Archive | January 2018

Mending Strands

So this is… sort of a continuation of Breaking Strands? But Breaking Strands is a fanfiction and this is… not. 

Anyway, it’s Winter Being Badass, as requested.  

❄️

The room felt wrong.  His sisters, Winter thought, might have said that it was creepy or oogy or sick, although sometimes sick was a good thing.

(Having three younger sisters go through teenage-hood a couple years apart had been approximately a decade of confusion and headaches for Winter.  He wondered how actual fathers did it. )

What it felt like to him was cold, and not in his namesake way, and broken.

“I think,” his contact – no, friend.  Normal people, his sister Summer kept telling him, had friends.  And someone he played chess with every week and sometimes saw a movie with was, if not a potential SO or lover – and this one was not – a friend.  His friend in the FBI cleared his throat.  “I think that what’s going on in these situations is that someone has cut their Stands.  That’s the correct word, yes?  I read  Ernesta Roundtree – she’s your mother, correct? – I read her paper on the Strands last year.  They told me I needed beach reading,” he added with a wry smile. Continue reading

Feral Cat

This is, more or less, just a little babbling about my kitty. 

We have a feral cat.

I mean, she says that all the time. “I’m feral!  Zoom!”  and she runs all the way up the stairs.  “I’m feral!  Oh no!” Zip, under the bed.

She’s really sure she’s a wild feral cat.

You know, like “here’s the WWI Ace Fighter Pilot…” Yeah.

We got her from outside, where she was semi-feral, a barn kitten from down the road who had been eating out of our compost bin.

T. took months of feeding her and coaxing her closer, until she was willing to let him handle her.

Then we shoved her in a carrier and left her at the vets for three days.

That was four years ago. (editor’s note, no, that was 5 years ago, since we brought her inside 7 years ago… nowish, i.e., November 2019)

When I tell her “Merit, Nap time!” She comes and jumps up on me on the couch and sleeps on my hip/stomach.

When I go to bed, she sleeps to the left of me; when I wake up, she’s either on me or tucked against my right side.  T. taught her to cuddle for food and now, when she’s hungry in the middle of the day, she will jump up on his lap and nap there for a little while.

She still says she’s feral, but you can pick her up without any complaint, she tolerates brushing and likes petting, and she talks to you when you ignore her.

(also, she yells at you when you sneeze).

♪Glee – Auditions♫

First: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/11/28/glee/

Previous: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/12/14/glee-2/

♫♪♫

The first meeting of Glee club had at least three times the number of people Zdenka thought they’d invited, but from the looks of things, more than half of them were just there to see what this was all about.

There were a whole five people from their year, and then another five from the year before them – “tenth cohort” – including the very distracting Aleron and, miracle of miracles, Yona. Continue reading

The Threat

A story for my Apocalypse Bingo card. 

👹

The monsters were getting closer.

The survivors had created three ragged perimeters around what had been, at one point, Main Street.  They had hung the outside with cold iron.  They’d put mines on the middle perimeter.  And on the inside they’d put up the biggest wooden spikes they could manage. Continue reading

Beauty-Beast 29: Bad Change

First: M/m Keeper/Kept
Previous: Power

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“He has something down in the basement of the building.”  Sal’s voice sounded tight when Ctirad came to himself.  “Here, kid— Ctirad — drink some more water.  It’s not a creature, it’s some sort of really Bad Change, from what I can tell.”

“Bad Change?”  The water cut the acid taste in his mouth but not the feeling in his stomach.

“It’s, uh.  Sometimes the things that happen to us go too far from human, that’s the best way I can explain it.  Like, we’re on fire constantly, or we give off poison gas, or our legs fuse together into a column of, like, stone-skin.  That looks like one of the really bad cases. What Ermenrich said,” he added to Timaios, “was that it was a side effect of ‘their’ power, and what it looked like was that something in the power made them fuse with – well, whatever was near, is my guess.”

“Ermenrich told me not to get too close,” Ctirad remembered. “He didn’t have to, though.  It was – it was hard being in the same room as that thing.”  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  Like it was wrong, somehow.  I’m not sure.”  He was still feeling twitchy over the whole thing.  “I’m not sure if I’m missing something…”

“No, it was wrong.”  Sal sounded as sick as Ctirad felt.  “It was an abomination.  And it probably still is, because I can’t see Ermenrich get rid of something like that.  It’s probably useful.  I understand why he told you to forget it, though – and I’m not surprised your mind didn’t want to bring it back.”

“Bad Change.”  He was listening to Sal, he was, but the words had lodged in his mind.  “That’s, like.  How do we know which one of them was the one with the Change?  Imagine if you were just standing next to someone when they Changed and – urgh.”  He shuddered.

“You’ve never heard the term- no, of course you wouldn’t have.”  Timaios made a sound like a sigh.  “Whatever – no, that’s a conversation for private.  Let’s try again.  Ermenrich has something in the basement of the McCurdy Building – someone.  And he wants to own the building so that he owns that someone, because they are now part of the building.  Am I following so far?”

“That sounds right.”  Ctirad pieced through the words slowly.  “I don’t know what the thing’s power is, but I know that it – they? – it collects things that get too near it.  I don’t know how it eats, either,” he added, swallowing bile.  “It’s – someone should kill it, put it out of its misery.”

“I’m not generally in the business of mercy killings,” Timaios mused quietly, “but I’m willing to take your word on this one.  THe question is, where did this demolition come in?  Was he unable to buy the property?”

“If he — if he demolishes it, he’s going to.-”  Ctirad gulped.  “I don’t think that’s good.”

“Sal, get someone on that.  Looking into the deal, seeing who owns the building, the demolition company, who we can bribe and who we can buy and who already owes us favors.   If the protesters are —”

“Got it, sir, you want the full work-up.” Sal smirked.  “All right.  You’re gonna give Ctirad a stiff drink or two and some fresh air, yeah?”

“You see how it is?” Timaios’ despair was clearly mock and played for humor and still a little weird for Ctirad.  “I’m bullied by my own staff!”

Ctirad took a gamble.  “If Sir does not wish to be bullied by Sir’s staff, perhaps Sir ought to invest in a nice sturdy paddle and engage in a bit of creative discipline.  Sir.”

“Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?”  Sal made a mock-indignant face.  “Besides, you don’t know.  We might all like it.”

“Even if Sir’s staff enjoyed it,” Ctirad continued, as if he hadn’t heard Sal, “they might find it difficult to bully Sir while being paddled.”

“And should I start by paddling you, mm?”  Timaios’ voice was warm.  

Ctirad froze.  For a split-second, he thought he’d gone further than he could up with.

“Sir is of course welcome to paddle this one, if Sir wishes.”  He’d never spoken like this, not even to Ermenrich.  It made it easier to keep doing.  “But this one would never bully an Owner.”

“Give it time, kid, give it time.” Sal chuckled.  “You’ll bully him right along with the rest of us.”

“I…”  He coughed uncertainly.  “That is, this one thinks that is unlikely, given this one’s habits and predilections.”  And then he smiled widely.   “Damn, I didn’t even know I knew that word.  ‘Predilections.’  Seriously?  That’s a bit highbrow for a grunt like me.”

“And yet it rolled beautifully off of your tongue.”  Timaios stroked Ctirad’s hair.  “So you think I should paddle my employees, mmm?”

“Only if you don’t want them to bully you, sir.  But I think you’re in the habit of, ah.  Of letting your employees and staff push back, so that you know you’re not bullying them.  So I guess you’re going to have to accept a certain amount of being pushed back at, in that case?”

He glanced at Timaios, wondering if he’d gone too far.  Sal was laughing, though.  And more importantly, Timaios was smiling.

“You’re a very observant man, Ctirad.  I like that.  And I think I’ve pushed you enough for one night.  Sal, thank you.  You have your duties – and they can wait until the morning, you should get some sleep, too.  Come on, if you’d like, Ctirad.  I think we should go to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”  Even with if you’d like, he wasn’t going to say no to that.  Ctirad waiting for Timaios to stand and then stood himself, stretching surreptitiously.  

🔒

Next: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/02/09/badchange-2/

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Want more?

Bodyguard

First: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/12/03/negotiation/

Previous: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/18/purchased/

💰

“I want my daughter safe.  I want her safe no matter what.”

Leander was not the sort of guy to shiver, but something about his employer’s – Owner’s – words made him want to.  He studied the man’s face.  “You’re serious.”

“Deathly serious.  You are not my life insurance, because I’m not that vain, and because I’m old enough to look after myself.  But you’re my insurance for her.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir.  Crystal clear.  Keep your daughter alive despite herself.  Even when the shit hits the fan.”

“You don’t seem bothered.” Continue reading

After a Warm Meal

“MDom Not Asshole” continues

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
Previous: Into the Woods, Into the House

🌳🏚️🌳

When she had filled her belly with soup and her mind had calmed down a little, Mélanie looked up at her new owner.  “So. Sir.”

“Jasper.  or Fox.  Or Crazy.”

“So, Jasper.  What is it that you want me to do for you?  Since you wasted valuable stolen goods on m-”

“Not wasted.”  He steepled his fingers and looked at her  “Spent, yes. I spent maybe a quarter of what you are worth, half because I cheated the slave-monger as a matter of course and half because he had no idea what you’re worth-” Continue reading

Cats Have Nine Lives

This is not fanfic for the anime Mahou Tsukai no Yome/the Ancient Magus‘ Bride, per se, but it is inspired by something in an episode, a reference to the nine lives of cats in a different angle than I’m used to seeing it. 

It’s also sort of Real People Fic.

It also involves pet death, be forewarnedAlso, I made myself cry.

🐈

Continue reading

Conlang (Extra Lexember?) – Put Some Clothes On

Post 1: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/12/25/lexember/

Post 2: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/05/conlang-extra-lexember-syllabary/ 

Post 3: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/08/conlang3/

Post 4: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/15/conlang3-2/

Post 5: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/18/conlang/

Part 6: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/22/conlang-2/

Today’s topic is… Clothes

Okay, let’s see.

We need people who weave, which means we need something to weave.

vinkin is a sort of linen-like fiber which grows easily in their environment.  vinken is the fabric made from it, and vonken is to weave or to make fabric.

rortlon is to sew; rirtlin is a sewn garment, rertlen is “sewn.”

in most cases, rirtlin has come to mean clothing as a whole.

lenlen is a sewing needle; hinlon is thread.

hinhin is embroidery, which is often done with beads made of wood, metal, or clay.

oh, yes, beads.

Ishjiishinjijin. (wooden, metal, clay beads).

The main garment worn is a folded sheet of fabric joined at the shoulders and often belted (kedvel; kidvil, a belt) around the waist; when the weather is cold, a tube that would probably be considered a shrug in modern terms is worn under or over this main garment.  The garment is a tilri (telren, folded; tilren, fold; tolren, to fold); the sleeve/shrug is a nini.

(none, to give someone the shoulder, to turn your back on them).

Continue reading

Plants

DialMforMara suggested that I blog about plants, and here I am.

Plants.

I bury my toes in loam-dark soil; 

I walk barefoot through the dirt my ancestors farmed. 

That is the part I easily remember of a poem I wrote in high school, when the assignment was roots.

Yeah, but it took me more than 20 more years to really internalize why my ethnic heritage – German on my mother’s side – was something we never really talked about.  And on my father’s side I was Good Old Mutt, so my roots were, well.  Farming.

My pen name is a tree.

If you look at my twitter, my background image is a vineyard.

When I dream of going home, I dream about my grandparents’ home, the old farmhouse, or gardening with my grandma.

I like things with very deep roots.  Old things with their structure going way down.  I like things with their feet buried in the soil and their arms lifted up to the sky.

Like me.