Challenge SubmissionSummertime
by Lirineth

Story Notes

Author mail:

Notes:  If you really want to enjoy “Summertime go to YouTube and search for the Ella Fitzgerald version.


As he relaxed in his chair, he looked out the window enjoying the view of the gardens, such beauty, such perfection, that it almost took his breath away. Unable to stop himself, he stood up and opened the windows, letting the soft breeze come in, and taking a deep breath, he allow the different fragrances inebriate his senses. His body responded immediately with promises of passion and desire.

‘Summer time’ he thought to himself with a mixture of hope and yearning.

‘Summer time’ the two words took him back in time to a small house in the middle of nowhere, to the first day of the rest of his life.

‘Summer time’ this time the two words took him back, to a time and place where he was a prisoner for twenty summers.

‘Summer time’ he repeated once again, as he remembered the old song.

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Still Waters Run the Deepest

Still Waters Run the Deepest
by niennaainur

Story Notes

Pairing: original non-canon characters and Tharmifex

Rating: PG-17

Summary: I love Tharmifex and I just know he is neither as bland nor as uptight as he seems in meetings and at public functions.  This story is recounted by somehar who has known Tharmifex Calvel for years.

Disclaimer: All the pretty Wraeththu, as well as the world they live in, were created by, and belong to, Storm Constantine, who (bless her!) is gracious enough to allow fans like me to take them out and play with them occasionally. No copyright infringement is intended, and I promise to wash them off and put them away neatly when I’m done.

Warnings: nothing spoilery – but with references to underwear.  While underwear (or lack thereof) already played a part in this story, their role was exaggerated precipitant to the serious academic discussions about the state of underwear in Wraeththudom which can be found in camile_sinensis‘s journal.

BETA’d by: bigunen!!!  (The patience of a saint…)

Part One

The afternoon sun was casting long shadows into the centre of the old stadium.  Most of the assembled people were down where, in the good old days, sports teams had done battle.  Now a would-be messiah was trying to whip the assembled group of ragtag humans into an ‘army of righteousness’ to do battle against the evil menace.  I sat in the stands, or what was left of them.  Trumble, I thought angrily was way more likely to lead these people to death than to victory. Trumble was feeding them false hopes of dispatching the Wraeththu menace, and while they were at it they’d deal with “The Others” – a new group of nomadic humans who were moving into our area and stealing what meager resources we still had. Trumble was an idiot, I repeated to myself, but he was turning out to be a very charismatic idiot.

I had travelled down to this gathering with my older brother Doug and a couple of our cousins – Doug had wanted a firsthand look at the so-called saviour of humanity.  Doug had tried to argue with Trumble – but no one wanted the truth; they wanted hope, even false hopes. Little Stevie, Doug’s oldest son, had arrived mid-morning accompanied by another young cousin with the news that Kari, Doug’s woman, was in labour and that Doug was to come immediately. I was chosen to stay for the remainder of the rally and return home in the morning with news.

I emerged from the stadium’s dark maze of corridors into what once had been a parking lot.  The pavement was now cracked and broken, with grass, weeds, and young saplings pushing their way through – nature was reclaiming her own.  The sun was setting and the shadows were long.  Across from the stadium were mostly deserted storefronts boarded up – looted long ago of anything of value.

My teeth were clenched and I felt like screaming.  Humanity was dying.  Those of us who were left had split into smaller family or neighbourhood tribes. We were scattered, we had no power – we were subsisting, barely existing.  And yet, a madman had convinced them that they could reclaim the past and they believed him.  Pure madness!  I let out a low growl in frustration.

“Russ, go outside and walk once around the block” – that’s what my Nana would have said to me; if you had a problem or you were going to lose your temper – a walk ‘once around the block’ would help put things into perspective.  So I adjusted my belt and set off.

I looked down the wide empty street, set the three tall apartment buildings in the distance as my target and began walking.  Human cities were now eerily quiet – no bustle, no cars, no music, and no people.

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The Longest Night (Ever)

Editor\'s PickThe Longest Night (Ever)
by Haylzee and En

Story Notes

Paring: Pellaz./Cal, Caeru with appearances from pretty much everyhar.

Rating NC17

Warning Drunken displays of affection, sap and fluff!

Spoilers: Nothing specific, although characters from as far through as Ghosts to appear.

Summary: After being separated for some weeks, Cal and Pell are reunited. Unfortunately, the reunion takes place at a formal dinner during which Pell gets drunk and roony. Will Cal be able to resist Pellaz? Will he want to?

Disclaimer: All characters and the world they inhabit belong to Storm Constantine, we are simply borrowing them for our own amusement.

Authors’ note: We wrote this to soothe our own self inflicted angst wounds.

EXTREME SILLINESS WARNING. If you are looking for something deep and meaningful, best to move on. After all the doom and gloom, we just felt like a bit of comedy…with some sex thrown in.

The Longest Night (Ever)

Part 1

Walking a few steps ahead of the Tigrina down an ornate marble corridor, Cal tried to ignore his consort’s last minute attempts to improve his outfit. When Cal arrived at Caeru’s apartment to escort him to yet another gathering of Almagabra’s finest, he thought his chosen outfit of simple leather pants and a black shirt were more than appropriate. Caeru, however, had other ideas. Rue had immediately attacked Cal’s hair with a brush, ignoring Cal’s protests that it had already been combed and quickly followed that by holding up various jeweled adornments for Cal to pick from.

Cal had eventually conceded to wear a gold cuff bracelet and a second pair of earrings before exasperatedly pulling the Tigrina out of his apartment and towards the banquet room.

Cal battered Caeru’s hand away from his hair before shooting a glare over his shoulder at the other har. “Would you stop fussing?” He asked, rolling his eyes at Rue’s innocent expression.

Cal sighed and stopped walking, turning to face his consort. “Fine. Fluff away.”

Caeru grinned before reaching up to smooth his thumbs under Cal’s eyes, smudging the kohl that lined them a little more. “I just want you to look your best,” He laughed. “You should be thanking me.”

Cal grimaced slightly, letting himself be pampered and polished by the Tigrina, while still attempting between attacks to edge towards the hall where the dinner they were already late for was being held. “I’ll thank you when you’re finished,” he muttered. He started when Caeru pulled what appeared to be a small jar of coloured eye dust out of nowhere. “What are you doing?”

Deftly, the Tigrina unscrewed the jar, which was full of sparkling gold powder. “Just some final touches!”

Cal was tempted to jerk away, but simply sighed as Caeru raised a gold coloured finger towards his eyes. “I don’t need any of that stuff,” he said uselessly.

As if reading his mind, which he probably was, Caeru grinned wickedly. “Resistance is futile, Calanthe,” he tutted. “Now, close.”

Cal grumbled, but complied and let the Tigrina pat the cosmetic onto his eyelids.

“You want to look nice for Pell,” Caeru said.

“Do I?”

“You haven’t seen him for weeks,” Rue said, standing back to admire his handy work. “Don’t tell me you’re not excited to see him.”

Cal just raised his eyebrows. “Will he even recognise me, one wonders?”

Rue rolled his eyes, then, ignoring the hara who stood around them holding glasses of bubbling wine, stepped forward and pressed his lips against Cal’s. He pulled back and smeared the lip gloss he had left behind neatly across Cal’s lips. “There. Perfect.”

Pausing just outside the door to the hall where the night’s festivities were to take place, Cal shook back his hair and held out his arm for the Tigrina. “Glad I’m presentable enough to escort you now, tiaharr.”

Rue smiled and took Cal’s arm. “Always presentable enough for that, Calanthe.”

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by niennaainur

Story Notes


Pairing: A couple of original non-canon characters and a dash of Velaxis, and a quick appearance by Ashmael Aldebaran and Tharmifex.

Rating: There is aruna, consumption of alcohol, and hara smoking at the club, so don’t read it if your roonaphobic, heavily involved in the Temperance Society, or offended by cigarette smoke.

Summary: A fluffy bit of drivel that was “inspired” by camile_sinensis (aka Teapot) (my sincerest apologies) story After the Rains in which Velaxis is uber-efficient at everything — love Velaxis though I do (and I really really do love him – in all sorts of unhealthy ways) I am a practical person. I believe that all those ‘stars’ in Top Administrative Positions who appear to consistently accomplish the seemingly unaccomplishable, consistently accomplish the seemingly unaccomplishable because they have a great working relationships with their amazingly efficient assistants…and those amazingly efficient assistants have private lives…. just guess what rung of the work force I’m on. LOL

Disclaimer: All the pretty Wraeththu, as well as the world they live in, were created by, and belong to, Storm Constantine, who (bless her!) is gracious enough to allow fans like me to take them out and play with them occasionally. No copyright infringement, or disrespect, is intended.

Warning: straightforward — occurs after the last book in the last trilogy, but nothing spoilery.

Beta read by: bigunen, all the rest of the mistakes are mine, all mine!


The two robes were elegant, sumptuously crafted, and very similar in appearance. In fact, apart from some slight detailing around the collar and a subtle pattern variation in the silk brocade, Moss could discern very little difference. He held the two hangers from which the robes hung at arm’s length and continued to maintain the appearance of examining them closely.

“Well?” There was no attempt to hide the irritation and impatience in the voice.

“Well…,” Moss began slowly, “this one is dark grey and this one is a slightly darker grey…”

“Moss, this is important,” Velaxis plucked both hangers out of Moss’ hands peevishly, “I am accompanying Darquiel…”

“And Thiede,” Moss said pointedly.

“…and Tigron Calanthe…” continued Velaxis, ignoring Moss.

“And Thiede,” Moss interjected again obstinately. He flopped onto the bed opposite of Velaxis’ open travel case open.

“…to Nezreka to attempt to coax Teva-edzen into more open participation in Wraeththu affairs.” Velaxis appeared to decide on one robe and returned the other to the closet.

“Are you going to visit your parents?” Moss queried fixing a stern glower across the travel case.

Velaxis continued packing as if he hadn’t heard.

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This Is Not a Fairy Tale

This is Not a Fairy Tale
by Em

Story Notes

Author contact:

Summary: Against the backdrop of events following The Shades of Time and Memory, two long separated hara find their own way of reconnecting.

Characters: Ashmael, Vaysh, Cal, Pellaz, Loki

Spoilers: Up to and including The Shades of Time and Memory.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer; All items contained on these pages are non-profit amateur fiction. The Wraeththu novels and all characters named in those books are the copyright of Storm Constantine and her publishers.
No infringement on the copyrights is intended


A door slammed and a body was shoved roughly against it. Inside the small room two hara embraced frantically, pressing closer even than the limited space required. Hands slid across silk and exposed skin, caressing, gripping; fingers digging in sharply. Breath mingled, blending as lips pressed together seeking to taste and consume one another.

The taller of the two lifted the other against him and was rewarded with slim legs encircling his hips. He paused for a moment, enjoying the sound of his companion’s heavy breathing. He caught the other’s lips again before he thrust strongly, joining them.

The smaller har wrenched his mouth free, arching his back and crying out at the familiar feeling. They shared breath again, quickly lost in the taste of each other and the heady experience of aruna.

Their unions were always like this – fast, intense and normally enclosed and hidden; away from prying eyes. Though neither would admit it, or perhaps even noticed, the dark rooms they chose to meet in shielded their aruna even from their own eyes.

Hair was gripped in blissful fists and sharp teeth dug into a shoulder, immediately soothed by the sweep of a tongue. The tiny room, nothing more than a storage closet, was soon filled with the sounds of their bodies moving against one another and their soft cries of pleasure.

All too soon both of them felt the tingle of their impending release. The smaller gripped his partner tighter with both arms and legs, rocking against the other. He bit his lip in a futile effort to stifle his cry when he felt the ouana tongue bite deep inside, sending him over the edge.

Then all sense of anything was replaced with the overwhelming wave of pleasure. The taller har slammed his fist into the wall beside his partner’s head, but the other didn’t even hear it, lost as he was in his own ecstasy. Just before the sensations died down they shared breath again, instinctively seeking to draw it out.

As the waves receded, they lapped at each other’s mouths, eyes shut. The taller stroked the other’s face, almost tenderly. Eventually, as if waking up after a long sleep their ministrations slowed and faltered. Eye contact was made and the embrace was released. The smaller har slid back onto his feet.

Clothes were straightened, hair smoothed.

The taller har took a deep breath, pausing for a second, one hand on the door handle, as if to say something. Instead he gave a brief smile before opening the door and disappearing through it. The door closed with a soft click leaving the second har in darkness.

A muffled voice came through the thick wood –  “Ashmael! I’ve been looking for you…”- then faded.

The smaller har stood silently for a moment, catching his breath, restoring his resolve. He shut his eyes for a moment, willing for the sting he felt in them to ease and ran his fingers across his flushed cheeks. Then he set his shoulders and swiftly exited the small room, emerging into a shadowed and rarely used corridor.

His footsteps were light and even as he made his way back to the more populated area of the palace.  Long robes swept against the polished marble floor and the har deliberately avoided making eye contact with the hara he passed as he entered the busier area.

Suddenly a voice stopped him.

“Vaysh! Where have you been?”

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