From the MythologyBot Bluesky account — ‬H227 Ordeal: carrying murdered man’s blood

When Klar opens her eyes, it no longer hurts.

The sword through her guts was the worst thing she’d ever felt; the encroaching dark and painlessness both a relief and a terrible fear. The kind of injury that destroys people, even when they survive — wounded, maimed, the stink and weep of inflamed, diseased flesh, the agonies, never feeling whole or moving right again.

So. Dead, then.

Klar knows, of course, what all dutiful children learn at their elders’ knees — the feasthall beyond, whence all warriors go. And the cold dark kennels, where cowards will fight the gods’ dogs for scraps and a snowy corner to shiver in. This is not snowy, but neither is it a feast.

Calliope, pilot of the starship Lysandra, turned to a console and pressed the voice activation button. "Computer, turn off monitoring in this room until we exit it."

The ship's computer beeped its compliance, and Iridia turned to face Calliope. "Okay, Calli, what's this all about?"

Calliope scratched her cheek, nervously. "Well... okay. So. I've been... kind of dating the ship's computer."

Iridia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know. I hear you screaming her name every time one of the ship's remotes enters your room. You're not exactly subtle."

Calliope blushed. "D-don't give me that! Remember the incident with the ambassador?"

"I thought we had agreed not to bring that up again." Iridia glared, averting her gaze and crossing her arms.

"Well, now we're even, I guess," mumbled Calliope. "Anyway! I need your help."

Iridia looked warily at her. "With what, exactly?"

"Brainstorming." Calliope clapped her hands together. "So. It turns out that Lysandra's kind of a sub-"

It's hot as balls outside, and hotter in the cockpit.

Jester sweeps the horizon, checks her radar, and then repeats both twice to be absolutely certain she isn't about to get shot; then pops the hatch and clambers down the side of her mech. They're posted in defensive positions, nothing's coming anywhere near them without advanced warning, she can leave the sweltering robot for a minute.

She positions herself in the shade of one of the legs and twists open a water bottle as she hears Medusa opening up her own cockpit above her. She expects the sounds of climbing to follow, and instead sees Medusa effortlessly land from a two-story jump.

Showoff.

"Hot today," the cyborg says, and Jester grunts in agreement as she drinks. She watches as Medusa strips out of the top half of her pilot suit.

"Or is it just you?" she says, waggling her eyebrows.

"It's not. External temperature is thirty-six degrees Celsius."

"Ugh, fuck this planet," Jester curses, popping open the top button of her own suit.

Note: This is a repost-as-is of a piece first posted to Bluesky on the 3rd of May 2026

And that's when she darkened my door, five foot nothing with sighs that wouldn't quit. She stumbled to my client chair, looked me in the eye, and murmured "No-one can help me." That's right girls, she was one of them femme fatalists, and I'll tell you this for free: she was already souring the mood.

“Anastasia Yver!” Prince Edmond shouted, the string ensemble coming to a halt on cue. “Your cruel deeds have gone too far!”

At the calling of my name, I turned to face the prince—and Eleanor, there at his side—wearing my best contemptuous glare. For most girls in my position, this would be the moment the grand farce came to an end. My own farce was far from over, but the first act, at least, was almost done.

Ever since... the incident, Crusher had been avoiding her. Sure, it hadn't been the most professional of encounters, but that was not typically a word that went with the squad anyway. She'd need more hands to count the number of times one of them had caught Princess with her pants around her ankles and several inches of mech pilot inside her, and if Gutters had done even a fraction of the things she'd talked about, it was a miracle she could walk, talk, or think on any given day. And that wasn't even getting started on Ket—

Diamond scrunched her eyes for a moment to clear the images bombarding the inside of her skull.

The important thing was to sort this out and get back to, well, normal levels of interpersonal drama. She wasn't getting shot next mission just because her squadmate refused to look in her direction.

This work is explicit

Claire had been nervous on the bus, but now that she was walking up to Liv's door, her heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest.

She'd met Liv a couple of months ago, and since then they'd been on four dates, which had caused Claire to fall madly in love with her. Liv was big, strong, smart, funny, beautiful, and doting. Everything Claire had ever wanted in a girlfriend, and she was trying her best to be normal about it. "Trying" being the operative word.

Liv could also be a little forgetful at times, but whomst among us? Claire could put up with forgetful for all the rest.

The door sprung open moments after she knocked, and Liv greeted her with a big nervous smile. She looked even more on edge than Claire, which she'd just assumed was because a home date had some implications, and Liv always wanted everything to be perfect for Claire.