Tag Archive | prompter: kunama_wolf

In Tree Years

Curry is a character in Addergoole: Year 9.  This is set – well, it’s got to be an AU which I didn’t think about until I’d finished writing it, or rather, until I started posting it. 

This is set in 2021 or thereabouts, which means it can’t happen the way I wrote it, because it is set 10 years after the apocalypse.  No Victoria’s Secret Angels in 2021 in Fae Apoc. 

But enjoy it anyway as a look into Curry.


“You’re.. thirty.”

“Thirty-four.”  Curry shifted.  He had kids that were older than he’d been when he’d – when – when he’d seeded

Which was enough time to figure out a few things, he supposed. 

He cleared his throat.  He’d thought this would be the right sort of person to talk to.  He’d called back to Addergoole and they’d suggested this woman as someone he could talk to about everything Continue reading



This story is the fifth one to my Squish-Squash, Pumpkins and Gourds Prompt Call

Stranded ‘Verse, after Family Distancing


“There’s way too much orange around here.”   

The woman was probably five years too old to be a Karen. 

(Autumn was dreading the first time that someone called HER Karen.)

What she was, other than just past Karen-hood, other than wearing her cheap paper mask poorly  (her nose was showing) and wielding her overpriced designer purse like a weapon, was obnoxious. 

“It’s Autumn,” Autumn explained, from behind the protection of her very nice tie-dyed (orange and yellow) mask.  “It’s a harvest display.” Continue reading

January by the Numbers 25: poffertjes (a ficlet)

January by the numbers continues (We’re in February now but hey)

From kunama_wolf‘s prompt poffertjes: a ficlet.

It was said of the humans that there were certain things they would always bring with them.

(To be fair, it was said of the Yonra that they always brought everything with them, and of the Pish’teck that they never took anything, never needed anything, and never kept anything. There were sterotypes about all of the space-faring races, and about the three non-space-faring but space-capable races who populated the same region of the galaxy as the others.)

It was said that as soon as there were five humans anywhere, one of them would start selling food to the other four. As soon as there were ten, one of them would start selling art to the other nine. And as soon as there were twenty, one of them would start making laws for the other nineteen.

And one of the things every single space-faring human group brought was food carts.

The Ella Fritzi was a human-run ship out of Luna, carrying a full-time complement of crew and staff, as well as passengers and crew. It wasn’t a luxury liner, not by a long shot, but it was safe, and comfortable, and it got where it was going in decent time.

Decent time was a leisurely ride compared to some of the new ships — it might take a week between stops, or it might be a month, depending on the distance and the spacing of the wormholes. SInce that meant its crew and staff were on the ship most of their lives, and since the Pish’teck crew members, especially, got kind of loopy if their chronobiological rhythms got messed with, the ship had artificial seasons as well as artificial day and night. “Summer” got a little warmer, the light a little brighter. “Winter” got downright chilly, but the Ordalian down blankets packed up tiny and puffed up warm for each cabin.

In the “summer”, Fervin the assistant chef brought a food cart full of hotdogs and hamburgers and gyros around the socialization decks. It always surprised the alien passengers when humans — who had three meals a day included in their passage — would pay extra credits for this strange sausage-inna-bun sort of food.

In the “winter,” Fervin’s cart carried poffertjes and hot cocoa, and the aliens and humans alike ate them up. Once, the elected ship’s-mayor (a civilian position, not related to the running of the chip, the navigating it, or anything except how people spent their off time) tried to regulate what Fervin could put in his poffertjes.

The riot lasted three days and threatened to destroy the Ella Fritzi. After that, the new mayor declared that, as long as Fervin’s foods consisted of things edible to at least humans, no regulations could be made about it.

After all, humans might have a need to govern each other — but their need to be sold food to seemed to trump that.

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Lessons Learned in School, a ficlet of Dragons Next Door for the Giraffe Call

written to kunama_wolf‘s prompt. DnD, new character.

In first grade, Aliany’s classmates included a centaur, three pixies, a harpy, a wood-elf and five other human children. Their school stood at the border between Smokey Knoll, the magic district, and Alton Heights, a human neighborhood, and as such was an integrated classroom.

Aliany’s parents hadn’t been sure, but Aliany was thrilled by her classmates. She wore paper wings to class for a week after Ogarna, the harpy child, showed her how she flew. She turned a pair of her boots into hooves. She made clay tips for her ears. Her teachers, a dweomer-elf mix who could’ve passed as human, spoke to her parents, concerned.

Her parents just smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with aspiring. Even if it’s impossible, you learn something along the way,” her father insisted.

Aliany’s mother bought her a pair of costume pixie wings that year for Christmas, and a children’s alchemy set. “There is magic even for humans,” she assured Aliany, “and flight, and mystery.”

In second grade, Aliany shared her class with a dragon, and her parents, with a cheerful sigh, began building a fireproof rec room in the basement.

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Itty Bitty Package, a story for the Giraffe Call

I asked for prompts regarding Packages here for The MicroPrompt Giraffe Call. This is written to Kunama_Wolf’s Prompt here.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Pretza had carried easier things. She had, for one, carried the entire team’s gear up the side of a mountain. She had carried an injured teammate down the side of a mountain. She had once carried a carriage, albeit only for five feet.

She had carried a Edenian tiger “cub” back to its mother – without getting mauled. She had carried Westerosi killer flesh-eating viruses across a lava field. Once, she had carried a bomb through enemy lines, on Narnia, near the Terebinthian front.

All of these things had been easier than this. She was a trained courier; courrying things was what she did. “Easy, easy. You are bouncy, I thought that was just a thing people said.” She adjusted the three layers of Kevlar and wished that the job had been, just this once, not somewhere tropical.

Or that it had come with a bulletproof car. She had never, ever, wanted so badly for her package to not get jostled, and she had carried things that could destroy a planet – if not a solar system – if they were jostled. “Shh, shh. Oh, please, shh. We’re not in safe territory yet.”

She had, once, led three schoolchildren to safety through a mountain range that had no name except Death in any language. That had been nerve-wracking. This, this was harder. “Come on, little one, how about a finger for now? Here, I know it’s not green, but it’ll have to do.”

The Thalassan royalty had paid Pretza very well. They would pay her three times as well if she got her little package across the border and into the Orion Free Territory – well enough that she could, if she chose to, easily retire. If she failed… and Pretza had never failed… they would not need to punish her, because she would already be dead.

“There you go. There you go. Shh, now, that’s a girl. Just a few more miles.”

Next: Courier Duty

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