The ClockWork Collar, or The Princess of Al-ben, a kink-bingo mini-story in 25 parts. Part 8

Jan23

First: The Collar (LJ)
Previous: Please (LJ)

Royally

“You want to be my Princess?” His voice was thick as he dragged her to her feet. “Dress. And you can be my proper Princess.”

Her fingers were thick on the buttons and laces, but he helped her, tender as he cased her in silk and lace. “Tell me, Princess.” His hand lingered on the collar. “Will you serve me in your bower?”

“In my…” He’d steered her towards the bed, which had a look about it of a royal chamber, deep here in the castle. “Yes, my Lord. How would you like me?”

He laid her on the thick feather bed, her skirts piled around her waist. “Royally, of course.” He pulled the curtains. “I’ll have my Princess like a king.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Next:Humiliated (LJ)

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Eralon Explains

Jan22

To [personal profile] flofx‘s Commissioned Continuation of The Second Restriction

It had taken a week for the temple to settle down.

In that time, the Lesser High Priest of the Evening had been induced to return the Oracle and the Duty Scribe to their rightful places in the temple, and every priest in the nation, or so it seemed, had gone over their interpretation of the Oracle’s words.

In that time, no Oracle had taken the holy seat, and none had attempted any of the other six methods of contacting the gods. The priests were, although they would never admit it, playing it safe.

Finally, however, tradition and the weight of a holy bureaucracy insisted that they put the girl back on the chair, and call forth Eralon’s voice again.

She rolled her eyes back in her head, and her voice became thick and deep. “You think to question me?”

“Err, blessed light upon the morning, blessed waters we shall not sully, of course we do not question you.” The Higher High Priest of Evening was not going to be outdone by a mere Lesser High Priest; he stepped to the front of the dais to speak, perhaps not entirely mindful enough of the thin line of red tiles, or having forgotten their purpose. “We simply seek clarification as to the Oracle’s words.”

“Are not the Oracle’s words mine? Are her throat and her lips not the vessels you have chosen through which to hear me?”

“Well, yes, oh highest light on the sky…” The Higher High Priest stepped forward again, heedless of others around him stepping back. “But it’s just… it is, to us, strange, to hear you contradict that which you have said before. And are not the restrictions holy and to be kept, regardless of all else?”

“The restrictions and the requirements I gave you are holy and of the highest importance.”

“But, oh brightly shining…” The Higher High Priest got no further. The Lesser High Priest found it promising that he did not burst into flames, but simply sigh and fall to the ground. Three burly acolytes pulled him away from the dais, and, with considerably more caution, the Lesser High Priest of the Evening stepped forward, mindful to keep his toes behind the red line of tile.

“Oh brightly shining beacon in the sky, we thank you for correcting our ignorance. Know that the second restriction shall be stricken from the books, and that none shall be required to build bridges where the path should be passable by foot.”

“Good.” The voice of the god in the oracle sounded sullen. “It’s a silly restriction. There are far better things to spend your money on, your time, and your energy.”

“We thank you, oh sun of the morning. Ah… what about the third requirement?”

The Oracle’s head swiveled until the god’s glance was firmly upon the Lesser High Priest. “That one stays. Know you not why you are required to do so?”

“Ah…” He didn’t dare look down, but he did shuffle backwards as subtly as he could. “No, exalted lord.”

“Well then.” The Oracle crossed her legs and leaned forward. “Get this vessel some water, and get your scribe some more ink. Today, Eralon will educate you.”

The Lesser High Priest of Evening scrambled to do as his god had bade him. He had a feeling this was going to be an interesting evening.

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Mini Call Day Three Summary

Jan22

A vacation in the middle dragged Day Three Writing out for Four Days, but I’ve finished the first prompt for everyone now!

Mini Call Day Two Summary (LJ)
Mini Call Day One Summary (LJ)

Mini Call Three: Seven Deadly Sins

Fairy Town: The Lions
Moving In (LJ)
Six Sins and One (LJ)

The Darkness in the Shadows (LJ)

The Second Restriction (LJ)

Addergoole: Joff & Ivette
The Best Sin (LJ)
Addergoole: Year 16
Laziness as an Art Form (LJ)

Science!
Shows Promise (LJ)

And Other Things:

Home Blogging
Moodles & Noodles (LJ)
Tracking Food waste (LJ)

Science! Landing Page (LJ)

Donation Levels Reached!

  • [personal profile] lilfluff and [profile] kc_obrian have been chosen by random generator to have a second prompt written.
  • Ellenmillion has been chosen by random generator to have a 500-word-continuation written. Ellen, is there something you’d like to see more of?

If you have donated and not yet told me where you would like your donation words, please leave a note here.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/458263.html. You can comment here or there.

Six Sins and One, a story of Fairy Town for the Giraffe Call

Jan22

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s Prompt.

This comes after Moving In

I looked up 7 deadly sins on Wikipedia, and this popped out at me. Said I, “that looks like a fanfic.”

So:

Six things you can get away with in Fairy Town, and the One that you Can’t.

Pride

The Lion King stared around the neighborhood his women had bought.

His Women. His Neighborhood. And it was good.

He waved at the barkeep, who waved back. Everyone knew this was his place, and this his place was the best place.

The Lion King smiled, and the world smiled back.

Deceit

He told stories of his upbringing, of their last city, of their real names.

They all did. It was part of their shtick, part of what made them strange and untouchable. They were from the Sahara. They were from Jersey. The zoo. The moon.

And the barkeep just laughed.

Innocent Blood

The Lion King hadn’t meant to kill the kid.

The teenager had challenged him, though, and there was only so much reason left by the time someone was done rubbing against his women and mocking him. And then there was a dead punk, and a deep hole, and nobody spoke.

Wicked Plots

They’d bought three houses before anyone really noticed, five before anyone started to complain, and seven before the barkeep’s wife frowned at them.

“What are you up to?” She made it sound like a gentle scold.

The Lion King just smiled. “We’re plotting world domination. Don’t tell anyone?”

Nobody told.

Mischievous Feet

He liked telling stories like that. It went along with many of his other tricks. Stealing someone’s food and giving it to someone else. Stealing someone’s baby (he only did that once), stealing someone’s luck.

Mostly because he was a Lion, the town tolerated his pranks – and his lies.

Deceitful Witness

Not just little lies, not just the ones about where they were from. He lied on the stand when called to trial. He lied about who stole things (including the baby.) They all did, because he did. It was fun, to loll about making up stories. Nobody seemed to mind.

Sowing Discord

…until the lies and the theft started pitting a couple neighborhood regulars against each other.

The Lion King thought it was funny. Just another prank, right? Get the ogre and the goblins yelling. Get the norms yelling.

Tom Morgan and his wife headed the pack, but the whole town was behind them.

“Stop. Or Get Out.” It might take a troll to take down a lion, but four hundred townspeople were bigger than one troll.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/458015.html. You can comment here or there.

Moving in, A story of Fairy Town for the giraffe Call

Jan21

For [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt.

They came to town in the late autumn, riding in on Harleys, a rumble so loud that it could be heard through the whole city.

They took up residence in Tom Morgan’s, a bar on the west side of town that catered to the rough, the poor, the wild. They simply strode in, looked around, and took over the best corner of the place.

Nobody stopped them. Nothing short of a full-grown troll had a chance, and the city, while it had plenty of the fae blood, did not lend itself to trolls and other Large Creatures.

Tom Morgan himself took one look at them and sent his wife out to deal with them. In his defense, this was not so much out of cowardice as out of prudence: the pride had far more women than it had men, and the men that were not the clear leaders were jittery and nervous around other men.

The last thing Tom wanted was a jittery juvenile lion-soul ripping up his bar, so he sent out his wife to deal with the pride.

Not being a full-grown troll, or a troll of any sort, Rudy Morgan didn’t move the pride. She served them heavy beer and light snacks, and flirted harmlessly with only the oldest of their men and the most pregnant of their woman. And she joked. Rudy Morgan, it had been said, could joke through a hurricane. Joking through a pride of lions was all in a day’s work, for her.

And it would have been fine. It would have been strange, uncomfortable and weird, but they would have adjusted until, like bikers everywhere, the lions moved on. They would have cleaned up the glass, gritted their teeth and smiled, until the lions moved on.

Until they started buying property.

Next: Moving In

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The ClockWork Collar, or The Princess of Al-ben, a kink-bingo mini-story in 25 parts. Poll 7

Jan21

Previous:The Drug (LJ)

She was panting at his feet. She needed it. She needed him. And still he backed off. Still he laughed. “Please, master,” she pled. “I’ll…”

“You want to be my Princess?” His voice was thick as he dragged her to her feet. “Dress. And you can be my proper Princess.”

Next: Royally (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/457218.html. You can comment here or there.

The ClockWork Collar, or The Princess of Al-ben, a kink-bingo mini-story in 25 parts. Part 7

Jan21

First: The Collar (LJ)
Previous: Body and Body (LJ)

The Drug

Yes, Master. Before the words were out, he touched her tongue with something, a small pill, and sweet.

“Swallow,” he commanded, and she swallowed, the sugar coating her throat all the way down. “Stand,” and she stood. “Look at me,” and she did.

His eyes were glowing. His lips were so soft-looking, so sweet. She could eat them up. She could eat him up; no, she needed to. She leaned in, and stumbled when he stepped back. “Master?”

“Not yet. No, Princess.”

She whimpered. “Master?” Her skin was burning.

“Not yet.”

“I need you.” She couldn’t bear it. “Please, Master?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/457094.html. You can comment here or there.

The Darkness in the Shadows

Jan21

For [personal profile] kc_obrien‘s Prompt

Don’t get me wrong, I like being a troll.

A goblin, a critter, a beastie of the night. I like being one of the gutter-people, the shadow-monsters, the whispers you don’t want to hear.

The light shines brightest down here. We have no light of our own, you see. So every spark of light that we receive is cherished, nourished, and polished until it shines, shines brighter than anything in your world.

And we collect it. Soft words and gentle whispers, sweet murmurs and the smile of a young lady. Diamonds and gold jewelry. A single pearl. A single happy tear.

That’s what we are. The thing you don’t want to know is behind you. The thing that you pass, not looking, the shadow you don’t squint into. We’re your collective shiny guilt, the puddle that mucks up your clean shoes, the gust of wind when you’ve just gotten your hair done.

We are everything, everything dirty and nasty and dark that you fear. And we love your bright bits, your earrings and your laughter, your brand new jacket and that hope you hold close to your chest. We collect them, shine them, and hang them in our gutter homes, our basement bowers, for light and warmth.

And while you drop your hopes into the gutter for us, the way you drop a couple pennies in a cup, we shine them up and hope they will keep the deepest dark away.

Because the light may shine brightest down here, but the shadows, oh. The shadows are like you’ve never seen.

Pray to your gods that you never have cause to find out just how dark.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/456956.html. You can comment here or there.