Archive | January 2017

January By the Numbers Six: Swishy Skirts

January by the numbers continues~
From [personal profile] anke‘s prompt “Swishy skirts;” a blog post
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This one has to be another blog post, it just calls to me too much.

I once had a boss’s boss (the Dean, to be specific) call me nunnish. Me. I have not gone through some sort of huge personality change; that was me as started writing Addergoole as what was supposed to be bondage-and-d/s porn. I wasn’t nunnish then, I’m not nunnish now.

But I love skirts that hit my ankles or, better yet, nearly the floor. I love layers of skirts, and have gotten positive comments more than a few times from co-workers for the nice “layered look” of my skirt, only to have them be rather surprised that it’s just two thin maxi skirts layered to make one warm pretty skirt.

I remember being teased in middle school for looking like “Little House on the Prairie.” Okay, granted, I was teased in middle school (in my district, this was 6th-8th grade, ages 12-15, or the most awful, horrible awkward years I can ever remember existing) for just about everything. But the skirts were definitely up there.

Didn’t stop me. There’s a picture of me at my 18th birthday party (writing this now, it seems unlikely I was ever 18), and I am wearing what had to be my favorite swishy skirt ever. My mom bought it for me from one of the Hippy Stores on Hippy Row (Monroe Avenue, downtown Rochester, at a point when it was head shops, hemp-clothing stores, tie-dye and organic recycled shoes), tier after tier after tier of super-thin patterned rayon. I wore that thing until every seam in the bottom 6 tiers had ripped out at least a little, and just tied knots in them to keep them from dragging on the floor.

If you handed me that skirt, new (in my size) today, I would wear it till the seams all ripped out again. Swishy skirts are my thing. They’re as much a part of me as writing.

Bonus: three of them layered over leggings is way warmer than jeans. And I get a kick out of walking for firewood in my carhart, barn gloves, and skirts to my ankles.

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The song of Ygesiol Blue-Handed

I will not rise.

I will not beat the greatest warrior and take their place as mightiest.

I will not challenge the skald to a battle of rhyme and wit, or, if I by some hubris do so, I will not win.

I will not bake the finest bread in all the county, and men and women will not speak gladly of my prowess in the bakery.

I will not rise. Such is not my fate, to be known far and wide for the skill of my hands or my arms or of my voice and my mind.

I am not to be the mightiest, I am not to be the ruler. I have my small hill and my small lands, and over those, I will be ruler enough.

The poets will not speak of me for my skill or for my beauty.

But I will write my name on these flags, and I will weave my name in these threads, and I will press my name in this cloth.

And the wind will blow my name across all this land.

written to [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt, because I needed to fight a couple more Frizi (on #4thewords)

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“Marked” continues, with a new development!

//platform.twitter.com/widgets.jsNilien patted at her hair uselessly. “Please, let them in. I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again.” The last was almost as much to the fox as it was to Nurse Abercom.

You do not have to explain to me. The fox turned around a couple times before settling back down, looking over its tail at the doorway. I would like to meet your friends. Friends can tell one quite a bit about someone, you know.

read on…


annnnd…

Want to know more about the setting? The first informational post is up on the Marked Patreon, for $3+ patrons!

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Patreon: The Expectant Wood, Chapter 7, and the first Trunk Story

The Expectant Wood is Back!

Nimbus tried to scramble further up the wall, but there was still no purchase, and even the window-slit sheared of prickers offered her no easy place to put her hands. “I don’t want to come with you! My parents are right up there,” she gestured. “I want to go with my parents.”

Keep Reading


(considering the subject matter, this is December’s Trunk Story)

~

“Really, Quizzico? Seriously?”

Quizzico had no answer, so the Tigress looped a few vine-like ropes around the villain – not that Quizzico really counted as a villain, more like a nuisance prankster – and left him, thus trussed, in front of the Ninth Precinct station with a short note pinned to his costume.

read on…

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1225981.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

January By the Numbers Five: Glitter

January by the numbers continues~
From [personal profile] anke‘s prompt “glitter;” another apocalypse story.
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There were big things and small things that Gemma missed.

She tried to focus on the big things most of the time: reliable food, heat, running water, electricity. Medical care, drugs. Those were the things that were going to keep her alive, keep them alive. Those were the things that required all of her energy, that first six months.

Shelter, even. Shelter wasn’t as hard as the other ones, because there were still intact buildings, but then you had to protect your mostly-intact building from everything, and everything was a much longer list of threats now than it had been six months ago, a year ago.

Food, same thing – you could find canned goods, preserved goods, but eventually, all of that was gone or gone bad. Same thing for drugs, and when they found a doctor they guarded her with their lives. Running water, electricity, those were the hardest, and those were the least important, at least in the short run.

But when she went to sleep at night, Gemma missed clean, bright colors, frivolous painting, swishy skirts. She missed glitter, and giving someone a card just because you could. She missed decorative clothing — light sundresses and bright-colored t-shirts and mismatched socks on purpose, not because your feet were freezing.

She had not been one of the magi before the world cracked. She had heard of them, the way you hear about CEO’s, Fortune-500 sorts of people, but magic was for the 1 percent, the super-important. She’d been a barista.

Now, though. 90 percent of the surviving population had something — a piece of a broken city they carried, a cracked charm, a wound that held some small fragment of magic. And in her own fragment, Gemma held light and heat, sunshine in a hand that no longer worked well otherwise, pierced by a piece of rebar.

Late at night, when she had done all she could towards their survival for the day, Gemma would sit up in her bed and aim her magic hand at the wall. She’d focus, thinking about candy hearts and ribbons, Hallmark cards and picnics, and she would project the tiniest little lights onto the wall: Glitter. It sparkled and shone and danced on the walls, and, for a few minutes, Gemma barely even missed running water and espresso machines.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1225512.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

January By the Numbers Four: Sunrise (Fiction piece)

January by the numbers continues~
From [personal profile] anke‘s prompt “sunrise;” an apocalypse story.
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Katarina woke at sunrise, the heat of the May sun warming her skin.

She didn’t open her eyes right away. She lay there, splaying her hands on the ground, letting the warmth soak into every bit of her.

She’d never expected to see the sun rise again.

She wasn’t sure she had another sunset coming, but if the sun was up and her skin was warm, she was going to delay the moment as long as possible. She was going to soak up every bit of sun before she let herself see how bad her situation was — and how bad the world’s situation was.

The explosion last night had — no, not an explosion, that was far too small a word. The cataclysm last night — had shaken everything. It had knocked out power across, as far as they could tell, the whole continent. There was no telling about the rest of the world. It had shattered buildings, buckled roads, and left fields and rivers both burning.

Katarina had been pierced with a flying shard of stone, right between the ribs. Rough triage said it was non-fatal and quick self-inflicted surgery confirmed it. She’d survived the explosion.

She was not nearly as sanguine that she’d survive the men that had come for her. It hadn’t been her hand in the spellwork, but she had survived, when the ones who had done the deed had not, and someone needed to pay.

She opened her eyes. The world had survived, in a matter of speaking. For three, four hours there, she hadn’t been sure it would. But the sun was lifting over a burning horizon, and, for the moment, at least, Katarina was still alive to see it. She smiled.

Every sunrise was a blessing. And the men standing, armed, just behind her, they narrowed the focus of the day. All she had to do now was make it to sunset.

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Buffy: the Invitation (an Addergoole Crossover), Part 19

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX

Part X
Part XI
Part XII
Part XIII
Part XIV
Part XV
Part XVI
Part XVII
Part 18

“Your name is Buffy?

“Yeah? So what. Yours is Agatha; I wouldn’t throw too many stones.”

“And I suppose you’re a cheerleader,” Agatha scoffed.

“Well, I was. But then the cheerleaders lit on fire, so now I’m just the girl who keeps the cheerleaders alive. And the football players. And… oh, yes, everyone else.”

“Oh, departed gods help us, it’s another cy’Doug.”

“I’m cy’Giles, I keep saying that…”

Agatha’s attention slid over Willow as if she didn’t exist and went straight to Xander. “And what about you? Do you fight off monsters?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, if Buffy’s busy or if it turns out I’m dating a demon again, which, you would not believe how many times it’s happened, but mostly I just run and hide.”

Demon?”

“Do not get into that with them,” Magnolia advised. “It is weirder than you think it can be.”

“Well.” Professor Valerian coughed. “As I was saying, I believe we ought to get back to Director Avonmorea and these children’s… these potential students’ minder soon, before anyone else dies.”

Buffy brushed herself off and walked up to Dysmas, stepping up until her toes were touching his. He didn’t flinch or even move, although Willow did both and so did Xander.

Buffy put her fingers on Dysmas’ pale neck, unerringly reaching for his artery. Willow noticed the way Dysmas held a little bit stiller, which struck her as the first sensible thing he’d done all day.

“Hunh.” Buffy frowned. “Pulse. Bloodsucker with a pulse, that’s new. All right, fang-boy, I guess you get to live.” She turned to Anatoliy and bowed. It was a lazy bow, with poor form and loads of Buffy flair, but it looked like it got the point across. “You, you fight like woah. You should choose better friends… but you fight like woah. I wanna spar with you sometime. Without pads, of course.”

“I might need pads,” the giant joked. “You fight like you were born to it. Nobody here, not even the Thorne girls, moves like that.”

“I was born to it. One girl in all the world, yadda, yadda. Chosen, picked, that’s my thing. I fight monsters.”

“That’s… neat.” He grinned crookedly at her.

“No,” Agatha complained. “No, Tolly, it’s not neat. She was Attacking you. She was trying to kill Dysmas. It’s not neat, it’s not okay, and you shouldn’t spar with her and give away more of your combat tricks. She’s not your friend.”

“Well, hey now,” Willow spoke up. “He might want to be friends with us. And we might want to be friends with him. And who are you to tell him no? I mean, seriously. He’s a grown man.”

“Really, really grown,” Xander put in.

“Exactly. He’s big enough to pick his own friends.”

“I am his crew, and you are nothing. You don’t even go here yet.”

“Way to sell the whole school thing,” Buffy put in. “I’m real excited to attend your little school now.”

“And I care? Seriously, how excited you are has nothing to do with anything. You’ll come here, the same as the rest, and you’ll be teeny-tiny fish in a big pond, and I’ll get to watch the sharks gobble you up.”

“Did you miss the part where she could kick your friends’ asses?” Xander was glaring at Agatha now. Of course, so was Willow.

“Did you miss the part where she had to do it with her eyes closed because Dysmas nearly had her eating out of his hand? Oh, yes, you did. You weren’t here for that part. I don’t care how well you fight, the sharks are going to eat you all alive, and I’m going to sit back with my mojito and enjoy every minute of it.”

“You’re not a very pleasant person,” Willow informed her. “I look forward to being the chairperson of the I Hate Agatha club.”

“Oh, that’s so mature,” Agatha sneered.

“Well, and so what? Mature just means old, and, and I have no intention of being old any time soon!”

“You tell her, Will.” Xander grinned. “Besides, we’re already in charge of the I Hate Cordelia Chase Club. I’m sure we can join another club without any problem.”

“And this one would be better,” Willow added, with a little bit of cheerful malice she wasn’t ashamed to admit, “because Xander wouldn’t start dating the target.”

“…are you certain these children are old enough to attend Addergoole?” Agatha asked, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps they should wait two more years – and then I’ll be gone, and it won’t be my problem at all.”

“They’re old enough.” Professor Valerian looked more than a little amused. “Come, now. Magnolia, I’m going to relieve you of your duties as tour guide and take these three to Director Regine before they light the school on fire.”

“Hey, I only did that once… well, twice, but the second time was completely justified!” Buffy’s sulk was back in full force, although she kept shooting Dysmas strange glances. Willow didn’t worry too much. Buffy was good at looking at people funny.

“So, the three of you knew each other,” Ms. Valerian was saying, “and you all attend school in this Sunnydale…”

“Right on the Hellmouth,” Willow offered cheerfully.

“Ahem, indeed. And you’re all called to Addergoole at the same time. That’s very unusual.”

“I’m very unusual,” Buffy offered perkily, “and so are Willow and Xander.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark.”

They were walking much more casually through the same halls. Willow wondered if they’d ever see more of the school than just these hallways. “You know,” she mused, “we’ve seen demons and vampires so far but absolutely nothing about academics.”

“Oh, well,” Xander scoffed, “who expects those from a school? I mean learning? We’re lucky if the school projects aren’t trying to eat us.”

“If I’d known you were interested in academics,” Ms. Valerian put in, “I’d have made sure it wasn’t Magnolia giving you the tour. She’s a nice girl, but she’s not primarily interested in classwork. “

“Oh, well, around her, I’d be glad to indulge in her interests,” Xander offered.

“I’m telling Cordelia.” Willow stuck her tongue out at him. “Sorry, Ms. Valerian. Academics?”

“We have a strong course of study, designed to transition you into your third or fourth year of college when you leave here, or perhaps into graduate work. We focus heavily on traditional subjects – history, mathematics, literature, linguistics, and science – but there’s a lot of room for independent study or building your own curriculum, and if you’re interested in more modern subjects – like, say, computers – we do have a former NASA scientist on staff.”

Willow shut her mouth, only they realizing it had been open, and then opened it immediately afterwards. “Marry me?”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1228772.html

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Patreon News and a story – “Take the Sky”

I’ve redone the milestones and the donation tiers. There’s several new donation tiers at $3, $7, $10, and $15/month, including a peek into my trunk, a rifle through my recipe box, and access to my map case.

The milestones have changed to reflect the new tiers, too; the higher we get, the more recipes, the more trunk stories, the more maps you’ll get. I’m excited about the changes! I think it’ll be fun to broaden out the content here.

I hope you enjoyed the Christmas reposts. I think I’m going to try something like that – not every month, but when I can come up with a reasonable holiday theme. I’ve got content going back past 2008; even I’ve forgotten stuff from that long ago 🙂

Keep Reading


This story was written for the November “Catgirls and other animal people” theme.

☁️

Ashana stalked through the world, her big boots soundless but her stride seeming to suggest thunder, windstorms, danger; her leather jacket belted around her like armor, like a warning sign; her knives hidden but her sharp edges no less visible.

She scowled at the world, a quirked eyebrow the only threat she needed to make most of the time: wanna make something of it? Most people were wiser than to try.

read on…

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