Tag Archive | prompt

June Again –> Boom: 30 Days Second Sem, Addergoole, Abduc. prompts.

Aug25

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “19) write a story in which something goes BOOM.”

Also for the Abduction Prompts: here

Cya/Cynara is a RP character from the Addergoole roleplay. Her Wiki page is here This takes place sometime post-year-9 but before-the-apoc.

June again. Cynara packed the boys off to school, called the younger’s father to remind him to pick them up afterward, then spent a good couple hours helping Hroderich move into his own apartment. He was a good kid, got along well with her sons, but, well, like his brothers, wasn’t really into girls.

Once she had him tucked in, with one last you-were-a-good-Kept hug and a now-be-a-good-man punch in the arm, she double-checked her packing and started driving.

It was a ten-hour-drive from Hroderich’s new place to the Village outside of Addergoole. Cya found it meditative, a way of spring-cleaning her brain of the cobwebs and trailed her most recent Kept had left, of sweeping out the dust of former loves and lovers. She slept at a motel halfway there – the old lady winked at her. Didn’t know what she was up to, but after four years of this trip, recognized her. Cya smiled back at her, left her the tray of cookies, and slept.

It was late morning on move-out day when she drove into the Village and started waking up her power. If she let it ride most of the time, she could push it, times like this, ask it to Find things that were esoteric and a bit vague. Find me the boy I can take home with me, she asked it. Someone who’ll fall for it, someone who might need it.

The tugging in her head was like a compass. This way. Down Main Street and up the hill, to the gate of Maureen’s house. Hunh. A linen shirt and a thatch of auburn, a bit untidy, khakis and no shoes. Leaning against the outside fence, staring in.

She leaned up next to him, studying the kid-pack playing there, picking out the girl that was probably his.

“She’s lovely,” she murmured. When his attention turned reluctantly to her, she offered a hand. “Cynara.”

“Pellinore.” His grip was firmer than his effete look suggested, and she swallowed a smile. Ambrus’ sons were fun.

~~

Pellinore had accepted Cynara’s offer of a ride; his mother’s home, the only place he knew other than Addergoole, was only a day’s drive from the school, and his mother, in a state of denial, it seems, had left him to find his own way home.

It took him about an hour to realize that something was up, an hour they spent cheerfully gossiping about Addergoole professors and ignoring any of the really uncomfortable topics, such as who’s the bitch who won’t let you get near your daughter? or so, who Owned you and how bad was it?. Mike seemed a safe topic, so they joked about cy’Linden, and cy’Luca, and how some things never changed.

And then he happened to notice (because she allowed him to; she had practice, by now, at very subtle Mind Workings) that they were going very fast down a road in the wrong direction to get him home, and his Addergoole-honed caution reminded him that she, too, had gone through the School of Hell.

He didn’t stop to ask questions, she gave him that. He began rattling off a combat Working as fast as he could speak, pointing at the road beyond the car.

Boom! A wall of force and earth began rolling towards them with a crack like thunder. Cya swerved to miss it while she muttered her own working, destroying the earth wall with another boom and then throwing in a fast mind-control while he was still trying to make her emotions twist.

“Stop,” she said, as gently as she could with his created panic twisting inside her. “Release the Workings.”

He stared at her sullenly, her control forcing obedience, his own panic clearly rising. Torn by his resemblance to another son of Ambrus, she patted his knee. “Look at it this way,” she offered. “It could be a lot worse.”

The List:
1a) the story starts with the words “It’s going down.” (LJ Link)
1b) the story starts with the words “It’s going down.” (LJ Link)
2) write a scene that takes place in a train station.
3) the story must involve a goblet and a set of three [somethings]
4) prompt: one for the road
5) write a story using an imaginary color
6) write the pitch for a new Final Fantasy styled RPG (LJ Link)
7) prompt: frigid (LJ Link)
8) write a scene in the middle of a novel called “The Long, Dirty Afterwards” (LJ)
9) prompt: mourning dead gods (LJ)
10) write a story set in three different time periods. (LJ)
11) Write a movie trailer style trailer for a story, existing or not-yet-written. (LJ)
12) prompt: sweet iced tea (LJ)
13) re-write a story that everyone knows (LJ)
14) write a vanilla story dealing with kinky subject matter (LJ)
15) prompt: ascension (LJ)
16) write a scene that takes place at the end of a long road trip. (LJ)
17) write an uncomfortable story (LJ)
18) prompt: a step too far (LJ
19) write a story in which something goes BOOM.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/117884.html. You can comment here or there.

30days Second Sem / Abduction Prompts / Scent / The Generation Ship

Aug24

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “18) prompt: a step too far.”

In the same world/ship as Evolution and All Green Dots. Short version: Alae is the ceremonial Queen on a generation ship; Eka is her partner.

“Trepp, Alae, it smells like stale piss.” They had both been on edge lately, vibrating with the tension of the ship, with the political maneuverings that threatened both of them, feeling crammed in even Alae’s larger cubic and not spending any hour aside from work apart. The perfume had been the cracked cog that had thrown them out of working order. “Do you own a scent that can’t be smelled in the next star system?”

It was a step too far, enough to send Alae storming out into the corridors, alone and without a weapon, stomping through the ship like a force of nature, ready to rip the panels off anyone who got in her way.

Jol Ruinson was the hapless fool who crossed her path first, a hydrologist from the upper port quadrant. “Alae, your Majesty,” he oozed. He always oozed, like he was half-liquid himself. “Have you come to recant your refusal? Have you seen the light?”

“Hardly,” she snapped. “Jol, I will marry you when the void is safe to breathe, when the ship stops moving, when our water falls from blue skies. I’ll marry you when myths are true, and not before.”

She could tell the moment the words were out of her mouth that it was too much, too far. She had been turning him down (and a half-dozen others) since she moved out of the crèche, but she had always been polite. Today…

“Your perfume smells like piss, your Majesty,” he snarled, one hand going for her hair and the other, holding a taser she hadn’t noticed, for her ribs.

She didn’t lose consciousness until he dragged her until the dark.

And for Eseme’s prompt wanting to see a rescue in this setting:

“You have got to be treppin’ kidding me,” Eka shouted, her voice echoing off the corridors. “It’s a finite space, a ship. How can you not find. One. Woman. In. A. Spaceship?”

The police squirmed uncomfortably under her barrage. “Engineer,” one of them began, another quickly interrupting, “Princess.” She turned to the third, waiting to see how he’d address her.

“Eka,” he said quietly. “There are seven hundred fifty thousand people on this ship, and the cubic to match. We are doing everything we can to find Alae.”

She stared at him levelly for a moment, then, reluctantly, nodded. Everything we can. “All right,” she agreed quietly, “but, perhaps, you’re not doing everything I can.”

It only took a few minutes to convince the beleaguered officers to go along with her plan, and another half hour to set up the scanners to do what she wanted. The planners of the Zimmer had taken great pains to limit surveillance to the large public-gathering sites, valuing privacy where personal space was inherently limited. But the life-support systems were fine-tuned, able to deflect the smallest variations. Eka doubted anyone had used the system to track their lover’s perfume before. It took the scanners fifteen minutes to isolate the trail.

The supply corridor had been blocked off in a remodel two generations past, the only access a panel that had been unscrewed. In the space behind – half the size of Eka’s apartment – Alae and her captor lay, dimly lit by the standby lights. The engineer princess dove forward, heedless of weapons, to gather her Queen in her arms.

“I told you,” she murmured, “your perfume was a bit strong.”

The List:
1a) the story starts with the words “It’s going down.” (LJ Link)
1b) the story starts with the words “It’s going down.” (LJ Link)
2) write a scene that takes place in a train station.
3) the story must involve a goblet and a set of three [somethings]
4) prompt: one for the road
5) write a story using an imaginary color
6) write the pitch for a new Final Fantasy styled RPG (LJ Link)
7) prompt: frigid (LJ Link)
8) write a scene in the middle of a novel called “The Long, Dirty Afterwards” (LJ)
9) prompt: mourning dead gods (LJ)
10) write a story set in three different time periods. (LJ)
11) Write a movie trailer style trailer for a story, existing or not-yet-written. (LJ)
12) prompt: sweet iced tea (LJ)
13) re-write a story that everyone knows (LJ)
14) write a vanilla story dealing with kinky subject matter (LJ)
15) prompt: ascension (LJ)
16) write a scene that takes place at the end of a long road trip. (LJ)
17) write an uncomfortable story (LJ)
18) prompt: a step too far

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/117747.html. You can comment here or there.

Hour… Day 4 of my [call for prompts on] Abduction

Aug24

The writing has slowed, as paperwork continues to interfere, but still I continue. Since my last report, so many hours ago, I have written:

Two people, both abducting the other,
a warrior, who grows fond of her captor, and a former Addergoole student returning to her old stomping grounds.

The money in the pot has reached $45. If it reached $60, I shall be writing for quite a bit longer.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/117232.html. You can comment here or there.

Rescue into Slavery, to ysabetwordsmith’s prompt

Aug21

This is to ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt in my call for prompts: “What happens when the abduction IS the rescue?”

Author’s notes a and b:
a) This is set in the Tir na Cali (LJ Link) ‘verse, where slave raiders from the West Coast country of Tir na Cali often steal American youth.

In this alternate-history world, the US is a much more rigid place in answer to what they perceive to be the godless heathen ways of their neighbor-enemy. Think stereotypical 1950’s midwest morality.

b) As per the prompt, there is implied abuse in this story. The kid has not had a good life.

The underground bondage clubs could be, if played right, a decent place to pick up new slaves. A heavy air of tolerance and anonymity permeated these places, and one more pretty set of tits in a mask and a corset really didn’t stand out all that much.

Morrigan walked up to the boy she’d been casing for three hours and four Cosmos, a skinny waif whose ID was probably fake, wearing a skintight shirt, vinyl pants, and a jingly leather bondage collar. Some of them that wore collars like this proved to adjust better to Cali’s true collars; others couldn’t hack it and broke. She grabbed the three rings in one hand and tugged, hooking a leash on the front one before he could complain, her eyes on his lips and shoulders, gauging his reaction.

He moved forward gracefully to her hand, one shoulder twitching and his lips tightening as he forced a lazy smile. “Fifty dollars for ten minutes. A hundred if you leave marks.”

Ah. She almost recoiled, but he was in her hands already. She palmed the bill and passed it to him as she took the fur-lined leather cuffs off of his belt, let him pocket the money before she bound his wrists behind his back, and lead him out to the back alley and, from there, into her van.

She thought she caught a twinge of panic as the van doors closed, but by then, he was trapped. She peeled his shirt up and off him, leaving it hanging off his cuffs, and studied his pale chest, the burns, the old bruises, the place where one rib hadn’t healed right. She pursed her lips. Not even the worst brothels in her country treated their slaves like that.

“Another fifty if you’re going to make your mark,” the boy said, his nervousness showing clearly now. She pulled a Californian c-note from her other wallet and let him see it before she tucked it in his front pocket. “Keep that,” she said gently. “You’re going to need it.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/113935.html. You can comment here or there.

Hour 11 of my abduction [call for prompts]

Aug20

My captors continue to pepper me with suggestions, although their feedback on these writings has tapered off. I do hope they like what they are getting.

Since my last report, I have been offered a bad Dr. Who special and some delicious nachos. Also, a marshmallow the size of my cat’s head.

I have written about a clever idea gone wrong, an Addergoole student who didn’t want to go home, a road tripgone awry, a captive who didn’t give in to Stockholm, and a captive being rescued.

The money in the pot has reached $40. Perhaps I will only be writing one fic for each of my captors.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/113837.html. You can comment here or there.

Hour 7 of my [call for prompts on] abduction

Aug20

The hours tick by on my [call for prompts about] abduction.

My captors have promised rescue when the writing is done, but the prompts keep on coming. I am allowed frequent breaks for sleep and, in one case, a creekwalk, but every pause only lengthens my captivity.

I write for them as they call out suggestions. I have written about a captor caught in her own trap, a crack kidnapping team beating the BAU to the punch, a puppy rescued from an untenable situation, and a college boy with ropeburn. And still I write.

The money in the jar has reached $30, so I will, I’m told, write another story, once my captors have decided on what it will be (what will it be, oh my captors? 2000 words, on your choice of story).

And still I write. After these tasty nachos I have been given

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/113441.html. You can comment here or there.

Call for Prompts: Abduction and Rescue! Go!

Aug20

The call for prompts is now open! For the next 24 hours, I will taking your prompts on the theme of Abduction and Rescue.

I will write (over the next week) at least one microfic (150-300 words) to each prompter. If you donate, I will write to all of your prompts, and write at last 300 additional words for each $5 you donate, to the prompt of your choice.

If I reach $30 in donations today, I will post an additional 2000-word fic on the subject of the audience’s choice. This has been reached!

If I reach $60, I will write at least 2 microfics for everyone, whether or not they donated.

If I reach $90, I will write to every prompt I get in the next 24 hours – if something truly bugs me, I’ll ask you to re-prompt. At this point, please allow up to 2 weeks for the writing to be completed.

If I reach $120, I will record a podcast of an audience-choice story and post it for everyone to read. Also, everyone who tipped will get double wordcount.

If I reach $150, I will release an e-book of all of the fiction written to this call and the last one. At this point, please allow up to 24 weeks for the writing to be completed.


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/112923.html. You can comment here or there.

Bowen, expanded.

Aug13

Yesterday, I posted a piece on Bowen over 6 years, in response to rix_scaedu‘s prompt “Fridmar and Bowen…” in this flash-fiction meme (LJ).

It didn’t feel like enough, but it was already over 250 (270, not counting date/time tags).

Then Rix sponsored more.

This is the whole story again; the new part is the 300 words in the middle.

Year Five, Week Six
Bowen sat uncomfortably in his Mentor’s office, fiddling with his collar. He had orders about what he could say and couldn’t, but going up against the edge of his orders was sometimes enough; his face twisted and his ears went flat, and people seemed to understand what that meant.

“There’s got to be a way,” he said quietly, not quite begging. Professor Fridmar shook his head slowly.

“Being Ellehemaei about being strong,” he said, in his thick Russian accent. “What doesn’t kill you, et cetera. Find ways to be stronger.”

Year Seven, Week Eight
Professor Fridmar frowned over steepled fingers at Bowen. “Shira has been talking to me.” His tone suggested he didn’t like Professor Pelletier talking to him about anything; Bowen could already guess what this was about.

“Yeah?” Never show your cards.

“She says Adannaya has seemed strange lately. The girl is not complaining…” His look said what they both knew, that Ada wasn’t going to say anything against Bowen. “But Shira does not think she is happy.”

Bowen met his Mentor’s gaze evenly. “What doesn’t kill you, et cetera,” he quoted.

Year Seven, Week Eight, Three hours later
Fridmar had let him go. What was he going to do?

He lay in bed next to Adannaya, tracing fingers over her fear-rigid body. Her face was blank, eyes closed. “The Professors say you’re unhappy.”

She shuddered, swallowing a sob. “I didn’t say anything. I swear.”

I didn’t say anything, Aggie. I didn’t ask for any help. His remembered shudder echoed Adannaya’s. “I know you didn’t. I ordered you not to.”

I know you didn’t tell them anything, Bowen. You’re a good boy. You wouldn’t want people to think ill of me.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Year Seven, Week Eight, Saturday
Bowen was a bit surprised to find cy’ree-mate Penny knocking on his door, but not at all surprised to find she was carrying food. “Ada’s seemed off her feed in the Dining Hall. I thought my shepherd’s pie might cheer her up.”

He eyed the tasty-smelling pastry. “No mutton?”

“No mutton. May I come in?”

He couldn’t turn her down; she’d know something was up. And the pie smelled very good. “Come on,” he grunted unwillingly. “Ada’s in the bathroom.”

“Crying.” She set the pie down in the kitchenette and began serving it out.

“What? No…”

“She’s always crying, Bowen.”

Year Seven, Week Nine, Sunday
Reheated shepherd’s pie made a decent breakfast. Bowen sat watching Adannaya, struggling with himself.

“You’re mine,” he rumbled, as much telling his suddenly-guilty conscience as her. She twitched, and nodded.

“I know,” she whispered, setting her spoon down.

“I can do what I want with you. No one will stop me.” Aggie had cut his tail off, starved him. Nobody had stopped her.

“I know.” Her voice was flat.

He took a deep breath. Power was strength. Power wasn’t kicking rabbits.

“That doesn’t mean I ought to.” He watched her jerk as if he’d hit her. “Or will. I’m sorry.”

Year Twelve, October

Bowen was unsurprised to find his old Mentor standing in his living room. They all knew, by now, that the professors stopped in on their former students, “to be sure they were all right.”

Sibil had let him in, pretty, doll-like Sibil, who ran his house. The Professor was sipping the tea Talitha had brought him, and studying the two women thoughtfully. When Bowen walked in with Kate, one bushy eyebrow rose.

Bowen couldn’t help but grin. The girls were happy, with or without orders. “Stronger,” he laughed. “And better.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/109021.html. You can comment here or there.

A Kiss Under Duck-and-Cover, for clare_dragonfly

Aug13

[personal profile] clare_dragonfly requested Theresa/Thomas in the kissing meme.

This comes after Hello and Forbidden.

It came, eventually, the moment she’d been waiting for.
The sirens did it, which meant that, in a manner of speaking, she had the wild tribes to thank. As they had all been drilled, they moved into the nearest interior room, and from there under the big, sturdy desks.

Theresa had been teaching a class, the one class she still taught and one, coincidentally, that Thomas was in. She stepped into the nearby library and slid, with a dexterity she was proud of, considering her advanced years, under the widest desk. She’d been hiding under this particular desk for so long, her teenaged initials were carved into a hidden corner.

And then, just as she was getting comfortable, Thomas slipped under there, smiling wickedly at her, like he knew what she’d been thinking. There was no talking, not with the sirens blaring, but that meant they were in relative privacy.

In relative privacy, in the center of the Library, surrounded by her students. This was madness. She reached for him, ostensibly to tug him further under the desk. Safety first.

He reached for her in return, pushing her academic hood back off her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her bare neck, her cheeks. She hadn’t been touched like this in… too long.

“Too long,” she mouthed, under cover of the sirens.

“I know,” he mouthed back, and kissed her.

Next: Beginning With a Kiss

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/108580.html. You can comment here or there.