Tag Archive | donor

Trying, A story of #Addergoole Yr8 for the Feburary Giraffe Call

Mar25

After So I’ve Started Out (LJ) and Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ), to Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt.

Addergoole has a landing page here and on LJ.

She’d walked away the first time he’d brought it up. “The Bond takes away your choice,” she’d said.

“So does not asking me,” he’d retorted. She’d shook her head angrily, making him want to grovel and apologize, but all she’d said, maddeningly, was the same thing she always did:

“You do not understand.”

“Explain it to me,” he complained, but only after she’d shut the door behind her.

When he tried again, he went at it sideways, talking about Porter first. Porter did, after all, need a girlfriend. But, then again, so did Arundel.

“Would you like to have a boyfriend,” he asked her, “me, I mean?”

She’d been surprised, which wasn’t really a good plan – she hated, he already knew, being surprised. She pursed her lips, and he ignored his sudden urge to apologize. “Would you ask that, if I didn’t Own you? Answer me honestly.”

“I would have asked sooner, if you didn’t Own me. Like, the day I fell through your ceiling… okay, maybe not then, but pretty soon after then.”

“In truth?” Darnit, he’d surprised her again.

“You ordered me to be honest,” he pointed out, beginning to get frustrated. He couldn’t win with her. “I want to be your boyfriend. I want to kiss you. I want you to believe me when I talk to you.”

She stared off at the wall, frowning. “That could be the Bond,” she pointed out. “It makes you want physical contact, even if you wouldn’t, otherwise.”

She was going to talk herself out of it. Again. And leave him frustrated and her cranky. Arundel flared his wings, wanting to shout. Shouting was a bad idea. Shouting would only make her more angry.

“So if it’s the Bond,” he said slowly, “then you’re worried I will regret it afterwards?”

“Exactly. You’re acting under the influence. You’re not thinking clearly, cannot think clearly when the Bond is pushing at you.”

“And you’re worried that a Bond-induced need for physical contact is making me want to kiss you.”

She lifted her shoulders and dropped them again in discomfort. “The thought did occur to me, yet. I am not, normally, dating material.”

“The people that let you think that are lying to you,” he flared. “Or you’re lying to yourself.”

“I have never had a boyfriend who wasn’t… I have never had a boyfriend.”

“Well, maybe you should try?” he tried, one last time. “Look, if you’re worried it’s the touch thing, how about an experiment?”

“An experiment?” He had her attention, good.

“Figure out what you think is a Bond-satisfying amount of touch, and give me that for a week. No dating, no kissing, nothing like that. Just touch. If I still want to date you after a week…”

She was nodding. Good, nodding was a good thing. “If you still want to date me after a week of regular touch, then we can assume it’s a genuine want.” She graced him with a small smile and took both his hands in hers. “That’s a clever idea, Arundel.”

His heart soared like he was flying. “I try,” he answered in complete honesty.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/306678.html. You can comment here or there.

First Day of Work, a story of the Black House for the March Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

Mar25

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), about 3 days after Reality (LJ).

Content warnings: no sexual content, but definite d/s.

Her Master dressed her for her first day of work. After three days of nudity, broken only by very brief times in a thin robe, the tailored skirt suit, with its brocade corset in lieu of a vest, felt like armor and like a prison all at once. With the skirt tight around her knees and the tall, pointed heels, her walking was constrained to short steps; with the steel of the corset over her ribs and waist, her back was forced straight.

He replaced the heavy collar with a delicate chain that pressed against her throat but looked, to those who didn’t know, like a piece of fine jewelry, and hung matching earrings from her lobes. “Perfect,” he whispered in her ear. “My perfect Pretty, my perfect assistant.” She blushed and said nothing, wishing she could crawl back to her place by his bed, where she knew exactly what was required of her and knew she could do it.

She rode in the back seat of his limo with him this time, not in the trunk. When he saw her gaze fall there as he walked her into the garage, he smiled knowingly. “Not when you’re working, pretty girl. Only when we’re playing.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, feeling the heat come to her cheeks. Playing. In such a short time, playing had become her whole reality. Was it just a hobby to him? Was she just a hobby?

As if reading her mind, he stroked her cheek. “Chin up, Pretty girl. You are my treasure, in the bedroom and in my office. Remember that. I value you for both roles. And now you must be Yaminah, be my executive assistant. I need you to be that woman now, who can handle people.”

She held her chin up, allowing herself a small smile. “Yes, sir. I can do that for you.” It might end up being the longest she’d held a job. She wondered if, when her time under him was through, he’d give her a reference.

“Very good. Now do well today, and I will reward you.” His thumb stroked across her cheek again. “I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you do badly, because I do not believe you have that in you.”

“No, sir.” Not when so much hinged on it. “I will do well for you, sir.”

He smiled at her. “While we are working, as you are Yaminah there, I am Mister Krake.”

“Mr. Krake.” She chuckled dutifully. “All right.”

“And here we are.” Through the windows of the limo, she could see a seven-story building, its style an odd mix of modern and ancient, almost like a reinvention of the castle. The gate lifted to allow them through, into an underground parking lot brightly-lit and brightly-painted in sea colors. “Once you’re settled, I’ll get you your own car, so you can come here when I’m busy doing other things. You’ll park in the spot next to mine.”

“Yes, Mr. Krake.” It was getting hard to breathe. She counted, slowly, to twenty, and forced a bright, happy smile on her face. “I can’t wait to start.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/306420.html. You can comment here or there.

An Understanding

Mar25

For [personal profile] anke‘s commissioned continuation of Parent-Teacher Conference (LJ), Humanity (LJ), and Human Town (LJ)

Dragons next Door has a landing page here.

“So.” Miss Milligan looked down at her hands.

“So?” Aud asked gently. “You called us here because you believed our daughter was telling tales, Samantha, right?”

“She seemed to be having a lot of trouble with the other students because of it?” the young teacher explained nervously. “And it seemed like… I’ve had students before, who were confused between fantasy and reality. It makes the world a hard place for them.”

“But you work in a school that caters to non-human students,” Sage pointed out. “Surely your students interact with non-humans.”

“Small non-humans!” the girl wailed. “Pixies. Maybe a gremlin. Elkin. The centaurs sometimes come near the school. Not dragons. Not ogres. Not races that eat people!”

“Actually,” Aud couldn’t help but point out, “very few of even the largest races eat human or other sentient meat, and they haven’t in decades. Certainly since the [fillnamehere] Conventions.”

The teacher waved a hand impatiently. “I know, I know. I read my history. But… do you think it’s really true? I mean, I’ve heard of humans eating Harpy meat.”

Sage collected himself first. He was less prone to shock, Aud thought, after his years on the police force. “You have?” he asked quietly. Very quietly.

She’d had time to read the horror in their expressions, and looked, more than anything, confused. “Well, yes. Haven’t you?”

“No,” Aud answered. “Not outside of horror novels and bad urban myths.”

“Oh.” The poor girl squirmed on her chair. “I guess we’re back to ignorance. I didn’t know anyone willingly spent time with… with dragons. With ogres.”

Audrey didn’t know what to think. The girl had a painful level of ignorance, the sort that could cause her all sorts of trouble – and by proxy, cause the school trouble. She didn’t seem to be a bigot, or the sort of hateful people that Aud knew all too well, but she definitely had… issues. And she was probably passing those issues on to her students.

“I’ll tell you what,” Audrey said slowly, “I work as a liaisons, sometimes, translating from the non-human races to the human institutions in the city. For the sake of the rest of Juniper’s school year, why don’t I do something similar for you?”

“Liaise?” She shrank into her chair.

“Not quite liaise, but… instruct. Explain. Teach,” she added, with a smile. “Over tea?”

“Over tea?” Miss Milligan studied her empty tea cup thoughtfully. “I’d like that, yes. Please.”

“Good.” Audrey stood up. “Shall we say every Wednesday after classes, does that work?”

“Every Wednesday.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/306062.html. You can comment here or there.

Shit, Fan, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the February Giraffe Call

Mar23

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt, second half of the story, after Up Shit Creek (LJ) and Shit Keeps Coming (LJ)

Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

The redheaded stripper launched herself at him from the stage. This was… not what Pyry was expecting. Sure, he was a generous tipper, and always tried to be a gentleman, but…

“Eee, you’re adorable. Bo Duke, what did you DO to yourself?” She straddled his lap, putting his face directly between her lamé-clad breasts, and stroked his horn.

His. Horn.

He didn’t whip his head up, because he didn’t want to poke her in anything important or expensive, but he did, slowly, look up into her face. It was a long way and a lot of freckles up to her stunning green eyes, but he made the voyage heroically. “Desirée?” he managed.

“Des, get back on stage,” the manager hollered.

“Oh, come on, Ted, there’s three people in the bar and one of them’s asleep. Besides, Bo paid me for the lap dance, didn’t you, Bo,” she grinned.

“Of course I did, Des.” He tucked the folded fifty in the side of her g-string. “Des, I thought…”

“Oh, yes,” she grinned at him. “We were talking about what you did to yourself. I didn’t know you were fae, you lovely man. What made you decide to some in with your Mask dropped after all this time?”

“I, uh.” Pyry squirmed. “Just Changed.”

“Just.” She pursed her lips. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Yeah…?” He had a sinking feeling he’d suddenly lost his favorite dancer. He suppressed the urge to slide another fifty in her g-string, and, instead, asked merely, “you like it?”

“It’s lovely.” She petted his horn gently. “It feels good, like getting a shower.”

“It should,” he admitted dryly. “It can turn anything cleaner.”

“That’s a pretty impressive power, Bo.” She kissed the base of his horn and wiggled pointedly on his lap. “Do you have a Mentor and all that?”

“Uh…” He squirmed more. “My mother’s looking for someone.”

“Hunh.” She pressed his face into her chest as she made thinking noises. “I know someone. I know a couple someones. Who’s your mother?”

“Argh,” he complained against the freckled curves. “I’m not eight.”

“No,” she laughed, “you’re not. But there’s a way these things go, and, well, I don’t think you want me as your Mentor.”

“You?” he coughed. “I… don’t think I’d be able to focus on my studies.”

“Oh, nonsense, you…” whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the slamming of doors as three… trolls, they had to be trolls, Pyry hadn’t know such people really existed… stomped into the bar. “Shit, Nedetakaei. Stay behind me, Bo.”

“Oh, not from you, too,” he grumbled. “I’m. Not. A. Kid.” The tall stripper was already off of her barstool, though, and chanting under her breath.

“Fine, then, try not to get killed.” She tossed him a short wooden sword as it appeared in her hand, and… jumped. Landing upside-down on the ceiling.

“Nice.” He didn’t have time to appreciated it more than that, though; the trolls were going straight for him.

“Horn,” the blue one laughed. “That’ll be fun. Come on, pretty boy, you can be our new pet if you’re good.”

Pyry felt a smile stretching his lips. He was finally going to get to fight monsters! “Maybe I can take you home for my sister to play with,” he quipped… and the fight was on.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/305775.html. You can comment here or there.

Shit Keeps Coming, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the February Giraffe Call

Mar22

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt, half of the story, after Up Shit Creek (LJ)

Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

Pyry found being their mother’s fair-haired boy – literally; all his hair had turned from sandy to golden-blonde when he Changed – nearly as uncomfortable as he’d found being the family’s whipping boy, and twice as strange.

His newfound power was, at the very least, a mixed blessing: he could turn any sort of used or rotten food back into fresh food, but that meant he spent a lot of time around shit, and his mother was suddenly bringing back the concept of the outhouse.

The human members of the family hadn’t been too happy with being guinea pigs for his new power, testing the food he horned, but they’d done it (what choice did they have? No more than he did), and it appeared that what he poked was, indeed, nutritious and healthful, and fine to eat, as long as you didn’t think about where it had been an hour ago. Pyry wasn’t entirely sure that it ought to work but so far, it seemed like it was.

Worse than spending even more time around shit, worse than the weird way the family was treating him, was his mother’s sudden insistence on finding him both a Mentor (which he was a bit old for) and, as if it was an immediate need now-now-now, a mate.

Yet even worse – if there could be an even worse, and there seemed to be a never-ending list of them – was that his mother, Svad, and Abasta still refused to let him go monster-hunting with the family. Indeed, despite his age, they seemed determined to treat him like some newly-fledged change-child. It was maddening, humiliating, and just about unbearable.

The advantage was, if there was one, that until they got him a Mentor, they didn’t know what to do with him, and the family, large as it was, only made so much manure. Pyry slipped out of the house between bouts of horn-poking, determined that he was going to do something, anything, other than sit around turning shit into apples.

He made it into the city with no problems. Of course, he’d driven into the city a thousand times before with no issue, but considering the way the family was reacting, they expected him to get abducted, murdered, and then raped every time he left the property. For his horn. Which nine-tenths of the population couldn’t see and would never be able to.

He had some money in his pocket, the family credit card in his wallet, and a chip on his shoulder when he reached the city. He parked the truck near his favorite bar, the one with the redheaded dancer on Wednesday nights, wished he had a hat that covered the horn on his forehead, and headed in for a few drinks.

As with his whole life these days, the moment he relaxed, everything went to feces in a bucket.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/305128.html. You can comment here or there.

Frog Pancakes

Mar21

To [personal profile] kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt, after Big, Bad Witch

“So.” Eva stared at the boy over her orange juice for a moment. “Pancakes, little kid thing?”

“Are they in the shapes of dinosaurs?”

She smirked. “I only do that for kids that are still shorter than my knees. They’re safe, normal round things.”

“Will they turn me into a frog?”

“I don’t know anything that can do that, legends aside… so probably not.”

“Then I guess I’m probably not too old for pancakes.” Was he flirting with her?

“Good,” she answered while she tried to figure that one out. “Because they taste horrible the second day and there’s way too many for me to eat on my own right now.” She passed him a plate and a glass of orange juice. “So. You thought I was a witch?”

“You still haven’t said if you are or not. And sometimes your family says stuff, you know.”

“I’m sure they do; everyone’s family says stuff. I just have a really big family.”

“Mmn.” He stuffed his mouth full of pancakes for a minute, eating like every teenage boy she’d ever seen, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

When she thought he might be able to breathe again, she added, “what sort of stuff, in this case?”

“Hunh? Oh, your family. Just… ‘Aunt Asta died, Aunt Eva’s The Aunt now.'” He dropped the caps in melodramatically. “If you don’t get a boyfriend, Beryl, you’re going to end up The Next Aunt.” He shook his head. “Like it’s a thing.”

“For us, it kind of is,” she admitted, gambling on honesty. “Sometimes we have more than one in a generation, but yeah.”

“So you really are a witch?” He looked down at the pancakes thoughtfully. “At least they’re not gingerbread.”

“You’re not running screaming in terror?”

He grinned at her, another one of those expressions she was pretty sure made Beryl go “:X” “I could feel it, you know? In my toes. I was just waiting for you to decide to tell me.”

Older Witches (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/304427.html. You can comment here or there.

Silent Song

Mar20

To Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt and @Inventrix’s request, the second half of a continuation of Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ), after Siren Song (LJ).

Porter fell.

He’d been pretty sure he was going to, but knowing you were going to and suddenly falling were different things.

He flailed, kicking his legs and shouting. The floor seemed a long way down. Why were the levels so far apart in this school? What if he broke something…

He landed while he was still worrying, both feet hitting the floor by some freak chance, and stumbled backwards until he fell into something.

He was… on a soft carpet, surrounded by bookshelves. In the Library, then? He slapped both hands over his mouth. He’d been shouting in the Library! He was going to catch hell for sure!

What was worse… he’d fallen into the Library. In the middle of the Library. If someone didn’t find him, he was going to end up late for dinner. Late for Timora’s mystery dinner date with hopefully-a-Ninth-Cohort.

And, really, to be pragmatic, he could be trapped in here forever, or until he found a door or a Door that got him out. Priorities.

A sign appeared in front of his nose. Please remember to remain quiet in the Library. The font was frilly, and the little sign was bordered with little purple flowers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just…”

The sign vanished, and another appeared. Please refrain from lewd activity in the Library.

“Wait, what?” he asked in a hurried hiss. “I…” He was leaning against something, wasn’t he? He twisted to look behind him. “…Oh. Sorry.” The statue in whose embrace he’d been cuddled looked as embarrassed as Porter felt. “You should get her some clothes. Look, um,” the signs were from the Librarian, right? “Um… sa’Librarian?” That might work… please? “I didn’t mean to drop in like this, but I’m a little lost…”

A third sign appeared. Please refrain from becoming lost in the Library.

“I’m trying, I really am, but there was this Siren, so I dove overboard, and overboard happened to be here…” He flailed. “I open Doors, you see. But this place doesn’t come with a decent floor plan.”

The next sign that appeared was hand-written, still florid but without the decorations. “You open… Doors. Show me. This way.” And then a sign with an arrow.

“I, uh…” His dinner was getting further and further away. “Yes… ma’am? Sa’Librarian. What do you want me to show you?” He wandered in the direction of the arrow, avoiding the eyes of the statue. “Hunh. History. I’ve never found this section before.”

A sign appeared: a flower-wreathed stop sign. Porter stopped obediently, hoping that, somehow, this would lead to dinner. Somehow.

He was standing in front of a section of blank wall, about the size of a doorway, something he’d never before seen in the Library. The arrow appeared again, pointing at the wall.

“You want me to open this? All right, I can do that. I hope,” he added in a mutter. “But do you know what’s on the other side?”

The arrow simply pointed again and, sighing, Porter opened a Door and stepped through.

Next: Iridium Hole, LJ

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303624.html. You can comment here or there.

Human Town

Mar18

For [personal profile] anke‘s commissioned continuation of Parent-Teacher Conference (LJ) and Humanity (LJ). Have no fears, there is one more section in the queue to write!

Dragons next Door has a landing page here.

“So, little sister…” Jimmy’s crests did a fun ripple thing, like doing the wave, and his jaw dropped for a second in the way dragons mimicked human smiles, “My favorite little sister.”

“Jin says that!” she told him gleefully. “I’m your only little sister, too!”

“You’re right,” he laughed. “Well, while we’re up here, best-only-little-sister, what do you want to see?”

“EVERYTHING,” Juniper giggled. “How far can you take me?”

“I have a little while,” he answered, and swooooped down almost to the road level before climbing back upwards, wings flapping mightily. “Let’s look at Smokey Knoll. It’s always fun to look at your home from the sky.”

“Eeeee!” she squealed happily, and held on Very Tightly, like she’d promised, as Jimmy swooped and twirled in the air, almost like he was dancing with her.

“What’s it like, where dragons live” she called. The houses behind them looked like one boring grey roof after another, all so very similar, roof, roof, roof, red tiles! She wanted to know who lived in the place with the red tiles.

Jimmy didn’t answer for a minute. She wasn’t sure he’d heard her, but his crests were laying down flat. Something wrong? She’d asked it the wrong way?

“You’ve seen where we live,” he called back to her, his crests popping up brightly. “You’re over there all the time.”

“But…” Her question turned quickly into an eeeeeeeeeee as he swooped again. “Jimmy!” she called exasperatedly.

“I don’t remember where we came from very well,” he answered, falling into a nice level flight again. “Look, here, you can see where Human Town ends and Smokey Knoll begins.”

“Human town?” She peered down at the roofs, and the tall hedge around the Mulberry family’s house. “I’ve never heard anyone say that before.”

Jimmy’s crests wiggled again. “It’s what a lot of the other races call the city and the burbs, the places that the humans live in. Like, you know, how there’s Tiny Town downtown?”

“But humans live in Smokey Knoll, too,” she pointed out, confused. “Us. The Mulberry family. The Sanjays.”

“Look, there’s the Harpy place,” Jimmy called. He was ignoring her a lot today. “Watch out, incoming harpy chick!”

Giggling, Juniper ducked, covering her face with one hands. Little harpies were an airborne threat until they got used to their wings. And Jimmy… Jummy wasn’t telling her something.

Maybe Jin would tell her. Or maybe she could ask the nice guy at the bus stop.

Next: An Understanding (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/301977.html. You can comment here or there.

Siren Song

Mar16

To Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt and @Inventrix’s request, the first half of a continuation of Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ).

Other than 4500 words on Addergoole-proper, this is all I’ve written in days. It feels weird. O_O Yeah. I’ve been THAT sick.

It wasn’t that Porter minded his friends’ “help” in getting him a girlfriend. After all, he knew that he’d need to get a girlfriend, or at least someone cooperative in baby-making, sometime in his four years at Addergoole. Possibly twice, even.

It was just that they – although he suspected Timora, from the amused, wicked looks she was giving him – kept picking such imposing girls, girls that didn’t seem to smile much, girls that, in some cases, didn’t really seem to even like guys.

He was pretty sure that Timora was trying to mess with his head, he just didn’t know why.

He was also hopeful, because it looked like these dinner dates were working their way down through the Cohorts, which meant, if he was going to have a “surprise” date tonight, it would probably be a Ninth Cohort. And, aside from Timora, none of the Ninth Cohorts he’d met were really at all scary.

“Hey, Kitty, Kitty.” Too late, Porter looked up, realizing that, lost in thought and hurrying to get home for the theoretical Ninth Cohort Dinner Date, he hadn’t been paying attention.

Lots of people called him Kitty. Only one person did it in that unctuous tone of voice, like she was grooming his name.

“Tess.” And because she and her crewmate were never far apart, “Lucian.”

“Hey, Kitty.” Lucian leaned against the wall behind Porter. “Have you had a chance to think about our invitation?”

“Your…” He looked between the two of them, Tess’s green eyes boring into him, Lucian’s close-winged pose deceptively closed, making him look harmless. “Oh,” he smiled, and choked out a little laugh. “I thought that was a joke. I mean, I already have a crew…” And even if Sylvia runs everything, I trust her.

“Ah, but we could really use your power, pretty kitty.”

“So you want me for my doors, not my drawers.” In a way, he was relieved. Tess was a very frightening woman when she wanted something, and Lucian was little better.

Like that laugh. He chuckled throatily behind Porter. “We wouldn’t mind both, would we, Tess?”

Eep. Feeling like he was being eaten with their eyes, he cast around for the quickest Door surface. There was under his feet – but that could have unpleasant consequences. You never knew how far away the floor would be, for one, and it was hard to close the door after yourself.

“Mmm. There’s not much I’d mind with him,” Tess agreed. A quick glance told porter that the scales running down both sides of her neck were shifting color, from “safe” white-and-green to deep red. Her voice was taking on that funny tone to it, like she had a reverb going, and Porter knew what that meant.

“No,thank you.” Sailors of legend had dived over the sides of ships to get to sirens. Porter dived through the floor to escape this one.

He pulled the door upwards, grabbed the handle that was created when he did that, and swung down onto the third floor by the handle, yanking the door shut with his weight.

And then, of course, the doorknob vanished.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/300341.html. You can comment here or there.