Tag Archive | prompter: dahob

The Warlord’s Cat – a Patreon story

This story is written to @Dahob’s prompt to May 2015’s “Love Stories” theme. The fact that she is a warlord might have something to do with me watching Fury Road last weekend.

~

“He loves you very much.” The ambassador’s eyes followed the warlord’s slave as he left the room. He moved gracefully, like a predator. The chains around his wrists and ankles, shiny and decorative for all their strength, seemed to hamper him not at all.

“He loves me like a cat loves its human,” the warlord answered, her voice bored. “He knows where the roof and the warmth are, the food and the safety. Even predators like a safe space to sleep.” Continue reading

Survival, a story of the Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call (@dahob)

Written to dahob‘s prompt to my Giraffe Call!

Set in the world of Fae Apoc, sometime in late 2011/early 2012.

Day five. They were beginning to run low on supplies, no matter how carefully Yonit parceled everything out. Carl had a massive cut running down his calf, and it gotten infected, despite all of their care. They had spent the last four days complaining about the fae, wishing them all dead, and pacing the tiny, cramped life boat.

A massive fight between someone calling themselves Llŷr and someone who claimed to be Poseidon had swamped the Atalus in the middle of a trans-oceanic trip. Yonit had been one of twenty-two people who had made it into this lifeboat; they’d lost radio contact with the other boats two days ago.

And now – now they were running low on supplies, and the bitching about the fae was getting worse, and Carl had a fever. She’d done what she could in whispers and muttering, but there was no privacy in the little tube of a boat, and she needed to be able to concentrate.

“I guess,” Carl muttered, sounding half-delirious, “you guys will have to eat me first. I hear the heart’s good eating. Save that for the women.”

Yonit swallowed hard. “Would you guys…” She was going to die. She was going to die one way or the other. Maybe she could manage to save them. “Would you rather be… be reduced to cannibalism? Or would you rather be on the boat with a fae? ‘Cause, um… some fae have the ability to make food. And water.”

She closed her eyes and waited for the shouting to start.



Having trouble picturing the lifeboat? It’s this sort.

If you want more, I’m sure I can manage more of this one! Drop a tip in the tip pack below.

Giraffe Call rates apply: $1/100 words.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/942014.html. You can comment here or there.

Flipped, a story of Tír na Cali

Edit: Forgot to cut for content- slavery, unwilling, and revenge-slavery.

“No! You can’t! It can’t be you!”

He had not been the best master, but he had also not been the worst.

“No! What are you going to – oh, Goddess and – ow!”

He had not been dumb – was still not dumb – which had made organizing things so that he lost everything and she managed to get both freed and enriched by the situation quite difficult.

“Right, right. I’ll behave. I’ll behave. You don’t have to – ow!”

She’d been motivated, slightly smarter than him, and she’d had outside help. So now, it was her passing over her credit card to the nice lady at the slave shop, and it was him kneeling there in the cell, the thick plastic slave-shop collar around his neck and the plastic manacles around his wrists. He kept looking up at her; the guard kept pushing his head down. And he kept complaining. That was new, the whining.

“Get him up and into my car.” She nodded at the guard. “I’ll take it from there.”

“How do you have the mon- Ow!”

She smiled cheerfully at him. She found this part immensely fun, more fun than only ruining him had been. “It turns out that the Agency is immensely interested in what I can do. And they pay very, very well for hazardous duty.”

“No,” he whined. “You belong to me…”

She held up her hand, stopping the guard from striking him again. “Try again. Or you’ll spend your first month as a slave muzzled.”

“No,” he said again, much more quietly. “No… mistress.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/936354.html. You can comment here or there.

Girl in a Country Song, a story from the New Year’s Eve MiniPromptCall

Content… warning…? Implied something uncouth, also kidnapping & rufies. And references to just about every country song ever made. And I actually listen to country.

It was the sort of thing country songs were made of: you go out, you drink with your buddies, you meet a pretty girl in painted-on jeans, you get her in your truck, and you go out to the fields.

It was the sort of thing your weekends had been made of, to be honest, different girls – college girls, sometimes, townies or passing visitors other times – different fields, same truck, same weekend, over and over again.

She had eyes the color of a cloudless sky and hair like wheat just before harvest; she was as perfect as God could make her and you didn’t pay much attention to the strange necklace she was wearing; she was a college girl, she said, majoring in agriculture. They did funny things.

Then you woke up in the back of your truck bed, and someone had used those tie-downs for all the wrong reasons, ’cause you were spread-eagled and couldn’t barely move. And the blonde was drawing on you in what you hoped to God wasn’t actually blood. And, Lord above help you, there was country music blaring from your truck.

“You’re perfect,” the blonde was telling you. “Absolutely perfect. You’ll make the crops grow. You’ll make the babies grow.”

And suddenly the music sounded a lot more ominous.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/877443.html. You can comment here or there.

Cali, Femdom, Catgirls, Part II

After Cali, Femdom, Catgirls.

Daniel had gotten kidnapped into slavery. He had been beaten up, stripped, beaten a little more, and forcibly showered and combed. Someone had put a thick plastic collar around his neck, and someone else had chained him to the floor. All in all, his opinion of Tir na California was not very high.

And now there was a pretty lady with cat ears kneeling next to him, and she had just clipped a leash to that damned collar. And she was – what was she doing? She was whispering. She was whispering to him. That was new.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’m all cat ears. I mean ears. Shit.”

She chuckled. Maybe he wasn’t totally screwed. Well, other than being kidnapped into slavery, naked, and leashed. “Here’s the deal. For every ten minutes you cooperate in getting out of here without incident, I’ll answer one question for you.”

“Any question?”

“Any question.” She squeezed his hand, which was still chained behind his back.. “Do we have a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?” He squeezed her hand back anyway.

“Of course. She patted his shoulder with her free hand. “You can kick and fight and struggle and I’ll have you carried out of here. It’ll be a scene, I’ll be annoyed, and I won’t answer any questions. Not even about the ears.”

“Not ever?” This was ridiculous.

“Not ever.”

“I… All right.” He squeezed her hand again. “We have a deal. Clock starts…?”

“Now.” She gestured, and one of the thugs that had chained Daniel in the first place came over. “He’s coming home with me. Unchain him, please.”

“He’s a fighter… miss.”

“He’ll be tame for me.”

Daniel chafed, but she was right. He nodded mutely, not trusting himself to say something helpful.

“Surely you want me to leave the handcuffs on, at least, miss?” The thug had gotten the shackles on Daniel’s ankles undone. It felt like bliss to be able to move his feet separately of one another.

“Do you insult all your clients, or just the ones with grey eyes?” The girl’s voice was velvet, but it had claws. Much like her. Daniel watched with interest.

The thug bristled. “Grey eyes don’t make you noble… ma’am.”

“No. But mods don’t make me a slave… dearie. Come on, Daniel.”

How had she known his name? Daniel found his feet, and found them a bit shaky. He could do this. He could – he stumbled, and was surprised to find her hand on his chest, steadying him.

She was short. The tips of those ears only came to his nose. But she was keeping him upright. “Steady, steady.” All the sharpness was gone from her voice. “Small steps at first. They kept you chained up too long.”

“I, ah, he’s right about me being a fighter…”

Daniel found himself squirming. “Any time they unchained me…”

“I can’t say I blame you.” She winked at him. “They’re rude.”

Daniel turned his head and coughed. “Rude. Yeah.”

“Do you think you can walk now?” She shifted to one side of him, her hand on the small of his back.

“Uhrm. Urhm, yes…” He twisted to look at her, and the cold metal of the chain pressed against his chest. “What am I supposed to call you? Clearly not ‘miss.’”

“‘Miss’ is what you call a female slave, when you’re being polite.” She started walking, and Daniel, with the pressure of her hand on his back and the swinging presence of the leash on his chest, moved forward with her. “Do you want that to be your first question?”

Could he stay well-behaved for twenty minutes? He swallowed. “Yes, please.”

“‘Please,’ even. I’ll give you a freebie for that.”

“m… Thank you?” Daniel was not certain if that was a good thing or not.

“My name is Sharanna; you can call me Lady Shar, your ladyship, or my lady, depending on if you’re feeling really formal, a bit formal, or intimate.” She winked at him. “In a pinch, ‘ma’am’ will do for Americans.”

“We get special rules? D’oh… I mean… thank you, Lady Shar.”

“You’re doing really well. My car is just through here. It’s an enclosed parking lot. There won’t be many, if any, people there.” She opened the door, keeping pressure on the leash.

Daniel took a breath. “Plenty of people have already seen me naked… Lady Shar.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Besides.” She tugged him through the door and put her hand back on the small of his back. “People stare at me, too.”

“I… I can imagine.” He swallowed. “Is talking okay? It’s just…” He swallowed. “This is more words than they let me get away with, back there.”

“Talking is fine.” She stopped and looked at him, looked up at him until he made eye contact. “If something is going to be against the rules, I will tell you, and I will tell you why.”

Daniel nodded. “Uh. Thanks. So talking’s okay.”

“Talking is very pleasant.” She flashed him a smile that had far too sharp of teeth. “I enjoy talking quite a bit.”

“Oh.” He swallowed again, around a lump in his throat. “Oh, good. Uh. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Are you trying out all of the terms of address I gave you?” She grinned at him, all those sharp teeth again.

Daniel swallowed. “Um, yes, Lady Sharanna. I wanted – I – one of them has to feel comfortable, right?”

“In my experience, most Americans aren’t comfortable with any term of address; we’re far more formal than they’re used to. And you’re talking to a cat-girl; you’ve got to be uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t say that!” He realized after he’d said it that he’d practically yelped it.

“I know, I know.” She started walking again, giving a little tug on the leash as she did so. It made the collar press against the back of Daniel’s neck, and that, in turn, made him start walking. So that’s how that works. He wondered what would happen if he balked.

Well, he’d said he’d be good. He wanted answers. He’d have to wait and balk later.

“Everyone thinks variants on the same thing when they see me.” She kept a steady pressure on the leash as she led him through the parking garage. “You’ve been impressive in that you haven’t asked, yet.”

“It hasn’t been ten minutes yet. I think.” Daniel dared a weak joke. “I don’t exactly have a watch on.”

“Tch, no. Aren’t you uncomfortable, naked?”

Daniel didn’t think it was a good idea to make another joke, but he did it anyway. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one saving up questions?”

“You are.” She turned back to grin at him. It was not exactly a reassuring expression. “Should I be a good girl for you, then? For my questions?”

Daniel had never been all that good with girls; he’d never been great at figuring out what answer he was supposed to give. That one, though, had red flags painted all over it.

“You’re the owner, Your Ladyship. I’m the slave. You can ask as many questions as you want.”

She chuckled, giving Daniel the slightly-uncomfortable feeling that he’d passed a test. “You learn faster than most. So – aren’t you uncomfortable being naked?”

Daniel shrugged. He’d hedged long enough to give himself time to think of an answer. “I dunno. I mean, yeah, at home nobody wanders around naked. And I wouldn’t want to go running like this, but I wasn’t a runner, I was a swimmer. So… this isn’t that bad?” He shrugged. “I mean, don’t be mad at me, but being kidnapped and sold into slavery is a lot worse than just wandering around a parking garage naked.” He touched the leash dangling between them. “This, this is a lot worse than being naked.”

“Thank you.” She swung a car door open; he’d been so caught up in the conversation, he hadn’t realized they were at her car. If it was her car. He wouldn’t put anything past her at this point. “So, in the car and buckle yourself in. Then we’ll talk.”

Daniel swallowed. But there was really no point in balking now. He was already kidnapped, already collared. He got in the car.

If only the door shutting on him didn’t sound so final.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/873343.html. You can comment here or there.

December Meme – Day Twenty-Three – Apocalypse!

The Meme

Today’s prompt is from @dahob – Why do you like apocalypses so much?

Heheheheheee.

So, I chewed on this a bit, and it came down to two major things: why I like dystopian settings, and why I like space colony stories.

I swear this is all related!

So, dystopian settings. I looove dystopian settings, although I have to admit that that’s 50% lazy writing. That is: if the setting is the bad guy, then it’s man vs. the environment, and the innate bad guys are mostly working within a bad setting.

Tír na Cali’s a perfect example of that: “Yes, I own you, but I can’t exactly free you. The Californian government will never let you go home, and, even if they did, the Americans would lock you up and pick your brain for every scrap of information about our country. So you’re stuck with me and my only options are keep you or sell you.”

Of course, in Addergoole, the reason for the uber-dystopia is right there, in the school, a living breathing person. Um. Poor thinking on my part there. O_o

“Man against his environment.” That’s my favorite style of story, of the classic three taught in English classes (Man v. self, other man, environment), and that really covers the “space colony” story part of this, too: I love the idea of carving out a new world, a new home, against massive odds. I love making something from scraps, from whatever’s left over. And with space colonies and post-apoc both, you walk into it with some “modern” tech, and some idea of how modern tech should work.

Except cargo cults, of course. But I still need to write one of those.

So why do I like apocalypses so much? Because I get to write people struggling against their environment, and persevering.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/871496.html. You can comment here or there.

Solstice, 50 words, @dahob

The longest night of the year. They stood, outside their prefab barracks, and stared at an alien sky.

The world was different, the stars, even the weather. But they lit candles made from alien fat and held them up to the dark night, to the black skies. And they sang.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/868139.html. You can comment here or there.

Cali, Femdom, Catgirls

By the time Daniel was dragged to the sales floor, he was bruised in at least seven places, two of which didn’t show; he was chained, collared, naked, sweating, had been forcibly showered three times and had his hair combed five time. He was furious, but he’d gone past furious into panic and then past panic into shaking.

And then the cat-girl walked into the room.

There was no other word for her. She had perky cat ears, whiskers, and a tail; she had a human face and body with fur or patterns on her hands – paws? She was wearing a small dress and tall heels, and very little else.

She strode in like she owned the place, and here, in California, where supposedly anything went, everyone stared. Daniel couldn’t fault them; he was staring too. Had to be prosthetics, or some sort of cosplay thing. But the ears were moving. The tail was moving.

The girl was moving. Woman, he supposed, nobody ever called them cat-women. Except DC comics. Anyway. She was moving towards him. She was carrying something in her hand. Something – what –

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” He couldn’t back up. He was so very locked to this place he was standing. He could fall backwards, and he did that. “No.”

She leaned down until her lips were nearly at his ear. “Yes.”

He felt the leash clip onto his collar, but he was out of options.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/873343.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/863725.html. You can comment here or there.

Edora Begins to Explain Life to Prince Rodegard

Previously: Prince Rodegard Visits the Imperial Capital

~~

Prince Rodegard was staring open-mouthed at Edora. She watched him implacably, pretending that she did not care about his reactions.

Said reactions, as she cataloged them, appeared to be, in order: confusion, worried understanding, denial, more confusion, angry understanding, angrier denial, and then a further state of confusion.

He might be a spoiled childish specimen of a Prince, but he was still, after all, a prince. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Dame Edora. I must have misheard you.”

She contemplated her answer for a moment. “It’s Princess, actually.”

“…what?” This time, even his manners failed him.

“Technically, Kneginja Esedora. But I have been Edora for quite a while.”

“Kneg…” He struggled with the unfamiliar word. “Wait. I thought you were my bodyguard.”

“I am your bodyguard, your minder, your instructor, and your guide. I am also, to some ways of thinking, your jail-keeper. But most importantly right now, Prince Rodegard, I am the person in charge of getting you ready for the Imperial Capital.”

“That’s not what you said last time. Uh. Your Highness? You said you were supposed to prepare me for her… for the Imperial Empressina. Didn’t you? Your Highness?”

“I did.” Edora found herself smiling. He wasn’t stupid, this boy, he was just – well, he was provincial, and sheltered, and naive. She’d known more than her share of ones like that. “It is my job, among all my other jobs, to get you ready for her before she returns from her tour of the Empire.”

“Get me ready for… what, exactly?” From the way his face was going ashen, Edora thought he might already know. Still, she couldn’t fault him for asking.

And she couldn’t fault herself for wanting to tease him a little. He’d jumped into this position feet-first and without checking the water first; in a pond, that could get your neck broken. In life… “Didn’t you ask what you were volunteering for?”

“Somebody had to go!” He leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. To either side of him, the guards stirred but didn’t try to stop him. “Look, it’s not like the Emperor would have taken ‘Caredorn is in love with the dancers’ daughter and Takaranne is a better businessman than any of the rest of us; Petraken is too frail to travel and Lidotarre would get us into a war.’“ He was glaring at Edora, which she found interesting. “It got me out of blessing the fields and all of the maidens, sure. It got me out of plowing the fields and helping with the harvest in bad years, and it was the only chance I was likely to have to visit the Imperial Capital.”

Edora leaned back. Perhaps he had jumped in feet first to escape a burning building, or perhaps he was making up justifications to cover a lack of forethought. “It would have been interesting if you had said all of those things. Instead, however, you said ‘the Imperial Capital sounds fun. I’ll go.’“

“Well… it does sound fun. But – the Empressina? Her Imperial Highness?” He leaned back and folded his hands carefully, left over right. “What am I being prepared for?”



Written to @dahob’s commissioned continuation.

If you want more – and I’m pretty sure this wants to be a full-length romance novel – drop a tip in the tip… handcuffs 😉

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/836504.html. You can comment here or there.