hold on as long as you can. They never outlast you, you just need to hold on.

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Chapter 14

I was so sure that I had some kind of story line written for this. I never work without at least a rudimentary plot! But alas, it's gone. Or I just can't find it anymore, haha! I blame university for this, it's making me all woozy and confused.
But never mind! I'll write a new one, a better one. Here's chapter 14 for you, have fun!

Find the entire story here! 

The dagger lay heavy and reassuring in Niro’s fingers, a familiar weight and friend to his hatred. He didn’t stop to marvel at his luck, though; his arm made an elegant swipe towards the Ailill’s midsection, only hindered by their close proximity. Stitches across his back twinged with pain in answer to the sudden exertion, but Niro didn’t pay them any attention.
He should have still caught something, if only the cloth billowing around the Ailill’s chest, but he didn’t. The ashen man didn’t so much jump out of the blade’s path, he simply wasn’t there when the slightly curved edge whistled through the air. He hadn’t fled, either, he was standing just out of Niro’s reach, head cocked sideways and smiling.
“Want to try again, pet?” he purred in a softer voice, turning his face slightly to bare his pulse; a lascivious and infuriating invitation that Niro just couldn’t pass up. He switched his grip on the dagger, aligning the blade’s edge to lay parallel to his forearm, and jumped forward with two quick, diagonal steps, feinting to the right and to the left as he worked his way closer to his target. Only when he closed in on the Ailill did he finally go for the Ailill’s right thigh, waiting for the last possible moment to show his cards.
This time, the blade caught cloth, hissing through the fine weave with a melodious sound as the Ailill dodged back once more. Niro followed the moves this time, trying his best to catch a glimpse of the minute, lightning-fast movements and failing. At least he managed to stay on his heels, driving him across his bedroom like a snarling, blade-wielding fury.
Still, the Ailill dodged each swing, each strike or stab, offering enticing glimpses of pale, smooth, ash-gray skin as he weaved through the obstacle course that was his furniture. And he did it backwards, keeping his eyes on Niro— his face, not his arm, feet, or shoulders— smiling infuriatingly through it all.
It was his expression, that glint in Master’s eye, that finally pushed Niro over the edge of the ever-brewing rage in his heart. A blink of fury, a second of not concentrating on following the creature’s wraith-like, dancing moves and Niro was lost, crashing into the table and sending the chairs flying as he fell to the ground. The impact drove the air out of his lungs and left him battered and dazed. Had he actually moved that fast? And if so, how had he done that? How had that Fae bastard managed to be even faster?
Niro lay sprawled between the seats, staring up at the smiling nightmare that was his captor. The gaping slash in his jerkin sleeve aside, he was unfazed, not even breathing hard, not a slice of worry or anger in his inhuman eyes. That look, that too wide, too calm, too intimate expression tightened Niro’s chest, made it hard to breathe. The innate stillness in that creature’s face filled him with fear until it was all he could think of. When the Ailill finally spoke again, the smooth sound of his voice made Niro’s hairs stand on end.
“Would you like to try a third time, pet?” he purred throatily, gliding closer. “It will be your last chance to sow your wild oats, mind you. Three is the arcane number of certainty, and to let you try more than thrice and not render opposition would be sacrilege against the Lord and Lady, as much as I enjoy this little game.”
Game, he said. He actually thought this to be a game! Niro shuddered, tightening his grip on the dagger to the point of pain. Then he let it clatter to the ground, shaking his head in defeat. Two direct attacks had already failed miserably, no use in trying a third time and disgrace himself further. What he had learned so far was enough to keep him busy with planning for a few days, just long enough to fill the days of recovery after whatever punishment his new keeper would likely hand out to him.
Buying time to plan, yes, that was the reason he gave in; at least that was what Niro tried to tell his screaming mind.
The Ailill stepped closer, doing a kind of half-nod towards the side and shooing him with one hand. “Out of my sitting arrangement, little pet. And no sudden motions, we wouldn’t want you to get hurt by accident.”
He wasn’t stupid, Niro had to give him that. As he fought his body, grinding his teeth though the showers of pain on his way back to his feet, the Ailill moved closer and carefully set overthrown chairs back on their feet, tutting at the splintered table. “I would like to allege I hate having to punish you this soon,” he said, unperturbed by Niro’s careful shuffle away from the furniture, and picked up the table cloth. He shook it out, draped it over the broken table, and finally turned, eying Niro’s battered body with that too-intimate, too-hot look of his.
“But that would be a lie. I, oh, so look forward to punishing you,” he finally added with a purr. Then he smiled, and moved. Faster than before, inhumanly quick as he reached for Niro and grabbed his throat to silence the scream about to break out of his mouth.

There's the Follow-button!

After experimenting around with different methods of subscription, following, like buttons and whatnot, I decided to take out the RSS feed and go back to the good ol' Blogger Follow system, because I miss those little avatar pictures. I know people read this because I see it in my statistics, but I want to know who you are, so I can thank you :)
If you like my work and would like to have me know that, please consider following me. I promise not to spam!

Love,
Hannah

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Part 13

Find the entire story here!

The clash with his new owner had left Niro shaken and quivery and with the urge to snarl at something and nothing at the same time. Had he been offered the chance, he would have crawled into a nook and curled up like a beaten dog, but that would have been a weakness too easily perceptible. It would have invited trouble and teasing that he could not bear, which left him with the only other choice: guarded silence and utter vigilance. Maybe those cursed metal cuffs could make him obey right now, right here, but they had to have their own weaknesses. Every trap had its weak spot and Niro had mastered the art of finding and exploiting those.
Niro was following the Ailill bastard through the maze of hallways that his family had once called their summer home, glowering at the slender, well-dressed back with all the bloodlust he could summon. As much as that man had commanded him to call him ‘master’, Niro’s feelings for him were anything but subservient. Just another Fae bastard with delusions of grandeur, a small hitch with no consequence whatsoever for Niro’s life or plans, nothing a stealthy dagger or wild arrow shot couldn’t fix. And then he finally would be free to take his revenge, to take revenge for the injustices done to his family and leave this makerforsaken city for good. The thought made him smile.
Although the home of his new liege had originally been of human design, traces of Ailill culture now were everywhere. Some of the flag stones seaming the more popular corridors had been ripped out and replaced with gleaming, colorful stone mosaics and the stone walls had been plastered and painted to repel the omnipresent gloom of the fortress. Statues depicting human gods, rulers and former inhabitants were still there, but the Fae had added little stone plaques explaining the depicted persons and scenes like a zoo exhibit. Some of the bigger pieces had lost their prominent places to Ailill art, displaced into galleries at the back of the palais.
The few servants passing the duo on their way towards the north wing were all Pander, going through their routines with sedate calmness and little interest in Niro’s presence. Guards were only posted at the doors leading to the outside, but those were Ailill in the colors of House Nancarrow, a crest well known to Niro. They ignored his snarls with stoic expressions, but nodded polite greetings at his owner as he led Niro up the stairs and into the residential wing of the estate.
The bandages chafed a little, but they survived the silent, chilly trip up the stairs and towards the master suites where once Niro’s parents had spent their evenings. Obviously, even the Ailill recognized the favorable bearing towards the sunrise; the Ailill opened the familiar door for him and ordered himinside with a silent glare.
The room had changed just as much and as little as the rest of the estate. The wooden floor wasn’t covered in wood shavings and reed anymore, but brushed and washed and lacquered. Carpets swallowed most of the gleaming wood, burying it beneath soft greens, browns and yellows, complimenting the new wall tapestries. The furniture stood in stark, dark contrast to those natural colors. It was wood, almost black but dull with the lack of protective coating, and made from a wood that Niro didn’t know and had never seen before. The grain was almost invisible, giving it a most powdery look, the carving of the pieces of furniture elegant and simple. A table with three cushioned chairs, a vanity and a small side table with flasks and decanters were scattered about the sitting room, a smaller part of the chambers intended for entertaining guests. A rather giant bed with white and sunflower-yellow sheets, a circular, curved wash trough, three commodes and a whole gathering of surfaces installed into the plaster dominated the bedroom, but the servant’s room was gone. Where once had been a door, there was now wall covered by pompous tapestry that Niro eyed with disdain and quiet fury.
Niro hesitantly walked through the rooms, staying away from the earthen oil lamps offering just enough light to get around. Except for the windows, nothing was as he remembered it from his youth. Gone were the light oak furnitures, the paintings of ancestors and the smell of his mother’s soap. The wall where she had marked their children’s growth, much to the chagrin of the serving folk, had been painted over, the sword dent in the door frame smoothened out, the blood soaking the wooden floor panels in her death sanded away. He might as well have walked into a stranger’s inner sanctum, for all he cared. Adding to that, this particular stranger was intent on making him a plaything to be toyed with.
The quiet fury brewing in Niro’s chest was exquisite.
“Have you been here before?” The Ailill was leaning casually against the door frame connecting the bedroom with the sitting room and eying Niro with what he could only assume to be a lazy smirk. Inside these friendly quarters, the dark garment on his ashen body looked out of place and improper.
“A long time ago,” Niro allowed with a forced casualty he didn’t feel. Lying to Ailill never went well, but bending or holding back the truth worked well enough. And since too personal questions were seen as brutish and rude, they had a tendency to not press, even where it might have been acceptable.
The ruse did its work. The Ailill nodded and pushed off the door frame, joining Niro in the bedroom and crowding him towards the bed by simply closing in on him. After what had happened on the balcony and the shame of letting someone pet him like a dog, Niro stepped back instantly. The Ailill prowled after him like a djinn, with movements smooth as silk in a breeze and a play of lights and shadows flitting over his flowing garments, his ashen skin and his black hair. The Fae’s lips still held that small, lazy smile, but his eyes gave away the predator instincts, the joy of having his prey cornered.
“I’m not your pet,” Niro hissed, twitching as his calves hit the edge of the giant bed.
At an arm’s length, the Ailill slowed down, not only in speed, but in movement. He took that last step like he was trapped in a different stream of time, carefully, oh so carefully extending one hand to frame Niro’s cheek with cool, soft fingers as he leaned forward.
“Yes, you are,” he whispered, leaning in as if to kiss Niro, his cat-like eyes small and lascivious.
Their bodies touched. A cold, hateful grin flashed through Niro’s face.
Then he grabbed the dagger dangling at the Ailill’s belt.

My first official review!

Getting your first review is a special moment in the life of every author. Reviews are like badges you get for work done well, and they are handed out by the people who matter most: Readers. I'm so hyped right now!
I already mentioned finishing "Shapeshifter", my first story ever, I think, but now it also got its own review - check it out here!

European Bachelor Kitchen - It's Schnitzel time!

 The famous Schnitzel

Yes. Schnitzel is a staple of Austrian cuisine. Yes, we actually eat it quite a lot. And yes, it's fatty and protein-rich and probably not very good for your cholesterol, but we also walk a lot. I mean, a LOT. So there's that, I guess.

This is not a Schnitzel. This is an abomination.

 There's not much to say about a real Schnitzel, honestly. Austrians are puritans when it comes to their traditional cuisine, which means: No fancy stuff. The less ingredients, the better, and nothing to scare your pretty little eye away from that awesome, battered piece of bread-crumbed goodness. Which is why I added that foto up there. That's some sadistic stuff going on there, with all that sauce and salad, not cool!
A true Schnitzel is able to hold its own, all by its little lonesome. There are some high-end restaurants who actually try to make Schnitzel some kind of fancy dish, but neither does it stick, nor do most people like it. If you can't make your flat piece of meat set hearts on fire by itself, please don't try to hide that sad fact behind lettuce.

.. or potatoes.

Also, Schnitzel has its own fast-food-chain in Austria, called "Schnitzelhaus". It's so popular, it already has loads of competition, the "Schnitzlplatzl" for example. They do try to fancy up the Schnitzel with a few varieties, such as the Hawaiian Schnitzel or the turkey or pork variety, but for most of the time, the Austrians stick to their classic veal.
It's important to know how something is supposed to taste before you go off the rails and dip it in gravy or sauce hollandaise, or some other horror, so here you go: I give you the generic, Austrian Schnitzel recipe!

Come here, my pretty little angel!

What you need

•  Slabs of veal, cut half as thick as a finger (about)
• All-purpose flour
• Milk
• Eggs
• Breadcrumbs (fine ones are better)
• Salt
• A fryer (ideal) or a deep pan and lots of lard/frying oil 
• A meat mallet!

 

And here's how it's done!

It's rather easy, honestly. As you noticed, I didn't add any quantities to the ingredients, because for the life of me, I couldn't tell you how much I actually need. I simply take three soup plates and work my way through, adding stuff whenever I run low. But let's start from the beginning!
It all starts with the slabs of veal and the meat mallet. Combine the two in a pounding manner until the veal is flattened like an opossum on the highway, on both sides. I usually work my way through all of the meat, stack the pieces I pounded, and then go on to the crumbing part. I honestly don't know how to use a fryer, so if you've got one of those, make sure it's warming up at this point, because as soon as those babies have met the bread crumbs, they should meet their heated maker.
But! Back to the crust. As I said, you need three soup plates or some other containers big enough to drag your pounded pieces of veal through.
The flour goes into the first plate, just enough to fill it to half.
A good swig of milk and two eggs go into the second platter and get scrambled to a thick goo. As long as it's good and yellow/orange, don't worry too much, just mix it well.
The breadcrumbs go into the third plate, a little more than the flour but not too much, or you'll dirty your kitchen.

With this done, your frying station should be up and running on two thirds of heat - not too hot, not too cold.

Each pounded slab of veal needs a sprinkle of salt and pepper on each side. Rub it in and then proceed to move the veal through the three plates, covering them each first in flour, then in egg/milk, then in breadcrumbs. Make sure to be diligent here, no empty spots, no sticky edges!
Into the fryer for about five to seven minutes, with the frying pan version you'll need to carefully shake it here and there, so the fat can slosh over the edges and fluff up the crust. Also: Using a pan means you'll have to do both sides for about five minutes!

Aaand that's it. Out of the fryer, maybe dab it a little with kitchen paper to get off the excess of fat, and onto the plate. We usually eat it with a pinch of lime drizzled over the crust, fries on the side and maybe a potato salad, but it tastes rather good with ketchup or mayonnaise too.

Why this is a bachelor dish

Well, to be honest, it isn't. And it is, because look at the ingredients! I usually have all of those at home, because they are staples in many, many Austrian dishes, which means: If I want to treat myself to a Schnitzel, I just have to buy the veal, and off I go. As a bonus, cooking Schnitzel will always, ALWAYS put you in the good graces of your guests! If they're not vegetarian, I guess, hm.

Anyhow! That's it for the Schnitzel!

Love,
Hannah

Back, but not really

Hello guys and gals!

I'm back from my trip to Greece and feeling much more relaxed than before.
Here's the reason for that:

The sea actually looked like that, no editing needed!

Unfortunately, uni has had a death grip on my brain ever since I came back. I'll be starting on Wednesday, 5th, and I seem to be running from one task to the next, ever since my acceptance mail came. It's funny to study English when I've already gotten the certificate needed to finish the course, but well! I'll be counting on a lot of free time to write throughout the lectures.

I'm trying to find time to work on my projects with my beta reader and my editor, but I haven't written a word in the last ten days. Here's to hoping it won't stick!

Friday Fade-Out Is On Hold!

... but only for a month, due to the start of my first semester at university!
The next chapter will be published mid-October-ish, because that's when I hopefully will have finished my course planning and acquiring all of the materials I need. Busy busy :)

Stay tuned!

Happy Hannahdays! Off to Greece

Not really where I'm going, but holy crabs, look at that beauty!

No posts for me for a while, I'm going to Greece today and I'll be there for a week. Don't worry though, I'm taking my laptop with me to write whenever I find a moment!
I'll be back. With pictures!

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Part 12

Find the entire story here!

The terrace was shrouded in nightly darkness that was only broken by a few braziers along the carpeted walkway. Another half dozen sat near the oval marble table near the banister. A blood fly was circling Rhys’ goblet of wine, confused by the iron-heavy stench of the black flintwine sloshing around inside it. He had accompanied the Duchess Ilydra to her residence an hour ago, fully expecting Gusmerja to be done with the human servant by then, ready to take charge over the man he had risked his lieutenant for.
He had been waiting ever since, and still there was no sign of the old Lamia. It irked him greatly, this waiting game, but his impatience was enough of a shameful weakness for the noble to keep quiet about. He was too young to be taken seriously anyway, there was no reason to feed into the mirth of the other Ailill nobles. Most of them had two-hundred or more years on his young 168 years of age, and as each and everyone of them, he had spent the first 120 years on education, schooling and training in any and every craft beneficial to his rank and status.
At last, the door on the other side of the big terrace opened. The human’s bandages stood out like signaling lights in the dark night, but his skin was just as fair and easy to spot. As much as the earl had proclaimed his human slave to be an assassin, a dog to be sicced on those who displeased its master, there was not much true skill to mortal… yet. Of course, had the earl’s little human been able to surpass Rhysling’s training as an assassin, he would have lost his faith in himself and the Lord and Lady.
Rhys watched on silently as the human walked across the open space, his face a mask of defiance and anger. Gusmerja didn’t bother coming with him and turned at the door to close it silently behind her as she went back inside.
They were alone, at last.
The human stopped five feet away from the table and eyed him with suspicious, flinty glances. He wore the spell-bracelets, just as Rhys had ordered, but by the way he held himself, the Ailill already knew how little the mortal liked the adornments. He would like them even less in a few moments. That thought made Rhys smile.
“I will spare you pompous introductions,” he said, “because for now you will call me either ‘master’ or ‘sire’, nothing more, nothing less. You do not need to burden yourself with titles, my full name, why you are here or why you are still alive, those are things we will talk about at a later point in time.”
With those words, Rhys put down the goblet, pulling himself more upright. He could see the anger flare in Niro’s face and he could almost taste his need to defy him. But not yet, the time had not come and there weren’t that many chances to break the vicious cycle the human had kept going with his last master. This was one of those chances, and Rhys wasn’t going to let it slide past.
“Before you speak, I will finish,” he said, holding up a hand to ask for silence. “You have already noticed those bands of mithril ore I had my healer put around your arms and legs. I also know you have no control over magic whatsoever, which means you won’t be able to resist them or to break the hold I have on them, and through them on you. They are imbued with a series of spells that will use your life force against you at my command, and at the command of the person who made them. I will use them to control and punish you when I see fit.”
By now, the human was agitated, his hands constricted into tight, angry, white fists, his teeth grinding with the force of his rage, the muscles in his thighs tense with restraint. He looked positively livid, ready for a demonstration, a test.
“I have no use for a guard I have to constantly supervise, and I definitely have no use for a servant who defies my orders,” he finished, smiling suddenly. “Will you obey me?”
The answer was bit out with a growl of triumph, a sparkle of fiery hate in those honey-colored eyes. Just one word, filled with all the impotent rage, a dozen years worth of abuse to no avail, and all the heartfelt, pure hate a single mortal being could summon.
“Never.”
Rhys closed his eyes as tumultuous joy flooded his system. How the earl could have misinterpreted this much power, this much force of will, he would never understand. No mistreatment, no ill-usage of punishment had broken that one boy, and now Rhys had him for himself to bend what could not be broken, to make him into something breathtaking.
Lifting one ashen hand from the table, he made a simple gesture, uttering words of magic. ‘Constrict,’ he said, and through his will and power the bracelets around Niro’s arms pulled his limbs to the back until both lower arms lay hands to elbow against each other. Then the metal bands wound themselves around both of his arms, fixing them together tightly.
Niro’s face went pale, then red as he tried to pull against the immovable metal, then pale again as the newly formed shackles around his arms started to pull downward, towards the bands around his ankles. A glimpse of fear shone through the helpless rage tearing across his face, but it was quickly hidden as he stumbled to his knees in order to not fall onto his face. Moments later he fought so stay upright and on his knees, kept down and controlled by the bindings the spell-bands formed. He still struggled for quite some time against the unyielding force of magic, only ceasing his fight when he was out of breath and covered by a sheen of sweat.
Rhys watched this with a placid smile, taking a sip from the flintwine as the human still tried to gather his wits from the unexpected experience.
“What have you done to me!” Niro yelled, his voice shivering with rage.
Carefully placing the goblet on the stone table, Rhys shifted his pose into one of casual alertness.
“I told you what I expect of a servant, and I asked you if you were willing to comply. You told me in no uncertain terms that you wouldn’t, and thusly won’t be of any use to me as a slave,” he explained, straightened his deep-black vest and stood up to walk around the table, towards the kneeling, huffing human. “Nevertheless, you will be of use as my pet, since this is the only other rank I could bestow on you, except for ordering your death. A pet, you see, does not need to roam free or to have an opinion. A pet just has to amuse its owner, who I am.”
Rhys gathered the folds of his wide, flowing linen pants and crouched next to Niro’s twitching, kneeling form. He was close enough to touch if he decided to do so, but not close enough to get bitten or hit by Niro’s head, careful to keep enough distance between them so the rage wouldn’t spill over and enfold him too. His eyes shone like quicksilver, impenetrable, cold and sharp as a blade as he examined Niro’s face with a pondering glance and a small smirk.
“Right now, I want you immobile and calm, and I want to touch my purchase. Since there is no need for you to want this, I made sure you won’t be able to stop me from doing that, just like I will force anything else I might want to do on you.”
It was a beautiful sight to see the young man blanch, to hear how his breath quickened and sharpened, to smell how fear floated through his veins and into the sweat still escaping his skin. Rhys wondered idly how much Niro had learned of Ailill society in his time at the earl’s court. Judging by the way he reacted to those last words, it couldn’t be all that much. It was common knowledge that the Ailill as a people viewed rape as heresy, something never to be done, never to be condoned. Torture of any kind was common and due to their ability to heal easily and quickly and live to a very old age, they tended to get very, very creative at it, but rape was unheard of.
Rhys didn’t plan to explain this anytime soon, though, because having his new pet off-kilter and afraid was part of the way to turn him around. For Niro not to know this, he would have to be untouched, a virgin to the craving of the body for touch. That thought made his blood roar through his head.
With a deep breath to calm himself, Rhys raised a hand. It hung in the air for a moment, then he slowly, calmly, reached for Niro’s face.
“Don’t touch me!” the human screamed. His voice was still shaking with fear and tension. Only the Lord and the Lady could fathom what kind of horrors he was envisioning at this moment, but none of them would match with what Rhys actually planned.
His fingertips touched Niro’s hair. The human flinched hard enough to bounce his knees against the flat granite floor of the terrace, expecting a hit that never came. Rhys didn’t stop his foray at this though, he had already seen it coming. Instead, he buried his hand into the dirt brown, unkempt hair with deliberate care, rubbing his fingers over the skin of his head in slow circles.
The brown strands of hair did not reflect the lights of the braziers like they should have, and Rhys found the reason for that in the waxy feel beneath his fingertips. He was unclean, his mane unwashed for probably several days. Not dirty, although the smell of soot stuck to it, but not fresh enough to shimmer with those highlights he had seen when he had first noticed the youngling being led the gallows.
It was not a big inconvenience and Rhys knew the gashes on Niro’s back made it hard for him to bathe himself, or be bathed by another, but the knowledge awoke a hunger in him to see his pet clean, warm from the heated water, with hair shimmering like bronze.
The lean, muscular body kneeling before him shivered with anxiety, and for a while, Rhys watched the play of light glittering over his sweat soaked arms. His pet was on the small side of what he had seen in human males so far, but not too small. Standing, he would probably fit beneath Rhyslings chin. He was a perfect size for the Ailill’s preferences in a companion, but not too tiny to make him unfit for serving the more grim purpose Rhys intended for him.
It took a little while for the human to calm down enough for those little twitches and the shivering to die down. Rhys never wavered in his slow, affectionate caresses, and he never moved his hand away from his head. The neck-ruffling stench of fear and sweat permeated from the cowering figure, but at least he didn’t look ready to fight for his life anymore.
When Rhys finally removed his hand, the human had a dazed expression on his face, too confused to struggle for longer.
“We will see how trainable you are, pet,” he hummed, smiling at the wide-eyed expression on Niro’s face.

Editing and the confusion it causes

Me, supposedly.

I read somewhere that it's rather normal to hate your own work when doing the final editing. Okay, I didn't read that somewhere, I read it everywhere, in each and every single writer's help blog, article, book, forum, ...
I'm confused by this. I got my first novel back with a very nice rejection letter (not sarcasm, those guys were really great), so I decided to do a bit of quality checking and editing before submitting it to the next publisher, seeing as how I got a few good hints why my story didn't fit their profile. My only problem is that I really don't know how to make it any better, except by adding to it where I deleted stuff before. I hope I'm not arrogant, I don't think I am; I'm just really happy with my work as it is. I don't see the need to rework big parts of the story, and the feedback I got also didn't sound like I'd have to. Maybe I simply chose the wrong publisher, maybe I'm delusional, maybe I'm just not that good at writing readable Science Fiction. Maybe romance just doesn't mix with detailed futuristic worlds. Maybe...
So now I'm confused. Dear author buddies, am I the only one who actually is happy with their work? Does nobody else reach that point of 'yeah, baby, this is it!' that I feel when a novel is done? Should I listen to my gut feeling and not do any major editing, or should I get help and trust in others to tell me where I need to work on my novel?
Or should I just submit it to another publisher?

European Bachelor Kitchen

"Consumed Schnitzels in Vienna since January 1st:"

I'm a foodie. I love food, eating out, cooking, trying new things, doing the whole nutrition thing guerilla-style. This may be one reason why I'm always wondering what other people have in their fridges, especially in other countries. I mean, I know what Germans do, because their cuisine is very similar to traditional Austrian cuisine, except for the thing where we cook totally different meals out of the same ingredients and name them after each other's cities and all that.
I try to replicate dishes from other countries, but there is no way for me to know which of those are recipes a single household would cook regularly, or what the "great 10" are; I mean the ten most wide-spread dishes of a country (or county), because those are the dishes that actually give a feel for the "taste" of a people.
I tend to not believe master chefs, TV shows or online advisors, though. Have you ever watched those? The amount of fresh ingredients is staggering, and who the hell has Mascarpone just standing around to whip up with five different freshly chopped herbs after a nine-hour-day?
No. People don't eat like that as long as there are no children to feed or guests to impress. But what do you eat, then?
There must be other people out there, wondering too. I'll go first and try my best to describe Austrian singles cuisine, but not today, because this will take time. In the next few weeks, I will post my most common food items, the stuff I always keep in stock, and the ten dishes I cook most often and also like best.
I'll even add the recipes, for those of you brave enough to try post-war cuisine!

And here's the runner-up for next week, place 10 on my food scale...

... you guessed it. Schnitzel!

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Part 11

Find the entire story here!

Inside the small cell there was no way of telling the time. Niro woke up with a thundering headache and prickling, uncomfortable tightness all across his back, still shackled to the bed in a spread-out fashion. He had no inkling of an idea how long he had been out, or why he still wasn’t dead, but the itching around his chest and stomach hinted that somebody had stitched him up and bandaged him with a vengeance while he had been out. The room was still the same, filled with the scent of torches and processed herbs, but additionally, there now was a note of stale male sweat.
Somebody had put a wool-knit, checkered blanket over his feet, legs and backside, keeping him warm and covered in his dreamless sleep. The scratchy wool also hinted to his nakedness beneath it.
It was a distressing idea to think that someone- probably Gusmerja- had taken off his clothes while he had been totally helpless. They had seen him naked, and he hadn’t been able to shield himself from their glances as they examined him inch by inch. The thought made him shudder violently. The movement triggered a series of painful, tight tugs all across his back, reminding him that all those stitches needed care and minding. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from tugging at the shackles keeping his arms stretched to the top end of the bed. They were cast iron, but mercifully wrapped with thick linen to keep them from rubbing his wrists raw.
Niro frowned and turned his head just enough to look at the contraptions. His master wouldn’t do such a merciful thing, as he firmly believed that those who deserved being shackled, also deserved being in pain to remind them of the errors of their ways. And the earl had a well-known dislike for Lamias, talking often about the depravity and beastliness of those blood-sucking creatures. One such as the earl would never pay a healer like Gusmerja to take care of a slave, he’d find it distasteful.
But then, who else would give a horse’s shit about a broken human man and his well-being?
Niro pondered this for a while, feeling the calming effects of the wiggleroot drift through him. Maybe his master had finally relented and sold him to a gladiator’s school or some other business where he’d do manual labor, far away and unable to screw important things up. The thought of having been sold hurt his heart, which was strange, for he had never loved his master or the estate. He had loved having a home, though, and knowing how things worked there. Everything would change with a new master, and change was not something Niro embraced easily.
As he lay there, he got restless and disheartened. The healing woman, Gusmerja, seemed nice enough despite the things Niro had heard about her race, so maybe her master— and through that, his master— would be as likable. If he was Lamia too, Niro would have to cope with that. Maybe he had been bought as a light snack. For all he knew about the blood drinking snakepeople, they liked the taste of pain, or fear, or hatred like some people preferred special brands of wine.
The Ailill, on the other hand, liked him for being human. They didn’t like the whole species of humans, they actually looked down on them quite blatantly, but they liked humanity’s disconnection from the earth and the circle of life. As Ailill, Fae people, they were tightly bound to the rules of life and death, to powerful, overwhelming magic that affected their life quite strongly in a multitude of ways. Humans were not so influenced by the forces of fate and earth, and they could murder and lie and infiltrate to their heart’s content, making them prime candidates for any dirty work a nobleman might think of.
The Pander wouldn’t have fixed him up. They were as gruesome as the Lamia were bloodthirsty, living off the dead flesh of living things like ghouls, but calm, wise and even-tempered with a strength to be revered. Still, a Pander master would have simply eaten his rotting body, no healing required.
And lastly, the were the Nightgigers. No, there was no possible way a Nightgiger had bought him, not even the Ailill had ever been able to truly contact them, let alone find out who ruled them. There was still some uproar about the idea of Nightgigers even being sentient, intelligent higher life forms, and in some parts of the world they were still called animals. On the surface, they actually acted like animals, like an ancient cross between the Pander and the Lamia, only much more terrifying. They were said to hunt for children reckless enough to leave their homes at night, but in truth they took any warm flesh, any blood available, as long as it was that of a humanoid creature. They didn’t like the taste of the Pander people, and they usually went after weak, frail, hurt, dying or freshly dead victims, always outside, never inside a building. All of this made them bogeymen for every defiant or nagging child, a natural threat for travelers, and in the end, not much of an enemy for the war-wise peoples.
‘An Ailill noble, or a Lamian noble,’ Niro decided. The stitches on his back itched a bit, so he tried to wiggle on the bed in hopes the bandages would help ease it. This was how he found out that another strap of leather fixed his hips and behind to the bed, making it impossible for him to move from his resting site.
Against his better knowledge, Niro had to smile. Whoever had bought him, they weren’t stupid. Shackling him like this could only mean they knew how capable he was when it came to breaking out, and this in turn meant they had talked to the earl earnestly enough to get him to admit to all the shenanigans Niro had played on him in the years. The earl hadn’t sold him as a pig in a poke, which surprised him a little, mostly because he wouldn’t have believed anyone would want to buy someone so troubled as him. It didn’t bode well for his future, too. Troublemakers weren’t bought to keep for long.
The door opened and Niro instinctively tugged at the shackles and straps, but to no avail.
“Stop squirming, little one. If you tear your stitches I will be mad,” the wizened voice of Gusmerja scolded as she shuffled into the room. She came to his side, leaned over his back and prodded at the bandages, looking for signs of blood at the white cloth, but found none.
With a satisfied click of her tongue, she turned away and walked over to the side table, where a few dozen trinkets, flasks, stacks of paper and bags sat. Picking up a brownish, wooden quill with no feathers, she unplugged a small, earthen firkin and dabbed the tip of the quill into blackish ink, writing down this and that on the top layer of one of the paper stacks. “I will give Count Greyfell a list of medicines and salves  to cure your back and keep the fever at bay, but I will tell you this, too,” she explained, her voice trudging behind as she concentrated on writing. “If he offers you medicine, and if he tries to apply a salve, you are to obey. Not only because he says so, but because I do, and I, my dear boy, do not care for politics, just for your health.”
Niro’s instinct was to resist the order, just as he had resisted almost any other order of those who treated him like an unruly child. He thought better of it, though. The Lamia healer had no interest in controlling him, no gain from his obedience other than his health. There was no small triumph to score by ignoring her words, and now that he was not on death’s door anymore, the old need to survive flared to life. Medicine, salves, those things he could cope with. A count on the other hand…
“Who is this Count Greyfell, Gusmerja?” he asked with a low voice, still unsure what to make of her.
She halted her writing at the sound of his voice, turned her wizened head and smiled broadly, showing her long, pointed canines blatantly. “So you remembered my name, very good. Not everyone could resist the effects of the root like this, impressive.” Then she turned back to her writing, once more ignoring his question until she was finished.
At last, she cleaned the quill with a small wad of cloth, put it away and rolled the finished paper together. It went straight into a leather sheath and was put away, but her hands kept busy. This time, she grabbed one of the satchels sitting at the back of the table, put it in front of her and opened it to examine the contents. Whatever was inside that satchel, made her face look worried, but only slightly.
“You must be one bag of trouble for the count to be restrained with instruments like these,” she huffed after a moment of shock, then put her hand inside the satchel and pulled out four rings of some kind of metal. It had a blueish tint to it, not shiny like a polished armor, but dull and glittering like the front of a storm cloud. Niro could make out small blackish bands of what looked to be writing. Runes maybe, or just decorative symbols, one could never know.
“What are those?” he asked, worried by her worry, more than by his own knowledge. Those rings were too big to be meant for fingers or ears, or toes at that. They were wide enough to fit around his wrists and ankles, though.
His question seemed to be inside of the range of topics Gusmerja was ready to answer. “Those are Mithril spell bracelets, very rare, very expensive,” she explained as she stepped closer. “And since I have strict orders to put those on you before I hand you over to the count, you’d better be wary of what you say in his company. He is known for his effective handling of unruly children, and with those magic trinkets he won’t need to touch you.”
Suddenly, Niro didn’t want those things anywhere near him. Tugging at the shackles and straps, he gasped for air, growling, “don’t you put that spellwork on me, woman! I will hurt you if you do!” The movement made his back hurt, but this time he didn’t stop.
Unfortunately, neither did Gusmerja. Clicking her tongue in disapproval, she first gave him a slap on the back of his head. “Stop your struggling, I will do as I was told, and so will you,” she growled, and then proceeded to speak soft words of magic to the metal bracelets. They opened to her bidding like flowers to the sun, breaking on one side as the other side just bent to the force of her will.
“Don’t do this!” It was all Niro could do, beg of her, hiss at her, order her, but none of it worked.
One after the other, the Lamia put the bracelets first around his wrists above the shackles, then around his ankles where they tightened just above the protruding bones.
“See,” she finally said, stretching her back until her old bones popped, “it didn’t hurt the least. And as soon as you have calmed down enough, I will untie you and bring you to your new master.”
“I am calm!” Niro roared, only to realize this wouldn’t get him free anytime sooner. He tried again, this time with a calmer voice. “I am calm, really.”
Gusmerja just laughed with that kind of humor only the wizened folk had, and turned away. “Sure, sure. Calm as the River Dauntess at spring,” she scoffed, and turned to leave.
Once more, Niro couldn’t do anything but lay there and wait.

Hoarding Day

Last Friday I met my first animal hoarder. It was fun, I was verbally abused, illegally filmed and photographed and conspiracy theories were wrought. Unfortunately, the crazy lady hid about 22 of her 47 dogs because someone warned her, so that sucks, kinda.
I also made new friends, fellow abusees you could say, and I'll probably have to deal with a frivolous lawsuit, because that's what you get when you stand around sheepishly and try not to get in anyone's way, but just slightly inside the line of sight. I really feel for the policemen, though. Those poor bastards took the brunt of old-lady-rage.
At this moment, I feel slightly disaffected and dizzy, so I'm going to take a nap and hug my dog. My one dog, because that's normal. Okay, even two dogs would be manageable, given I have so much space, but everything above that would be too much for me. I'm still trying to imagine living with 40 dogs, but I can't. I'm sorry, I can't.
Fun times! :D

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Part 10

Find the entire story here! 

The world was numb and strangely colorless. Niro didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten there, and he had no inkling of an idea why he was still alive. Maybe he wasn’t? Maybe this was death, the vale of souls, a slightly cold, humid, dark place that smelled of burnt out torches, herbs and blood. The bloody shirt was gone and he was lying on his stomach, his hands having been tied to the bed posts over his head. The need to fight, the need to resist was gone, replaced by a disconnected high and the inability to move. Not that he wanted to move, that was. The strange, bitter taste on his lips gave him enough of a clue to know he had been drugged by someone who knew their trade. There was a nutty note in the bitterness, distinctive for the resin of a tree that ate anything warm-blooded by ensnaring its victims with poisonous, thorned tentacles.
An ounce of that resin was worth more than a guard made in a year. Luckily, a good healer only needed a few grains of it to make everything better for a dying man. Niro qualified for that.
Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift through the folds of weightless intoxication. It was a reassuring thing to know he wouldn’t spend his last moments knowing only pain, and as long as those pesky guards let him lie there in peace—
“You shouldn’t be awake,” a voice said, followed by the clack of a closing door, and footsteps closing in on him.
So much for peace and quiet.
“Which either means you are almost resistant to opiates, or I used the wrong dosage. That didn’t happen to me in the last 350 years, so I’m guessing you like to frequent the dragon baths?”
It was a pleasant voice, one that sounded like an old, wizened woman wearing her white hair proudly and comforting her grandchildren with soft, wrinkled hands. It had a sharp edge to it, almost a hissing, but it was very mild. Niro carefully opened one of his eyes to look at the owner of the voice. She was not old, at least she didn’t look like it. There were crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes, and her cheeks looked a little bit saggy, but had she been human and not Lamia, she would have been in her forties, fifties at the most.
“Who are you?” he whispered through numb lips, dragging out the words like a drunkard. Secretly, he didn’t care who she was. The numbing resin had taken all of his worries and fears away, but it didn’t kill the mild curiosity he felt for that exotic woman.
The Lamia didn’t answer his question at first, and for a little while he thought that maybe he hadn’t spoken at all, only thought about it. She walked closer, carrying an earthen bowl with her, and sat down on a small stool next to the hard bed he was lying on.
Finally she spoke, once again surprising him with her aged voice. “I am Gusmerja, your healer,” she explained patiently, setting the bowl on the small table next to his head. It contained a few strings of thick, black thread, wicked looking, hook-like needles, a few rolls of bandages and a handful of small clay pots. Gusmerja picked up one of the clay pots, opened it and sniffed the contents.
“I am not allowed to talk to you, youngling, and I do not care for the sounds of your pain. I will give you more of the wiggleroot to send you back to sleep,” she then explained, pulled out a spoon from underneath the bandages, and filled it with a viscous, brownish liquid from the pot.
Not allowed to talk to me? Niro wondered idly. Who would give such a strange order concerning someone who was dying? On the other hand, why would anyone send him a healer who obviously planned to stitch him up again? His drugged mind grappled with the clues like a drunk with a door grip, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak, Gusmerja shoved the spoonful of sticky goo into his gullet before he could ask anything.
It tasted horrible, burning all the way down his throat and in his stomach, and the tingling sensation followed soon after. He tried to form the next question, but his lips only twitched and no sound came out. Then the world blacked out once more.

Gusmerja sighed, put the spoon away, and poked her finger against Niro’s closed eyelids to make sure he was out. “You younglings and your games, I will never understand,” she huffed at the shadow creeping in the doorway and shaking her head. “At least tell me this isn’t your work.” She pointed at the ghastly wounds criss-crossing all of the human’s back.
Rhysling leaned against the wooden door frame and shook his head, smiling. “No, Nan, but you should know that. This is a brute’s work on a fine peace of art, and I can only hope you’ll be able to work your magic and keep the damage minimal.”
“So you can mark him yourself?” Her wise eyes glittered knowingly.
Rhys smiled like a boy caught with one hand in the cookie jar, then pulled a satchel from his belt and threw it carefully at the lower end of the small bed with the unconscious man on it. A soft, metallic sound came from the contents as it landed. “Maybe,” he purred, and turned away. There was no-one more capable than his old nanny, and nobody else he would have trusted with the care of his newest charge. By tomorrow, most of the damage would be taken care of, and he would finally be able to meet the boy he had bet on. He could only hope he had been right about him.

Hannah goes animal rights activist!

I just had a fun phone call with the coordinator of the animal welfare NGO I'm volunteering with - looks like I'll be part of a raid against an animal hoarder this friday. Whew! I've watched dozens of clips on youtube, but I never thought I'd take part in such a thing.
But here I am, giddy with anticipation and dreading it at the same time. It won't be as bad as you might imagine, but probably bad enough with more than 60 dogs who never had any real human contact.
The raid will take place on Friday, but I'm already thinking about what I might have to bring and prepare-- leashes, my collection of muzzles, blankets (because panicked dogs pee a lot), water bottles, a bowl, a pot of dog treats and some sausage, because nothing says "I love you" like cubes of ham :D

And I might end up with another foster dog. Happy times.

A sudden poll appears!

Hello dearies!

Some of you might know that I am the author behind "Shapeshifter", a story on Literotica and Gay Authors that started me on writing romance and erotica back in the day. I've finished that story a few days ago (yeah baby!), but since that fateful night, I've been haunted by so many story ideas that my (Ever-)notebook has been constantly gaining weight like an old lady-bodybuilder.
I'm absolutely planning on writing each and every one of them, but I need your help! On the right beneath my Google+ badge you'll find a (poorly formatted, thanks blogspot) poll with a range of choices, and I'd like you to choose what you'd like to read next.
My Friday Fade-Out will still run for a few weeks, probably until the end of year, but I like to be prepared!

If you'd like to go a bit further with the whole "ending my free-range-existence", you're welcome to leave additional suggestions as to what I should write in your chosen category in the ways of a comment to this blog entry!

Friday Fade-Out! - Bending the Unbreakable, Part 9

Find the entire story here!

Earl Firun Wilmoor of Tetharion was nervously fumbling with a small canape, trying to make a pleasant smile stick to his tense face. He was used to guests of Ailill nobility, but not to those as high up the social ladder as lady Ilydra Gladfall of Yahir, Duchess of Yahir, home land to every Ailill ever spawned. As member of House Malach, the ‘witching well’ of Ailill society, only the duke of House Ardis and the Prince of House Errea trumped her influence and power, but still… Here she lounged, completely at ease with the company of two lowly members of House Nancarrow’s nobility as it seemed, and obviously enjoying herself.
Maybe it wasn’t so much his company the high lady relished so much. The man at her side, although only a count in the ranks of Nancarrow, had been seen at her side for years; rumor had it he even came and went to her estate as he pleased. Ailill nobles didn’t see the use of a marriage just for love, and premarital sex wasn’t shunned. The only reasons to marry were securing one’s own legacy, pregnancy or political connections, and none of those seemed to sway Count Greyfell and Duchess Gladfall at this point of time.
“So, what did you think of the public punishment you saw today?” the earl asked, trying to make light of a heavy conversation topic. Talking to women of high status had always been a bit of a problem for him, seeing as how most of the topics he usually preferred were taboo in polite conversation.
The duchess smiled tightly, and he instantly knew that he had chosen the wrong topic. The count, a young looking, ashen-skinned man with an aura Firun could only describe as ‘creepily lewd’, seemed to like his choice, though.
“I must admit, as much as I enjoy a well done public punishment, I’m a bit bemused as to how that human could have survived so long. For all intents and purposes, he was useless to you, required constant beating to keep a minimum level of order, and went so far as to laugh at the whipping meant for his execution,” the count observed, filling the room with his satiny, dark voice.
The earl shuddered slightly, trying to ban a vision of the count naked next to the duchess from his touch-depraved brain. With a voice like that, how might his groans sound, what would he whisper with that sultry sing-song of his in the middle of pleasure?
“Ah, well, you see,” he rambled, blinking through the lusty haze his own thoughts had awoken, “it’s a shame to lose him at all, to be honest. His talents with weapons are amazing, his senses sharper than those of some of my Ailill guard, and sometimes I dare believe he might be immortal, taking into consideration all the things he survives on a near-daily basis. But…” he sighed, looking at the small slices of raw fish and pink roe decorating his cracker, and shrugged.
“But?” the duchess pressed politely, raising one eyebrow in question.
“But I think he broke at some point during training, and now there is nothing I could do to him that would still impress or frighten him. He is fearless, stubborn and suicidally mad,” he finished his sentence with a note of regret in his voice, and finally ate the small dish.
This time it was the black-haired count who raised an eyebrow. “I mean no disrespect, good earl, but the only thing broken on him that I could see today was his body. I honestly thought the reason you let him be whipped like this was because he wouldn’t give in to your will.”
A few pieces of roe nearly ended up in the earl’s lungs as he tried to breathe in, swallow and protest at the same time. He coughed a bit, then waved the servant patting his back away with an impatient gesture and stared at the impertinent man.
“Good sir, I assure you that he has been trained by the best of my guard, to our noble House’s highest standards, and with the best intentions. He is not too strong, he is broken, and nobody could fix him. Believe me, I didn’t want to accept that for a long time, but no matter whom I invited to have a look at him, none of them could break him of his defiant, self-destructive ways!”
The count didn’t look too impressed. “I could do it in a hundred days,” he said dryly, almost condescending.
The duchess giggled at that, and quickly hid her lips behind her silver goblet.
The earl looked from the count to the duchess, trying to decide if he was being made fun of, set up, or still a part of this conversation at all. Only the presence of the fine lady made him keep his temper in check, but he couldn’t let those words sit on his pride without rising to the occasion.
“Could you, now? And next you’ll tell me you can walk on water without the aid of magic, right?” he grunted, laughing at his own words. The count didn’t flinch though; he just swung his glass a bit, breathing in the nuances of the ruby red wine, and never took his eyes of the earl’s face.
“You seem to want to be rid of him anyway, so why don’t you try my word? Your nephew informed me that he will be dead in the morning, if nobody tends to his wounds, so you wouldn’t lose anything.” Taking a sip of the expensive wine, the count even smiled. “We could make a bet out of it.”
This might be interesting, the earl thought to himself. That young brat of a noble looked very self-assured, but Wilmoor had spent the last fifteen years worrying about his human pet, to no avail. If he played his cards right, he would not only get rid of his irritating slave without having to live with the humiliation of having been beaten by that mortal cur, but he might even gain a bit of public standing with House Malach. After all, the witnesses to any and all bets would have to speak the final judgment at the end of the bet, and having the Duchess of Yahir around for a month might do wonders for his reputation.
“A bet, you say? How would you assess the results on the human? After all, in all the years he has been with me, there were more than enough phases in which he acted like he was supposed to, but only out of sheer circumstance. He would have to be tested by something that would require total obedience,” the earl mused, picking up another canape.
The count swirled his wine again, staring bemusedly at the blood red ripples on its surface. “That, I have to admit, is a hard thing to verify,” he replied thoughtfully, then hummed and looked up. “How about the Day of Remembrance? Would it be enough of a demonstration if he took on the soul of an ancestor for the ceremony?”
A sudden blush crept over the face of the earl. The Day of Remembrance was the one day of the year where the Houses called their most honored ancestors back from the afterlife to walk amongst them. It was an honor to serve as a vessel for their souls, but it was also a most frightening experience to lose control over one’s own body like that. The earl knew instantly that Niro would never agree to such a thing. It was perfect.
“Those are high stakes, my friend. What would you ask for if you win?” he asked, already smiling gleefully.
The count licked his lips. “If I win, I want to keep the human as my own to do with as I please.”
“And if you lose, count?” the earl went on, frowning by now. What would a count want with a defiant slave?
“If I lose, I will give you what you want the most,” the count replied smoothly, smiling. “Your Nephew as your new chief of staff.”
The earl pondered this. He had actually tried to persuade Tyell to come work for him for quite some time, but the stubborn boy had denied him outright, saying that his oath to the count was solid and would be canceled by the noble, and only him. With this bet, he would lose nothing, and win everything, be it peace of mind or a new, very capable officer.
“I agree to your bet, count,” he said, and stood up to offer his hand.
The count also got up, put his wine glass on the table and grasped his hand in symbolic unity. “Under the eyes of the Lord and the Lady, and with the Duchess Gladfall of Yahir to witness this act, I seal this bet,” he said, invoking every power possible. Although the earl had been gleefully happy with the idea moments ago, he suddenly felt caught.
What in all worlds had he just agreed to?

Meanwhile, at the zoo...

Fun fact: Austria has the world's oldest zoo. Schönbrunn has been around about as long as people realized that nature isn't all about "wow, that thing is just there", and whereas other old zoos stuck to their traditional, antiquated ways, Schönbrunn modernized and did everything it could to secure its place as a top institution for species preservation.
Our pandas are world famous! Schönbrunn is one of the few zoos not only equipped but more than able to help those rare bears procreate on such a regular basis, we actually ship most of the offspring back to China to restock their population and genepool with healthy new bears.

And right now, cuteness ensues at the Panda enclosure, because TWINS, people!

Here's a close-up of the surprise double-whammy:

D'aaaaw!

Hannah's Real-Life: Studying

Although most of my stories play in either fictional universes or the U.S. of A., I'm from Europe and have never been to the Americas (except for Costa Rica, but never mind that). In these days, it almost doesn't matter where a person is from, we are all interconnected and global and able to exchange information in a matter of glimpses from one end of the world to the other; I sometimes catch myself suppressing this fact and then being surprised that people don't know how things work in my part of the world.
To remedy this, here's a small piece about studying in Austria (and Germany for that matter, it's rather similar).

There are three types of institutions a person can go to after highschool, which is called either "Oberstufe des Gymnasiums", meaning something like senior classes of secondary school, or senior classes in HAK, HTL, and other abbreviations that ultimately stand for specialized secondary schools (HAK is business/economy oriented, HTL is technology oriented):

• University,
• College,
• Fachhochschule (FH) - something like technical college or polytechnic

Here it gets tricky, because university and college aren't the same thing in Austria.
A university is a publicly funded institution with EU-wide recognized degrees and certificates, whereas a college is a privately funded institution with sometimes rather dubious degrees and certificates, that sometimes are recognized in the U.S., but nowhere else.
Hence, most people go to university or an FH, because honestly, certificate! Also, both of those types of institution are more or less for free. It's true that there are costs at some point, but those are aimed at what we lovingly call "bemoostes Haupt", or "mossy heads", people who spend their whole life doing nothing but being a student.
But back to universities!
The most poignant difference to the U.S. is its structure in general. Universities consist of a multitude of buildings and branches that are scattered all over a city, a little like this:

Each of those buildings represents a main branch of studies and unifies another dozen or so of institutes that are - again - scattered over the city like confetti on your birthday party. When I studied biology, I sometimes had to take the cable cars and subway trains two or three times a day to get from one lecture to the next and spent most of my time in public transport, reading and working through my notes.
There's also no boarding for students. Hah, well, there is, actually, but it looks a little like this:

Nope, no walking out of your room and into the lecture hall for us! Everyone has to organize their own living situations, which often means renting an apartment and sharing it with someone, buying your own tickets for the subway and cable car and cooking your own meals. That whole "free education" stint actually costs a ton of money, because you still have to pay rent, buy food, pay taxes and get your own books and hardware, and although there are special concessions for students, studying still adds up to a hefty monthly sum. Students here are required to act like adults, at least in some aspects.
Which brings me to lecture plans, because holy hell, that's some crazy stuff.

Nobody. Tells. You. What. You. Need.
I am not kidding. You register for your major and get some kind of table with modules on it, very basic stuff. So-and-so-many ECTS (study points) to finish module this-and-that, that's all. Or not, because now you have to work through a database of each and every lecture, seminar, field trip, tutorial, laboratory course and whatever else might be needed for any and every field of study offered at one city, all of them sorted by index numbers and rather nebulous specifications as to what module might be influenced by taking it.
An example:

300026 VO Introduction to Cognitive Biology (2016W)

3.00 ECTS (2.00 SWS), SPL 30 - Biologie
Classification for:

BZO 10, BAN 6, BOE 11, BPB 11, BMG 10, BMB 10, BBO 8, B-BZO 10, B-BAN 8, B-BMG 11, B-BMB 10, B-BOE 11, B-BPB 12, B-BPF 8, UF BU 10,

Those letters and numbers down there are Modules from eight different specializations a biology bachelor student can choose. This lecture is one of up to thirteen different lectures per each and every specialization, and most of them aren't recurring, so even older students aren't always able to help. In some semesters, there aren't enough lectures or courses to fill the required ECTS amount a student needs to keep his education free of charge, so planning my lectures and courses sometimes felt like choosing battle tactics to me.
Nobody monitors your success or how much you study but yourself and your parents. There are no notices and no report cards if you don't actively pursue getting one (for special concessions, for example), and nobody nags you to take exams or work harder. All of it rests on a student's shoulders and if he doesn't apply himself, well. At some point he'll have to pay a semester entrance fee, and at some later point - especially if a student repeatedly fails an exam - he'll be expelled, but that's it.

I failed at biology, partly because I underestimated the amount of work I'd have to put in just maintaining my education, but partly because I'm just not that into science. I found this out in my third year, failed an exam three times and decided to let it be.
Not studying, though. I'll be taking my entrance exam for a lectureship major at the end of August and start this madness over!
This time, I'll keep you up to date and entertain you with tales of European education, because why not? You already know how America works. Time for new insights!

Love,
Hannah