aldersprig: (Theocracy)
After Catboys in Cages, to [personal profile] rix_scaedu and [personal profile] thnidu's commissioned continuation.

Content warning: Slavery, bondage, ownership. Also catboy.

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aldersprig: (luke)
Part One
Addergoole-verse, Early 2012 (in the middle of the Apocalypse)
Written to [personal profile] rix_scaedu's commission.
I do not have an Agmund icon. But here's Luke looking uncomfortable about the whole thing.

The boy was not happy about Agmund’s presence, but he was more than willing to lay out the details of the attack. The Nedetakaei nest had at least ten human hostages, was in the middle of what had been a very populous area before the gods came to town, and had been lain with booby-traps, Worked wards, and at least three explosive trip-lines.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
Guys, I have 1200 words of commissions on my to-write plan for this month, and no commissions to write!

(and we all know I like to stick to the plan, don't we...)

Every have something you really wanted to see me write?

Or something left you saying "More, Please!"

Now's the time!

My commission rate is 2¢/word, with a minimum commission of $4/200 words.

There's normally a discount over $20 to $5/300 words or 5/3¢ ($0.01667) a word, which means that a $20 commission will get you the 1200 words mentioned in my target goal.

If you commission all 1200 words in my to-write, I'll cut you a small discount and give you 1200 words for $18. That's $0.015/word!

Got an idea? Leave a comment here or e-mail me at thornealder/gmail.
Got some money? Here's the Paypal link :-)

200-word Commission Slots Open:
1. chanter_greenie
2. chanter_greenie
3. chanter_greenie
aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)
Written to Kuro-Neko's commissioned continuation of Survival, of Fae Apoc, sometime in late 2011/early 2012.

Three, two... “Are you saying...” Ross Wetherschilde spoke slowly, as if not quite wanting to get to the end of his sentence. “...that there is a ‘fae’ onboard this life raft?”

“Of course that’s what she’s freaking saying, you freaking nincompoop!” Tanya Jones spoke fast enough for three Ross Wetherschildes. “The question is, how does she know! And who?”

“I think it’s obvious, don’t you?” Yonrit thought she knew every voice on the raft, but this one made her open her eyes: small, sardonic, and very quiet. Aah, the slender woman who had barely spoken since the crash, of course. “There’s one way to know for certain that someone is fae.”

She met Yonrit’s eyes; Yonrit didn’t look away. Around them, the conversation seemed to roil and bubble.

“...stab ‘em with rowan, that’s how!”

“Iron, you hang a horseshoe on your doorway.”
Read more... )
aldersprig: (City)
* The next time an icon day comes around, someone remind me I need a good icon of some sort for Fairy Town?
* Written to [ profile] flofx's commissioned prompt: A continuation of Old Stories and old Fates.
* Fairy Town has a landing page here..

There were things those people in their tainted church would never say. There were things that no-one in this tainted town would even whisper, not even Bishop MacNamilla. There were things that you didn't even think.

And one of those things was this: there were fairies and fairies. There were the things that looked like people, that you called "fairies," or didn't really even call that so much as shape the label around the space they filled. They went to work with you, if you were a lay person. They owned houses and shopped and, to a casual tourist, looked human. But they were a little strange, a little eccentric, a little tainted.

And then there were the demons that were actually fairies, the spirits and sprites, goblins and boggarts, monsters and mice, and they hid in the wild spaces, lurked around the gateways, lingered anywhere there were too many of the first sort, anywhere there was belief, anywhere the god had touched.
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aldersprig: (BookGlasses)
Written to [ profile] flofx's commissioned prompt: "Bishop Macnamilla says 'The elders did not listen to me. They were squeamish' in Faries in the Church. Just what happened between Macnamilla and the elders? How much did he tell them of what he wanted to do?"

Fairy Town has a landing page here.. This story is set a few decades or more before the "current" storyline.

Bishop Tanner studied the young priest standing in front of him. "Father Macnamilla. I see you are visiting us yet again."

The others on the diocese's council of elders shifted uncomfortably. Bishop Tanner didn't fault them for that - Father Macnamilla brought an aura of discomfort with him. But they needed to remain firm and in control, or the hot-headed priest would be causing them more than just discomfort.

"I will continue to visit you until you listen to reason. I will continue to visit you until this diocese does what needs to be done."

Bishop Tanner cleared his throat. "I'm sure that it appears to you..."
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aldersprig: (Cali)
Written as [personal profile] wyld_dandelyon's commissioned continuation of Tricked out for her pleasure.

Joe was bound to the bed, naked, as far as he could tell, except for too-many-piercings, and there was an elf woman on top of him. As far as slavery went, this was not what had been in the brochure.

Not that there'd been a brochure, unless you counted I Was A Slave In California documentaries, and Joe had watched more than a few of those, usually while very drunk or very hung-over.

Very hung-over was not dissimilar to the way he was feeling right now. It was like his face had been wrapped in blankets and now he was beginning to see the light - except that right now, the light was either a pillow or a lot of hair.

Hair. She'd said something about braiding. Joe forced himself to pay attention to the situation at hand. “I... I can hold still.” He shook his left wrist, making the chain jangle. “There's not much option anyway, is there?” He turned his head to look at the elf-woman, but succeeded only in getting a mouthful of hair.

She chuckled throatily at him. “There is always an option. You're lovely, did I mention?”
Read more... )
aldersprig: (KinkBingo2)
Written to SkySailor's commissioned continuation of

It too Adrian two weeks to decide. Sara tried, during those two weeks, to let him have all the breathing room he needed to decide. She made the most of crock-pot and one-dish recipes, shortcuts and take-out, to make sure he didn’t have to feel like meals were waiting on him; she did cursory cleaning every day, and she tried to get enough work done that it didn’t feel like she was waiting on his decision.

That last Friday, he didn’t make it home until past ten in the evening. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands were shaking, and his skin was ashen. He let Sara chivy him into a bathrobe and slippers without even a pretense of an argument, and sipped the doctored hot cocoa, thick with rum, until his cheeks began to get some color.

“Would... would you tell me what to do? If I agreed to be your housewife?”
Read more... )

If you'd like to see more of this story, I bet there's more to be written. Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:

aldersprig: (AldersGrove)
Written to [personal profile] perfectworry's commissioned continuation of Live-In

Adrian was home late for the fourth time in a week. Sara ordered pizza, washed the dishes from last night's dinner, gathered all of her dirty clothes and his into a pile, and tried not to swear at the mess.

This was his third week of his job, and they'd held him late almost every day. He was new, he wanted the money, and he "didn't have anyone at home." Not, at least, the way his bosses understood having someone at home. Roommates didn't count.

Sara got the wash in and sat down with her budget book. Adrian had insisted on paying rent the minute he'd gotten a paycheck, but the thing was, somehow it wasn't making her balance any bigger.

She opened a document - and swore as the pizza arrived. How had she gotten any work done before Adrian moved in? How had she had any time at all to think?
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If you'd like to see more of this story, I bet there's more to be written. Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:

Next: Agreed.
aldersprig: (KinkBingo2)
Rock, Hard, Now What?

“How do we get through this? I’ll tell you how. Let me go. Then I can get out of this damn place, and I’ll be just fine.” He flexed against the chains, digging their edges into his skin. “You can fend for yourself.”

“Not going to happen. Letting you go is suicide for me - and the king’s soldiers will hunt you down.”

He growled. “Damnit, woman, I’m not going to bow and scrape for a year like some slave.”

It didn’t seem to bear pointing out that, technically, he was a slave. “Nobody’s asking you to.”

“Sure as blazes sounds like it.” He shifted his weight from one knee to the other.

“No.” The princess shook her head slowly. “I am asking you to agree to live in my suite for a year and to refrain from killing people - especially me - for that year.”

“While being your slave.”
Read more... )

Written to [personal profile] rix_scaedu's commissioned continuation.

If you want more of this story - and this one could go on for a while!! - drop a tip in, ah, the tip handcuffs:

More: here
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
First: Visiting Doomsday
Previous: Classrooms of Doomsday

Kheper nodded at Luke. Luke nodded back at Kheper. Nobody needed to be a succubus to sense the tension in the air.

The students weren’t, Luke assumed, all in the room yet - there were three there, one in just-grey-white-and-black, one with the same red accessories and accents that Nehara was wearing, and one wearing light green and pink. All three of them, almost in unison, looked at their professor, looked at each other, and turned to look at Luke.

He flared his wings and, feeling immensely self-conscious under the gaze of three teenagers and one boy he still thought of as a teenager, bowed again. He cleared his throat. “Ah, hello. Professor - Agislaw. Jae’Law-Shield.”

The boy in pink and green gasped. Luke schooled his face and waited for Kheper’s response.

The boy - man, he probably deserved that much - bowed back in response. “Sa’Hunting Hawk. Luke. Principal Doomsday told me you were visiting, but I didn’t know you’d be taking in my humble class.”
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Written to @Inventrix's commissioned continuation.
aldersprig: a close up of an alder leaf (Leaf)
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.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (KinkBingo2)
Read more... )

Written to Hob's commissioned continuation of An Unusual Arrangement and Learning the Arrangement

If you'd like to see more of this story, there is definitely more to be written! Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:

aldersprig: (BookGlasses)
Previous: The Rescue? Continues?
First: A Rescue, of Sorts

“Was it really that obvious?” Daxton let the mercenary woman half-guide and half-help him into the hunting cabin. He couldn't have run away if he'd wanted to and, concerned as she was with the ransom, she'd probably catch him. “I mean, that I'm not interested in...” He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence the way she had, interested in rutting. “Um. Bedroom games? I thought I hid it pretty well.”

She opened the door with her foot. “You flirted with married women, grandmothers, great-great-grandmothers, and the occasional woman devoted to the gods. In other words, you were immensely friendly with anyone who would never take you up on it.”

“...You really noticed that?”

“I was looking.”

“I never noticed you.

“Well, you're not supposed to, are you? I mean, you're the Duke's son and I'm a mercenary. But I had reason, too.” She helped Daxton to a chair - a surprisingly sturdy one, that looked big enough to hold a bear comfortably. “I'm going to see to the horses. I'll be just a moment.”
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aldersprig: (KinkBingo2)
Previous: A Rescue, of Sorts

Daxton had dealt with mercenaries before - there had been the month of assassination attempts, and then there had been the border skirmishes, since his father's Duchy butted up again the Red Queen's land. He had learned, unpleasantly but quickly, that you did what you were told by the people in armor, or, Duke's son or not, they made certain you did what they wanted. He fell quiet and held still.

"This'll just take a minute." She pulled a leather roll from her belt and, from there, pulled a set of tiny tools. "Just hold still..." One slim tool went into the key-hole of Daxton's shackles, followed by another, this one at an angle. "Hold still..." Daxton hadn't moved, but, then again, she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at her work.

Three clicks later, the shackles had released. "Can you walk?"

"Yes." He was fairly certain he could, at least. "But-"

"Hsst, come on." She hauled him to his feet and shoved her shoulder under his arm. "We've got to get out of here before - well, we've got to get out of here."
Read more... )

Next: Probably a Rescue.
aldersprig: (lynSnow)
(see what I did there?)

Commissions are always available at the low, low rate of 2¢/word, with a minimum commission of $4/200 words.
$20 commissions and higher will be discounted to $5/300 words or 5/3¢ a word. Just because I always wanted to charge in fractions.
For commissions over $35/2100 words, all words over that limit will be charged at a penny a word.

To commission a story, a piece of demifiction, or any other work of creative writing (even poems, I can do poems), sent me an email at thornealder/gmail, leave a comment on this post, or sent me a PM on Dreamwidth or Livejournal.

I reserve the right to turn down any commission, but will complete any commission I accept.

I take payments by Paypal (also thornealder/gmail), by paying-for-my-Dreamwidth-time, or other methods by negotiation.

I will begin work on your piece as soon as I receive payment. Commissioned works will be posted on my blog, here, when completed.

Don't want a commission, but want to say "thanks?"

Cool! I always appreciate tips, and they help to unlock extras - more posts on the serials, for instance.

There's Paypal, of course, but there's also Patreon: subscribe at any level from $1 to $50/month and open up incentive levels to get even more fiction!

And in conclusion, this is a conclusion.
aldersprig: (Briar)
After And We Are Not Monsters.

The girl called Rohanna did not take well to the collar.

Viatrix had sympathy for that. Nobody in their house had ever taken well to submission and, to the girl, they were the enemy. They had stolen her from her crew at hawthorn-point.

What she did not have was tolerance. "No." She knew she was getting sharp, and could not manage to soften her tone. "No, what did I say?"

Rohanna snarled. "If I washed the floor I didn't have to wash the dishes."

"Try again, little mage."
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
This is written as @inventrix's commissioned continuation of this drabble posted on the Addergoole Facebook (also the first ~100 words of this piece).

Luke folded his wings against his back and tried not to stare.

When Cynara had come to them, to Regine, saying “I built a school,” he hadn't know what to expect. Hell, when she'd started building the CITY, he hadn't know what he'd find.

What he saw was... children, and teens, moving from building to building, smiling, their grey-and-black-and-white uniforms adorned with splashes of color and their interactions adorned with what sounded like playful rivalry.

He'd come anticipating a mess to be dealt with, or a boot camp to be... handled.

He didn't quite know what to think about this.

~Read more... )

Next: Whilst at Doomsday...
aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)
So, I got a lovely donation to the Giraffe Call to pay for two non-donors get get a 500-word continuation.

I rolled the dice, and the results are

(Drumroll please)

[personal profile] alexseanchai
[profile] thebonesofferalletters

Please collect your 500-word continuation at the customer service tent!

(drop me an email (thornealder/gmail), send me a PM, or comment on this post)
aldersprig: (Briar)
First in this story: Unwelcome Guests
Previous: The Clean-Up

1016 words, to Rix's commissioned continuation.

“Come.” Viatrix led the her new Kept into the back yard, murmuring what she thought of as “Addergoole Standard Kept Rules” as she went.

She didn’t look at the girl until they reached the stone circle that, in some other owner’s time, had been a back patio and outdoor kitchen. She didn’t need to; the way the orders were spun, there was little the girl could do.

When she reached the center of the circle, then, she turned. “Kneel.” A Word awoke the fire in the grill. “Give me your wrists.”

Her Kept did as she was told, although she was clearly fighting it. “Mistress... bitch.” She forced the word out with a snarl.

Viatrix found herself grinning. “Yes. Both of those. What name are you called?”
Read more... )

Next: There Are Always Choices.
aldersprig: (Briar)
First in this story: Unwelcome Guests
Previous: Kicking Out Unwelcome Guests

I have more planned, but this was a good stop point for this part. 673 words.

“Your target was never here.” Baram punctuated his sentence with a sharp kick to the bikers’ leader’s ribs. The woman grunted, and, on the other side of the field of battle, the nearly-dead tank made a pained noise.


Worry about it later. Baram picked up the boy. “This one stays with us. And your flamethrower.”

“Keep the girl, we need the boy.”
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Evangaline)
To [personal profile] lemon_badgeress's prompt.
After Family Uncle, which is
after Visit (Footnotes), which is
after Genre, which is
after Sidekick, and so on.

Everything about her uncle's body language changed. He looked at Evangaline again, as if confirming that she'd actually spoken, and then turned to stare at Rosaria. "You brought her here because of a nephew?"

"I brought her here." Rosaria had regained all her tartness. "Because she is an Aunt, because she deserves the mantle, unlike some, and because the family needs her understanding. She brought herself because of her nephew."

Eva wasn't sure if that was entirely true, but it made Willard smile. "Well. Pleased to meet you, niece. Aunt Evangaline, you said?"
Read more... )

Next: "The Powers That Be."
aldersprig: (Evangaline)
To [personal profile] lemon_badgeress's prompt.
After Visit (Footnotes), which is
after Genre, which is
after Sidekick, and so on.

Evangaline followed her aunt through the gate, and down the gravel driveway.

She did not ask Rosaria about the power vibrating through the fence, or the lines of power in the driveway's bushy borders. She was fairly certain her aunt could see them - Rosaria, too, vibrated with power in a way that the family did not acknowledge - and just as certain that she would tell Eva to figure it out on her own.

She did not ask, either, about the tall man with grey hair who was approaching them. The power in the road recognized him; it if hadn't his chin line and the set of his shoulders would have given him away.

The waver in Rosaria's step would have, before anything else. Rosaria did not waver, ever. And yet she hesitated. "Willard?"

"Aunt Rosaria. And...?" The man's approach was faster than it had any right to be. And he was tall, in a way their family wasn't inclined towards. Evangaline had to look up, almost craning her neck, to look him in his deep green eyes.

The eyes reminded her of something, although she couldn't put her finger on just what. "I'm Evangaline. I am very likely your niece, although I might be your cousin. I'm Ardella's daughter."

"Family, then. And are you the Aunt Apparent, or has Asta finally given up the ghost?"

There was no point in being surprised; if she could sense the power, of course he could as well. "Asta passed on a few months back. I reside in the Aunt House now."

"And Rosaria is showing you the ropes, because Asta wouldn't have known a rope from a snake. Well, come on in. I suppose I count as part of the ropes, these days."

"Especially with my nephew Stone coming into his own." Evangaline aimed her words carefully. She was tired of being spoken over like an errant child.

there will be more; it's been commissioned. Of course, you could always commission MORE.
aldersprig: (Evangaline)
For [personal profile] kelkyag's prompt. After Genre, most recently. Yes, there will be more:

Aunt Rosaria had declaimed her declamation, and then she had fallen silent. Not just quiet - silent. Eva had to check three times to be sure her elderly relative was still breathing.

She'd tried to ask questions a few times, but Rosaria stopped her with a raised hand each time. Finally, Eva fell silent as well, focusing on the road. "Drive straight" was an easy enough direction to follow, after all. So she drove straight, and worried at the feeling "archetypes" left in her mind.

"Left at the stop sign." Rosaria's voice broke the silence. Eva jerked the wheel but caught herself quickly. "And then the first left. Stop at the gate."

Left, left, stop. Eva didn't answer. It didn't seem the time for unnecessary words, and, besides, her heart was in her throat. Left, at a stop sign holding down three cornfields and a wheat field. Left, into a gravel driveway that went two car-lengths before stopping at a high iron gate.

Iron. Eva stopped the car, turned it off, and tilted her head to Rosaria. Now what?

"Use your words, Evangaline. Now we wait. Willard will either come get us, or he won't. If he doesn't, we leave him a message. If he does - well, then, you are educated further on what it means to be of this family. Something Asta sorely neglect-"

The gate swung open.

"Very good. We walk, of course. Don't bother locking the car." Rosaria swung out of her seat. "Well? Come on."
aldersprig: (Evangaline)
To [personal profile] kelkyag's commissioned continuation of Sidekick. For the complete story, see here.

The Aunt Family has a landing page here.

"Tragic." Eva was finding her voice, although it was taking effort. "Aunt Rosaria, what are you talking about? There's nothing tragic about Uncle Arges, unless you mean those horrid Hawaiian shirts. And who's Willard?" She flapped her hand. "I know that Willard is Aunt Ramona's son. And I think you've said that he's like Stone, or he was, but he left the family. I didn't know people could leave the family." She frowned. "Aunt Rosaria, I don't normally sound this silly."

Her aunt patted her leg. "I know, dear. Believe me, I really do. I remember when my aunts had this effect on me. It's as if you are feeling the whole weight of the family staring down at you from one old lady, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite that way..."
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Evangaline)
This is [personal profile] rix_scaedu's commissioned continuation of:
Intimately Involved (LJ) and
Precedent (LJ)

"Oh?" The other women turned as one towards Hessa. Hessa, in her own turn, had shaded towards a sickly pale green color.

Deborah found both of her hands going over her stomach protectively. "What is it, Hessa?"

"I think I found something out. I think I found another time it happened." She smoothed the pages with both hands. "I think it happened to great-great-great-Aunt Pearl."

"Great-great-great..." Deborah counted on her fingers. "That was the one who... vanished, isn't it? Her diaries went missing with her."
Read more... )
aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (nano winner 2012)
This is for [personal profile] rix_scaedu's commissioned continuation of The Norm, from the October Giraffe Call.
The secretary was really quite cute. More importantly, and possible more unfortunately, she was bright. She caught the pun, there.

“And are you?”

“I can be. Certainly more people have called me that.”

“Well, there are worse things to be.” She looked me over. Again. I wondered what she was seeing, what she was looking for. How bad it would end up being for me – and thus for her. “You know, for all the five-ten, eyes of brown, you don’t look middle-of-the-road.”

She wanted to play. Oh, dear. “Well, the Median isn’t always the same as the Mean.”

“And neither are the same as the Norm, are they… Norm? After all, the Norm and the average aren’t the same thing. So, are you normal, then? Norm?”
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
This is for [personal profile] lilfluff's commissioned request for a continuation of this story.

Davyn was quiet. Good puppies were quiet.

Good puppies were also lost, squished, and confused, not to mention terrified. He couldn't completly stop himself from whining, a terrified little noise at the back of his throat. As long as he didn't get too loud, the pain didn't come again.

Even without the punitive jolts of pain, his situation pretty much sucked. The kennel he'd locked himself into was upended, leaving him mushed into the bottom, leaned against some sort of cart, rolling...

...well, he really didn't know where they were going, which was more than half of the problem.

He curled up the best he could in the tight space, nose to knees, and tried not to cry. Not only was crying loud, maybe loud enough to get zapped again, it was embarrassing. He was sixteen, not a kid anymore. Adults didn't go crying like that. Even if they were trapped.
Read more... )
aldersprig: a woman's wrists in handcuffs (cuffs)
From [personal profile] rix_scaedu's commissioned prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), the same day as First Day of Work.

Content warnings: d/s and sexual content.

If her Master gave her a reference when her time with him was through, Pretty/Yaminah would have more than earned it. Being his executive assistant was an exhausting and exhaustive position, as much so, if not more, than any position she’d taken for him in his private rooms. Doing it backwards and in heels, the bones of her corset and the tightness of her skirt never letting her forget who she was, that almost made it easier. At least the armor and the prison of her suit kept her upright, never faltering, never flinching. She needed that.

Her Kraken, her Master, treasured her, and, even if she had not arrived in the same car as him, that was quickly apparent to all others in the office. That, of course, came with at least three flavors of jealousy from all sides: those who wanted to be in her Master’s bed (or had been), those who would not go that far but envied her the status it clearly gave her (without understanding, of course, what it took her to earn it) and wanted the Master’s eye for more professional pursuits, and those who envied her Master because he had her.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (City)
For [ profile] flofx's Commissioned Continuation of Eggshells and Lineman's Hopes.

Long before Guarding the Church and referencing Strange Neighbors.

He came around the Stanton Arms and the park like he owned the area, walking in with a swagger like he was the strongest guy in the place.

Tia Lian hated him immediately. This was her street, her neighborhood. She didn't need some big sleek guy with slicked back hair and a shiny smile coming in. She didn't need no fairy who screamed fey from every line of his body to take over when she was just sort-of-fey-around-the-edges. She didn't need him.

So she ignored him, while the others flooded around him. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Where are you from?"

And he just smiled.
Read more... )
aldersprig: a close up of an alder leaf (Leaf)
For [personal profile] imaginaryfiend's commissioned continuation of Returned Paradox

I was born to death.

I was born to the memory of a dead woman, forty weeks to the day after Paradox Maverick died, and I was told so, in whispers and glances and blasted macaroni and cheese on my birthday every year. I was born, it seemed when I was younger, to echo her back to my mother’s companions, to look like her in every way I could.

Sometimes I think that she did it on purpose, Paradox, tinkered with my genetics in the womb to put them off the scent, as it were, to make them keep looking in the wrong place and never think to look where they should have. I wonder, if she did that, if she had any idea how well she would succeed?

Here I am, now, exactly what they created, exactly what I created, and not what they would have had me be. Nothing, nothing, I might add, like Paradox Maverick, may she rot in a cold cell in the darkest corner of Hell.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (City)
For [ profile] flofx's commissioned prompt, a continuation of Re-Blessing the Church, Guarding the Church (LJ), and Reaching out to the Congregation.

"There are fairies in your church."

Bishop Macnamilla was of an older school of thought, practically antediluvian. Most of the time, Father Nehemiah avoided conflict by avoiding the Ninth Street house where the Bishop kept his residence. The Father's church was new, and not entirely conventional, and not near Ninth Street, and the Bishop's body as well as his mind were old, and did not move easily.

But someone had said something, the Father was certain. The jowls on the Bishop were shaking in the way the once-fat man only did when he had been being yelled at by a parishioner who Didn't Like Something. Probably not one of Nehemiah's regulars. But sometimes the gossips from the other churches liked to stop in and visit.
Read more... )

A href="">The Church in the Park
aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)
For [ profile] rix_scaedu's Commissioned continuation.

Addergoole has a landing pagehere.

After Cursed.

Barypos ended. Ended, in a way he had never imagined possible, Ended, Name and name and soul and memories. He ended in a twist of pain and a gut-punch, air lost, while the world burned around him.

He dreamt of death, of spears, of the lamentations and screams of women following him through the years. He dreamt of blood and pain, and of fire, and more fire, and more.

When he awoke, Barypos was gone. He woke to consciousness of a sort, remembering nothing but pain and fire.
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aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)
For [ profile] fflox's commissioned continuation of First Wind.

Yilly was falling, dropping like a rock, every attempt of his to fly, to find the air, falling, failing, freaking out. He had always been going to learn the feel, going to try the short drops with his high-level classmates, but there'd always been something more interesting, something more fun. Now there wasn't any more time, and he was dropping from the high levels, right down to the flood zone and the river.

And then, there were his friends, his crawling-in-the-catacombs and splashing-in-the-river and staying-up-dancing friends, and there they were, just below him. Yilly cupped air and tried to slow himself. He didn't want to hurt them, didn't want to bring them down with them. But they were getting closer, closer. Mirro and Tanny swooped under Yilly and came up under him, grabbing his hands, pulling him up into a wind with them, while Lonoll did something complicated so she was standing up, looking Yilly in the face.

"Feel the air, Yill-ne-yill, find it in your face and your vents. Right there, right... there."
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aldersprig: (BookGlasses)
This story contains magic and references to Addergoole but no slavery, sex, or violence.

For [ profile] rix_scaedu's Commissioned Prompt.

Faerie Apocalypse has a landing page here here (and on LJ).

After These Walls Can Talk, Housewarming, and As Safe as Houses

Dodger is from When the Gods Attacked..

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aldersprig: a woman's face and neck, a chain wrapped round her neck (kinkbingo)
After Problem-Solving, for [ profile] rix_scaedu's commissioned continuation.

Fuchsia had never expected things with Pepper to improve overnight. It was a good thing, too, because they were doing anything but.

They were - kind of - getting better. He'd pulled back some of the worst of the orders, enough to let her help him when the nightmares were bad. He still wouldn't talk to her about it, and he still wouldn't talk about it with her - but he was visiting Mendosa regularly, three times a week. Every visit left him exhausted, drooping, quiet, withdrawn. But, for a short time afterwards – later that day, and for part of the next day – he’d be improved, relaxed, acting like what Fuchsia thought was probably his real self.

Weeks went by that way, tiny steps of progress, with her marking every smile, every night without a nightmare, every time he could joke with her or his friends without flipping out. The time he let her fix his tie for him was a major victory; the time he threw out dinner a minor setback. They were getting somewhere.
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aldersprig: (City)
For [ profile] flofx's second prompt.

Long before Guarding the Church and referencing Strange Neighbors.

Tia Lian was born, as her kind were, in an eggshell watered with the tears of an unmarried woman and fertilized with the hopes of an unemployed man.

Or so she liked to tell people... and in her childhood, she was so small, so clearly fay, so touched by the other, that people tended to believe her.

The truth might have been more prosaic, but it was no less magical. Born to a fairy mother in the doorway of the Stanton Arms, gotten on that mother by a goblin line worker who couldn't find work (the unions were going through an era, back then, where they didn't like the fay), left on the doorstep of a church and from there taken to an orphanage, Tia was a midsummer baby, touched in magic and born in the mundane.
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aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
For [ profile] flofx's Commissioned Prompt. Fairy Town does not yet have a landing page.

After "Spring"

Anton Barren moved slowly in front of his students. "Fade, look around. Do you see a doorway?"

"None." He was back to sounding bored. That was good. Anton didn't want the girls to freak out. He didn't want Fade to freak out, either... or himself.

"How about an arch or a gate?"

"Over there." That was Lilah, bouncing a bit. "Mr. Barren, what's going on? Why are the animals looking at us?"

"I chose an imperfect time to bring us here." He had chosen an imperfect locale, more accurately, hoping for a small amount of danger to shake them out of their complacency. This was not going to be a small amount of danger, not if the Animals were looking at them the way it seemed they were.

He focused his sight. He could see their shadows, if he looked hard enough. There would be a cost. But he would pay it. He always did.
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aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Default)

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