This is a Summer story and it turned out a little… um. Not quite dark, but with dark-adjacent bits. While nobody in the story is either depressed nor suicidal, there’s frank discussion of both in the story.
Summer is Autumn’s middle sister; Bishop and Melinda are her partners. Add first appears here. This story is contemporary with Graduation… or Not.
“Summer’s sitting on the roof again.”
Add barely looked up from their homework. Med school was a bitch, and it left them impatient with dramatics of any sort.
“House roof or Bolsch Hall roof?” The house roof was lower but steeper and slicker, being the slate-shingled roof of an old Victorian in Collegetown.
“Bear Hall roof.” Melinda didn’t really have any more time than Add did, or than her partner Bishop did — he was at the library right now — or their other roommate, Carney. But it was her girlfriend, their girlfriend (but Bishop was busy) and something had gone weird with Summer in the last couple semesters. Continue reading
After I wrote Council Meetings, I wasn’t 100% satisfied that I’d fulfilled the brief, err, written well to the prompt.
So I wrote this. This is Fae Apoc, Cloverleaf; the viewpoint character is Nathen, the star of Lightning in Autumn and the novel I am writing based around that story. The era is after that novel wraps up, a little bit into Cloverleaf’s time.
Written to Eseme’s prompt to my Third Rail Prompt Call.
Nathen had eaten more scones and muffins in the last 4 weeks then he thought he had in the 40 years previous, possibly excluding that one year where he was dating a baker. That have been a good year.
“I’m telling you, she might call herself a ‘Mayor ‘ but she’s a dictator!”
“There’s a Council…. Some of them are elected…”
What he was finding was that sitting in a cafe, possibly this specific cafe, was a bunch better education on Cloverleaf then the tours he’d been given. Not that the tours had been disingenuous or flat-out lies, it was just that they only told him about the bones of the city, and Nathen had always felt that learning about its heart and blood were more important.
“Don’t give me that. I’ve watched her — watched her, she’s not even ashamed of it — overturn the council’s decisions on a whim!”
“…on a whim? Are you sure?” Continue reading
This is a ficlet of Cloverleaf, written to Eseme’s prompt to my current “third rail” prompt call.
Sometimes, Cya seriously regretted having made Cloverleaf a semi-representative government.
Generally, those were council days, when she was sitting at a table with the chosen and voted-in representatives of all three circles.
Being a dictatorship would be so much easier.
She listened carefully to everyone’s arguments. She asked the question she made sure to ask every time:
“Do we need a law for this, or is it a matter of personal choice?” Continue reading
After When the Hills Quake and The Hills Sleep
(Planetary Date 5 Years 6 months)
We’ve had several more close encounters with the terrain moving, enough that, unfortunately, I don’t think that we can justify staying here. There’s just too much living under our feet.
We agreed not to move our settlement, in large part because it doesn’t seem to matter where we move it, since every bit of land appears to be alive. We’ve been more careful with what we put where, although the large terrain-creatures appear to have very tough skins with very few nerve endings. Continue reading
After When the Hills Quake.
(Planetary Date 5 Years 4 months)
From the looks of things, the wolf-hills have a rather long cycle of waking and sleeping.
We have been debating for some time – since “our” wolf went back to sleep – if we should move down to the land that doesn’t move or stay where we are.
Three things stay on the side of staying where we are: Continue reading
Originally posted on Patreon in February 2019 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.
This is a story written to @Eseme’s prompt to my Valentine-day Prompt Call.
There were things that had rules, rules they had established through the years of their relationship. There were things that were too small for rules, or too mobile, or simply too unpredictable — they had a Rule about neighbors but not one that encompassed the entirety of living next to dragons, for instance. And then there were things that were too big for Rules.
Their Time was one of those. They didn’t call it date night, because more often than not, neither of them wanted to deal with crowds or even quiet, intimate restaurants. They didn’t call it parents’ time, the way some of their friends did, because it was time to not be parents, or a warlock and a witch, but simply Aud and Sage.
Jin had agreed to watch the younger children, as he did most weeks, for a reasonable going rate that meant they didn’t have to try breaking in a new babysitter — a situation always fraught with difficulties when one lived in Smokey Knoll. Aud and Sage took their dinner up into the tallest tower in their house, into a room they saved for times like this; the children were instructed to only interrupt in the direst of emergencies.
Sage lit the candles. Aud poured the wine. They sat together on the divan and looked out over the city, watching the lines of magic flow through the enchanted viewing-glass in their observatory. They held hands, each of them eating one-handed, and smiled, letting their own private magic flow between them.
They didn’t talk much. There was plenty of time for talking, and they had said many of the things they might need to say already. They simply were, and when it was Their Time, that was enough.
Early in Cloverleaf-era
Sometimes, Cya thought her power had a sense of humor.
She’d learned how to craft specific Find requests, because, if she wasn’t looking for something or someone specific (“nearest unbroken Bleach DVD;” “Leo”), her power had a bad habit of leading her on wild goose chases.
Like today. Like “nearest cache of intact, unclaimed books in an accessible-by-me location, with at least two times the number of unique, intact books as the hours I drive to get there.”
Almost every one of those clauses, she’d added on after learning the hard way that her power could be painfully literal.
Today… today she was staring down at a 45-degree incline that had once been the floor of this library. From the looks of things, it had been tolerably sheltered from weather – this area wasn’t as cold or as wet as Cloverleaf, but it still did get precipitation – and peering down and over, she was pretty sure she’d be able to get more than the required 16 books out of here.
But first, she had to get down there, gather the books, and get back up. Continue reading
Written to Eseme’s prompt to my new “WTF?” Prompt Call. Dragons Next Door ‘Verse, definition(s) at bottom.
You heard things about this city, moving in.
People from nearby cities would whisper about the dragons and the ogres and other, darker creatures.
They’d talk about the pixies dive-bombing cars, or something their mother’s cousin’s wife told them about living near harpies.
All cities had some magical-creature presence. But in most places, it was completely distinct from the human presence.
Sure, this city had Smokey Knoll, but there was no wall. There was no dividing line, even, keeping the races separate. There was just a hill you went up and then there were dragons.
Violet hadn’t been worried. She’d never had a problem with magical beings – her best friend in high school had been half-dweomer, after all. She’d done her thesis on the integration of the magical with the mundane. And the job paid really well. Continue reading
To Eseme’s Request. After all of the Tattercoats stuff.
As the rain was coming down in torrents most often reserved for biblical events, Autumn had decided on staying in for a night, not in a motel — the town wasn’t big enough or on a major enough route for that — but in a bed-and-breakfast that didn’t seem too full of itself. She was sitting in its common room — which still looked much like a family living room of 100 years ago — drawing a fantasy scene of the same room when the door swung open.
He looked drenched, drowned-rat incarnate, his jeans holding out from his legs like they were their own creatures. He walked like his feet had moved past sore and on to misery a few hours ago.
And he looked familiar. “Edmonton!” She wrinkled her brow. “Wait, not just Edmonton, either.” Continue reading
More or less to eseme‘s prompt and a companion to Character Study: Melinda
Summer was always the last to go to sleep.
She liked the quiet moments at the end of the day, the way she could cuddle with a sleepy Bishop and Mellie until, one and then the other, they headed off to their giant cobbled-together bed. She liked stroking their hair and their backs while they watched TV or studied together – sometimes, despite all advice, both at once. She liked sleepy late-night kisses.
And then she strolled the house alone, listening to the noises the old place made, picking up this and that. Sometimes she would whisper charms for her family, charms for her lovers. Sometimes she’d just stay up studying.
Tonight, she wandered out to the back yard and stared up at the stars. It felt like they were watching, reminding her to be good.
Summer stuck her tongue out at them and went back inside, where the lights were warmer and less distant.
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