Archive | September 26, 2011

IconFlash – Ayla – Sunday Night content

New flash series! I’m going to write one flash for every Icon I have, over 4 LJ accounts, 1 DW, and a whole bunch of not-currently-in-use, until I get bored or run out of icons.

Today’s icon:

Addergoole, Aelgifu.

Icon & Art by Djinni

This takes place in time-line about at Friday’s chapter. For context: Ayla struggles through the first nine books of the story with identity issues, and has recently gone through a Change (as has her half-brother, Yngvi); see Meeks’ sketch).

Ayla snuggled against Ioanna Sunday night, heedless of the occasional over-done glances of disdain Yngvi shot their way. The TV in the lounge was set to a mindless movie, they had a board game they could all enjoy without too much effort, and she had two of her three favorite people with her.

She kissed Io spontaneously, never mind who might be walking by. Her lover – wasn’t that neat? She had a lover, a girlfriend! – responded with a warm smile. “What was that for?”

“Because you’re wonderful, and I love you,” she giggled.

“No more wine for you,” Yngvi teased, moving the already-empty bottle closer to his side of the table.

“Piffle on you.” She kissed her girlfriend – her girlfriend! – again. “This place may be a very strange prison,” she mused, content in the warmth of Ioanna’s arms – A-R-M-S, and a double letter on S, and that also made A-T and A-S, not bad for her second glass of wine, “but it certainly has its benefits.”

“Me, for example?” Io’s lips were warm against the high strangeness of her ear.

“You, for instance,” she agreed. “And finding out I had a big brother. And not being a freak.”

Not being a freak?” Yngvi fingered his own newly-budded horns dryly. Ayla was un-deterred, and flopped her rabbity ears at him.

“Not being a freak,” she agrees. “Face it, Vi. Nobody here cares if you’re gay, or straight, or purple polka-dotted.”

“Not at all,” he agreed. “As long as you make babies.”

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Little Lost Kitty Girl: Tir na Cali

For [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commission and [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt, from the most recent Giraffe-Call-for-Prompts

Original post here.

They couldn’t have unlocked her collar if they wanted to; she wasn’t, legally, theirs. The girl they called Patches was a foster-kitty of sorts, placed with them to learn what a household was supposed to be like, and what a slave in that house was supposed to act like.

Where they were moving, however, was a small gated community, a step up the social ladder and the sort of place where a moddie slave would be hard to explain, so they left her behind. They made sure she had plenty of water and food, but packed up around her and set her to her room as they left, so she wouldn’t see them leaving her behind. The youngest petted her behind her furred ears for a while, and cried, forgetting, the way the family often did, that their kitty-girl could speak and understand English as well as any human.

The girl they called Patches, whose mother had called her Tanya-Marie, listened to all of it, and murrowled cutely, because her foster-owners were more comfortable with her miawing than speaking, and waited in her room until they were gone. She wondered, for a while, if she’d done something wrong. Raised in the Agency, she didn’t have the slave instincts that the other servants did; raised by other modified beings, cat-people, she sometimes gave in to feral behaviors. But she’d done everything they asked her to, and, despite all the jokes, she’d never peed on the carpet.

They’d left her her clothes, along with maybe a week’s worth of clothes, but they’d also left, by accident, a small laptop. Tanya-Marie hooked into the internet and began searching.

The walk, once she’d found her route, was long, and hurt her feet, used to indoor living. People stopped her, either for the novelty of talking to a cat-girl or for the concern of seeing a runaway slave, but her tags said she had free rein to wander (she was an Agency cat, after all) and there was nothing they could really do to stop her.

Three weeks later, a hungry and slightly bedraggled Patches showed up, miawing sadly, at her foster-owners’ new house.

She went to the back door; that had been one of her first lessons. Slaves went to the back door unless they were escorting their master or mistress. Slaves weren’t seen in the public areas of the house unless they were doing their job.

The cook-and-housekeeper, Ashley, answered the door, and tsk’ed unhappily when she saw Tanya-Marie. “Oh, you poor thing. Come on in here, no, right into the mud room with you. I told them they shouldn’t leave you behind, but, of course, no, they wouldn’t listen. Where have you been?

Her throat parched, the cat-girl answered only with a weak “miew.” The older slave made a chagrined noise in the back of her throat.

“You’re a mess, aren’t you? All right, sit down, there, shower yourself off. I’ll bring you some clean clothes.”

The mud-room was equipped with a large utility sink, and it was there that Ashley had directed her. Ears flat – she didn’t like showers – Tanya-Marie did as directed. She showered until the water ran clean and her fur and hair were plastered to her, by which time Ashley had returned.

“That’s a good kitty,” she praised her, and, as Ashley always had, fed the girl a couple treats in a flat-palmed hand. Grateful for the food, Tanya-Marie lipped up the treats and swallowed them, then miawed cutely for more.

“Don’t try that on me, kitty. I know better.” Despite the scold, Ashley was gentle as she toweled off the younger slave. “Where have you been?

Her throat wetted by the shower-water, she managed an answer. “Walking.” She held up one foot to show the old calluses and new blisters. Maybe she’d get another treat?

“Tch. They shouldn’t have left you, really shouldn’t. Why didn’t you go back to the Agency?”

The Agency was a lot harder to track than her foster-family had been. She had done some looking, of course, trying to find a facility to return herself to. In the end, though…

“This is where I was placed. I am supposed to stay with these people.” She headbutted gently against Ashley and the towel. “This is my home.”

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.

Spring Break – Continued

This began to [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commissioned prompt in my August Call for Prompts: “A story in which both parties believe they are the abductor and the other is the abducted.”

It continued as that Call’s donation-perk story-continuation.

Sections of 83 words for the first part, 186 for the second, because it pleased me to do so.

“Come away with me this weekend.”

The words had sounded so innocent, and been so permanent under the surface. Spring Break. No schoolwork to worry about (other schools might try, but a state school knew better than to bother), parents who weren’t going to ask where their kids were going, in case they accidentally found out, and she’d lied to her friends about her secret plans for the weekend. By the time anyone realized they were gone, it would be way too late.

“With you? Sure.”

That made everything both harder and easier. He’d been working out a plan, but hadn’t expected the opportunity to jump into his lap like this. He didn’t have all of his details in place; he was going to have to wing some of it. He came up with a lie for his parents and another for his friends, and packed his special bag inside his normal suitcase. He really hated winging it. It left way too much up to chance.

“It’s just down this road.”

Away from everything, secluded, private. Far enough away that nobody would hear them. Far enough away that even finding them would be tricky, unless you knew what you were looking for. Her uncle had built the place. She had never asked him why; she didn’t really want to know. She’d bleached it roof to basement when she inherited, and waited for the family to forget about it, and him, and her.

They’d been more than willing to oblige.

“This place is really out there, isn’t it?”

More than out there, it was the sort of remote he hadn’t known existed this close to the city. They’d been driving for half an hour since the last gas station (she’d filled up there, much to his relief), and the houses were few and far between, nestled into hillsides. Often, all you saw was the mailbox, lone and lonely-looking. He tried to memorize everything; he didn’t want to stand out, lost, when he left.

“Now that we’re all alone…”

With her touch, the cabin had become pretty cozy. She’d pulled all the drapes and lit a fire, leaving them enveloped in wood-paneled hunting-lodge charm. Even a passing hiker wouldn’t nothing anything, which was good, on the rare occasion that things went sour. Uncle Thomas had really planned for everything.

(She’d left the flower bed alone. She didn’t want to know who was under there, any more than her parents wanted to know where she got her money).

“Quite alone.”

The place reminded him of a couple of his bolt holes. It was well-situated, well-provisioned, and cozy, with what looked from the outside like a full basement. Somebody had put some money into this place. And now, here he was, locked in it (she hadn’t noticed when he pocketed the deadbolt key) with his quarry. Cuddled on the couch like the college kid he was pretending to be.

The only trick was going to be getting out of here with her.

She snuggled against the boy, wishing, for a moment, that she was the college girl she was pretending to be. It would be nice to have a boy to cuddle like this, someone sweet, someone who really wanted to be with her. It would be nice to not think of him as an income source.
Her uncle had left her more than his workshop, however; he’d left her contacts, hungry contacts, who would do her all the favors she needed, if she kept them sated. It was like being left a pack of nearly-tame sharks – keep the water red with blood, and they’d always do what she wanted. Fail them, and they’d eat her.

The boy flipped through channels, pausing on Jaws, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sharks,” she explained to his curious glance.

“You don’t like sharks? There’s tigers on, too.”

“No, no.” Tiger was what her uncle had always called her. “Sharks are wonderful. I love sharks… especially on tv.” Especially fake sharks.

She loved sharks. He smiled into her shoulder. This was going to be fun. He was willing to bet she was a screamer; with a place like this, he could listen to her all he wanted and not have to worry about onlookers. It was awfully considerate of her, really, to bring him out to a place like this. He’d be sure to repay her consideration. Anesthetic, maybe. He had some in his bag, but rarely found cause to use it. For her, though… she was something else.

“Sharks it is.” He kissed her, a Him kiss and not one his persona would usually give, the sort of thing that was half promise and half threat. He loved the moment when he could let down his hair, as it were, and stop pretending. “You don’t like tigers? I always thought of you as sort of a feline sort.” And maybe she’d yowl for him.

“Oh, I am. Doesn’t mean one predator likes another one,” she purred.

She liked this moment the best, when she could stop pretending and start getting down to business. But there was something off, this time, with her prey. That kiss, for one… she kissed him again, to be certain (and because it had been a nice kiss), and then once more. On the third try, she opened her eyes.

His eyes were open, too, and there was a look in them she recognized – not from her prey, but from the sharks. He was every bit as much a predator as she was, and hungry, ready for the kill. She wondered what his MO was, and how he’d scoped her out as prey. She wondered if he had a plan. Most importantly, she wondered if he had figured out what was going on yet.

“You taste delicious,” he rumbled, licking his lips, and she decided he didn’t, yet.

“You have not yet begun to taste me,” she informed him, smirking, and was rewarded by a lazy grin.

“I look forward to sampling you, then,” he replied. She was going to be fun, wasn’t she, all spunk and arrogance? He liked the arrogant ones the best – they broke the quickest, but the prettiest, and once they were broken, they were so entertaining.

She hadn’t figured out what was going on yet, either, which made it all the better. The longer he could drag it out… he kissed her again, because she not only tasted delicious, she kissed like the tiger she said she didn’t like. Her hands were travelling over his body – the idea of a willing participant, equal partner in his expeditions began to tempt him. He didn’t have to have this one as prey. She could come along, instead, hunting others with him. It would be the wildest ride he’d ever been on. It would certainly be wilder than anything she’d seen before.

“Still delicious,” he opined, and opened his eyes, just as she wrapped something cold and steel around his wrist.

It was more entertaining than normal, the moment when he realized he was screwed. He shook his hand against the cuff – the other end fastened to the very sturdy couch frame – and his eyes got wide, but she could tell he was still plotting, still looking for his advantage.

“Very funny,” he smiled. “I didn’t know you were into the kinky stuff.”

He still didn’t know, did he? Most of them weren’t nearly this slow on the uptake; was he stupid, or just arrogant? Either way, he was reaching for his pocket – no, that couldn’t be good. She kicked his free hand out of the way, pinning it to the couch while she reached for the second cuff.

“None of that,” she growled. “You are going to stay right where I put you, until I’m ready to let you go.” She snapped the cuff around his free wrist while he was still gaping at her. “And if you’re lucky, we might get kinky for a little while.”

If you’re lucky…. He tugged sharply on the cuffs, gauging quickly that yes, they were tight, and yes, the couch frame they were attached to was too sturdy to break. She was going through his pockets; he kicked back at her, trying to stop her, and got bashed against the knee for his trouble.

“I can tell you’re going to be feisty,” she commented, as she grabbed his ankles and looped a length of chain around there. Where was she getting this stuff? Ah, under the couch. Shit, she really did have this all set up. But did she know… best to keep playing along.

“Feisty?” he asked, faking a tremor in his voice. “I don’t understand – what are you doing? Doesn’t kink usually involve less clothes?”

Her chuckle was not reassuring. She was a hunter, for sure. No wonder she had this place, all tricked out in the middle of nowhere. No wonder she’d invited him out here. The question was, what kind of hunter?

“We’re getting to the naked.”

She could see when he understood, even though he was still trying to fake innocence. Good. She was ready to cut to the chase. She chained his ankles to the other end of the couch, and sat down on his thighs while she went through his pockets.

Ah, there, mace, knife, another knife, another knife… latex gloves. Hrm. She wondered what would be in his bag. Plenty of time for that later; she carried the loot to her safe, dropped it and the bag in, and returned with her own knife. “Now,” she said, savoring a line she’d used over and over again, “to get to the naked part.”

He tugged on his restraints. “Easier to do if I’m untied.”

“Considering what you had in your pockets… no, I don’t think so.”

His eyes narrowed. “Would you have untied me without the gear? You didn’t bring me here for fun and games.”

“You didn’t come here for fun and games, either.”

“I came here to play with you,” he hedged, testing the bonds again. He didn’t like the look of the knife she was holding – short and sharp, it wasn’t intended to kill. She wouldn’t kill him here on the couch, anyway, not if she was reasonable. She’d have another place for that – probably the basement. How was she going to get him down there?

“And I,” she unbuttoned his pants, “came here to play with you. Ironic, isn’t it? A campus full of prey…”

“…and we both picked up predators.” He smiled back at her as she peeled his pants down to his ankles. “You know, we could work together. Hunt together.” He was surprised to find he meant it. She was smarter than he’d thought, sharp and dangerous. He might still prey on her when he got free… but he might not.

“We’d kill each other,” she answered him shortly. “I have a feeling what sort of monster you are. I don’t work with monsters.”

He laughed at her as she pulled his pants to his ankles. “You have me tied to your couch and you’re calling me a monster?”

“I never argued with the label ‘predator,’” she countered, and began cutting his pants off of him. He was flaccid in his shorts, watching her with professional curiosity rather than lust. “But I think we’re in different classes.” Something about his vibe, at least, suggested she wouldn’t have survived the encounter.

“So you think I outclass you?” He was holding very still now, watching her knife.

“Let’s just say I think we have different goals.” She didn’t bother pulling his boxers down before she cut them off, and was rewarded by a small wince. Still, he plowed on.

“Goals. If you have goals, I can help you achieve them.” Monster or not, with a blade to his balls he sounded like all the rest. She laughed at him.

“You’re going to help me. Why do you think I brought you here?”

Arguing with a woman with a blade to his privates seemed like a bad idea. “You brought me here to help you? Unlock me, and I’ll help you.” Her lines were too much like his own; she’d done this before, and enjoyed it.

The question pressing on his mind, as well as on the rest of him, was what “this” was, for her. If she was like him, he had a very short window in which to escape. If she was, as she thought, less of a monster –likely, for her definition of monster – then he could take his time, look for an opening.

“You know I’m not going to do that.” She stood up, leaving his shirt on, and walked over to the safe, her body blocking the combination. “You know you’re not going to help me like that.”

He stared with growing concern at the oxygen mask and canister she was bringing over. This couldn’t bode well.

“I can…” the mask cut off the rest.

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.

Monday, Happily Tired

This weekend involved a lot of shopping of the sort both of us can get behind – Stuff for the House, and Stuff for the Kitchen.

We now have paint for the bedroom, have agreed on trim & stain colors (woo) for the downstairs (Upstairs is a long-term project, which reminds me…)

…does anyone reading this use their home as a home office, and do you have any resources re. taxes ant the like there?

We also pulled out more dead and just-in-the-way wood from the hedgerow, spent half an hour chopping and digging at a stump, and chopped/lopped/sawed much of that wood into manageable lengths to start a firewood pile. Busy-fun weekend!


The poll is up for the donation-perk story from the last Giraffe Call.

There is also, if you are a donor, a poll (DW) to determine what the donor perk stories will be about.


Check out [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s continuing writing from her Garden of Prose!


Link today from DaHob:

And a concept from Cluudle: “Wendy House.”

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.