Update on my latest fic · 10:33pm Nov 16th, 2022
So I'm about 7,000 words into my latest fic, and I realize that by the time I publish this, I will have four published works on this account. Three of those works non-con. I don't mind writing it, but tbh I'd rather not be that guy known for writing non-con, or at least that guy who only writes non-con. That said, this next story will be my last non-con fic for a minute until this account has a little more variety.
Sorry to those who follow me for that. The subject garnered the most votes in the last poll I hosted for story ideas, but I'd like to give my work some breathing space. No, I'm not done with non-con entirely.
With that out of the way, here's a preview of what I'm working on:
The plan was simple: blow some shit up.
Gavra was prepared to follow that plan to every bullet point, because bullets were pointy.
The southeast tower only had one guard, who was more occupied with watching the prison yard than keeping a lookout for outsiders. It was a unicorn mare wearing the shittiest jacket Gavra had ever seen! Crap, was it provided by the prison itself—wait, ah, yes. Inmate numbers on the back. Go figure.
She landed on the roof, unholstering Spray and attacking a silencer to him. Dipping her head below the edge, she scanned searched for the nest for the back of the mare’s head… which happened to be the opposite way now. The guard had changed positions and was now staring directly into her eyes, muzzle to beak.
There was only one thing a quick-thinking Talon merc such as herself could do in a situation like this: she kissed the mare on the lips.
The unicorn yanked back, on the verge of yelling but sputtering instead.
“Oh come on!” Gavra shouted. “My breath doesn’t smell that bad!”
Her horn ignited, a riot shotgun in the corner of the nest simultaneous glowing. Gavra wasted no time in whipping Glaze out and popping two rounds into her forehead, a third grazing her cheek.
Stuck in a silent scream, the mare fell. Gavra dropped down, peaked toward the stairs to see if any guards would come running up, and turned her attention to the yard down below. She flipped her mane away from her eye, and brought out a pair of binoculars.
Thank fucking gosh this place has lights, she thought. She wouldn’t have any idea what she was up against otherwise. Not that she couldn’t improvise something, but fun shooty-shooty was best played when all her targets’ locations were known.
At least a dozen ex-convicts littered the ground below. Some of them, mostly the ones wearing the shitty jackets—gosh, hers was so much better—carried weapons while a few others wore detonation collars. The ex-convicts were using the prison as a slave depot.
Smart fellas. Take over the prison, turn it into a settlement, and then turn that settlement into a prison. Such is the way of business.
Gavra belongs to the artist SheraThoz, although her personality was crafted purely by me.
Well, wish you the best with your story, and your future projects
Man, you're great at what you do. It's simple... You post stuff, I read it.
Whatever you get in you head you want to write, I'm sure It's going to be good.
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The problem isn't self-doubt, but perception. Well, self-doubt is likely the catalyst for this decision, but mainly because I care about how my online presence is perceived. I'm sure, however, that I will eventually get to the point where I don't give a fuck about what others think and will write what I want willy-nilly.