Cuckoo’s Egg, a story of Tír na Cali for the Dungeon & Cave Call

Oct13

“Anything else, Mistress?” The slave, tall and dressed very handsomely, bowed to Lady Lillian.

“That will be all, thank you, Brandon.” She dismissed him with a flap of her hand, negligent and casual.

“As you wish, Mistress.” He bowed again and retreated to the cushion in the corner of the solarium.

Lady Lillian turned back to her guest, an older Baroness from the next Barony over. “Isn’t he a dear?”

“He seems awfully – placid, I suppose, for an American.” Lady Rose pursed her lips. “Is he wearing a shock collar?”

“Nothing like that, no, of course not.” Lady Lillian giggled. “No, he’s a volunteer.”

“A… what? I didn’t think we had those.”

“Oh, yes. Morganna’s been working with a few underground organizations. Gay people, transgender, submissive… they can’t be who they are, in America.”

“So they submit to our collar? Tch. Are you sure he’s a lamb, dear? The way he looks, that’s more like a lion than a ‘submissive.'”

“Oh, you know how Americans are. Even their submissives have trouble giving up control. But he’s a nice boy. Speaking of nice boys, wasn’t Cody ap Gwydion visiting you last week…” Lady Lillian changed the subject deftly, and just as tidily kept her guest talking and giggling for hours.

When she had finally seen the Baroness Rose to the door, Lillian flopped on the settee. She was staring at the window, but her eyes barely tracked. Brandon picked up around her, then knelt at her feet, exactly as she had trained him to do.

“Does it ever tire you out? Pretending to be vapid and blank?” The question, unlike the kneeling, was contrary to every bit of training he had received.

Lady Lillian turned to look at him. Something like a smile crossed her lips.

“No more, I suppose, than it tires you out, pretending to be the perfect servant. And it keeps the peace.”

If he had been kneeling peacefully before, Brandon was frozen now, even his breath seeming to stop. When he found his voice, it was a croak. “How long have you known?”

“Since I found you ‘tidying’ my office. But I’d almost doubted it, until I saw you that afternoon in the garden.”

“And…” He coughed into his shoulder and tried again. “And you said nothing? Mistress?”

“And I said nothing.” She caught his chin in her hand, a gesture she’d done time after time. Neither of them missed that it was different this time. “And I will continue to say nothing, and so will you.”

Written to [personal profile] corvi‘s prompt.

If you want more – and oh, could I go on and on with these two! – drop a tip in the tip… handcuffs 😉

This is in my Tír na Cali setting, but with new characters.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/828509.html. You can comment here or there.

Captive of the Night Witch, a story for the Dungeon Call (@Inventrix)

Oct12

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] 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.

A Week In Alder

Oct10

The Highlights

Just So You Know

Dungeon Call Notes
October Theme Chosen

Serials
Edally Academy Chapter Thirteen
Jumping Rings: A Story of the Circled Plain Chapter Eight: Valran

Other People
K Orion Fray’s prompt call
Clare_Dragonfly’s Patreon

In My Life
Adventures in Cooking: pancetta, porchetta
♪♪ These are a few of my favorite things…♫ ♫

Scrum
Tuesday Morning
Wednesday Morning

Giraffe Stories
Natural Prey Eamon and Addergoole
The Rescue? Continues? after A Rescue, of Sorts
Other Duties as Needed
Putting Down the Burden
Bring to the Table

Ladies’ Bingo Story
Evening in the Sunset, a story of Stranded World

Genderfunky Stories
Planet Rules
The Hazards of Magic (Aunt Family)

Clockwork Apoc Test Ficlet
Deep Deep Down in Kitty Town (for More, Please)

A Proof, of Sorts for ThimbleFul Thursday

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/828011.html. You can comment here or there.

Evening in the Sunset

Oct10

They had a yard.

Summer had grown up with a yard, of course, the rolling acres of the RoundTree estate, and Melinda had grown up in the ‘burbs – but Bishop had spent his whole life in apartments and high-rises.

Now, with the giant house they were renting (they’d gotten lucky, but, as Melinda pointed out, they usually got lucky when they really needed to. Summer was their good luck charm, and she was totally fine with that), they had space, they had a kitchen, and they had a back yard.

“You’re sure the landlord’s okay with a fire pit?” Bishop moved the cement pavers around one more time. “Right here look good to you?”

“I think it ought to all be one inch to the left,” Melinda teased. “Bishie, it’s fine.”

“It’s more than fine. It’s beautiful.” Summer grabbed one side of the metal pit while Melinda grabbed the other. “Just like you, Bishie.”

“I’m not entirely certain I approve of that nickname.”

“Too bad.” Melinda’s smile was the sort of brilliant warmth that always distracted Summer; whilst carrying a large metal bucket, however, was not the time to be distracted. She focused on the firepit. “And Mrs. Scrooge said it was fine. Pretty much, anything that doesn’t hurt the property is fine – including thought-out improvements – as long as our rent arrives on the first of every month before noon.”

“That specific?” Bishop belatedly hurried over, only to realize that there really wasn’t an easy way for three people to carry a round object. “Are you – do you-”

“We’re not delicate flowers, Bish.” The lilies in Melinda’s hair didn’t so much belie her assertion as highlight it. “Just spot us so we get this centered in your lovely stone circle?”

Summer could no more help the grin growing on her face than she could help the rainfall or the sun shining – less, since she knew charms for both of those. There was something about Melinda, something – fiery. “I love you.”

Sometimes, she still felt a moment of panic when she said things like that. You weren’t supposed to love the girl. You weren’t supposed to say it. She’d gotten burned before.

But Mellie just grinned back. “I know.” She made kissy faces across the firepit. “Let’s put this thing down so I can remind you exactly how much.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” It was an easy carry – it was an empty large metal bucket, it wasn’t all that heavy – and a slightly more complicated getting-it-centered dance, Bishop trying to steer and mostly failing.

And then they had all wiped their hands on their jeans – or each other’s jeans or the grass, or all three – Summer found herself being grabbed into a kiss.

She drew a luck charm in the air behind Mellie’s back, just a little boost, not that they needed it, and gave in to the kiss, a long thing, with tongue and just the right amount of nose-rubbing. Mellie had a bubble butt, as fun to squeeze as it was to watch from behind.

Bishop draped an arm around each of their shoulders, and Summer opened her eyes, realizing only then that she’d closed them. “We have a yard.” The sun was setting red and fiery behind her lovers, and they had a yard. “All is right with the world.”

This fills the “Evening” square on my [community profile] ladiesbingo card and was prompted by eseme. It is set in Stranded World setting, and Bishop, Mellie, and Summer have been featured in several stories already.

556 words by http://www.wordcounter.net/

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/827753.html. You can comment here or there.

Bring to the Table, a story for the Giraffe Call

Oct10

Shonie came over for game night, the same way she always did. She brought the same things the guys did – dice, books, a habit of complaining about the rules – and the same things the other girls in the group did – which included some snacks, some bottled water, and a bribe for May, Dave Carter’s girlfriend and co-renter of the apartment in which they were gaming.

She brought something nobody else did, too – of course, in a group like this, everybody had a specialization. Shorter-Dave brought a habit of playing explosive rogues and a way of smoothing over conflicts. Jenn With All the N’s brought the half-elf girls, always the half-elf girls, and an ability to find any loophole, anywhere, everywhere. SeKDillimn brought the snake – and other things, but usually the snake. And Shonie brought Handling Dave Carter.

They were taking bets already, SekDillimn and Jenn-n-n-n and Shorter-Dave, Red and The Gangrel and Cass and the rest, about how long this one would last. It had been a month, and May was already beginning to show the edges of wear. She accepted the bribes, of course – she liked chocolate, she really, really, liked Imagine Dragons and Neil Gaiman and PS4 games – but she shifted her weight to one foot when Shonie got there, and moved closer to Dave-Carter the minute that the hug began.

It was a long hug. Shonie’s hugs were always long, longer with Dave-Carter than with, say, SekDillimn or Cass, but she ended her hug with Dave with a light punch in the arm – either not noticing or not caring that it make May flinch – and a list of demands. “Did you remember to do your homework?”

“I’m not in classes.”

“Doesn’t matter. Did you do the cat litter?”

“May did it.”

“Wrong answer.” They’d lived together for a couple years, and it seemed like Shonie forgot, sometimes, that she lived across the city now, that Dave-Carter lived with May. “Come on, did you at least remember to eat a vegetable this week?”

“Ketchup is a vegetable?”

“Dork.” Shonie flopped into her seat and May was suddenly cuddling Dave-Carter very aggressively. The group passed bets via text and pretended nobody could see them – and everyone ignored the fact that Dave’s shoulders had relaxed when Shonie hit him and he was, the way he always was when she bullied him, smiling.

May probably wouldn’t last that long. But Shonie was a constant.

Okay, first, names: That’s a combination of a friend’s childhood group (everyone is firstnamelastname) and my own gaming group from a few years back (Jen vs. Jenn-n-n-n, Other Dave and Other Jeremy, key-mash screenames and things from gaming & the SCA. We had first Bob the Gangrel & then Mark the Gangrel, so. Gangrel it is.)

This is written to [personal profile] whuffle‘s prompt and is not in any current setting.

If you’d like to see more of this story, I bet there’s more to be written. Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/827633.html. You can comment here or there.

Dungeon Call Closes this Evening! (Eastern DST)

Oct9

My Dungeons & Caves Call is still open! But only for the rest of today.

This prompt call is all about captured men, enslaved men, kidnapped men, submissive men, trapped men.

Leave a prompt, and I will write a micro/flash-fic. Tip, and I will write more words – 100 per $1US tipped.

(The cuffs are the tip jar)

And the more money donated, the more I’ll write.

At $25, T. & I get take-out. Thai, I think, though it may be Indian. Reached! (It turned out to be Chinese. Mmm, shrimp-fried rice).

at $40, I will commission a piece of character art from a crowdfunded artist Reached!
(I will wait to see which story is most popular before commissioning a piece. Right now, “A Rescue of Sorts” is winning 😉

At $50, I will write an extra fic for everyone. One prompter chosen at random will get an extra 500-word story. Reached! (I will write these once I’ve written all the original stories!)

At $75, three prompters chosen at random will get an extra 500-word story written to their prompt Reached! (I will write these once I’ve written all the original stories!)

We’re at $83 as of this posting! Thank you, everyone!

At $100, three more prompters chosen at random will get an extra 500-word story.

At $120, I get a rug for my cave!

Go prompt, if you haven’t!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/826868.html. You can comment here or there.

Other People’s Prompt Calls!!

Oct9

The Artist Formerly Known as the Writer in my Attic, K Orion Fray ([personal profile] kissofjudas, is having a prompt call – here. The theme is “Ghosts and Spirits.”
Prompting is free; tips buy story continuations.

And, in [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s Tuesday Fishbowl, she wrote “The Age of Reasons” to my prompt. It hasn’t been sponsored yet, but it’s a lovely poem!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/826580.html. You can comment here or there.

A proof, of sorts, a story for Thimbleful Thursday

Oct8

Thimbleful Thursday is a new microfic prompt site (mine!). This week’s prompt was “Cut the Mustard” and the word limit was 500 (450-550).

This piece is 547 words, and it might soon become obvious what prompted it.

“You’re never going to be able to do it, you know.”

Shut up.

“You’re never going to make it. You’re just not good enough.”

Shut up!

“You might as well face it. There’s people who can do this sort of thing – and then there’s you.”

Shut Shut Shut UP!

“Why don’t you just give up?”

“Shut UP!”

There was some merit to the nay-sayers points, of course.

If there had been no merit, there would have been no sting – no bite, as it were. If they had simply been spitting into the wind, then they’d have been easy to ignore. But they weren’t, and thus they weren’t.

The truth was, Esharina had picked a challenge that was over her head. She’d done it on purpose, with her eyes open – although she might have gone a little further over her head than she’d planned.

(There were some that would say that everything was over her head. They weren’t worth mentioning, certainly not more than once.)

It was the sort of thing that you did when you were angry, when you had something to prove, when you were so far past winning that you had to carry your whole damn life on your shoulders, make up every failure twice over, just to not come out too far behind.

But none of that, not her failures, extensive as they had been, not her choice of a target, not her need to prove herself – not one of those things meant she couldn’t cut the mustard this time, and not one of those things meant that the nay-sayers’ commentary cut any less deeply.

“Shut UP! Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Esharina glared around the barracks. “One, it’s stupid. Two, I know that Connron and Torg and Ellory failed. I know Marchiella and Red Dav never game back. I’ve seen Caslior’s skull, thank you very much. I drank at the funerals. I pitched in, when appropriate, for the widows, the orphans, and so on. I know that better mercs than me have failed. But that is, as they say, wheat from a different bag.” She looked around the room, glaring at each merc in turn. Mercs did not, per se, have friends. But they had working relationships, and she had fought at the side of every single one of these fighters.

“I know I can do this. Not because I’m better than them, but because I’m different. I’m not as strong as Connron. I’m not as tough as Red Dav. I’m probably not as clever as Torg or Caslior. But I can do this.” She let her eyes drop back to the slim pack in front of her. “I know I can do this, and if I’m wrong, nobody but me is gonna pay the price.” When she looked up, it was directly at Senner, who served as the captain of their unit. “And I’d appreciate a little bit of cheering, and less grousing.”

Senner cleared her throat. “We hear you, Esha. And… we’ve got your back. We’ll ride you to the line.”

Esha didn’t miss the glare that Senner shot around the room, daring anyone to argue with her. She didn’t mind it, either. “Thanks. Thanks… I just know I can do it, this time.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/826241.html. You can comment here or there.