Happy New Year!
If you leave me a prompt on the topic of Bondage, Slavery, Dubcon, Noncon between now and 12:00 EST, I will write a few (20-150) words on that prompt!
I reserve the right to write as few or as many as I want to in that time. Also, I have a bottle of Mogen David & am a happy camper.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/875608.html. You can comment here or there.
Happy New Year!
If you leave me a prompt on the topic of regeneration between now and 11:00 EST, I will write a few (20-150) words on that prompt!
I reserve the right to write as few or as many as I want to in that time. Also, I have a bottle of Mogen David & am a happy camper.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/874441.html. You can comment here or there.
Happy New Year!
If you leave me a prompt on the topic of butterflies between now at 10:00 EST, I will write a few (20-150) words on that prompt!
I reserve the right to write as few or as many as I want to in that time. Also, I have a bottle of Mogen David & am a happy camper.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/873647.html. You can comment here or there.
…and for good reason.
But, to be fair: Leave a prompt (or prompts) for any setting of mine not Addergoole/Fae Apoc, and, over the next month, I will try to write 100 words to each of at least 10 prompts.
Optional themes – holidays, family, winter/seasons’s turn, i.e., anything you can think of as a December sort of theme.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/854937.html. You can comment here or there.
“I’m going to ask you to imagine…”
The classroom, as a single individual, shuddered. They all closed their eyes obediently; they grasped the padded edges of their desks carefully. They began to imagine, as they were told. But they did it all with the air of someone being told to walk themselves to the electric chair.
The teacher either did not notice or did not care. The lights went down, certain switches were flipped, and the electrodes attached to the students’ skulls began to do their dirty work.
“…that you and your tablemate were partners in a crime. A theft. And you are now in separate rooms in the jail, while the DA speaks to you about confessing.”
None of them opened their eyes. They could not if they’d wanted to, and they didn’t need to. They knew who their tablemate was; that never changed. And the scene was already playing out in their heads.
Carrie looked around the interrogation room. The DA was a tired-looking man in his late fifties, his trenchcoat old, his hands older. “We know you did it. The question is if you’ll confess first or if your partner will.”
She could feel the handcuffs around her wrists. She could feel the cold seat pressing against her bum. She could feel, more, the panic making her heart race, thump-thump, thump-thump.
The DA looked at a monitor. “Looks like your partner panicked and died. You’re off the hook this time.”
In the front row, one student slumped. The teacher flipped two switches.
Written to ![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebonesofferalletters‘ prompt.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/841128.html. You can comment here or there.
In retrospect, things would have gone smoother if the team had made any other choice at all, even staying frozen in indecision.
But the volcano was seconds from showering them all in hot ash and then burying them in lava, and that wasn’t a way any of them wanted to die. So Alexa grabbed Cole’s hand, who grabbed Josie’s, who grabbed Xenia’s, who grabbed Aerich’s, who grabbed Peter’s…
Who grabbed the Jameerery mayor’s hand. And the twenty-five Jameerery, no fools and not wanting to die, had been forming up a chain of hands already, so when Alexa opened the Door with her free hand, all twenty-five Jameerery came through with the team.
And in most cases, in most worlds they went between, this wouldn’t have been a huge problem. They were alternate Earths, after all. Cole had lost count of the number of Coles and Alexas they’d run into, and there had been that place with the clone Josies…
The problem was that the Jameerery were, ah. Trolls. Or elves. They had horns, at least, and their skin had a slightly purplish tint to it. They worked magic – although not enough to withstand an eruption of that scope, clearly – and they had ears that were pointed and almost catlike. To put it shortly: They weren’t human. And it showed. And the Door back to their land had either burned or was encased in lava.
And so Cole found himself putting an adorable straw hat on the head of the most adorable of the Jameerery refugees, who sadly happened to be their mayor’s daughter. It covered the horns, and Xenia had already dyed the girl’s violet curls black. But covering the violet skin was going to be a trick…
“The girls could be very religious sorts,” Josie mused. “But I don’t know of a sect in our world where the men cover their faces.”
Facets of Dusk has a landing page here.
As always, if you want more, I can be commissioned!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/836293.html. You can comment here or there.
It’s almost November, and the Dungeon Call was so successful, I almost forgot about the October theme!
I’m taking prompts on the theme “Impossible Situations;” I’ll write at least 100 words to at least the first five prompters.
Prompt in any setting, any characters. I’ll see what I can do!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/835424.html. You can comment here or there.
It was fine for Tan, moving through the Wriffle crowds. It was fine, dealing with the way that Wrifflites would flirt and grin and pat-ass and cuddle and kiss. Tan found it relaxing, actually, chatting up a boss or a co-worker and having a comment about sex slide into the mix; going out to the bar and having drinks bought, one after another. It was fun. Tan had never been an introvert, no matter what the family thought.
The problem wasn’t the Wriffle. The problem was when family came to visit, or friends from home, or, worse, friends from home with their friends from home. Then things got mixed, messed, and tangled.
“So you’ve finally gotten over this no-sex thing?” Roan would ask, or
“I don’t see why you’re so bent out of shape. You’re the one who teased me,” Je would complain, and Tan would be left trying to decide whether to explain or just move on. Everyone in Wriffle, not just in the cities but out in the farmland, everyone kissed hello and good-bye, everyone made outrageous suggestions. Nobody expected you to follow through; that wasn’t how flirting actually worked for Wrifflites. Truth be told, Tan wasn’t entirely certain how sex worked for them – and that was entirely fine.
If only the friends and family would be fine with it, too.
Want more? I’m sure I could have fun with this one. Commission more words via Paypal at the Giraffe Call rate of $1/100 words.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/831183.html. You can comment here or there.
Reyne tried to make a point of meeting all new visitors to the planet at the spaceport. For one, as cultural attache, it was part of the job. For another – Reyne liked the Mestaron, but they were extremely, extremely touchy about certain things – much as many humans were, come to think about it – and there had already been too many “incidents.” Humans might be touchy, but it didn’t mean they were cautious about others’ touchiness when visiting other planets.
(It was a bit surprising that Reyne had been allowed to keep the position of cultural attache, once that first report, the one with the bolding and the caps-lock, had gone through, but part of the bolding-caps-lock-side-bar had covered the unusual situation of Reyne and others of similar unusualities.)
This particular contingent, however, Reyne made a point of taking a shuttle up to their ship and meeting them before they even thought about touching down. Dressed carefully, in clothing that was sufficiently formal to impress, sufficiently Mestaron-like to discomfit, and specifically and entirely androgynous, Reyne greeted each of the VIPs first in the current style of the Federation and then in the human-equivalent of the Mestaron style.
“I hope you brought women with you.” It was rude to go about things quite that directly – either for the Mestaron or humans – but Reyne wanted them off-put and off-balance. They needed to shake expectations first.
“Here in the Federated Nations we don’t concern ourselves with the gender of-“
“The Mestaron will. The Mestaron will take it as a considerable insult if you don’t bring your ruling class with you. Also: did the Federated States outlaw sex drives while I was away?”
The definitely-male-bodied person – whose collar insignia said was probably in charge of the mission – sputtered and stammered for a moment. “The Federated States doesn’t speak about-“
“But they do, I’m sure, or you’d be having a population problem. Look. You know if you brought women. And if you didn’t, we’re not going any further in this briefing and I’m not letting you on-planet.”
There were some days Reyne really loved this job.
Reyne has also appeared Here and here.
This is written to anke‘s prompt to my genderfunky prompt call.
Want more? I’m sure I could have fun with this one. Commission more words via Paypal at the Giraffe Call rate of $1/100 words.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/822695.html. You can comment here or there.
Dr. Elwood had been the obstetrician for the last seventeen Family births. A remote cousin by marriage, Dr. Elwood understood, at least more than a normal doctor might have, the problems implicit in just about everything a Family member did.
Which meant that, when he held Haley Stone’s first child in his hands, he made sure that the nurses had cleared all extraneous family – all of them – out of the room before he spoke softly to Haley.
“Is it possible you – ah – indulged in some way during your pregnancy, Miss Stone?”
Her cheeks were already flushed, but he thought her expression might have been a bit guilty. “I never do drugs, Doctor. Is my baby all right?”
“Your baby is perfectly healthy, Miss Stone. And you know as well as I do that I didn’t mean drugs.”
“Ah.” Her hand went to the necklace around her throat, the one with the wide white stone that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. “I – ah… My baby?”
“Your baby is perfectly healthy, Haley. But ah, seems to have been born with more than one set of genitalia.”
“More than…”
The doctor held up the child, and Haley gasped. “Oh, oh, dear Lord, the grannies are going to kill me.”
Written to wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/821593.html. You can comment here or there.