Archive | June 2017

Patreon: a Kaiju, a Pride Repost, and a Watering Can

Originally posted Aug. 8th, 2011 – reposted for Pride Month. Stranded World, the middle sister, Summer, negotiating a three-way relationship. Just a light fluffy piece on parents. 🙂
🌈
They had discussed it all beforehand. Summer’s mom was just an e-mail send. Bishop’s parents: “Dad’ll probably buy me a beer, and mom will swoon. No biggie, really.” So it was Melinda’s parents who would be tricky, and thus they managed to schedule that meeting earliest on Parents’ Weekend.

Read On!



This story fits in my Toot Planet setting, although it is considerably longer than many of the “tootfics” I have written for it, a tootfic being a fiction of 500 or fewer characters.

You can see many of those tootplanet microfics here, and the hashtag, which began with Catterfly’s planetary art, here.

That being said, here’s the story.

🌌

Explorer’s Log, Planet 7-3-3

(Planetary Date 4 days)

We landed harder than planned but not quite a crash, after an EMP on the way in — or something similar enough that the effects appear identical — fried every piece of electronics not in deep storage. Landed hard but not a crash-landing; the shuttle is intact, if unflyable, and so’s the team.

Read On!


🌳

Nimbus pulled her knees up to her chest and looked at Cartwright, trying to be polite but also a little worried — more than a little worried. Quite a bit concerned at his ridiculous assertion. “The watering can?” she repeated carefully. “Is Aereaxera thirsty?”

Free for all Patrons!

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Worldbuilding Day Four: History

4. History

Aunt Family
Ooh!

In World History, the Aunt Family ‘verse parallels our own. The magic that exists here is mostly personal magic – it can change a single person’s timeline, or a single family’s, but rarely the world’s.
(Yes, I know that there are ways that A can change B, but this is not so much an AU as it is a world in which personal problems sometimes have unusual solutions).

The Aunt Family themselves… their history is lost in myth and fuzzy retellings, and every branch of the family tells it a little bit differently. What we know is that, at some point, the strong personalities in a long-ago family decided that their thin but interesting powers could best be handled — and family feuds avoided — if they kept the power in the hands of a single childless woman.

And as the family grew, so did the power.

Portal Bound

Many centuries ago — nearly a millennium — portals opened between an untouched planet and several other worlds, and a few people came through, a farmer and his family.

You said that already, Lyn.

Ahem.

That farmer’s settlement became the basis of the capital town. He brought through others from his home village — which was in chaos at the time — and, when the portal opened somewhere else, brought through those people, too.

Other portals formed their own settlements. Over time and trade and more than a few battles, over quests by Key-bearers from other worlds and mighty adventures, the settlements on these islands/small continents settled into a few nations.

The nation our story is set in became a monarchy with a very strong bureaucracy . Which was fine for quite a while.

And then the Crown Prince vanished.

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oh, Riiiiivvvaaaa…

MARKED – 8.12

Riva looked suddenly excited. “I do! I have three, actually. So we could put everything we know into the book, and nobody but us will be able to read it! Oh, that would be fun! Think about it! She was nearly bouncing. “So, we could put in the story of Nilien, and being a Wild Rune, and then we could talk about what Ember told her, and compare it to what our familiars first said to us, and then-”around slowly, looking at the room with new eyes now that they’d cleaned it up and showed it to other people.

read on…

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The Hidden Mall Part V

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV

💸 💰 💸 💰 💸

Abigail frowned at the woman. “There’s a price for leaving something. A price for making something, and a price for taking something?”

“Oh, there always is. I’m just more honest about it than most.” The woman smiled cheerfully. “I’m not out to get you. I can assure you of that. I will return you safely to whence you came when your time here is over, and never will you say that I did not give you a good deal. That is not the sort of shop that this is – although you have the smell of you that you may have gotten too close to one of those. Not Anto, no. Anto is mischievous and difficult, but that is all.”

There were too many loopholes in that little speech. Abigail wanted to say this is where the villain will end up saying ‘ha-ha, but I did not say when your time here would be over.

Liv had other ideas. “I want to make a book!”

“Liv… Liv, come on. We’ve got to get back to the mall before your mother calls.”

“Oh, worry not. You will get back in plenty of time for your mother’s visit.
”
“I’ve seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you know,” Abigail informed the woman, feeling a little silly. “Time can take a long time here and nothing at all there, can’t it?”

“This is not a Hell Dimension, although that was a very clever reference,” the woman informed her gently. “No, this will take no more than five or six minutes. The trick is, then I will have the book.”

“I can do that! I love this sort of thing. I watched a PBS Special on it! Come on, Abigail. Come on.”

Abigail sighed. “You make a book, I’ll leave a book. How’s that?”

“Oh, you’re no fun. Fiiiine. How do I make a book?”

“Here are the end-boards and here is the book block, all ready for you. Now pick out a color of cloth for the covers, there, and one prick of blood, and end papers, those are good, yes.” The woman slid the prick of blood in so smoothly that Abigail nearly missed it. Liv, caught up in the picking of the cloth – lavender – and the papers – a lavender and silver swirl – barely noticed. “And now we glue and we put together and you say over it, operishlian, ja-ren-thisial, Olivia, operish-ial.“

“Operishlian, ja-ren-thisial, Olivia, operish-ial,” Liv repeated dutifully. “There, it’s done, already?”

It had been a little more than five or six minutes, but not all that long. Abigail had pulled the Nancy Drew book out of her bag – and it had been just long enough that she’d started to regret the choice. She’d been so thrilled when she picked it up at the book sale! She’d read all of these when she was little, but sold them back to the book store, and then they’d been gone by the time she changed her mind.

She was not going to chant anything at a stack of paper, though. And she didn’t like the looks of any of the books on the shelves.

What kind of bookstore made you do something? That seemed a little pushy, a lot questionable.

“And there.” The blue woman bowed. “Thank you for your contribution to my library. And you, miss, for yours. If you would like, you can go further in, or you can venture out through Anto’s door.” She tilted her head behind her at the doorway.

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Funeral – Debrief

First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Best-Laid Plans

It was nearly a full day before the team made it back to the house. It’d been a short reconnaissance and information-gathering job, at least according to the brief, but she had three holes in her dress that had been holes through her until Allayne had thrown a healing at her. She’d had to do some interesting running to get her prey where she could subdue them one by one, and then even more interesting running to get to their backup-backup meetup spot without being seen.

Ezer was still cursing in her earpiece when they pulled into the driveway, their second nondescript rental car returned to its proper location. “Those fucking bastards. Reconnaissance. Reconnaissance does not mean getting my people fucking shot at.”

“Awww, Ezzie, I didn’t know you cared.” Even when Senga knew what Allayne was doing, that purr through the earpiece still sent shivers straight down her spine to her groin. And it did the same thing to Ezer a hundredfold. “Chitter, did you get what we needed?”

“Got it all and a couple soupcon of extras, too. If we don’t get hazard pay for this, I’m posting nude photos of the client to a photo-manip contest.”

“The client is anonymous,” Ezer complained. “Chitter, do you even know the meaning of that word?”

“Of course I do.” If Allayne was all purring and sex, Chitter sounded like an unrepentant twelve-year-old. “It means that their data is hidden under a hankie or maybe two and I just have to lift it to figure it out. Anyway, there’s a tall sulking angry person in the kitchen, and he’s between me and the Mt. Dew. Senga, are you nearly home?”

“Coming in the door now. How did you even beat us home?”

“Magic powers, of course. Senga, he’s a giant. How did you end up with a giant?”

“I can hear you, you know.” Erramun’s grumble came loud and clear through Chitter’s earpiece.
“Ack, it talks! He talks, he talks, Senga, you did give him orders about not killing me, right?”

“Nothing about not shaking you, though.” Senga headed into the kitchen and dropped her earpiece in the bin Chitter held out. “Erramun, why are you looming at Chitter? Erramun, Chitter, Chitter, Erramun. Stop glaring at him. It’s not his fault he’s tall.”

Erramun shook his head and looked away from Chitter. She, in turn, kept glaring up at Erramun.

“I’m not looming at her,” he muttered. “I didn’t know who she was and she – you’ve been shot.”

“Three times,” she agreed. “I hate being shot. It ruins so many dresses.”

He looked her over, moving away from his looming position to brush his hands over the dress, feeling the blood-soaked places and running his fingers very carefully over the healed wounds. “Someone did a good job. You can’t even tell there was damage here. To you, I mean. Your dress makes it pretty obvious.”

“Allayne is really good at speed healing. She has to do it enough.” She didn’t move away. His fingers were cold but his touch wasn’t unpleasant at all.

“You get shot enough that this is an issue?”

“We all do. Well, okay, both. Chitter doesn’t get shot much at all.”

“That’s because I, unlike you two, am clever and stay out of the line of fire.” Chitter stuck her jaw out and glared at Senga. “What were you thinking?“

“Well, let’s see,” Senga retorted, “’Ow, fuck, ow, ow, fuck, ow.’ Or did you mean before the guns came out? I was thinking ‘that door was way too easy and this place is way to quiet. If this isn’t a trap, I’m going to eat my hat.’”

“We were set up.” Chitter’s expression went strange, blank the way it did when she was looking at the numbers in her head. “It wasn’t bad intel, it wasn’t the sort of thing where they say ‘low threat’ because they’re not in the threat radius. If you thought it was a trap…”

“What are you into, Senga Monmartin?”

“Me? Everything I need to to get the job done. This was supposed to be an information-gathering mission, meet a nice man, talk to him a bit while Allayne did her thing and Chitter did hers. Like Chitter said, it was a trap. Someone figured out what we do and decided they wanted to set us up.”

“Not just for dying, either. Think about the way that part in the bathroom went.” Chitter was frowning at her phone. “If you had done things just a little differently, you would’ve ended up trapped with two corpses with the cops on the way.”
“Setting me up to be arrested is not exactly the same as setting me up to die,” Senga protested.

“But it might be enough to protest the will results,” Erramun pointed out.

“My cousins can’t put anything together that fast. They’re not their mother, not by a long shot.”

“So who else has a vested interest in seeing you dead or inconvenienced?” He leaned back against the counter, looking relaxed for the first time since she’d taken ownership of him.

“Who says it was her, tall, dark, and broody? Who says it’s not you? Come on, you’re her Bond Servant, if she dies, you’re miserable for ten minutes; if she ends up in jail, you’re miserable for years. Unless she releases you, and then you’re both eff-you-sea-kay fucked.”

“Are you always this eloquent?” he glowered down at her.

“Yep! That’s why Allayne and Senga do the social things and I sit in the van with my toys and keep them out of trouble.” She grinned up at him, unrepentant and pleased. “Could you move, by the way? I want some more soda.”

“And you do such a good job of keeping them out of trouble, too.”

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Worldbuilding Day Three: People and Races

Dragons Next Door

As the title of this setting suggests, the Dragons Next Door world has Dragons.
It also has quite a few other magical sentient races: ogres, harpies, pixies, tinies, elkin, and centaurs, to name a few.

In addition, it has a deep and broad human population, very similar to the real world (it’s an Urban Fantasy setting, after all) and then dweomers, who are humans with magic, or at the very least humanoids with magic.

For a very long time, these races lived primarily separate lives with their own civilization. There were dragon nations and pixie towns and Centaur Isles and so on; the elkin had a remote mountain nation that spoke to no-one except the Tinies and the harpies, for instance.

The Tinies were the only exception to this rule: Tinies have always lived everywhere.
Only recently – since the 1930’s – have the races begun to actively mingle.

(I wonder if this matches the previous notes on Smokey Knoll. Shall have to check).

Portal Bound
The continent that Portal Bound takes place on has only one sentient race: humans.

On the other hand, because of the portals, there are two factors at hand here:

* what counts as human varies slightly from dimension to dimension, and so there are those that are very nearly elves or fairies or such (or Klingons or Romulans) in appearance
* because of the broad spread of the portals across the worlds in all these dimensions, the humans come in all ethnicities.

Sometimes, if a portal stays open for a particularly long time, a city will end up with a small enclave of people of a particular ethnicity and world-origin.
More often, however, people come singly, and thus they find a place and settle as they can, bringing their own traditions but integrating into the massive whole.

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Beauty-Beast 19: Be Yourself

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🔒

“Be yourself” was, Ctirad thought, the strangest, most unhelpful suggestion he’d ever gotten from an Owner — not even an order, it was just a broad guideline for behavior that meant, well, absolutely nothing.

He rose and put himself just behind and to the right of Timaios — Tim — running through the things his new Owner had told him. He wanted him to be somewhere between a bodyguard and a boyfriend in public. He wanted him to be used to physical contact. Sometimes, he might ask him to show off that he was more clever than the average idiot.

Okay then. That was enough for a role. He let his hands fall comfortably in front of him and shifted his stance to “Waiting to hit someone”, feet just shoulders’-width apart, weight on the balls of his heels. It felt comfortable and proper and some part of him was still niggling with guilt, but bodyguard, Tim had told him, and he was good at that.

“Mai! Jorge! Good to see you! Come on in, sit down. Ctirad, this is Mai Tansure and Jorge Talbot; Mai works for — runs, really, but don’t tell anyone — Surry Consolidated, and Jorge is a consultant. Mai, Jorge, this is Ctirad. Here, everyone, have a seat,” he gestured again and flopped back down in his chair. “Tristin will bring us some refreshments, but why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Ctirad considered his options and then leaned against the side of Tim’s chair, easy to touch and still easy to move if he was needed. He let his hand drop in a faux-casual move down inside the chair, where TIm could ignore it or do as he pleased with it.

He watched Tim’s guests take in the scene, the way that he’d been fully and formally introduced to them and they’d only been told his name. Tim wanted them off-balance, then, despite the hearty welcome — or maybe including it.

Mai Tansure was a black-haired, handsome woman who, in the hour when most people were dressed casually, was wearing tailored silk pants and a coordinating shell with a necklace that was the jewelry equivalent of an over-the-couch painting: it said nothing and did nothing except coordinate with the outfit. She’d slid her shoes off and, seemingly prepared, was wearing matching silk slippers.

Either she really liked lilac or she kept a pair of house shoes to go with every outfit. Ctirad wasn’t going to put money on which yet.

Jorge Talbot was a tall, tall man, a head and a half taller than Ms. Tansure, with curly brown hair cut very short and three thin scars running down the left side of his face that contrasted his otherwise well-manicured appearance. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his bespoke dress shirt and his tie — silk, a red that clashed with Ms. Tansure’s outfit — hung loose and sloppy.

It was Jorge who seemed to actually see Ctirad, looking him up and down and nodded as if he knew what he was looking at. “Pleased to meet you, Ctirad. Sir. There’s something hinky going on with Hester Electronics and the Ermentraut account, and we’re not sure exactly what it is, but it bears looking into.”

Ctirad leaned forward suddenly. He knew those names!

“Ctirad?” Tim looked down at him. “Something?”

“I heard those names, last week…” He trailed off. It was important information, but-

“Ctirad used to work for Ermenrich Hester,” Tim explained easily. “So you heard him talking about the Ermentraut account?”

“About Dr. and Mr. Ermentraut and… some reason they weren’t going to turn him down.” It had involved some fae magic. Ctirad was pretty sure that part was off limits. “He seemed pretty sure of himself. It was part of his – ah. The plan he wanted to discuss with you.”

“Interesting. So he’s trying for a grand plan, is he? What’s your estimation that he’ll succeed?”

Ctirad hesitated. “I think it depends on you, sir-” He wasn’t supposed to say sir. He plowed on anyway. “-and on exactly how oblivious Dr. and Mr. Ermentraut are, and how the head of Hester – because it’s not actually run by Mr. Hester – handles the whole thing. There’s a lot of moving parts, but if everyone involved is a reasonable person, I don’t think Ermenrich can succeed. He’s just not as clever as he thinks he is.”

He felt strangely disloyal. He also felt like he wanted praise for managing that many words, and, at the same time, felt ridiculous for wanting the praise.

Tim squeezed his shoulder. Ctirad fought down another wave of pleasure-chagrin-warmth and watched the guests instead.

“Not as clever as he thinks he is?” Ms. Tansure tasted the words thoughtfully. “You think he’d going to fall on his face?”

“I think that when he tries to plan too far ahead, he ends up making mistakes,” Ctirad countered carefully. “The trick is to find the mistake and, ah, make use of it before he notices that he’s made one – or before someone else can tell him he’s made some sort of error.”

Jorge was giving Ctirad a very interesting look. “You really do know him well, or you believe you do.”

“I worked for him for a very long time.” Ctirad nodded his head in a way that imitated a polite bow while still suggesting he wasn’t budging an inch. He hadn’t had a chance to use that bit of body language in a long time. He found he liked it as much as he remembered.

Liking things again was a nice sensation. He let a small smile touch his lips, the sort that didn’t say much at all, and leaned back against Tim.

Jorge definitely had some military or police background. He noticed things most people wouldn’t. Ms. Tansure, on the other hand, was dismissing Ctirad entirely.

“The thing is, Tim, that we’re worried about what he could do if he got his hands on the Ermentraut properties. They’re worth a lot more than anyone knows – I’m pretty sure the Ermentrauts themselves have no idea what they’re sitting on. And if Ermenrich does know, he’s going to push forward, and he’s going to do it fast. We don’t have time to wait and see if Ermenrich fails on his own.”

That hadn’t been at all what Ctirad was suggesting, but he didn’t bother to pick apart that part. “Dr. Ermentraut is brilliant. She gets underestimated a lot, because she’s short, and female, and attractive.” He let his eyes linger on Ms. Tansure for a moment like she must know exactly what he was talking about. “I think that if she’s sitting on something expensive, she knows what it is. And she may actually be playing Ermenrich .” He chuckled a little, and held Ms. Tansure’s eyes while he did so.

She found herself chuckling right back at him, the way he’d been pretty sure she would. He’d caught her underestimating him and pointed out how foolish it was without ever saying anything of the sort.

Ctirad was a little proud of himself. He hadn’t managed anything like that in a long time – and it had been easy. He leaned harder against Tim’s legs and let himself relax.

“So, as Ctirad has suggested, we should look for the weaknesses in Ermenrich’s plan. That means that we need to consider…” Tim’s hand landed in Ctirad’s hair, and Ctirad stopped trying to pay attention. He had done his job. He kept part of his awareness on the movements of the visitors, ready to attack if they turned out to be a threat, and let the rest of his mind settle into the pleasure of being caressed, of doing something right.

🔒

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Wonder Woman… and gardening

I have this very vague memory of being a very small child and playing something like Wonder Woman (we almost never did make-believe straight from the shows), and opening up a box (an imaginary box) my character had buried, in which she kept her golden bracelets.

Pat might have had a pair too. We were pretty equal-opportunity.

All that’s left of my very-young make-believe are flashes like that: bracelets. rolling off both sides of a cot to indicate born at the same time (okay, we were weird kids. That surprises whom?). Tiny ball-bearing prisons we pretending to shrink people into.

(My interest in bondage goes back way far, too).

Right, so.

Buried Wonder Woman bracelets.

I really, really, really liked seeing Diana, Princess of Themyscira, bouncing bullets of her bracelets. ​​I have to admit, that might have been my absolutely favorite part of the movie.

It was a fun move, I really enjoyed it, and it was easily the best DC comics movie I have ever seen in the theatre.

That’s daming it with faint praise, but it was fun.

But now I’m thinking about digging in dirt, and make-believe, (And never stopping playing make-believe) and gardening.

Which I did again this weekend, of course. All of our raised beds have now been bolted sufficiently that they will not fall apart this year!

Everything except one last-minute impulse purchase of bok choi is planted.

Well, and the corn seeds and the sunflower seeds….

We’re getting there!

We’ve got some squash planted in mounds, garlic and purple potatoes, asparagus and broccoli and muskmellon in the ground, seeds in pots for habanada and shiso and cilantro…

We’re doing really well, and it’s exciting.

Not quite as exciting as bouncing bullets off of one’s bracelets, but more humanly do-able.

And almost on the level of my make-believe characters who garden, so go me!

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When the Hills Quake – a story of tootplanets for Patreon

This story fits in my Toot Planet setting, although it is considerably longer than many of the “tootfics” I have written for it, a tootfic being a fiction of 500 or fewer characters. 

You can see many of those tootplanet microfics here, and the hashtag, which began with Catterfly’s planetary art, here.

That being said, here’s the story. 

🌌

Explorer’s Log, Planet 7-3-3

(Planetary Date 4 days)

We landed harder than planned but not quite a crash, after an EMP on the way in — or something similar enough that the effects appear identical — fried every piece of electronics not in deep storage.  Landed hard but not a crash-landing; the shuttle is intact, if unflyable, and so’s the team.

The ship will be back around in five years for us, but I’m assuming that we are stranded here.  The anomalies around this planet make a lot more sense when you consider the EMP-like pulse, and I fear the ship may never find us. Continue reading