Tag Archive | prompt: origfic

January’s Bingo Card!

And now I have this:

a favorite place promises made nightmares outnumbered love at first sight
a cunning plan [knowledge] management hallucinations /visions [honor]
[test/exam] [flirting] [PICK ANYTHING] [youth] innocent
unwelcome guest [fast & loose] betrayal friendship exhaustion


victim sports & games [a crowd] [gravity] holy place
holy, holy

from [community profile] origfic_bingo

And this is what I’m going to do:

Pick a square, and give me a prompt with that as a theme. I.e., Promises Broken, Junie and her teacher.

First prompt will get written; after that I’m going to go for a Bingo, so prompts that are within a line of the first prompt are more likely to get written.

Squares that have been prompted to will be [bolded and bracketed] (if there’s two prompts, it’ll also be italicized); squares that have been written will have a link. Please feel free to prompt any square, even those filled.

I will post at least the first BINGO.

If you tip, I will write to at least two of your prompts; I will also write you a continuation of your choice at the giraffe call rate of $1/100 Words

For every $20 received in tips, I will post another line of BINGO written.

All the Words!
100 Words $1.00 USD 300 Words $3.00 USD 500 Words $5.00 USD 750 Words $7.50 USD 1000 Words $10.00 USD 1500 Words $14.00 USD 2000 Words $18.00 USD 1750 Words $17.00 USD

(I am likely to write many more of the squares from last month still as well!)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/626957.html. You can comment here or there.

A Start, a story for the Orig-Fic Bingo

This is to [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt to this January card for [community profile] origfic_bingo.

It fills the “love at first sight” slot, and is in no established verse – although Holly MIGHT end up being in my Episodes ‘verse

They first ran into each other at a tiny regional sci-fi con. Holly was doing her favorite Bleach cosplay; Grace was wearing an extravagant medium-length dress and a pair of knee-high boots. She had an overcoat atop, the yellow frogs standing out in stark contrast to the black of the rest of her outfit.

They observed each other for a moment between the roleplaying-book booth and the tinted-contacts table. Grace spoke first, a little frown creasing her white-powdered forehead.

“Yoruichi Shihōin, right? From… Bleach.”

“Right!” Holly found herself grinning.

Grace made the gesture equivalent of a flourish. “My roommate loves anime. And thus, because it is a small room and a loud tv, I have begun to learn to love anime, too. Have you seen Death Note?

“Have I? Have I…!” And thus, they were off and running. Cons were little pockets of existence away from reality, and so it was easy to talk to a stranger, easy for Holly to invite Grace to breakfast so they could keep talking

IRL was trickier, but there was always gchat and twitter and soon they were talking every night, @GraceFired, what do you think of this idea for the next con; @TheBerry, OMG, I found a new lipstick that mimics the color of corpse lips.

It was late one night, on gchat, 100 times more private than twitter even if Google was reading everything, when Holly finally was brave enough to say “Gray… I think I love you.”

She stared at the words for a moment, and then typed hurriedly below that “I mean, not, not in a … I don’t want to… shit.”

“Chill, Hall. <3 I get it." There was a pause, the little grey line that said "Grace is typing…" And then, as if Grace wanted to whisper it: "I love you too."

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/697566.html. You can comment here or there.

Give and Take, a story of Fairy Town for the December OrigFic Bingo card

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt to my December Bingo Card – it fills the “Disability: Chronic” square.

Fairy town has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

I do believe the beggar Kelkyag was referring to was this guy. It fits, at least.

Aston had learned years ago that there were some things magic couldn’t cure.

He’d learned even earlier that modern medicine couldn’t fix everything; he’d learned that when his mother got sick, when Mrs. Newmann next door got sick, when Randy from school got sick and never came back.

He’d been eight, then, and the doctors had told him things that he hadn’t really understood, and his father had told him things that hadn’t helped much, and Mr. Newmann had cried for hours and wouldn’t talk to him.

But eight was old enough to know that Granny Paolo was not actually his granny, no matter that she babysat him and gave him sweets he wasn’t supposed to have. And eight was old enough to learn that magic had a cost.

So Aston had told Granny “I’ll pay it. Whatever. Just bring mommy and Mrs. Newmann back.”

And she had asked him, “you, who are a child-boy, you, when their husbands could not?”

Which was when Aston learned that love had limits. The first time Aston learned love had limits.

“Me,” he’d agreed.

“You are young, son, and have your life in front of you. Would you risk that, for the sake of those that are old?”

“My mother’s not old!”

“Older than you, child.”

“Not old at all!”

“Come back tomorrow. I will give you this – they will get no worse between now and then. Think about it. Ask your father, if you would. Ask your friends.”

Aston had already learned that his father would not pay the price, whatever it was.

But he did ask his friends: the goblin in the park, the faerie in the fountain, the lion in the bar.

“It will be hard. But it will be worth it.” Three voices, three phrasings, but Aston understood the meaning.

And he had paid the price.

Years later, frustrated and angry and losing the last of his sight, hungry and depressed and with all his human friends having left him, he’d confronted Granny Paolo.

“You saved my mother. You saved Mrs. Newmann. There has to be a way to save my sight.”

She had shaken her head – it was only a blur, then, but he could see the movement. “No, so. The price of magic is its price, and cannot be wished away.”

And he had cried like a babe, the way he hadn’t when his mother was sick, and Granny Paolo had comforted him, patted his back, and fed him cookies like he was eight again.

“You have borne up under this burden well, so I will tell you this: when you give of yourself like you did, selflessly and wholly, the magic always gives something back.”

It had taken Aston four more years to find it, the voice like an angel that poured from him mouth, and by then, his sight was gone altogether. Magic gave, and magic took. For everything there was a price.

He sat in his spot by the curb and sang, his hat out. Sometimes the good people left money, and sometimes the bad people took it. Aston didn’t mind. Life, like magic, gave and took. He sang them all a song and let the fates sort it out.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/690438.html. You can comment here or there.


This is to [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt to this January card for [community profile] origfic_bingo.

It fills the “promises made” slot, and is in Addergoole, which has a landing page here

“I promise you,” Regine had said, when she had first locked a collar around Ambrus’ neck, “that as long as you are mine I will take care of you.”

It hadn’t been the promise that he’d wanted, but at the time, he hadn’t knows that he could want things, and so he had taken it as a kindness and a courtesy.

“The children you sire here will all go to Addergoole, that I promise you.”

That had been over a year later, long enough that Ambrus could think about wanting things, long enough that he’d begun to count on his fingers the number of times he had taken a woman to her bed.(128)

But Addergoole was an abstraction to him, a project, and the children he might be siring, even the one he had already held and named, they were all even more abstract. His mistress was smiling at him.

And it wasn’t the promise he wanted, still, and he did not think he could ask for things, so he took the promise as a kindness and a courtesy, and thanked his mistress sweetly.

“I promise you that my use for you is far from over.”

The promise came nearly fifteen years later, as Regine was wrapping up what she called “the initial phase of the Addergoole project,” already gearing up for “the educational phase.” Ambrus hadn’t, exactly, asked for that promise, but she had offered him freedom, and he had panicked, thinking, now that the initial phase was done, she was sending him out into the world.

It wasn’t the promise he wanted, but by now, he was used to the way his mistress spoke, and the bond of Keeping was pushing heavily on him. So he nodded, and accepted it for what she’d actually meant, and moved on.

“I promise you.” This time she was swallowing, hard, having trouble with her words. He had noticed, by now, so many years later, that she rarely made promises like this: only for him, and even more rarely her crew, did she speak so casually. “I promise you, Ambrus, that should you ever wish to come back, you will always have a place in my home.”

That wasn’t the promise he wanted. But Ambrus had learned to wait.

“…and in my heart.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/682348.html. You can comment here or there.

Unwelcome Guests, Part the Third

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Unwelcome Guests & Unwelcome Guests, Part II

(I should pay a little more attention to my list; this was for longfic)

Baram and his family are part of the “Baram’s House Elves” sub-series of the Addergoole ‘verse, which can be found here; Baram is also a background character in Addergoole.

“Girls.” Baram nodded at Via and Aly the second he heard the “basement” door shut.

“On it already, boss. Jaelie’s down with the kids and Aloysius. And Aly’s been waking up the rest of the defenses. Now she can swap with Jae and Jae can get the trees ready.”

“Good.” Baram paced out onto the front walk. There wasn’t much to pretend to do here, but he could still pace.

Behind him, the girls moved. This was not their first attack, not by far. They knew what they were doing.

The walls shifted. They weren’t awake, whatever Viatrix had said, but they were ready, braced, and stronger than they normally were.

“Precious cargo tucked in.” Jaelie touched Baram’s shoulder. “Aloysius has rear guard.”

“Good.” Baram didn’t have to like the useless thing to admit he could come in handy. “Trees?”

“They’re good trees, aren’t they?” She stroked the trunk of one of the front-gate flanking plants. “My favorite trees.”

Baram suppressed a shudder. Hawthorn trees weren’t supposed to be that big, and they were not suppose to /purr./ “Good trees,” he agreed. “Almost here.” The dust was rising on the horizon. “Inside.”


“Inside. Might not be a fight, best to find out.”

She sighed. “Inside, yes, boss.” She slipped out of sight just as the motorcycles roared into view.

Baram did his best to look casual. There was a bolt that needed fixing on the gate, anyway.

There were six of them, four males, two females; four warriors, two bitches, if Baram was reading them right, but they didn’t split along gender lines. They were wearing leather, which might mean they were young – or might mean they were pragmatic. Baram had met Aelfgar and his soldiers; Baram sometimes remembered, in dreams, flashes of being a soldier.

Take nothing for granted. They could even, he supposed, be just wandering through. Since the world had started ending, they had definitely seen odder things.

“Afternoon.” He nodded at them, doing his best to seem normal-and-human. Normal-and-human was not an easy setting for him, but these were people riding large motorcycles and hung with weapons. Their bar was a little lower than people in suits in glassy offices.

“We’re looking for a pair.” The leader – probably female, hard to tell, didn’t matter much in this case anyway – snarled it out without even bothering with the pretense. “One male, one female, skinny. They came this way.”

Baram shook his head. “Haven’t seen anyone like that.”

The leader narrowed her eyes and glanced, briefly, at the man Baram had tagged as her bitch. He paled, closed his eyes, and murmured incoherently.

“They’re near. I promise it, I swear it.”

“You lie.” It wasn’t clear whether the woman was talking to the man or to Baram. It didn’t matter; she was drawing a weapon. “You. Tell me again. One man, one woman.”

Baram shook his head. “Bad idea. Ride away now.”

“You, you are not going to tell me what to do.” She dismounted, and took steps towards the front gate. “Tell me. One man, one woman. And I might let you live.”

“Last chance.” He still hadn’t drawn steel. He didn’t need to. “Ride away. Now.”

“You fucking deaf or just stupid? Give us our prey and we’ll let you live.”

Baram found himself roaring, just as the trees by the gate found they could reach the woman. “This. This is a Safe. House.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/681233.html. You can comment here or there.

Unicorn Hair, a story of the Unicorn/Factory for the December OrigFic Bingo

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt to my December Bingo Card – it fills the “Anniversary” square.

Unicorn/Factory has a landing page here.

Content warning: implied rape.

An hour afterwards, she lay in the river, the blood washing away in the water. She stared up at the setting sun and wondered if she would ever move again.

A day afterwards, she curled up in her bed in her mother’s house, her entire body awash with pain. She stared at the wall because she could not sleep, and wondered if she would ever leave the house again.

A week later, she limped slowly out into the town circle, where girls of a certain age often gathered to do their work. She brought with her the wool of her family’s sheep and, carefully wrapped in her mother’s wedding hankie, two cards’ worth of unicorn hair.

The unicorn hair, they spun into a fine, fine yarn, and from it they knit the tiniest baby hat, all of them, in turn, handling the fine stuff.

A month later, she knew that the unicorn’s horn had done its work. All its work. She kept knitting, tiny things of linen and wool and every last scrap of the unicorn hair. She sat in the town circle and spun, and knit, and spun, and knit, and wondered if she could sit here forever.

Eight months later, she brought forth a son, down in the river. The unicorns stood in attendance, their horns in the water, and the infant’s first touch was from a unicorn’s careful hooves. She lay in the water, her infant balanced on her chest, and thought about staying here forever.

A year after she had gone down to the river, she sat with her son by the sun-dappled banks and brushed the most patient unicorn-father with her cleanest curry-comb. She could stay here, forever, watching the sun on the pearly horn, watching their child play with the wispy strands of unicorn hair.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/680727.html. You can comment here or there.

Sporting, a story of Fae Apoc for the January Giraffe Bingo (@Rix_scaedu)

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt to my January orig-fic card. This fills the “Sports & Games” slot.

This is probably in my Fae Apoc setting; its landing page is here.


She hissed it in his ear, and the man had no choice but to run.


She called it after him, and so, of course, he fled. She’d given him pants, at least, a shirt, and shoes, although all were too thin for this forest, for the trees that lashed at him and the rocks that caught his feet.

“Escape!” It echoed through the woods, an order; it echoed through the man’s body and self, an imperative. It echoed in her dogs’ barks, a taunt. It echoed in the pounding of his feet, a song.


His feet hit the ground, hit the ground again. He could run quickly; when there had been tracks, when he had had a name, he had been a track runner, a good one, a prize-winning one. Now, he was nothing but the running, and so he did it with every ounce of his being.


Behind him, the hounds were baying. Behind him, the chase was beginning. A little bit of a head start, of course; it wasn’t sporting otherwise. And then they would come after him. They would chase him, unless he could flee.


Somewhere, deep inside him, the man knew what happened to the runners. He knew he wasn’t the first; he knew that most of them never came back, and those that did never came back more than once. This was his third run. He had to escape. He had to find a way out of here.

Run. Flee. Escape.

The man’s feet caught on a vine and he stumbled, but there was no pause, no option but to keep running.

A branch hit him in the face; a thorny vine ripped at his shirt. His lungs burned. He kept running.

Sun shone through the forest ahead, sunlight; he had not seen sunlight in his memory. Sunlight meant freedom. He kept running.

Run, flee, escape.

The woman followed, the hounds followed. The man kept running.


Feet pounded.

Feet bled, and kept pounding.

Feet shuffled in a run that was mostly stumble.

The man tripped on a root and fell, hanging at the edge of a precipice.


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/678670.html. You can comment here or there.

Tower, a story of post-apoc Ag for the OrigFic Bingo

This is to @inventrix and Sky’s twitter prompts to my December OrigFic card; this fills the “Tower” square.

It is set in post-apoc Addergoole-world, not in the school, sometime around year 50 of the school, with new characters.

“What do I do, what do I do?”

Leontyne was in the habit of talking to herself. It wasn’t a particularly good habit, but it wasn’t her worst habit by far, and her children were fond of it, as, they said, it telegraphed her pretty darn well.

Her children. Addergoole had gotten the first two, because that’s what happened. And it wasn’t as if Leontyne’s experiences there had been horrible. But now her third child was coming of age, the first two still in Addergoole – and her third, Jerome, had been born outside of the auspices and breeding programs of her alma mater.

“What to do, what to do?” She had very little faith in the Tarot, not like the woman who’d raised her had; she wasn’t a precog, as far as she could tell, wasn’t a seer of any sort. But she used it the way she used the dice and sometimes even the Bible, as a randomizer for decision-making. She tapped the edge of the deck on her small table. “Where to go. Where to go.”

“Mom, you’re doing it again.” Jerome poured her a cup of tea. He was a good boy, when he wasn’t getting into trouble – so, for about fifteen minutes awake, and then when he was asleep, much like her older two. He’d be a hell-raiser in Addergoole or anywhere else. “What to do about what?” He lifted the Tarot deck from her unresisting hand and pushed a scone in front of her.

“You.” She sipped the tea; once they’d got the hang of growing it, they’d been in business. “This is the new – what?”

“Me?” He had the lost-kitten look all of her sons learned from birth (no surprise there). “What did I… hunh.” A card had fallen from his hand onto the table: the Tower.

It wasn’t a card Leontyne could remember seeing before; it wasn’t one from her deck. A tall edifice twisted into the sky, three-sided, surrounded by interlocking circles of walls.

She’d seen that before, in a brochure left by a travelling salesman.

“Doomsday Academy.” The card sat on the table, making change and transformation and chaos. She quirked her lips up and smiled at her most chaotic of sons. “Think they’re ready for you?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/675347.html. You can comment here or there.

Unwelcome Guests, Part the Second

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned A continuation of Unwelcome Guests.

(I should pay a little more attention to my list; this was for longfic)

Baram and his family are part of the “Baram’s House Elves” sub-series of the Addergoole ‘verse, which can be found here; Baram is also a background character in Addergoole.

Delaney snaked her way in front of Ardell, grinning, all sweetness-and-light and innocence. Baram didn’t budge, and he didn’t miss the three weapons she was carrying openly. Spear, sword, gun.

“We heard you were running a safe house, Baram. We heard you had some Addergoole girls working for you. We heard you had weapons, had food.”

Ardell slunk to the side of Delaney. No smile, more weapons. He often pretended, but he wasn’t pretending to be sweet, at least. “We heard you were living the sweet life here, surrounded by pretty things. Like the girl who answered the door. And we figured we’d pay an old friend a visit.”

Baram looked at the two of them. He glanced over his shoulder – very briefly – at Alkyone. He looked back at people who had been, if not his friends, his allies.

The next words came easily to him. “Who are you?”

They shared a look. A look, and then Delaney’s shoulders shifted, and Ardell took a step backwards. “We’d heard…” Ardell frowned. He looked actually bothered. “We’d heard you forgot things.”

“Did you really forget us?” Delaney did a believable pout. “After everything we went through together?”

Ardell picked up on the cue. “Yeah, man, all that time together in school, we were like crew. We were solid friends. And you forgot all of that?”

How much of it did they mean? Baram shrugged. “Forgot most things. Jaelie remembers for me.”

“This is Jaelie?” Delaney waved her fingers. “Hi. We’re old friends of Baram’s, like we said.”

“No.” Alkyone’s voice was hard. “I’m Alkyone. Jaelie is elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere.” Delaney sneered the word out. “Aren’t you cute? And I bet you think you’re smart, too. Move over, chica. We’re here to visit our old friend, Baram.”

“Alkyone is a new friend.” Baram spoke slowly, the way he could remember talking, sometimes, when he was having a bad day, “one of those episodes,” Jaelie called them. “Alkyone lives here.”

“Well, of course she does.” Ardell took Delaney by the shoulders and pushed her out of the way – carefully, Baram noted; there was no violence in the way they handled each other. “And you do, too, right, buddy? Remember how we said we’d always open our doors to each other?”

“Don’t remember you.” He remembered the conversation Ardell was talking about. Ardell and Del, Ib and Rozen and Baram. Baram remembered saying nothing, shaking no hands, just sitting back with someone pretty curled on his lap and watching them talk.

Baram wondered how much of the rest of his Addergoole experience he remembered differently, like the spider-girl and her horrified memories of him. But this was different; this was lies.

“Of course you remember us.” Ardell’s voice was getting sharp. “Of course you’re going to let us in. Baram, come on, think of all the things I’ve done for you. How much fun you had with my Kept over the years. How much fun you could have with my Kept now.”

“You have Kept?” That was a different matter.

“Boss. Trouble on the horizon.” Viatrix came up on Baram’s other side. “Looks like bad trouble, too. The alarms caught seven.”

The alarms had been the girls’ idea and mostly their implementation; Baram’s house wasn’t the only group of people still living here, but they were the most combat-ready and, in other ways, the most vulnerable. Kids made you weak, but in weird and strong ways.

“First alarms?” The first alarms were four miles out. Plenty of time.


That was harder; the second were two miles out.

A glance back at their unwelcome guests showed Ardel’s shoulder’s tense and Delaney trying to press herself as close to the threshold as possible. “Come on, Baram, you’ve got to let us in. For old time’s sake. For when we were friends.”

“Boss. They’re trouble.” Alkyone’s voice held warning. “And they’re bringing trouble here.”

Del’s voice shifted to nasty again. “And do you think they’ll care if you have actually helped us? No, they will take you down one way or the other.”

“You brought enemies to our door?” Baram didn’t need to look to know that Via and Alkyone were now holding their weapons. Via’s voice told him everything he needed. “You brought hunters here, to our safe haven?”

“It’s not yours, bitch.” Ardel had lost the last semblance of courtesy and niceness. “It’s our friend’s. Baram’s.”

“I think you’re under a misapprehension-” Alkyone began, but Baram had had enough of the back-and-forth, especially with potential hunters on the way.

“Their house, my house, our house. Not yours. Get in back. Basement doors by apple tree.” Baram pointed. “Stay there if you want to live.”

“So you remember us, buddy?” Ardel’s smile was back as fast as it had left.

“No.” Best to keep up the lie. “Get in basement. Fast.”

The door by the apple tree didn’t lead to the house basement, but the hidey hole there was safe, protected by Baram’s threshold…

…and a bit of a trap. Another thing Ardel and Delaney didn’t need to know until they were in there.

Luckily, nobody expected that sort of thing of Baram. They moved – fast.

On the horizon, Baram was beginning to be able to make out an oncoming enemy.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/675139.html. You can comment here or there.

How Do We Manage?

This is to [personal profile] wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt to this January card for [community profile] origfic_bingo.

It fills the “management” slot, and is in Addergoole, which has a landing page here

Warning: discussion of incest.

“You have it easy.” Aelgifu sighed and flopped against the back of her chair.

“Easy?” Shahin raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow in question. “I’m not arguing that I don’t have a hard life, although I miss Emrys – although I had him here a year longer than you had Io.”

They were sitting in one of the cozy visiting rooms in Lady Maureen’s voluminous creche and child-care center, Ayla’s daughter and Shahin’s three-and-a-stepchild playing around and with them. Shahin managed to look simultaneously matronly and adorable while nursing young Belladona; Ayla had never managed to feel anything but half-naked and frumpy.

“Well, you don’t mind the preliminaries.” How much could you say around two-year-olds? What would babies Niobe and Arturo remember?

“I don’t recall you minding the preliminaries with Ioanna.”

“That’s was different. And the baby-making parts were, ah, separate. Dr. Caitrin helped with those.” Dr. Caitrin had been necessary for the complex Workings that had turned part of Ioanna’s female DNA into sperm and then impregnated Aelgifu with that sperm – Ayla was a bit fuzzy on the details, but the end result had been Niobe.

“Well, it’s not as if Dr. Caitrin couldn’t help you with a nice boy’s consent.”

“Finding someone I can stand enough to bother with is half the problem.”

“I really doubt you want to go the route of magically-and-inexplicably-attracted-to-your-brother.” Shahin seemed to have no problems at all talking about such things in front of her children. Well, with her relationship with Emrys…

“That’s it.” Ayla sat up straight. “Shahin, you’re brilliant.”

“I know, but… how, in this case, exactly?” Her friend was watching Ayla with both eyebrows raised.

“Brothers. I have an inordinate share of brothers, and I know at least two of them have no interest in women.” Their father had said all my kids turn out gay, but nobody was going to take Aelfgar as an expert in anything except fighting. “That’s brilliant.”

Shahin shook her head, but she was smiling, not scoffing. “It is. I’m glad I thought of it.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/674807.html. You can comment here or there.