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The Great Pumpkins- a bonus story of Fae Apoc for Patreon

Sep29
This is Viddie (Viðrou, but his mother didn’t want to call him Vitthie.), the son of Cynara and Leofric from, among other things, Addergoole: a Ghost Story.

 🎃

In theory, it should have been easy.

Viddie knew pumpkins.  He’d grown up eating pumpkin pie from scratch, and he knew all of the ins and outs of what made a pumpkin a pumpkin.

He had a book with diagrams and a list of the appropriate – or close enough to appropriate – Greek and Old Tongue Words.

And he was in the grotto, kneeling in front of a little patch of dirt, alternately muttering words and spitting out curses his mother probably didn’t know he knew.

The vines were growing, sure.  They were even putting out little flowers.  But there wasn’t – right.  He needed to pollinate them.  He couldn’t remember if this sort of plant was self-pollinating, so he started another one. Continue reading →

Lightning in Autumn

Sep13

My Giraffe (Zebra) Call is open!

Written to Inspector Caracal‘s prompt.

Set after Addergoole Year 10 but before the 2011 apocalypse. 

🦌

There were tourists in the bar again, the sort of people that made what was normally a pleasant place feel like the back of the locker room.   Nathan felt his shoulders tensing, felt his grip on his drink getting tighter.  “Another?” he asked Patti.  

The bartender shook her head. “Not yet, son.  Nurse that ice a little longer, and then I’ll pour you another.”  Then she was gone, tending to the New People at the other end and the other regulars in between.

“Shit.”  How Patti did that and kept in business, he never knew.  He turned slowly on his stool, taking in the tourists at the pool table, the regulars at tables further and further away from the tourists, Liza the bouncer at the front door…

He turned back around in time to see Leo strutting up to the tourists and getting in the tallest one’s face.  Nathan’s heart did a little twist.  Leo.  That blonde hair, that arrogant, playful smirk, that – that body.  It wasn’t just Nathan’s heart that was twisting.

The tourist took a step back.  His friends were jeering.  Leo didn’t seem to notice, stepping back in to the tourist’s personal space, running a hand over the man’s cheek.  Nathan felt a stab of jealousy.  My cheek is right here!

“There’s a reason they call him Lightning, you know.”  

He hasn’t heard anyone sit down next to him, but now there was someone there, sipping a drink and watching the same scene Nathan was.  “I’ve never heard anyone call him that.”

“Yeah?”  The guy was, unfortunately, undeterred.  “They call him Lightning because he never strikes the same place – or the same person – twice.”

“I’m not the same person.”  Nathan chewed on his ice and watched Leo work.  He was louder than he normally was, and he seemed to be – from the words that wafted over the music and the conversation – suggesting that the tourist ought to come back to his place and show him exactly what his sort was worth.

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve changed,” the peanut gallery continued.  “He doesn’t care.  He just hits once and he’s gone.”

Nathan glanced over. His helpful new friend looked, in a  general sense, kind of similar to Nathan: dark hair, dark eyes, not all that tall.  “Not what I meant – ooooh!”  Leo had somehow ducked a punch the now-beset tourist had thrown and instead tossed the tourist on to the floor.  “You saw it, Patti, you saw it!  The asshole threw the first punch!”

“That’s not gonna save my furniture, now is it?  Liza!”

The fight was in full swing, as it were, when Liza waded in and hauled the tourist out of it, and then hauled his friends out.  “Parking lot!  All of you! You, too!”  She glared at Leo.  It might have been Nathan’s imagination, but he thought Leo looked a little sheepish for a moment.

They allowed themselves to be herded – tourists, Leo, two other regulars who had gotten involved – out past the pile of broken furniture they’d left in their wake and through the side door, but the swinging door showed the tourist spinning around with a punch the minute his feet hit the asphalt.

“Looks like he’s going to hit someone more than once,” Nathan muttered, not particularly generously.

“Ha.  Good one.  Yeah, he’s plenty violent, isn’t he?  But he don’t come back, kid.  Like I said.  Never the same person twice.”

“But I’m not the -”  Nathan gave up.  He didn’t want to explain to this stranger.  Hell, he didn’t even want to explain to Leo, who would probably scoff and walk away, no matter how different this could be, Nathan could be.

The front door swung again and a redheaded woman walked in.  Another tourist, Nathan thought, noting the dyed-crimson of her hair and the clothes that wouldn’t have fit in here even if she were male.  Then she kissed Liza with an intensity that suggested comfortable familiarity and an intimacy that said maybe she wasn’t all that out of place in a gay bar after all and plopped herself down at the bar next to Nathan’s new buddy.

“Telling the same old lies, Trev?” she teased.  “Don’t listen to him, kid, whatever he says.  Patti, my love.  The usual and one of whatever these nice boys are having for them, too.”

Maybe that was supposed to cover exactly HOW big the wad of money she was passing over the counter was, or how two of those top bills would probably cover the furniture damages.  

“They’re not lies, and anyway, how would you know?  You’re not exactly his type!”  Trev – if that was New Friend’s name – looked put out.  The woman just laughed.

“I know because I know Leo.  And I know you.  Like I know I’m not your type but I might… sometimes… be this guy’s type.”  She sipped her whisky – neat – and grinned at them, a grin that looked more hungry than cheerful and, Nathan had a feeling, was covering over a seething kettle of pain.  

She saw through him, he knew that much.  “Doesn’t matter.  Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”  He finished the drink Patti passed him in one gulp and laid his money on the counter.  “I gotta go.”

The redhead’s voice followed him out the door. “Don’t believe that old lie, kid.  Lightning strikes wherever he damn well pleases.”

🦌

See stories about Leofric/Leo (that have been migrated) here.

See stories about Cya(the redheaded woman) here.

🦌


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Falling Out Of The Noose

Sep8

This story is part of the Addergoole: The Original Series backstory/Sidestory

It comes after Loose Ends and Tying Off; if you are following Addergoole: a Ghost Story, Shad and Meesh are Abednego’s older brothers, Eris and Joff’s former Keepers, and all around bad guys.

It is written to chanter_greenie‘s prompt.

🔒

Shadrach had last track of how many times they’d gone through this.  Keeper, Kept, Keeper, Kept.  They went through whole months where they were both as gentle as they knew how, hoping the next month would be kind back to them.  They went through seasons where they were rough, violent, nasty.  He’d almost died at least four times.  He’d almost killed Meshach at least twice.

Once, Professor VanderLinden, Professor Solomon, and Professor Pelletier had taken turns living with them for two months.  It had made those two months very tense, but it hadn’t fixed anything. Continue reading →

Funerary Rites Twenty-One: Home

Sep6

First: Funeral
Previous: Family

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“Well,” Chitter commented dryly, “that was entertaining.  And entirely unexpected.  Senga, do you have any nice family?”

“No,” Erramun answered for her.  “Mirabella eliminated all the members of Senga’s family that might be considered nice.  Except Senga, who she chose to leave alive and actually protected.”

“Well, Senga’s not nice, she’s ruthless, sweet, and staring at me like I mean murder.  Why’d her aunt leave her alive?”

“Mirabella always has her reasons but she almost never shares them.  Shared.”  Erramun frowned.  “Someone killed her.  I want to know who.”

“I do, too.  And not just because they beat me to it.” Senga frowned.  “I don’t know, but I feel like Eaven is too obsessed with this place.  I feel like everyone is too obsessed with this place.”

“Well, move in, make it your own.  That’s the first step.”  Erramun gave her a gentle push.

“Hey, Bound guy, let the lady move on her own.” Chitter glared at him.  “You’re not supposed to be pushy, you’re supposed to be pushed.”

“And you are supposed to be moving in and being a supportive crew member,” he retorted.  “So support.  The sooner the threshold recognizes her, the safer we will all be – and that includes you, little programmer.”

Senga took a step forward while they argued, and then another.  Home.  She got her feet moving and managed to push herself through the half-open gate and beyond it, down the long, wide driveway.

“Aren’t we bringing the moving van?” Ezer asked behind her.

“In a moment.”  Erramun followed her slowly down the driveway.

The grand front garden had gone to weeds and thorns.  Well, it had always been more than  a little thorny.  The circled drive between the two flanking wings was cracked.  She muttered a Repair Working at the worst of the cracks and watched it seal up under her feet.  The doors were closed, at least, and the shutters on all the windows latched.

“Clean up later?” Erramun suggested.  “Let’s get in the front door and remind the house that it’s yours.”  He rested a hand on her shoulder.  “We’re right here.”

Allayne took the cue, as she was so good at.  “We’re right here with you.”  She put her hand in Senga’s left.  “Come on.  Do you know what parties we could throw here?  How much fun we could have here?  Ooh, and I bet we could set up-  but that’s for later, come on.”

“I want to have a whole room for my computers,” Chitter – well, chittered.  There was a reason that was her name.  “A whole wing.”

“Hey,” Ezer scolded, “save some for the rest of us, eh?  It’s a big place and all, but -”

“But there are two residential wings.”  Senga started walking. “Not counting the servants’ wing.  “And there are two and a half floors each on each of those wings.  Chitter can have a floor of a wing.  We can all have a floor of a wing.  And then when we’re settled, we can decide what to do about the rest.”

Her hand was on the doorknob.  She held her breath.  She half-expected the house to reject her, the threshold to bar her entrance.

Erramun had gotten in, and by the rules of the fae, he was her.  “I’m home,” she murmured softly.  She opened the door and stepped very carefully inside.

Next: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/10/22baggage/

 
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Beauty-Beast 24: Home

Sep6

First – Previous – Landing Page – Next

🔒

By the time Shel deposited Ctirad back at the house with a pile of clothing, Ctirad wasn’t particularly sure if he felt more or less like himself than he had in ages.

He felt different, that much was for sure.  His head was swimming.  Shel had gotten him joking, laughing, and relaxed in a way he couldn’t remember ever being.

And now he was back in Timaios’ master suite, waiting for his master to arrive home.

It was like getting off the roller-coaster.  He felt like his legs were swaying under him.  

He knelt down on the floor and tried to find his calm place.  The pants moved strangely with him, and he thought about taking them off. Continue reading →

Half-breed of Heart

Aug29

Written to clare_dragonfly‘s prompt. Doug is a character from Addergoole (The Original Serial), Addergoole: Year Nine, and the current Addergoole: a Ghost Story.

💪

Doug was not a Mara; he was not one of the pure-blooded Warriors, the Protectors of the fae.

He had been aware of that since the moment he Changed – if he hadn’t been pretty sure of it long before that.

His father was a Mara who did not have Mara children.  His mother was the halfbreed daughter of a Daeva (the Inspirers, the succubi, the pleasure-givers and pleasure-takers); said Daeva did not bear Daeva children any more than Doug’s father could have Mara.  The chances of Doug being Mara were about as slim as the chances of him being elected president of the world.

His Change had just cemented that: his wings that would never sustain flight, his body that could not take damage the way that a Mara’s could.

The thunder that rumbled out of him when he was particularly irritated.

The fact that he was, when touching someone, when touching someone with his feet on the ground, stronger than his father or than any other Mara he’d ever gotten to spar with him.

He wasn’t a Mara.

Right now, he was damn glad of that.

His student Hestia – his newest, his youngest, his smallest student, Hestia – had felled the monster.  She had done a damn good job of it, especially for someone whose Change was not warrior-related.  But then the monster had made one great final heave – and landed on top of Hestia.

Hest weighed maybe 110, most of it muscle – but there was only so much muscle could do for you without any leverage.  Her spear was still in her hand, but she’d dropped her blade.

And the monster weighed almost as much as three elephants combined, and was twice as fat.

Doug grabbed the nearest long thing – part of the building they’d been fighting in, a beam or something.  The building probably needed it.  He needed it more.  He set his feet in the dirt, let his toes feel the ground below him, and pulled on the thunder.

He shoved the stick under the monster, aiming carefully, not wanting to hit Hestia, and he pushed.

Three counties away, they were closing their windows.  The sky flashed and sparked.  The ground  flashed and sparked.

The corpse of the monster lifted, an inch, a handspan, a foot, two yards.  Doug heaved, the world sparked, and the monster flew a couple feet through the air and landed with a wet thump.

He scooped Hestia up into his arms, muttering healing Workings and curse words at her indiscriminately.

 

 
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Funerary Rites Twenty: Family

Aug25

First: Funeral
Previous: Naked, Dead People, Etc.

He looked her over for a minute, almost as if he hadn’t seen her before.  Then he closed his eyes and went still.  “Daughter of Claudia, the lawyer said.  In the fae style.  But that’s not what you said, is it?  Daughter of Aonghus, himself the son of Sláine.  I was distracted at the time.  That’s the only excuse.  That’s an interesting lineage you have there.”  He opened his eyes again.  “Claudia, Named simply The Free, who was that and more, wild and calm, and absolutely deadly when crossed.  Aonghus. The White Wolf.  Oh, did he cause trouble in the winter.”  His lips curled.  “Yes.  I know about your family.  I knew Sláine, too, Life-or-Death.  You come by your violent tendencies honestly, Senga Monmartin.  And what do they call you?”

Senga had not heard her family’s Names spoken in decades, and she hadn’t heard them spoken like that – with cautious reverence – since they’d died.  “They call me Monmartin,” she answered dryly, and waved her hand before he could complain that that hadn’t been what he meant.  “It’s not actually my last name.  They call me War,  but the full name is Swallow on the Mountain of War.”

“Mon-martin,” he murmured.  “That’s quite a mouthful of a Name.”

“My Mentor had – has – a leaning towards the poetic and a flair for the dramatic.  It was supposed to be Swallow of  War, but she couldn’t resist the chance to get the Mon part in there.” Continue reading →

Fanfiction: Diagnostic Machine

Aug25

Crossover: Dr. House, Faerie Apocalypse. I cannot write Dr. Cuddy, so the third person here is a vague unnamed person.

“Dr. House, I’d like to introduce our new diagnostic machine, Melody Redfern.  Melody, Dr. House.”

“Oh, come on,”House scoffed.  “You keep trying to replace me, and you know it’s futile.. Face it,”he sneered, you’re stuck with me.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go stick a needle in a teenager’s spine.”

“No, House, you misunderstood.  Melody isn’t here to replace you.  She’s here to replace the ridiculously overpriced tests you keep ordering.”

“What’s she going to do?”. His gaze raked over the young woman, taking in her floral skirt and silver bracelets.  “Read their tea leaves?”

“Now that you mention it…” Melody’s voice matched her appearance: sweet and thin. Continue reading →

Beauty-Beast 23: Shopping

Aug23

First – Previous – Landing Page – Next

🔒

Ctirad had been sure he’d be okay with shopping.

He was doing it for Timaios, after all, and he actually liked his current  owner – so far.  He had to keep repeating so far to himself.  If he forgot it could all go bad, it would hurt so much more when it did.

He was doing it for “the boss,” the way Shel kept saying.  But still, he walked into the first place and he wanted to turn around and flee.

“I.”  he coughed.  “This…” He picked up a handkerchief.  “It costs more than my first year of college.”

“You went to college?”

“ROTC.  Yeah.”  One of those things he didn’t think about much.  “But seriously.  This is-”

“Think about it this way.  It pleases the boss to have you dress like this.  And you’re gonna look like a million dollars when we’re done.”

“I’m going to be wearing a million dollars!  Maybe twice that.”  He was whispering.  Still, they drew the attention of the sales maven.

“Can I help you gentle- ah, Mr. Brown.  Does Mr. Kaprinsky need some more shirts?”

“Not at the moment, no, Tammy.  No, this is Ctirad.  He’s a new… employee of Mr. Kaprinsky, and we need to outfit him properly.”

He managed to make significant pause “employee” sound less like whore and more like we don’t talk about the real relationship, but it’s important.  Ctirad took his cue from that and shifted into a rest position, raising his eyebrows at “Tammy” as she looked him up and down.

“Well, there’s plenty to work with.  He has a perfect body.  Come on then, Ctirad,” like Shel, she managed to pronounce the name correctly on the first try, “let’s get you measured and fitted out.  I have some ideas already. Plenty of room to move, I assume?  Oh, don’t look at me like that.  I can see it from your stance and the way you cased the room.  It’s important your clothes fit you as much as it’s important that you look the way Mister Kaprinsky likes.  And lucky for you, I can handle body.  Now, we’re tailoring around the… choker… right?  Lucky for you, the suitcoat with a t-shirt is in currently, and I have some lovely silk t-shirts.  This way, this way.”

He was fussed into a room more than he was led.  He moved along with it, feeling strangely like he was being sized up for clothing by his second-grade teacher.

And he hadn’t thought about her in ages, either, hadn’t thought about childhood.  He shook himself a little bit.

“Easy, easy.  I’m not going to do anything too weird.  See, no weapons.”  She held up her arms.

Ctirad looked her up and down as she was inviting him to.  “No weapons,” he agreed.  “You work with a lot of… ex-military?”

“I do.  Not just in this little city, oh, no.  Here and there and everywhere, but I keep my office here for Mr. Kaprinsky.  He goes through those shirts…” She winked cheerfully at him.

“You should have a weapon, then.” What?  He didn’t tell people should, that wasn’t his job.  That was very distinctly not his job.  The opposite of job.  It had been explained… oh.  “Shel?” he asked weakly.

“Go ahead and have bodyguard opinions.  Tammy isn’t going to mind and neither is the boss.”

So Shel, although out of line of sight, was definitely staying in earshot.  Good to know.  Ctirad wondered if that was for his comfort or for Tammy’s.

“I’m not exactly helpless, it’s just that everything I have is defensive.”  She winked at him.  “And yes, son, you can have all the bodyguard opinions you want.  It makes me feel safer, let me tell you.  Now let’s see, I’m going to have to measure all of you.  Any places you want to hold the tape instead of me holding it?”

That was, Ctirad was pretty certain, a little unusual.  On the other hand, he’d never been fitted for a suit that cost this much money before  “No, but I wouldn’t mind, uh, a warning?”

“I can definitely give you a warning.  All right, here we go, here we go.”  True to her word, she warned him before each measurement, doing it as a steady prattle of “and now I’m going to -” interspersed with gossip about a niece of hers that, for all Ctirad knew, might be entirely fictional.

It didn’t matter.  She was talking to him – like a person, or at the very least like a customer, which might be a subset of person but still meant she thought he needed to be catered to.  Ctirad smiled at the appropriate points, put in a nice chuckle a time or two, and answered her are-you-paying-attention questions with just enough of his mind to not be rude.  The rest of him was casing the place and the woman.

She might be fae; he couldn’t tell.  Knowing those things might be something else his education had been lacking.  She moved with a great deal of extraneous gestures that covered over very nicely how smooth and efficient her core body movement was.  She smiled a lot but rarely showed her teeth, and she touched him in such a way that she would know immediately if his shoulders tensed.

He thought about trying it, but she was being so nice, he didn’t want to ruin the moment.  Instead he waited patiently until she patted him on the shoulder.

“And there you go.  I’ll get you some off-the-rack things for today; I imagine you have some more shopping to do, mmm?  Can’t wander around like that all the time.  And then I’ll have the rest to you in a week.  Two weeks for the tux, three for white tie.”  That last bit was to Shel, who, it seemed, was assumed to be Ctirad’s handler.  “He’ll need to come in for one more fitting.”

Shel saluted.  “As you say, ma’am.  Come on, Ctirad, get off your feet for a few.  There’s coffee and tea, and even Tammy will take at least two or three minutes to get you some clothes.”

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EAT ME

Aug22

Two takes on sauergeek‘s prompt, and continuing to work out the kinks in cross-posting

🌿

None of the plants in Addergoole’s grotto were, technically, toxic.  That is, they might cause you to have convulsions, visions, insomnia, narcolepsy, or possibly just a warm and fuzzy feeling, but they would not kill you — or, at least, they wouldn’t kill an ordinary human or Ellehemaei child.  Some of the Changes, normal air would kill them, and Valentina could not speak for her plant life in those cases.

She enjoyed encouraging experimentation and enjoyed more watching the results of the experimentation.  After all, every plant in the grotto was the result of“hey, what happens if…?” — Hers and Laurel Valerian’s, mostly, although students other staff had put in their ideas from time to time.  Isabella Even-hand in the kitchen had the most brilliant ideas.  Most of her plants lived up in the orchard or the sunlight gardens, but there were a couple, including the Angry Peach, that deserved their place in the grotto — and made the most aggressive desserts.

“Hey.”  One spikey-haired first-year student flopped down on the soft moss next to another first-year, lanky and dark-clad and serious-looking.  “Have you tried chewing on the purple leaves?  They make sort of a tingling feeling, and then you just don’t feel anything at all for a while.”

Emotional numbness, Valentina wrote, in her unseen perch up in a prickly-pear tree. She’d been growing the purple-leafed plant for its bark and the bast fibers in its stem.

“Don’t feel anything at all?  Sounds better than those yellow berries.  Give it here.”

Long-term effects?  She’d have to keep an eye on these two.

🥗 Continue reading →