Archive | May 2020

The Bellamy, Chapter 15

Sorry for missing a week~ Dermatologist visit!


The pair left her at the doorway of Supernatural and the Occult, both of them smiling, both of them saying they were going to talk to Miss Haas. Two had slipped a packet of cookies into Veronika’s pocket, too, which pressed against her leg in a weird, crinkly way, like a token of some sort of kinship.  She spent a moment looking at the door – it was big, a couple feet taller than she was and proportionally wider, a heavy-looking wooden door – not oak, maybe something like – cherry, she realized, she’d seen that somewhere, probably in the Fillion.  It was carved all about with figures, what looked like demons and angels, pegasi and unicorns and what she thought were probably kelpies. 

The top half had a window – carved so it looked like it was held up by the unicorn and the kelpie, riding on a pegasus’ back – which itself was a complicated stained glass ritual circle.  Continue reading

Purchase Negotiation 40: A Breather

First: Purchased: Negotiation

“We should heal you,” Mr. MacDiarmed tutted. If that was what he thought the face-in-hands meant, well, Leander wasn’t going to argue, that was for sure.  “Lay down here, your head on – mmm, on Sylviane’s lap, your legs on mine.”

Orders.  Leander could deal with that.  More than that, as he put his head very carefully on Sylviane’s lap, very carefully, he sighed in what he realized was relief.  Orders. 

His legs went on Mr. MacDiarmed’s lap and he melted into the feeling of doing the right thing.  It wasn’t something he’d felt all that much with the last few owners, he had to admit, but on the other hand – on the other hand, he hadn’t had it much with Mr. MacDiarmad, either.  The man seemed to be way too reluctant to give Leander orders, other than the ones that were just the outlines to his life. 

“Outlines.” Continue reading

Saving the Cult (if not the World), Chapter Eighteen

Saving the Cult (If not the World) "It's time." Manfield Lee knew he was good at sounding authoritative even when he didn't know what he was talking about - he'd turned a fortune into a megafortune doing just that, after all, not to mention running the Organization - but right now, he DID know what he was talking about. After all, it was just a date, wasn't it? And if the date turned out to be wrong, well, then he knew exactly what to blame it on, and that blame would fall on the scholars and the psychics, not on him. The other thing Manfield Lee knew how to do was to place the blame in very specific ways that were not him.

Dylan helped Lina back down from the hood of the car they’d been standing on.  People were still quiet, still processing what he’d said. 

So was she.  She looked at Dylan, trying to figure out what it was that she wanted to say. 

Woah didn’t seem to encompass it.  When the hell did you become a public speaker?  didn’t seem to really do it either.

“I uh.  I have to take classes in this sort of thing,” he muttered. “Even if I’m not going to be the next, uh, you know.  The next leader of the Organization, well, I have to be able to run something.  So I – I know how to do it, and you needed it.”  He coughed. “I think the city needs it – oh, hello.”

Nina didn’t recognize the skinny guy standing in front of them, but she knew him.  She was sure, if she looked, her mark would be on his neck. 

“I uh. You said, if I needed a place to stay…?”

“Yeah, here. Look, I hate to be an ass, but first, I need your promise you’ll be right here at twelve fifteen and help us with the next wave. Can you give me your word on that?”

Lina wanted to tell him not to be the ass he was saying he didn’t want to be, but — but he had a point.

The kid shifted a couple times. “Yeah. Yeah I. I promise, I can do that. I — I give me your word. But you’re really serious? About a place to stay?”

Dylan seemed to soften, which was good, because Lina might have punched him otherwise.  “Yeah, I was.  Come on – hi, I’m Dylan.  This is the woman who saved your life and is going to do so again tomorrow.  Come on, we’ll get you a room.  Anyone else?”  He raised his voice up just a bit; three other people wandered over.  One of them looked pretty well-off, another looked a bit like a hobo, and the third was the prostitute, Yolanda. 

“All right, this way.  Come on.  Now, look, please don’t run up damage charges, or I’ll never be able to do this again, but if all you do is, you know, watch some weird shit on tv and order  – I don’t think the Motel 8 has room service, to be honest, but go ahead and order if if you can.  Then we’re fine.”

“You’re for real.”  Yolanda looked at Dylan.  “You’re just going to get us four rooms?”

“Well, technically, I guess, my dad is, but don’t tell him that.  The agreement is, though, you have to give me your word you’ll be here tomorrow at 12:15 so we can save the world again.  That okay?  We all good with that?”

“My house is gone,” said the woman who looked pretty well off.  “I – It was smashed.”

“Shit.”  Lina winced.  “Shit, that sucks, I’m sorry.  You – I don’t need your -“

I’m not smashed. Because you stopped it.  Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow at 12:15.”  She hugged herself.  “I don’t have anywhere else to be anyway.”

Lina was swaying again.  Dylan looked at her and then back at Jackson.  “How about you get settled and we’ll go back up the hill once I get these people their rooms, okay?”  He patted her shoulder.  “Maybe get some more food, too?”

Lina sat down on the back of a truck.  She closed her eyes, just for a moment. 

It seemed that a moment was all it took. 


“Easy, you’re going to knock something over!”

“I’m being easy, you’re the one shouting – shit. you woke her up.”

Lina was sitting – on a pile of lumpy things? And moving up a steep hill at a ragged pace.  She opened her eyes.  

She was definitely in the shopping cart, and she was definitely being pushed uphill.  Nearly to the campground, from the looks of things.  “Guys…”

“Almost there,” Ethan grunted from behind her.  She shifted carefully; he was pushing the cart with her and their slightly-depleted groceries in it.  “Do we have a story or are we just going to bull through and pretend we meant to do it?”

“I think we’re going to have to bull through.”  She turned to look at Jackson, who handed her a protein bar.

“You three should be doing the eating,” she complained.   “You pushed this whole thing – and me! – all the way up that hill, after – after! -“

“We’ve been eating the whole way up.  Please, eat.  You’re going to need it.”

She couldn’t argue with the look on his face, so she ate the bar.  Only when she was done – and Dylan had swapped off for Ethan pushing the cart – did she think about the fact that they were still pushing her up the hill. 

“I can get down.  Guys.  I can walk.”

“When we get to the park entrance,” Jackson offered, although somehow it almost sounded like an order. “Really, Lina, you can use other people’s energy, but you’re going to end up spending the most of your own no matter what.  No matter how many people we add,” he tacked on, but the way he said it made it sound like he was referencing a discussion she hadn’t been part of, maybe with Dylan or Ethan or both.   “And I know we can call in a bunch, but the more we call in, the more people are going to be linked to you – I’m going to spend some time today looking to see if there’s something more like a temporary link or the sort of thing that would let you release a connection.  So you could take power but then, well, not have them bound to you in aeternum.”

“I know basic Latin,” she muttered.  “Dressing it up doesn’t make it less ‘forever.'”

“Still.  That’s the goal, to have a way to get you more power without it being forever.”

They’d come to the gate of the park.  Dylan stopped the cart and Ethan and Jackson helped Lina down.  She wanted to protest that she didn’t need the help, but the way her legs were wobbling suggested otherwise. 

“All right.”  Dylan hrrmed.  “Me and Ethan behind, Lina in the front with Jackson directly to her right hand, just a fraction behind her.  If we’re bulling through, Lina, walk in like you’re a conquering hero.  Or in this case, their savior, who happens to be very aware that you are.”

“You’re good at this,” she muttered. 

“Yeah.  Like I said.  Places, everyone.”

Want more?

Supernatural Health Department

This story came about because I was doing Speech to Text on the way to/way back from my dermatologist (in the next state over!) and while “writing” the Bellamy, it misread something I was trying to say as “The Supernatural Health Department.”


“We are the Supernatural Health Department, ma’am. ” They both held up badges. They both smiled, the kind of smarmy smiles that were usually annoying, but it was easy to forgive them that, because they were one tall drink of water, and one extra tall drink of water; the one who was only tall, not giant, had dimples when you smile like that. Continue reading

Malina and the Border Banners, Chapter 12 (A Story for B)

Began here.
Chapter 2 here
Chapter 3 here.
Chapter 4 here.
Chapter 5 here.
Chapter 6 here.
Chapter 7 here.
Chapter 8 here.
Chapter 9 here.
Chapter 10 here.


The fish-sprites chose that moment to arrive, which at least changed the mood if not improved it. One was pushing a large tray of food in front of it, the whole thing floating in mid-air. Another had a tray with piles of clothing; a third and fourth were managing a writing desk that was thick with carvings.

“Oh, oh wow.  Thank you, all of you. Thank you.”  Malina patted the air near all of the sprites.  “Thank you,” she repeated.  “This is quite a bit.  Thank you.”  She stretched and made her way to the little table, where the sprites had set everything.  “You are very good – very good sprites?” she offered.  “Very good spirits,” she added.  “Very good at serving me,” she tried.

How did you even talk to sprites?

They chittered at her, a trilling sound that went up and down and up and down again like it was running up the stairs. 

“You did a good job,” she added one more time. Continue reading

The Bound Demon, a snippet from a dream

Content warnings right up front: violence.  Very sideways implied rape. More violence.  Kidnapping. Broken bones. Burns. They are not treating this demon very nicely, okay?

Also, he may not be a demon. 

Snippet from a very nice dream (yeah, really!) where Wyste was writing a story based on a one-line post someone else had made.  This was just one flash of a scene but it wanted to be written so, here we go.


Continue reading

Purchase Negotiation 39: Healing

First: Purchased: Negotiation

Trying a new title. Thoughts?

“So, of course, between Sylviane and I we can actually heal the wound, now that the authorities have been placated.”

They were sitting in the living room of Mr. MacDiarmad’s house; Leander was sandwiched between the two MacDiarmads, Sylviane pressed close to him and Mr. MacDiarmad making sure their legs were touching.  

He looked between them.  “That, uh.”  He struggled with responses.  “I can take care of Sylviane better if I’m healed, yeah.”

She poked him in the arm.  “And you’ll feel better and be less prone to infection and be happier without a bullet hole in you, yeah?”

“Well… yeah, but.”  He cleared his throat. “Slave, remember?”  He looked at her with affectionate frustration, too muddled to try to make his words any more politic.  “That’s not what matters.”

“You Saved. My Life. Today.”  She poked him again.  He didn’t move away from it.  He tried not to think about the fact that they were having this argument while his owner, his master, was right on the other side of him. Continue reading

Saving the Cult (if not the World), Chapter Seventeen

Saving the Cult (If not the World) "It's time." Manfield Lee knew he was good at sounding authoritative even when he didn't know what he was talking about - he'd turned a fortune into a megafortune doing just that, after all, not to mention running the Organization - but right now, he DID know what he was talking about. After all, it was just a date, wasn't it? And if the date turned out to be wrong, well, then he knew exactly what to blame it on, and that blame would fall on the scholars and the psychics, not on him. The other thing Manfield Lee knew how to do was to place the blame in very specific ways that were not him.

Sorry about the pause in posting this – I have very little excuse (Except pandemic) because I have like 7+ chapters ahead already written.


Lina tried not to put too much weight on Jackson, but she felt like she had no energy at all left.  She tried to force her mind to work, to come up with something to say.  What had she been thinking about?

Physics.  Physics.

“When we – I need a book on Physics.  A good one.  And maybe I need to call our physics teacher.  Mine, I mean.  Or yours.  If they —”  She looked out.  To either side of the plaza, the wave had left broken buildings and scorched-looking places.  “If they survived?  Is this-“

BzzZzt.  Dean.  Dean, they say That was the first wave.  The second one shouldn’t hit for more than 12 hours, and then another 8 after that.  They don’t know how long before it wears itself out.”

“Direction?” Lina snapped. 

“Dispatch.  Which way will it go?” Continue reading

The Ladies of the Jungle

Reegatia’s people were all women, or at least they were all ladies. 

It had come about because of a misunderstanding with an explorer who had “discovered” the people that he – the explorer was a he, at least – had called The Ladies of the Jungle. 

There were three things wrong with that, possibly 5, and it was a title only 5 words long in the Imperial language, one in the explorer’s native tongue – Pialejiarnna

But the end result – because the explorer had returned to his own people with drawings and notes and more notes, had come back and then returned with even more notes, more drawings, and a few of the weird new Daguerreotypes, and then on his fourth voyage had brought back four of the Pialejiarnna – was that the world believed that Reegatia’s people were all women. They were the Ladies of Pia, and the fact that they called themselves the Ineguruhh was a fact only known to those that considered themselves in the know; the etymology of that term had been hotly debated in certain groups but, unfortunately, nobody had ever asked an Ineguruhch. Continue reading


I’m having a writing retreat day!  Tell your friends!  Tell your foes!  Tell everyone~

This prompt (two prompts, combined) – from


It was the sort of thing that people – teachers, specifically, Mrs. Gruble, very specifically – thought was clever. 

Ani and Charlie had never gotten along, not since – well, if Ani was going to put a date on it, or a First Event, it was the second time they met, which would have been the third preschool Ani had gone to, the good one, the one that was fun, the one where Ani fit in.

Until Charlie showed up.

And that – that had been their entire school life.  Not just school. Scouts. Church. 4-H.  You name it – it wasn’t that big a town – and Ani and Charlie were both in it. And they were at loggerheads. 

But of course, since teachers like Mrs. Gruble only saw a tiny fraction of it, they tended to think that they knew what was going on, and they tended to think that it was nothing important, nothing rational, nothing but a little spat or something. 

Which is how Ani and Charlie had ended up working on a project together, which was how they’d both ended up with detention, which was how they had ended up in the theatre’s prop room, moving things around, sorting out ancient backgrounds, and cleaning everything. Twice.  Thrice, possibly. 

Which was okay – the theatre prop room was pretty big  – until they both sighted a really nice tiara in the middle of the room, right on the line that they’d agreed on, mostly silently, was their borderline.  Continue reading