If I were to start another serial, as per this poll, and chose the year(s) you’d voted for,
BUT posted it micro-form, i.e., daily or 6 days/week but only 100-250 words/episode:
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Valeta’s nails were sharp on Ivor’s shoulders, and her breath was warm in his ear. “You want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?”
Ivor swallowed a protest. Good boy sounded so kidlike, so condescending.
He didn’t have to say anything. She chuckled anyway, her laugh stinging in his ear. “The options-” She pricked the side of his neck with those sharp, sharp nails – “are to be a good boy or a bad boy. You may answer me.”
Ivor’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips. “I don’t want – don’t want you to think I’m a bad boy.”
“It’s a start.” Her nails raked down his back, leaving sharp stinging behind. Ivor gasped, which only served to make Valeta laugh. “You’ll learn,” she assured him. “You’ll learn why you want to be my good boy.”
He’d signed the contract. Ivor straightened his back and nodded, short and sweet. He’d wanted to learn.
Written to Sky’s commissioned continuation of An Unusual Arrangement.
If you’d like to see more of this story, there is definitely more to be written! Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:
Next: Getting Into the Arrangement
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If I were going to post another serial, short-form stories posting frequently, which years or years would you want to read?
(No DW account? Vote in the comments).
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/832118.html. You can comment here or there.
“I… Oh… My.” Regine let her head loll on the pillow and shut her eyes. “This is not at all what… oh!… what I meant when I suggested we discuss your behaviour.”
“I know.” Between the Director’s legs, Ivette paused in her work just long enough to purr. “But this is what I meant. I’m a succubus, after all.”
“…Quite true.” Regine grabbed the pillow and tried, unsuccessfully to stifle a moan. “Quite the… oh… specimen, too.”
~
“Do you think maybe is we put this tube here…” Kailani frowned over the machine. “It’s quite an invention, but I’m not sure if it will work.”
“Well.” Tairikie found a wild grin on her face, the same one that she’d felt when she climbed the mountain. “I can think of one way to try it out.”
“One way to…” The redhead – what a wild color, speaking of wild! – took a moment, but then she began to grin. “I suppose the way to test sexual aether would be this way, wouldn’t it?” She slipped out of her shirt.
Redheads, Tairikie was fascinated to learn, had pink nipples.
~
“Kneel.” Aviv studied his new Kept – slender, fae-looking, dark-haired, and not his normal type. Male, for one. Addergoole was all about the not-normal, though. He unzipped his fly. “The first thing you’ll have to learn is to serve without argument. Addergoole will -” He fell silent as his Kept’s mouth wrapped around his cock. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
Dark eyes rolled up to look at him, and a noise in the back of the boy’s throat trilled against Aviv’s cock. Aviv groaned. Questions later. He tangled his hand in the boy’s hair and let him do what he so clearly wanted to do.
Meme here – http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/831348.html
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/831656.html. You can comment here or there.
Written to @dahob’s commission.
“You understand what you’re getting into?” Valeta crossed her legs as she studied him. “Of course you don’t, not really, but you understand the idea of what you’re getting into?”
The easy dismissal stung. Ivor titled his chin up and looked her in the eyes, keeping his own feet still. They were meeting in the Library – neutral space, safe space, where no shenanigans would be tolerated. “I’ve seen the collared ones. I’ve watched the way Ana changed, and Yaminah, and the others. I’ve seen the boy that DJ keeps around.”
“You’ve been paying attention.” Her eyes were ice chips, so pale a blue as to be almost white. Her skin was nearly the same color, looking almost green under the Library’s glass-shaded lights. And she was smiling, although he wasn’t sure that was a friendly expression. “Have you done your homework, too?”
“We’re in the Library.” He moved the History reading off the top of his pile of books, and turned the spines so she could see what he’d really been reading. “It’s not the sort of deal one would make without looking into it first.”
She looked up and down the titles. “Most people don’t research. Most people get chivvied into it, one way or another.”
“I saw. Hell Night.” Ivor snarled. “It was not – it sucked. I barely got away myself.” And if he didn’t say he felt guilty about it, he know it still showed. Yaminah had been his friend. “And a lot of people look unhappy. But I’m curious. And my Mentor thinks it’s a good idea.”
Technically, his Mentor had said “I won’t tell you not to do this.” But it was close enough.
“Interesting. My Mentor thought it was an awful idea.” She was smiling very broadly about that.
“Different Mentors? I hope?”
“Is your mentor Sakamoto?”
“No, VanderLinden.” He found himself relaxing a bit, which was probably a bad idea. “So you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it. Be at my door Friday night at nine.”
~
Friday found Ivor having second, third, and fourth thoughts. In the end, he told one of his friends – a second-year, and in less danger of being ambush-collared – the short version of what he was doing. “If I’m a zombie in classes on Monday…”
“I’ll know why. This is nuts.”
“It’s nuts, but it might work.” Ivor shrugged. “It’s better than the other seven options I’ve seen, and, come on, I went cy’Linden for a reason.”
“Go.”
So he went. He knocked on Valeta’s door at eight fifty-eight and waited, fighting the urge to run away, fighting the urge to bite his lip or twitch or in any way give away exactly how nervous he was. He counted seconds in his head to distract himself.
He’d gotten to one hundred twenty-three by the time the door opened. Valeta was standing there, with an expression on her face that could best be described as predatory and hungry. “Come in. Take off your clothes and kneel by the side of the bed, hands behind your back.”
“I-“
“When you are here on the weekends, you will only speak if told to speak. You will only stand if told to stand; otherwise you will stay on your hands and knees. And you will only wear clothes that I give you to wear. This is your last chance to back out.”
Ivor pressed his lips together and nodded. His heart was going a thousand miles an hour, but this was, after all, what he’d asked for.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I understand, M-“
“Miss Valeta .”
“-Miss Valeta.” He liked that. It had a nice sound, without being Mistress or the ridiculous ma’am.
“And do you want to back out?”
Ivor shook his head no. This was what he’d signed up for.
“All right then. Finish undressing.”
Ivor nodded his understanding and did as he was told. He’d worn things he didn’t mind losing today, just in case. Just in case what, he hadn’t been entirely sure, but there’d definitely been the concern – or hope – that his stuff might get ripped. Placidly taking everything off himself was a bit of a comedown.
But he did it quickly, anyway, and then found a spot to kneel. This was really happening. This was… real.
“I have a contract here, including all the terms that we agreed on. You’ll have no collar and no standing orders Monday 7 a.m. through Friday 9 p.m., but from Friday at nine through Monday at seven, you’re all mine, all the orders I want and anything I want to do with you. I agree to let you do homework and be certain that you’re fed, and to restrain my orders and my control to the weekends. That is all I agree to.”
She handed Ivor the contract. He paused, eyes on her; his hands were behind his back, where she’d told him to put them.
Valeta grinned. “You’re a smart one. You can move your hands to take the contract. And, here, you may take the pen to sign it, as well.”
Ivor’s eyes slid over the words. They were important words. He wanted to focus on them; he understood that he needed to focus. But he was naked on his knees, next to a girl’s bed. Next to a hot woman’s bed. It was hard to pay attention to anything except that.
The words said, as far as he could tell, exactly what she’d outlined. There was a no-blab clause that bound both of them, and a “explain to teachers” clause to that clause, and a couple others, none of which seemed very urgent or very necessary.
Ivor nodded, licked his lips, licked his lips again, and signed the paper.
“You may speak.” Valeta was smiling very widely. He ought to be worried.
“Miss Valeta?”
“The words are important. As bound by the terms on this contract-” she added her signature with a small flourish – “for the remainder of this school year, you Belong to me.”
Oh. Ivor swallowed. “As bound by the terms on the contract just signed, for the remainder of the school year, Miss Valeta, I Belong to you.”
It settled onto his shoulders like a blanket. Ivor couldn’t help but smile.
Luckily, it seemed as is that pleased his new Owner. “This will be an interesting dance. But for the next two-plus days, you’re all mine, boyo.” Her smile was sharp, and her fingernails on his shoulder even sharper. “Let’s have some fun.”
If you’d like to see more of this story, there is definitely more to be written! Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:
Next: Learning the Arrangement
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308,745,531 2011
30,874,553.10 2012
27,787,097.79 2035
33,344,517.35 2050
40,013,420.82 2060
48,016,104.98 2070
57,619,325.98 2080
69,143,191.17 2090
82,971,829.41 2100
91,269,012.35 2110
100,395,913.58 2120
110,435,504.94 2130
121,479,055.44 2140
133,626,960.98 2150
…probably not with actual fractions of a person.
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Drausus the warlord lived in an impenetrable fort on the top of an unclimbable cliff and ruled over his territory with an iron fist and a stone heart. Or, at least, he had.
Drausus commanded the farmers to grow enough for themselves and then enough for him, and those that did not, he put to work in the mines, pulling out steel and gold. Or, at least, he had.
He took his pick of the finest of the young people to warm his bed and keep him company and if they were lucky, when he was done with them he’d arrange a marriage with a member of his personal army. Or, at least, he had.
The woman, the hero, had climbed the unclimbable cliff, bypassed the well-bribed army, penetrated the impenetrable fort, and beaten the unbeatable warlord. She had done the first with tools he had never seen, the second with stealth he hadn’t thought of, the third with a little bit of both – and the fourth, Drausus had to believe was witchcraft and dishonesty and nothing more. She couldn’t have been that good at everything.
She couldn’t be that good at everything. Because if she was, Drausus was never going to escape.
“The rules are simple.” The hero-woman-thing was pacing in front of him. It turned out, Drausus had quickly learned, that the abandoned old fort on the other hillside was neither abandoned nor that old. “You will do as I say, in the manner of our people. When you do not, you will be punished. When you do, you will be rewarded.”
Drausus snarled. “And then what?”
“And then?” She pulled up a chair and smiled at him. “There is no ‘and then.’ I don’t imagine you’ll suddenly become a nice guy, or a good warlord. But I imagine, with a lot of practice, and possibly a few shocks to the system now and then, you could become an obedient one.”
This may be fae apoc.
If you’d like to see more of this story, there is definitely more to be written! Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:
We are as of this posting, $17 from three more prompters getting an extra 500-word story, and $35 from a rug for my cave!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/829184.html. You can comment here or there.
The Night Witch was, everyone knew, evil and dark and murderous and, above all, perhaps, terrifying. She ate people alive, it was said; she had paved the walk to her lair with the bones of her victims, many ground into powder over the years – decades – she had resided there. She held the entire small nation in terror, and worked great evil from her mountainside abode. The trees were twisted, it was said, for miles in every direction.
Up that mountainside, now, Candor was being dragged, past the trees, twisted and stunted and very very creepy, past the caves where the monsters were said to live, down the path of bone, which was, indeed, white and in some places powdered. They had him chained hand and foot, tricep and thigh, until he was more of a ball of chain than a Hero. They had him on a sled, dragging him up the bone path, past the black trees with their blood-red leaves. And they were taking him as a prisoner to the Night Witch.
And Candor was smiling.
Nobody could see it, of course. He was gagged – nobody would take one of his kind prisoner without a gag – and his face was pressed against his knees. The smile was more of a figure of speech than a physical expression, but Candor had stopped struggling some miles back, feigning tiredness but really just not wanting to risk breaking free too soon. He’d felt a chain wiggle, the last time he gave it a good shake. And his people were known for being strong. They should have used better chains.
The path crunched under the sled, and, though he could see very little, he could see the tibia of some woodland creature. She ate her prey alive, but that was no human bone. The minions dragging him were panting. The hill up to the Night Witch’s cave was very steep.
Candor waited. They were almost there, and, when he was brought to the Night Witch, he knew, even bound like this, his plan would work.
The sled stopped. He could see nothing but the path, but he heard a door open. He heard the murmur of proud-minion-explanation. He heard the measured footsteps that had to be the Night Witch, and he saw the white leather toes of her boots.
Candor waited. The feet paused. Candor knew the moment she realized what she was seeing, the moment she recognized the tattoos and scars on his back.
“You?!” It was a gasp, from the Witch who was unshakable.
Candor smiled. Hello, darling.
Written to ![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inventrix‘s prompt.
This may be fae apoc.
If you’d like to see more of this story, there is definitely more to be written! Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:
We are as of this posting, $17 from three more prompters getting an extra 500-word story, and $35 from a rug for my cave!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/828377.html. You can comment here or there.
Eamon had made his share of enemies in four years at Addergoole.
Everyone did, he supposed. Everyone got in somebody’s way, everyone pissed someone off. He liked to think that he’d done right, at least. He’d made the bad guys angry, made almost all of the really bad ones somewhere between furious and spitting mad, and generally protected the small, the weak, and those who didn’t know better yet. But that didn’t make him any fewer enemies – that just made the ones he had stronger and more ruthless.
He watched his back his first year out of school. It was 2012, so there was a lot of watching to do, anyway. Watch out for the army, watch out for the monster-hunters. Watch out for the monsters, in at least three varieties. Help who you can.
He was actually pretty good at helping people, too. He was naturally gregarious and made more so by his Change; people liked him. He was a nice puppy. Big, friendly, affable, and nobody really thought too much about how big he was when he was helping them out of a jam. He made a bit of a name for himself – helping people out of difficult situations, playing fireman or EMT or whatever and then moving on while people were still grateful. It was, he hated to admit, fun. People liked him.
By the time he woke up with a splitting headache, he’d actually forgotten all about watching his back from school enemies, and he’d almost forgotten about watching out for the other threats. The world was done ending. It had been a few years.
And he was staring up at someone straddling him, trying desperately to remember how he’d gotten here – and why she was smiling.
My Dungeon & Cave Call is open!
If you’d like to see more of this story, there is SO MUCH more to tell. Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:
Written to kissofjudas‘s prompt
Eamon is a Year 14 Addergoole Student. This is his first appearance.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/824918.html. You can comment here or there.
I’ve always been a fan of the post-apoc genre. There’s something cool about rebuilding a world – being forced to rebuild a world – while having some knowledge and relics of the world before.
(There’s something even cooler about the concept of the post-apoc cargo cult, worshiping relics of a world you know longer know or remember. But that’s a story for another day.)
Add to that fascination a Cold-War childhood with the nebulous sense that the end is nigh, and a fondness for those comic takedowns that point out that damage done by super-human fights (Kingdom Come comes to mind), and you have the beginnings of the Faerie Apocalypse setting.
What happens when the monsters fighting to take over the world and the heroes fighting to save it are the same sort of being? What happens when their fights destroy as much property as the “bad guys” originally did on their own? What happens, in short, when hundreds of super-powered people suddenly start fighting over territory occupied by millions of humans?
What happens is an apocalypse, a faerie apocalypse. And it is in the middle of that mess that “Monster Godmother,” my short story, takes place.
“Monster Godmother” can be found in What Follows, here:
Amazon
Smashwords
Barnes & Noble
(We will be on Kobo shortly)
Goodreads
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