Pick two points in the Rin & Girey timeline you want to see more of! *rubs hands together* and I’ll start writing!!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/220227.html. You can comment here or there.
Kinkmas Bonus: Exposition, for @Rix_Scaedu
More story of Fae Apoc, the Black House, for Rix’s request.
I could use someone to pick a communal card… or I can ran-generate one for me.
Exposition
Yaminah didn’t quite look at him. Her vision was still blurry from the drugs, and she wasn’t certain, either, that she dared. “How would you have me serve you, Master?” she asked, her voice feeling a little hollow to her ears. She belonged here. But would she survive it?
He took her chin in his hand, and studied her. “First, by always being honest with me when we are alone. Completely honest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Secondly, by telling me what brings a former student of Addergoole prostrating herself at my door. Completely honestly, remember?”
Her mouth was suddenly dry as, with his question, the enormity of what she had done began to sink in. “My power, sir,” she said carefully, “tells me where I need to be. It told me I needed to be with you. For the next two years, it seems.”
“Interesting.” He didn’t sound pleased, but, held by the chin, she couldn’t flinch away. “Has it done this before?”
“I’m… not certain. I hadn’t Changed yet when I was caught before. But, considering the way my first year went, I’ve wondered if my power didn’t push me towards him.”
“Even more interesting. A power that wants you Kept.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/220054.html. You can comment here or there.
A Belated Yule Gift, a story of Tir na Cali for the Giraffe Call (@cluudle)
The same characters as this story; Queen Larissa is also canonical Tír na Cali, in that she is one of the first characters I created in the world.
Tír na Cali has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.
A slave was always at a bit of a disadvantage in dealing with his Mistress. The American-born kidnapped slave of the Queen of Tír na Cali was at even more of a disadvantage; their status could not, in this status-mad-society, be further apart unless he went rogue (at which point, he’d have bigger concerns than social disadvantages). When the Queen and Mistress was telepathic, there was no use even thinking of an advantage, not when she could turn off the telepathic damper at any time.
So Jeremy had no idea what Queen Larissa was thinking, just that, from her body language in the last few days, she must be planning something. It made him uncomfortable – he’d served her so well, made her, as far as he could tell, so happy. Californian politics were full of potholes and traps he hadn’t even thought to look for, when he’d first been bought; had he stepped in something and not even noticed? Had he horribly offended some very important person?
The worries ran in trapped-hamster circles in his mind for days while his Queen stayed busy with the rather-more-important business of running the country, and did not call on him at all, which did nothing to help his concerns. By the time she called him into her chambers, late on a Saturday evening, he could barely sit still for the nerves.
“I want to talk to you about something,” she told him slowly, which did not help. “Come here.”
He did, of course. Being disobedient would not help his case. He sat by her feet while she brushed his hair, and waited to see if she would say anything.
After a while, she did. “Duchess Candida’s eldest daughter.”
Another lineage test? Now? “Kerry? Black hair, probably from her father, stunning blue-grey eyes, and a very sharp smile. Unmarried and without Consort or children.”
“I would like to give you to her.”
“You…” His heart nearly stopped. It was one thing to know you were property, another to hear yourself being discussed like a piece of meat.
“Loan, rather, for perhaps a month and a half.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I like you, Jeremy. I won’t do it if you ask me not to. But she is, as you said, childless and young, and I am neither of those things, not by quite a while.”
He frowned. The Californian nobles aged very slowly, it was true, but Queen Larissa was no longer young even by their standards. “I enjoy serving you, Your Majesty,” he murmured, neutrally but honestly.
“I have noticed,” she answered dryly, her fingers hovering over the controls to the telepathic damper. “Will you tell me how you feel about this, Jeremy, or am I going to have to take it from your mind?”
“I…” he choked, caught on conflicting feelings and a desire to say nothing at all about any of it. Feelings weren’t what he wanted to talk about. “Wrap me up in a bow?” he choked out. “Happy belated Yule, Kerry, enjoy the present, I know I have?”
She patted his shoulder again, and did not invade his mind. “I hear,” his lover and Queen whispered, “that she’s absolutely on fire in the sack. Who do you think I’m giving a gift to, Jeremy, her… or you?”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/219873.html. You can comment here or there.
Winter is Here
The tiny creek that
drains our land is frozen, its
voice stilled: it, too, rests.
Okay, it’s a culvert, not a creek. But it’s still frozen. Winter is here!
House stuff has moved to a crawl; there’s a lot we really can’t do in the winter. We installed a closet rod & shelf in the closet – making the built-in cabinet will wait till spring, when we can stain & poly without killing ourselves. Soon, I think, we’ll have the window finished, and then we can sleep in a bedroom!!
We bought granite tile to go under the wood-burning stove, and when that arrives (around the 7th), we can make a hearth board, then have a chimney person come and install the stove, and then we will have firefirefire.
Christmas was wonderful, hanging out with my folks & the dog on Xmas eve, cocoa with ![[personal profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capriox, then Holmes with T. on Christmas Day (we skipped going out to Chinese and had pizza the day before instead). New year’s was quiet – mostly knitting. I’ve been knitting a lot.
ysabetwordsmith wrote this lovely poem to my prompt in yesterday’s fishbowl.
anke‘s free small art is still open! Go prompt! She’s specifically asked for non-tipping prompts as well as tipping, so don’t be shy!
Rix_scaedu has posted the roundup from her call for prompts. If you haven’t read them, well, read them!!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/219311.html. You can comment here or there.
Merry Kinkmas! Washing & Service, 2 stories of Fae Apoc for @Rix_scaedu
From my card, center row, “i,” and top row, “i.” for a block of “center three, rows one and three” for Rix.
(the free square picked at random from ![[community profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kink_bingo‘s communal cards100 words each, Fae Apoc
Content warnings: …slavery, drugs, confinement, humiliation….
Washing/Cleaning
She didn’t notice when the car stopped, until the sense of belonging heightened to an intoxicating level and the trunk opened. Even through her closed eyes, she could see the light.
“Tch,” her Master murmured. “You’ve gotten yourself all messy again.”
Gotten herself didn’t seem fair, considering she’d done what she was told, but she mumbled an apology around the pacifier anyway.
“Come on, pretty.” He lifted her out of the trunk in his arms and carried her, somewhere, somewhere right. It wasn’t until she felt warm water sloshing around her that he told her “you may open your eyes.”
Service
“You serve me now,” he told her, as he washed her.
“Yessir.”
“Do you understand how to serve?”
“Yes?”
“Good. Still, I will have to teach you how I expect to be served, won’t I?”
“Yessir.” His hands were tender and careful as he cleaned her, but his voice was implacable. What had her power gotten her into?
“Understand,” he murmured, “that there is this service, that you will do me, and then there is serving me as my Kept, and they are different things.”
“Yes?”
“It will not always be on your knees and naked that you attend me.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/219053.html. You can comment here or there.
‘Ware Fairy Gifts
Thanks to @DaHob for brainstorming help on this one!)
Now.
Tom looked at the knife the girl had given him, if you could call it a knife. He didn’t look long; there was a monster in front of him. There had been a lot of monsters in front of him lately, since the – well, since whatever the hell had happened. The gates or something, the gods, they called themselves, the dragons and monsters pouring into the world.
“Kneel,” the monster snarled. Its breath stank of carrion, and its hands were dripping with blood. The other truckers were dead around Tom, or dying, and all he had was a wooden knife.
Three Months Past
The girl looked terrified. Tom couldn’t blame her; she was being cornered by three sleazy college-boy types who were, it sounded like, offering her all sorts of rides. From the bag she was carrying – bags, he corrected – she wasn’t looking for that sort of ride. And from the looks of her, delicate in feature, wide-eyed, and a bit fae – yes, she had pointed ears, sticking out of hair that was faintly green in hue – she might need a little help.
Tom wasn’t much of a fighter, but his size usually did him where skill didn’t. He lumbered over to help.
Five minutes earlier
“I am the God of the North Wind.” The creature’s voice reached them before he did, echoing through the parking lot. “I am the monster of your nightmares. Serve me or die.”
“Fuck that shit,” George rumbled, and loaded his shotgun.
“Fuck all these freaks.” The truckers prepared for battle.
Three Months Past
“Can I help you, miss?” Tom asked, in his deep bullfrog voice, the one his second wife had called the Don’t Fuck With This Guy tone.
“She’s fine, gramps,” Boy Number One sneered. “She’ll be fine with us.”
“Just fine,” Number Two chuckled. “Besides, you know how the fairy freaks are, anyway. She doesn’t need your help.”
“She might need a priest, though,” Number Three added helpfully. He had a knife, Tom noted. They probably all did.
“I think what she needs,” he rumbled, “is a ride. Am I right, miss?”
“A ride,” she agreed, her voice quavering. “Thank you.”
Three Minutes earlier
The creature ripped through George and Martin, their bullets seeming to do nothing more than irritate it. It looked, Tom thought, like a cross between Swamp Thing and an octopus, snarling “Kneel.”
“Fuck you,” Jake yelled, and emptied his shotgun into the thing. The thing, howling, clawed Jake’s belly open.
Three Months Past
“I told you, she’s fine, old man. Move along.” Number One brandished the knife. “Move. Along.”
“I think she’s coming with me,” he answered, letting his voice get hard. “Right, sweetheart?” He thrust an arm between Two and Three and took the girl’s outstretched hand. “You boys run along.”
Number One did not want to be stopped. He grabbed the girl by the shoulders. “The little fairy freak is coming with us.”
Tom sighed. He didn’t like fighting. “She’s coming with me,” he repeated, and punched Number One in the nose. The girl escaped in the startled spray of blood.
One Minute earlier
Jake was bleeding out. George was dead, and Clyde – you couldn’t live without a head. Martin was in bad shape; so were Liz and Little Mike. The guns weren’t doing anything. The fire seemed to hurt it some, but the flame-thrower had died. Tom was the only one still standing.
Three Months Past
“Thanks,” the girl murmured. “I’m Ner.”
“Tom. Nice to meet you.” He helped her into the cab of his truck. “Where you going?”
“Anywhere else?” She smiled wryly. “West and South, preferably. As far as you’re willing to take me.”
“I’m going to Minneapolis.”
“Sounds great.”
“I’ve, ah, got a hat…” he offered, tapping his own ear.
“Ack!” She frowned. “That’s been happening more and more lately. Something’s going wrong.” She concentrated, and looked normal, blonde, round-eared. “Better?”
“More human.”
The drive was nicer for her company, and it was with some reluctance that Tom let her out in Minneapolis. She smiled shyly at him, checked her ears, and offered a long wooden dirk. “Things are getting weird,” she murmured. “Weirder than me. This might help.”
How a wooden play knife would help, he didn’t know, but Tom said “thank you” just the same, and hung it behind his seat.
Now.
Nothing else had worked. Tom looked at the long knife the girl had given him, ducked under three tentacles and a pile of seaweed, and jammed the knife somewhere that looked vital.
As the monster screamed, writhing in death throes, Tom chuckled, and stabbed it again. ‘Ware fairy gifts, indeed!
~*~
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/218381.html. You can comment here or there.
Goals this week!
Addergoole:
Format, cover, and post the remaining 4 e-books
Write 1/2 of one bonus story
Post Rix fix
Giraffe Call:
Finish all small prompts for giraffe call
Summarize
Summarize the year in Giraffe
Poke donors about their extended stories (poke)
Post poll for incentive-extended story & setting piece
Other writing:
Find a something to submit to
Write a piece for that.
Longer goals:
Addergoole:
Get caught up on bonus stories
Finish & post for sale Book One as e-book
Stamps count!!
Giraffe Call:
Figure out how to easiest store stats (cluudle?) (Inventrix has an idea)
E-book?
Other writing:
Rin/Girey Ebook
Stranded Ebook
Cali Ebook
More submissions – 1/month minimum
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/218325.html. You can comment here or there.
Giraffe Call Mid-Way Summary Two
It’s been another busy week of Giraffe Writing. I’m nearly done with the second round of prompts – if didn’t leave a second prompt, please feel free to stop by and do so!
Here’s what I’ve written in the last week:
First Week Summary (LJ)
The Call (LJ)
The Linkback Incentive Stories (LJ)
Fae Apoc
Warning Buzz (LJ)
Dragons
A Very Dragon Xmas (LJ)
Facets
Wishing a Merry Christmas (LJ)
Aunt Family
Welcome to the Family (LJ) (Evangaline)
Tell me a Story (LJ) (Rosaria)
()
Tir na Cali
Cali Novel 15c (Lj) [Beta]
Best Present Ever (LJ)
Addergoole
Yr?
Truth, Beauty (LJ)
Yr1
Let Nothing Ye Dismay (LJ)
Yr9
Always wanted a Pony (LJ)
Goodbye for Now (LJ)
Space Accountant
Lucky Day (LJ)
One-offs
Made from Words (LJ)
Miss Midas (LJ)
Gift-Wife (LJ)
The Truth, and Hair-Pieces (LJ)
A Star in the East (LJ)
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This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/217823.html. You can comment here or there.
The Truth, and Hair-pieces, a story for the Giraffe Call @trueform
For @TrueForm’s prompt.
The fairy godmothers were duking it out in the break room. The princess’ christening was just days away, and they could not come down to the required seven gifts.
They had manged beauty, fairness, level-headedness in a crisis, dexterity, charisma, and an eye for beauty, but on the seventh gift, two of the oldest fairies were in disagreement.
“Give her the ability to see dishonesty,” Nichanni insisted, throwing a right hook with a surprisingly strong arm for such an elderly-looking woman. “Every Queen needs to know when she’s being lied to.”
“Give her Truth itself,” Lisalind insisted, ducking the right hook and kicking at Nichanni’s knees. “She does not need lies, which will poison her. Speaking only the truth will serve her well.”
“Every ruler and politician needs to lie sometimes,” Nichanni sneered. “What good will she be if she can’t tell the awful Duke of Arnual that his hairpiece is believable? Or tell the Queen of Ottino that she believes their peace treaty will last?”
“And perhaps what the country needs is a different kind of ruler! Would the Duke of Arnual continue to wear horrible hairpieces if anyone had ever told him they were, well, horrible? And surely the Queen of Ottino would respect truth better than soft lies?”
“And what could will it do her to be always honest if others are still lying to her? Ottino, again. They lie easier than some people breathe. Would a sweet thing that was always honest understand that sort of prevarication? You’re foolish, Lisalind, and you always have been, you old flower-petal.”
Fidennertophilio stepped in before things could get to the pulling of silver-grey hair. “Both of you. Give her a compass in her heart that points to the truth. She will always know how to speak it, and always see when others sway away from it. And the Duke of Arnual’s hairpiece is, indeed, an awful thing.”
And thus it was that the Princess was gifted with beauty, fairness, level-headedness, charisma, an eye for aesthetics, a compass for truth, and a true hatred of all hairpieces. War with Ottino was put off for another generation, and many men suddenly found their bald pates revealed.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/217566.html. You can comment here or there.
The Gift-Wife, a story for the Giraffe Call
“HENRY JOHN CHRISTCHURCH, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO RECEIVE A BRIDE!”
It was not the e-mail Hank was expecting to see in his inbox. Any other day, he would have deleted it as SPAM, but there had been that contest he’d entered a few months back. He hadn’t thought it was for a wife, but, well, there’s been a long list of prizes (he’d been interested in the IPad more than anything). So he clicked.
The e-mail, once read, looked surprisingly legitimate, especially considering the all-caps hysteria of its subject line. Go to this place, present ID proving that he was, indeed Henry John Christchurch, collect mail-order bride.
There had to be a catch, of course, but the attached photos were of a very lovely woman, dark-haired, exotic looking. From some country up in the frozen north, he was sure, and, more than anything, he was curious how they’d pull off the swap. Present him with some ugly girl and say she’d had a hard time since she left her homeland? Tell him that the picture was only representative?
Mika, it said her name was. Curious to see who he’d really meet, Hank packed an overnight bag and drove to the location, a couple hours outside his hometown.
The sleek businessman who greeted him at the door confirmed all of Hank’s suspicions. This was some sort of scam, some sort of time-share-thing. Wife-share? no, that was something else. Hank let the suit lead him into a posh conference room, and sat to wait.
The girl who came to meet him didn’t look like the photos; if anything, she looked prettier. Beautiful. Stunning.
“My husband,” she murmured, in accented but comprehendible English. “Will you take your bride?” Indeed, she was even dressed in a white dress, the sort of beaded confection Hank’s female co-workers drooled over.
“Uh…”
Yes, yes was the appropriate answer. She was gorgeous. She was perfect. Hank hoped she could cook; he’d never gotten beyond burning beans-in-a-can himself.
So married they were – the sleek suit provided a priest – and Hank took his Mika home. She could cook. She could clean, although she did better directing a cleaning service. She could also, it appeared, work, and had US citizenship, and soon had a job which kept her out late and meant they were back to eating burned beans and take-out. And she could, much to Hank’s surprise, fuck like a demon, like a wild thing, and no matter what late hours she kept or how much pizza they ate, Hank remained deliriously happy. No matter how much more she earned then him, or how the house slowly became hers, not his, he stayed happy. No matter how tired and worn-out he seemed to feel, and how she seemed to grow more and more lively, Hank stayed happy.
And died happy, a smile on his face at the funeral and his lovely wife radiant, sniffing gently into her handkerchief.
Mika missed this one. He’d been sweeter than the most, though the papers had suggested he wouldn’t be. She waited a month before she called her broker, the slick man in the suit, and murmured to him, quietly, in Sweedish, “it is time to begin the Gift Delivery again.”
She’d always found it appropriate that, in Swedish, “gift” meant “poison…” and “wife.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/217108.html. You can comment here or there.