A Welcome, and a Sneak Peek

Thank you for supporting my work! It means a lot to me to know I've earned your support as a reader, and having your financial support as well inspires me to create more for my fans. As an initial post, and a thank you for your early support, I'm including the first chapter of a sequel to my original smut work, Myrmidon. For Patrons at $5 and above, they'll be able to see my works here before they go live on FFN or AO3. 

But whether you're supporting me for the benefits or because you just want to support my writing: thank you. It genuinely means a lot to me, and I'm looking forward to continuing to write for you.

MYRMIDON 2: CHAPTER 1

Sunny stood at the ramparts of Beacon, gazing off into the distance. Yes, the once-sleepy hamlet was now an impregnable fortress, the home of a mighty army of warrior women, the Myrmidon Swarm, but… it was still a small town in a quiet corner of Vale. Somebody had to stand guard and keep an eye out, but it was the sort of duty where not much happened.

The kind of duty you got as punishment.

She glared at her companion, lazily enjoying the early morning sunlight peeking over the mountains as she yawned and stretched her arms. From her scent, she was anything from concerned, and from her bearing, she certainly wasn’t paying attention to Sunny’s annoyance pheromones.

“You know,” the monkey Faunus Myrmidon said testily, “if you wouldn’t keep trying to hit on the Queen, we probably wouldn’t be on guard duty all the time.”

“Eh,” Neptune shrugged, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take and c’mon, you, me, and Yang… we go way back. When I’m lapping up that Royal Ambrosia straight from the source… you’ll be jealous, believe me.”

Sunny blushed. Yes, that was a very tempting thought. But Neptune’s absolute carelessness towards their new duties in the Swarm never failed to annoy her. It was incredible that the alchemical process that had somehow made Sunny Wukong into a stickler for the rules and good behavior, oh, and changed them into ant girls, seemed to have no impact on Neptune’s personality. She was as much of an insatiable skirt chaser as before, actually, if anything, somehow worse (that it was the possession of a penis that had been a limiting factor on Neptune’s libido was one hell of a shock to Sunny). She hadn’t even bothered to change her name!

Sunny just found that weird.

“Plus...” Neptune kept rambling, “Just being approximate to the Royal Family… you have no idea how much I get laid for it. Labor-caste Myrmidons cannot get enough of me being able to say that I used to drink with Yang Xiao Long. Had these two sisters, brunettes, and they were...” he shook his head in disbelieving recollection as Sunny rolled her eyes, “Damn, you just… you should have seen how flexible they were! And just imagine how much pussy I’d get if I was reeking of the Queen’s pleasure pheromones? Stealing her clothes has gotten me-”

“This!” Sunny burst out, “This is why we’re on gate detail!”

“Relax,” Neptune chuckled, “and hey, if you are looking to get more serious with Arslan, the clothes trick works, my man. I got a ‘friend’ who’s in laundry and she could-”

Groaning, Sunny shook her head. “Please, do not make my career take a worse turn than it already has by being your friend.”

Neptune just laughed. “We’ll see what you’re saying once the Queen’s given me a chance. I’ll be up to my arms in eager Myrmidons. All castes—labor, soldier, even royal.”

“Well, don’t expect me to be interested,” Sunny replied, gruffly.

“Sounds like a challenge. Wanna bet money on it?” she chuckled.

Fuck. Sunny had had a minor crush on Neptune back before they were Myrmidons, a sort of bro thing that got a little out of hand, and the fact that now they could both communicate on a level deeper than any human or Faunus could with their scent signatures… she really wouldn’t mind if, maybe, she could just blame it on the pheromones and dive into her blue-

“Whoa, hey, get the telescope, there’s something moving!”

Startled back to reality, Sunny snapped up the... “telescope” thing Ruby had made for them. Sunny did enjoy the feel of it extending in her hands as she peered through it, and…

“Ahh, this thing is worthless,” she grumbled, twisting the cylinder in her hands, trying to figure out how to make the pinprick of light bigger.

Suddenly, Neptune snatched it out of her hand. “You’re holding it backwards,” she explained, taking the telescope up to her own eyes and gazing out into the horizon. “Yeah, it’s a cart… think that’s them...”

“Wait… them?”

“Yeah? The people we were-” Neptune suddenly paused, “Ah shit, did I tell you that the King-”

“You know he hates that title,” Sunny cut him off, testily.

“His loss,” Neptune replied, “But anyways, he’s got friends visiting. VIPs, highest level.”

Sunny grit her teeth. “And you were going to tell me this...”

“Realistically? Literally now, because I forgot about it the minute Yang told me about it, cause I was-”

“Staring at her breasts,” Sunny grumbled.

“Please!” her somehow friend scoffed, “A bosom as heavenly as the Queen’s can’t be referred to as something as plain as ‘breasts!’ I was staring at her jugs, her melons, her Majesty’s glorious rack, that was why I forgot her orders.”

“We are going to die on watch duty, aren’t we?”

“If you don’t hurry up and ring the bell, you very well might.”

Sunny rolled her eyes, but she clasped the alarm bell and gave it four mighty clangs, sending a clamoring tone that surely would soon be heard by a messenger who would race to the Castle and alert their Royal Highnesses that their guest had arrived.

LINE BREAK YANG

Yang was once in a position of authority, but it was an authority of service. She was Captain of the Guard—she answered to the Town Fathers and the people of Beacon. She liked to think that her new title was no different than her previous one, that she had a duty to her Swarm and to Jaune, her Lord and Master, but here… she was a Queen. And no matter how much she told herself that being Queen was just another position of authority, it was hard not to get used to the deference it brought.

For instance, Pyrrha’s.

The resplendent red-haired warrior, the very picture of martial power and physical beauty, knelt before her. “My Queen,” she said, “There is a small matter that I felt you should know...”

“Jaune set himself on fire,” Ruby cut in.

“What?”

“He’s okay!” Pyrrha quickly added, “Merely… was set on fire. No major burns.”

“We were testing out new gunpowder,” Ruby explained, with a tone of voice that suggested she didn’t see the problem here, “and Jaune’s sleeve was left dangling over a burner, and-”

“I acknowledge,” Yang said, grinding her teeth, “One time, I acknowledge that his reckless ideas actually turned out for the best and now he thinks he can do anything without-”

“We were following our established safety procedure!” Ruby protested, “Just, you know, there was some… fire. But Pyrrha was on hand to-”

“I can assure you, the fire was swiftly put out,” Pyrrha added.

Yang buried her face in her hands. How had this become her life?

“I hope you all realize that I am in my first trimester of pregnancy, and my husband had better survive the next two, so he can help me raise his child, or so help me, I will find a way to murder him twice using whatever-”

But she looked up as the door was thrown open, and Nebula rushed in, saluting both Pyrrha and Blake. “My Ladies,” she said, with appropriate courtesy in her bow, “According to the Rampart Guards, our guests of honor have arrived. Has our Lord been-”

“He doesn’t like that title, either,” Ruby chirped.

Nebula shot Yang a look. “Well... what are we supposed to call him, then?”

“Jaune,” she replied, still annoyed at her husband’s carelessness.

“No,” Nebula shook her head, “I don’t like that. He’s not just someone I can refer to by his first name. You girls know what I’m talking about, right?”

Yang actually didn’t, not in the way Nebula meant it. But Pyrrha had given her an explanation: as the swarm grew, it became more organized, regimented. Pyrrha was, when she was the first Myrmidon, simply Jaune’s personal servant and bodyguard. And, as the swarm grew in size, Yang was the first to gain a caste—Royal, as the Queen of the Myrmidons. Now that they had an entire town, plus the remainder of the Army of the White Fang, a soldier caste and labor caste had sprung up, not so much a hierarchy (though, according to Ruby, labor caste girls were quite dazzled by dashing soldier caste Myrmidons… like herself. Yang had her doubts) as a division of labor, but in the formation of these castes, Yang’s esteem had increased in the eyes of her former peers, something she was already a little uncomfortable with.

And Jaune’s image in the eyes of his adoring servants had somehow grown even higher. Nebula was quite literal—Glynda had described to her that she struggled to refer to Jaune as “Jaune,” as though it felt like she had a compulsion to be more deferential towards him even as Jaune tried to get the girls to treat him as an equal partner. Which was difficult, because some girls now went into fits of almost rapturous ecstasy at receiving his commands.

“I’ve tried to tell him,” Ruby said, clicking her tongue in disapproval, “Blake’s got all sorts of sexy titles he could be-”

“Let’s focus on what’s important,” Pyrrha interrupted. “I shall fetch Jaune to go greet his friends. Ruby, notify Glynda to begin organizing the welcome feast. And Nebula… I want the prettiest girls for the Parade Guard. I trust your judgment on that.”

“Aye, Ma’am!” the two Myrmidon soldiers saluted, their scents thick with pleasure upon receiving an order as they both hastily sped off to carry out their commands.

“Our prettiest girls?” Yang asked her friend with a sly smile.

Pyrrha shrugged. “I’m mostly just interested to see who she chooses.”

LINE BREAK JAUNE

Yang had insisted that, even if he wouldn’t dress like a King, he should still dress better as the unofficial Lord of Beacon. But it was a difficult balance, in Jaune’s mind. Yang chose his outfits, and he was never sure if what he was wearing was just the product of her superior fashion sense or a subtle way to encourage him to dress more monarchal.

Normally, this didn’t bother him. Jaune could wander about his city in his undershirt and the Swarm would fall over themselves to… actually, wandering the city in his undershirt would likely set off a frenzy of worshipful submission and desire, so that was a bad example. But he lived in a town full of beautiful women who saw him as the Perfect Man, next to a forest with a tribe of bandits who saw him as a living God. Trying to dress down was just folly, an attempt to pretend that he wasn’t the reason an entire town had been converted into his harem-army of beautiful, antennaed women with super strength.

But he was about to see his old friend and fellow student from back before he settled down in Vale. Someone who knew him when he was just a student alchemist trying to learn herbalism from his father, Master Ren. Well, Jaune supposed, Lie was the Master Ren now, succeeding his father in his duties. But Lie Ren was a brilliant herbalist and, above all, a good man.

Jaune still wasn’t sure how to explain the whole “I brainwashed my entire town into becoming my personal harem” deal, but he also knew that he had something too important to not tell Ren to hurry to Beacon. It was a matter of life and death.

Standing at the main gate, flanked by Pyrrha and Yang, with an odd assortment of soldier-caste Myrmidons behind him (Pyrrha had explained that they were the “Parade Guard,” soldiers whose job it was was to make a show of force to visiting dignitaries) in double rows. It was a strange situation, but… it was his life. A life he would soon have to explain to the man in the horse-drawn cart, packed full of boxes of rare herbs and reagents, that was now rolling towards the gate.

“Stand up straight,” Yang mock-whispered to him, “we need to keep up appearances here at Castle Beacon.”

He gave her a sly smile. “You know I hate it when you call it that.”

But they didn’t have more time to talk before Jaune’s old friend was upon them.

“Jaune!” Ren called down to him, his voice as restrained as Jaune remembered it from their boyhood… but undeniably, if subtly, marked by genuine excitement and happiness.

“Ren!” he cried, going up to the cart to embrace his friend. Then he looked to the other person in the cart. “And you must be Nora,” he said to her, “You’re as beautiful as Ren described you.”

She smiled at him, weakly, then gave a sudden, harsh cough. She was definitely sickly—pale and thin, but at the same time, her blue eyes burned with a fiery determination that refused to let her illness bring down her spirits. “Hello,” she said in a cracked voice, “It’s very nice to meet you...” then she gave him a mischievous smile, “and your harem.”

Jaune tried to laugh it off, though he was certainly blushing from how quickly she went to the elephant in the room. “These are my wives, Yang and Pyrrha,” he didn’t miss how Pyrrha still blushed like a maiden whenever he referred to her as a wife, even as he and Yang tried to convince her they saw her as an equal in their relationship (well, he saw her as an equal; Yang saw the both of them equally subordinate to him).

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Yang said with a respectful, Mistralian bow. “Please, we can take care of your horses and your luggage, you are a guest of honor at Beacon.”

Pyrrha gave a matching bow as well. “And we hope your visit brings you all you desire of it.”

He and Ren helped Nora out of the cart onto unsteady legs.

“Nebula!” Jaune called, “fetch a palanquin for Mrs. Valkyrie, so-”

But Nora waved his efforts away. “I’d prefer to walk,” she said, “Had to give up running everywhere I went because of my lungs… I’m not giving up walking just yet either!”

As rough as her voice sounded, and as shaky as her legs were, it was hard to argue against her forceful personality. From the description in Ren’s letters, Jaune knew he had married a firecracker, and it was his dearest wish that the treatment he’d developed with Pyrrha would be able to let her run again… and raise as much hell as Ren described!

“How was your journey?” Jaune asked.

“Good,” Ren replied, “Not much to-”

“Heard a ton of rumors,” Nora said with a smirk, “about a warlock with an army of demons who defeated the White Fang army and was poised to either invade the world or was the righteous defender of humanity, so I’d like to HAAAGHK-GAGGH.”

She stopped and suddenly had a coughing fit, wet and ugly as it bent her double. Ren immediately supported her as Jaune’s eyes went wide.

“It’s alright!” Ren said, “It just has to- it just has to pass!”

From the sound of his voice, though, Jaune knew that it was not alright. Nora was not alright and Ren was not alright. And from the look on Pyrrha and Yang’s faces, who could read people by their subtle scents, this was even worse on the inside.

Moved to a terrible sense of grief, Jaune gently rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He was the most accomplished alchemist in his generation, by the Myrmidon potion alone, but here… here he was capable of no more than a futile gesture and the hope that he might give them some emotional support.

Quietly, Jaune resolved that he would devote all his art to helping Ren and Nora. No matter what it took. If he could summon an army that could fight off the White Fang, he could do this.

No matter what it took.

LINE BREAK PYRRHA

Human frailty was a strange thing.

Pyrrha had vague memories of her anthood that told her she used to have a different conception of it entirely. Ants were tough. They had hard exoskeletons that were resistant to damage, unlike the softness of human skin. But they were also creatures easily crushed underfoot. Eaten by predators. Washed away in the rain.

But they were hardier there, too. No ant mourned an ant’s passing. There were always more in the swarm to replace them. Grief and sorrow wasn’t a thing in her old life. It wasn’t even conceivable.

Humans were fragile creatures. Yes, they had an antlike tenacity and resistance to pain, but much like their skin was softer than an ant’s chitin, their minds were softer, more tender. And so they felt pain no ant could conceive of.

As a Myrmidon, Pyrrha had first taken it as a given that she would have no objection to dying for her Master. Later, she simply accepted that dying for the Swarm would be a simple part of her nature. Her only regrets would be that she might not have more utility she could give.

But after the Battle of Beacon, where she saw that brute attempt to kill Yang and Blake, Pyrrha realized… she cared if a Myrmidon died. She cared so dearly, and not just the bond she felt with  all of her sister-soldiers, but she loved Yang. She loved Yang dearly and did not want her to suffer harm or death. And she loved Yang and Jaune so, so dearly, she did not want them to ever mourn her.

So the sight of pain, deep and jagged, across her Master’s face as Mrs. Valkyrie struggled to breathe as her husband helped her remain upright, moved Pyrrha to a resolute determination that she would help. She would fix this. She could fix this. She already knew how.

Fortunately, after her attack at the gate, Mrs. Valkyrie did not suffer any other respiratory issues. Mr. Ren had requested hot water for tea, and a piping hot kettle was presented before he’d finished his sentence. Pyrrha had drilled her Swarm, labor-caste as firmly as soldier-caste, to be attentive to what was needed. Indeed, labor-caste Myrmidons were warriors, like all Myrmidons, even if they specialized in the noncombat duties and responsibilities of maintaining the Swarm. So they were expected to serve with the same military precision she would expect of Blake’s gunnery corps or Nebula’s infantry.

And this was a place where Pyrrha wanted to impress. This was the first time they had greeted a delegation without sinister intent. These were friends of her Master, and Pyrrha was eager to show them an excellent time. Jaune would be so happy with her, and Pyrrha knew not to count a reward before it came, but how could she restrain herself? The thought of her Master’s brilliant smile, him asking her if there was anything she desired as she blushed and asked him if… if he would consider letting her wear a wedding dress as he took her. To truly be his wife…

It was a thought of heavenly perfection, and thinking it put Pyrrha on a cloud of serene happiness, made all the better by how flawless everything was going. They had enjoyed a pleasant lunch, just the five of them, where Jaune and Ren reminisced about their boyhood experiences learning their herb lore and Nora, even though she had very little energy, seemingly having no qualms spending it all with enthusiastic teasing and wild tales.

Dinner, under Glynda Goodwitch’s expert precision, was a proper feast,

“You know...” Yang said to her, slyly, “My mother’s here with some of her Clan’s Myrmidons… this is the first time we’ve had so many brought together since the Battle.”

Pyrrha nodded. “It is rare to have the Clan present… and we usually have a few Myrmidons in the field, as well.”

“If Jaune wasn’t so preoccupied with his guests… it’d be the perfect time for an orgy.”

Pyrrha shared a giggle with Yang at the thought. It had been so exciting when Jaune was personally rewarding the Swarm, where any and all sexual fantasies were being enacted as she and Yang turned the whole town into his harem. The thought of having a total orgy had been very tempting, but Pyrrha had to be the disciplined voice, knowing that Jaune would have to be graciously introduced to his new reality.

Of course, her duty was, first and foremost, to attend to the needs of Mr. Ren and Mrs. Valkyrie. Though she noticed a few naughty girls sneaking kisses or how Blake was helping herself to Eve’s fat tits…

“We’ll have to propose a proper orgy soon,” she told Yang, “We’ll create an excuse for something to celebrate...”

They had a laugh as Pyrrha glanced across the head table to Jaune, animatedly talking to Ren and Nora. More important than anything, he was happy to have his friend. And… he was happy that they had a procedure that might be able to help him. And that meant the world to Pyrrha.