K Orion Fray has a Prompt Call open for fiction – the theme is revenge.
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inventrix is looking for demifiction prompts for her Saeland (Invisible Dragons) setting.
And I’m looking for demifiction prompts for my Reiassan (Edally, Rin & Girey) setting
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Pretty much [WARNING: TV Tropes] What it says On the Tin – I’m looking for a few prompts on demifiction in the Reiassan setting – any era, anything I could conceivably work into the setting.
I will write at least 4 pieces of at least 100 words during the month of August.
What is demifiction? – to quote lilfluff: “To quote ysabetwordsmith demifiction is, ‘Demifiction is imaginary stuff written as if it were nonfiction. This includes such things as reviews of books that don’t exist, fake movie posters, heroes’ shopping lists, etc. It can be challenging to write but it makes a great way to stretch your creative skills, and a really fun way to explore your settings.’
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…is that sometimes you have to make your own comfort food.
Usually, T. makes me things like broth or risotto, and that’s wonderful, but this time, I had (have) a sore throat/swollen glands, and I was seriously missing my mom’s vanilla pudding, that she used to make me when I was sick sometimes.
I haven’t lived at home in 20 years or so, and, besides, my mom’s at a yoga seminar on the other side of the country (details are fuzzy) right now.
So I had to make my own.
I used a pretty basic Betty Crocker recipe, and it turned out – not quite like my childhood (not as grainy, and a little too sweet, which could be refined tastes) – but very yummy.
And, ya know? It made me feel better for a bit, too.
(I am still taking commissions at 150 words/$1 for someone to re-up my paid DW account… I miss my icons.)
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To Three-Word-Wednesday (Today’s words are Liberated, Muddy, and Vicious). It’s been so long since I’ve done one of these, I had to go digging in my tags.. April 29, 2011!
It was dirty, it was vicious, and it was illegal, even by the lax regulations that counted as law in the wastelands. But it was necessary to get the job done, and nobody had ever said of the Rangers that they did not do the job.
They slipped in at night, like raiders, like bandits. They slid through the cracks in the outpost’s defenses, like assassins, like thieves. They took what they needed and were gone without being sighted, like ghosts in the night. When they moved on, there no proof they’d been there, except the holes in the storeroom.
It was muddy, it was nasty, and it was immoral, even by the standards of the gods who would have wastelanders and rangers as subjects. But they had to do it, and so they did it. Rangers prayed for forgiveness rather than petitioning for permission.
They collected their supplies from seventeen small outposts and villages, townships, farmsteads, way-stations and junkyards. They left no payment, note, IOU, nor apology. They left three corpses behind, none of them their own, and did not miss a single piece of their equipment.
Raiders, their victims assumed, monsters and ghosts. The rangers preferred those assumptions.
It was messy, it was close to monstrous, and it was exactly what they had been recruited to do. They had a job to do, and they had not been hired to keep their hands too clean.
They built a machine out of blood-soaked gears and mud-caked pipes. They hammered it together with stolen tools and liberated rivets; they fueled it with oil seasoned with widows’ tears and their own tired prayers.
It looked like an abomination, and there were some – even among the Rangers – that would say that it was. But it would get the job done.
They were muddy, they were vicious, and they were at the border for only one reason. The laws that the wastelands pretended to honor ignored them, and the only gods that would have them as subjects were looking the other way, lest they see something they shouldn’t.
The Rangers couldn’t care. They had a job to do, and a city to take back from the monsters. Their task was bloody and violent, dirty and nasty, but it was what they had been recruited to do, and there was no-one who would say that the Rangers did not do the job.
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So, yesterday was launch day for Ursula Vernon’s Toad Words…
and here is Ursula and MCA Hogarth being adorable about the launch, via honey badgers.
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The base of this came from a 7th Sanctum generator. Not sure about this one, either, but it’s another interesting beginning
“It’s not like we need to learn this shit anyway. I mean, what’s there to learn? The world was there and then it ended. Everything blew up and here we are.” Benji kicked the ground. “I could be doing something useful, like scrounging the wrecks or hunting down Ovarod spawn.”
“Or helping Malcom with the still he’s building.” Thad had slightly different priorities than Benji, but they agreed on the basics: History class was a sad, Ovarod-feces waste of time, and Math and science weren’t much better.
“The still would be nice. I can’t remember the last time I had some nice…”
“Benjamin Widdowson-Chatwyn?” The voice cut over Benji’s reminisces.
“I didn’t do it!” He twisted, yelped, and jumped all at once. His mother did that to him, complete with full name. Nobody but her ever called him Benjamin.
Next to him, Thad sniggered. Oh, Benji was going to be living this one down for weeks. He coughed and tried to redeem himself.
“That is, yes, I’m Benjamin Widdowson-Chatwyn.” He bowed, smiled, and managed to look the woman in front of him up and down all at the same time.
Her hair was so blonde as to almost be white, her smile was just a little too amused, her ankles were beautiful, and the rest of her was covered in a Recovery Service uniform. “How can I service, ah, help the Service?”
“That is the proper question.” Her smirk was growing to a full-fledged grin. “Your uncle thought I might be able to use you; he said you were eager for promotion.”
“Promotion? I mean – graduation, sure. But it’s not like I have a ow Thad what the Ovarod-trails?” He danced away from his friend, who seemed to have suddenly developed a twitch in his leg.
“What Benji means is that of course he wants the promotion, Corporal. Doesn’t he?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, Corporal.” If you moved past the severe nature of her field gear, the Corporal was a stunning woman. And anything had to be better than learning the history of a destroyed world. “Is Thad up for promotion too?”
“That remains to be seen. For now, however, Private Widdowson-Chatwyn, we have a quest for you.”
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First: So, Who Are You?.
Previous: Orientation
I can do almost anything I want to you.
Blaecleah swallowed. “Okay.” It really wasn’t okay. On the other hand, he was sort of past the deciding point on this one. “Okay, so this is why it’s supposed to be hard to handle.”
“Yeah.” Niobe opened her eyes. “Yeah, that’s why it’s hard to handle. What you gave up when you took Sedge’s bet, you gave up free will. Freedom at all. Choice. Until your term is up.”
“That’s…” terrifying. “A bit intimidating.”
“It ought to be. We’re almost to my room, come on. We can handle the hard stuff inside.”
“There’s harder stuff?”
The sound she made could only be called a laugh because he didn’t want to call it a bark. “Depends on your point of view, I suppose. But yeah, it’s probably safe to say there’s harder stuff.” She squeezed his hand, a gentle sort of squeeze. “Man, I did not sign up for this.”
Blaecleah swallowed around a lump of guilt. “I’m sorry. It was just, he pricked my pride…”
“…and he wants something I can offer, and used you to get it. Oh, don’t – look, if I say ‘don’t worry,’ it’s never an order, okay?”
“Okay?” He was still trying to work on the concept that she could order him not to worry, and have it work.
“-don’t worry, you were well and truly set up. This isn’t your fault.”
Despite the don’t worry not being an order (whether or not the world ought to work that way), he found her reassurance a little calming. “Thanks.”
“Look, this doesn’t haven’t to be horrible or anything. As a matter of fact, the general goal is for it to not be horrible.” She swung open a door. “Come on in. This will be your room, too, for as long as I’m Keeping you.”
Blaecleah looked around. He’d shared a room his whole life, in the creche, but… “There’s only one bed.” It was a big bed. But still.
“That there is. Kneel.” She barely waited for his knees to start obeying the order. “Take off your shirt and then put your hands behind your head. There. How does that feel?”
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Next: Not All Bad
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My Patreon supporters/donors (all two of them!) voted, and agreed on a topic.
The theme for August is Reiassan
Magic, war, battling religious interpretations, mysterious history: the story of Reiassan goes from a Dark-Ages-level technology right up to steampunk.
Learn about magic swords in their dark era, follow Rin & Girey across the continent in the End Of War era, or watch a steampunk academy in action in Edally Academy.
The landing page for Reiassan is here -http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/24221.html
Want to help chose next month’s theme? Become a Patreon Patron at the $5/month level or higher, and help support the writing.
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First: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/753621.html
Previous: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/761398.html
Reynard’s brain felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. His short-term memory – and, he was pretty sure, some of his long-term – was foggy, muddled, or just plain gone. And what he could remember – well, wasn’t the best set of memories.
He was fairly certain the woman sitting in front of him wouldn’t take any of that for an answer. What was more, although she hadn’t given him a direct order, he could feel the pressure of the bond on him.
That was strange. But he wouldn’t get any answers until he gave her what she wanted. If then.
He cleared his throat, and found that that too hurt.
“I was – I was…I guess I was being a ‘fox in the henhouse.’ If you remember my name, you know I’m not…” He was being kind of pitiful. He swallowed against the pain and tried again. “I was having fun. Seducing a double handful of pretty people.” The memory brought a nostalgic smile to his lips. “Balancing as many secrets as I could and getting as many of them in bed with me at once at the same time. I was having a blast.”
He risked a look at her face, and was a bit relieved to find that she was smirking at him.
“I remember that about you.”
“I – I’m glad?” He wished he could remember her.
“Not a bad thing, being remembered. Go on.”
And now that, that was an order. Reynard swallowed again. “Turns out I was somewhere someone else was making a home and she, she didn’t like what I was doing. Called me out, her and her beast.” He twitched his hands to make a gesture, only then remembering he was bound. “Fuck, ow! Big guy.” He smirked sideways. “Did it right and fair, too. Next thing I know I’m on my knees and this gorgeous redhead is whispering in my ear, you can be mine or you can be his.” He shrugged.
“Next thing I know, I wake up here with your knife pointing at me.”
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Time is almost up to pick August’s theme.
The theme will determine:
* memes for the month
* the Giraffe Call for the month
* if we reach $75 of Patreons – the fiction prompt for the month
In addition, I will post at least a couple pieces on that theme, regardless of memes/Giraffe Call/Level of Patreon reached.
But in order to vote, you need to either be a Patron or a Donor!
Become a Patreon Patron at the $5 level or higher
OR
Donate via Paypal at least $5.
Deadline for the vote is midnight EST the 5th of August! That’s Today!
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