aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)
 Written to Thnidu’s commissioned continuation of Down to Talen Hall

🌕

Do not go by the TalenHall
Where ruined Talen’s Holdings Lie

🌕
My sisters dance by Talen Hall
Where ruined Talen’s Holdings lie.
My aunts and cousins, once in thrall,
Sing taunting songs to pale moonlight. 

They were not my sisters, and yet they were.

My sister stood off to the side, an iron firepoker in her hand.  She’d grown while I was gone, and grown again in the time I’d been back.  She was a woman.

read on...

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.



Read more... )

Want More?
aldersprig: (Beekeeper)
First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which There are Second Thoughts - and Third.

🐝

Her eyes were closed. He liked that; it let him watch her face. Her hands were on him like she was trying to pin him down - who was he kidding? She could pin him down without any hands at all - and her expression was somewhere else, somewhere reaching for bliss.

He brushed his lips against hers, then kissed her properly. He was on his back, and she was on top of him and…

He closed his eyes and stopped thinking for a while. She was moving above him and that was, for the moment, all that mattered.
Read more... )
Want More?
aldersprig: (KinkBingo2)
after Lady Taisiya’s FIRST Husband - a ficlet, to [personal profile] thnidu’s commissioned continuation.

Taisiya couldn’t stay turned around for long, which was probably best for her pride and self-esteem. She turned back to face the horses before she’d come up with anything to say.

Her husband repeated, very politely, “what do you want, Lady Taisiya?”

The first thing that came to her mind this time was what should I want? That wasn’t, however, the sort of question one asked one’s husband.

She cleared her throat. “I want… to be comfortable in my own home.”

“Well then,” he answered, his voice gentle, “I shall attempt to provide you with that.”

Want more?
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
Set in Fae Apoc, in the midst of said apoc.

It had appeared as if their city had gotten off easy.

You heard rumors, scattered news reports, stories from refugees:

So-called gods fighting in the skies.

Those deities demanding sacrifices - or people, of land, of food, even of cash.

Whole cities burned to the ground, or locked off with walls that that nobody could enter or exit.

People forced to compete in games until they won or died.

Their city, their “god”, such as she was, sat on the monument in the middle of the town and listened to people.

She asked for leftovers, and people gave them willingly.
Read more... )

Want More?
aldersprig: (Beekeeper)
First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which They Have Nerves.

🐝
The kiss was meant to be a promise, but it turned into an invitation. She liked the way he kissed, like he was taking he time with it, tasting her. She liked the way it felt when he put a hand on the center of her back to steady himself.

She twisted the rest of the way around, hands on his shoulders for support. His shoulders were tense; his brow was furrowed. His hands slid down her wet sides to her hips and held her there, delicately, like he was holding an egg, like he was afraid she might break.

She hadn’t lived this long in the end of the world to break easily. She ran her hand up the back of his neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him again. There was nothing delicate about her grip, and from the sound he made, he approved.
🐝
Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1267010.html
🐝
Want More?
aldersprig: (tea3)
After Poise, to [personal profile] thnidu's commissioned continuation.

The question of was I poisoned was not as easy to answer as one might assume.

I did not, say, keel over (that is, turn my bottom over top) and die. But as I said, sometimes someone can poison your mind as well as just your body.

I knew I had what it took. My displays were perfect. My speech sounded unrehearsed and off-the-cuff and covered exactly everything I needed it to with no stuttering or humming or hawing. And the core product was sound. More than sound, it was brilliant and necessary.

But as I walked into that building - chin up, laptop bag in hand, looking like a million bucks and walking like I owned that place - I was secretly terrified. Five people had turned it down. Six of my friends had told me it was a long shot. Seven relatives had laughed in my face. To sum it up: I had been poisoned in my mind. I was ready, or I wanted to be ready, to make this presentation.

But was I ready? The doubts crowded onto the bus with me, shoved for a place in the elevator with me. I looked prepared. I looked proper. I looked prosperous. (Three more words that had no root in common, much to my surprise).

I was terrified.

I made my posture perfect. I smiled sweetly. I swallowed as if to bring more of that potion of poise into my body, into my mind.

I ran over all of my lines. I debated pertinent points sub-vocally. I told myself, once again, that my product was predestined to win this contact.

And in the back of my head, the poison continued to war with the potion. I was poised — but I was tainted by doubt. Two different sorts of weight were pulling at me.

The situation was grave, and it deserved gravity. Yet I found myself giggling. Here I was, pulling in two directions by the same thing — by a potion. By a great weight.

And that, my friends, was the lift I needed. The giggle, the laugh — the joke. By the time I left the elevator I had cut the strings weighing me to the criticism and doubt — if only temporarily, for those strings are very persistent — and I was buoyed up, walking on air, poised but yet no longer poisoned.

But had it even been poison? For if it had not been for that pun, I may not have been smiling, they might not have smiled, and the day might not have been won.

Funny things, potions and words, both.

🍹

Want More?

aldersprig: (Beekeeper)
First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which Amrit Explains Something..


🐝
She was doing it. She was really doing it. She was…

Her lips touched his and her hand went around his back to steady herself — when had he gotten so tall? Was that part of his power? Magical healing, grow an inch every time he broke a bone?

His lips were chapped, but after a moment, that didn’t matter. His hand found her back and splayed there, fingers leaving five warm places just below her neck.

He kissed like he was going to fuck her, rougher, more intent than anyone she’d kissed in a long time, maybe ever. He kissed like she was the only thing in the world, and, for a few moments, he was the only thing in hers.

She pulled back ruefully only when her toes complained. “You,” she murmured affectionately, “are far too tall.”

“I could be shorter,” he offered. “But I like being tall.”

She chuckled and, much to her surprise, hugged him, arms around his waist, pulling him in as tight as she could. He grunted once and then hugged her back, not loosening his hold until she released hers.

“I think,” she whispered, “I like having you here.”

“I think,” he admitted quietly, “I like being here.”
🐝
Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1248891.html
🐝

Want More?
aldersprig: (unspoken)
January by the numbers continues (just a day off~)!
From [personal profile] thnidu's prompt "Seven silly sausage sellers swilling snazzy sodas;" a story of... maybe Things Unspoken?
.

It had been a good day for Dayuved Yura's sausage-vending franchise. The central square and the park that ran two blocks south of it had been packed with people; the road in between had been busy with people hurrying back and forth between the two places; the bicycle-taxi peddlers were hungry, too, and snatching sausages in their brief breaks between customers - sometimes, they even stopped with a cab full of people, often meaning the passengers all bought sausages, too.

(Bicycle-taxi peddlers always got a discount at Dayuved Yura's places, and in these situations, his sellers were instructed to quietly refund the peddler the full price of their sausage under the cover of "giving change," as long as the passengers bought at least two meals. It kept the peddlers coming to Dayuved's cards, and not to someone else's inferior meat-in-a-bun wagons.

Now that the sun had set and the nighttime shift had taken over, Dayuved and his six daytime workers gathered ad Amincob Kote's soda stand to marvel over the day.

"That dancer-" Dayuved started. "Did you see those feathers?"

"Those marchers, with the twirling sticks," put in his second-in-command. They had the best places in the central square, but today, everyone had been in a good place.

"The heralds," murmured the most junior seller. "They blew those horns, and it was like everyone was on strings."

"The woman," an old man on his fourth job whispered. "She was..."

"Yeah," everyone murmured. There was little else that needed to be said. But someone, the quiet one, managed anyway.

"Her companions... so shiny. So tall."

"Who was she?" breathed one of the young ones. But all the old ones shook their heads.

"She sold sausages for us. She made smiles on their faces. She went to the place on the hill. That's all we know, that's all we ask."

"But that's... that's silly," complained the young one again. And the old ones just smiled and sipped their sodas.

"Silly, son, keeps the gold in the cash-box and keeps our heads on our necks. Silly sells sausages."

"Silly sells sausages," they all agreed, leaving the young ones feeling that "silly" was some sort of cynical cipher for sensible.


Want More?
aldersprig: (DragonBaby)
After Shattered, written after [personal profile] thnidu's tip.

Having the ghost of a cat following you around was not something to be talked about, certainly not in the current climate.

Having a ghost-cat who could mend things, well, that was nearly worse. Certainly, it would be looked at almost like hoarding, if anyone ever found out that Hannah had been hiding an ability to repair broken goods.

They had so very few goods these days. It had taken almost twenty years to get any sort of manufacturing back online, and, once they had, it had all gone to the war effort. Certainly, those guys next door had something we wanted - as it turned out, they had minerals and metals that didn't currently exist in the borders of their fractured city-state. Mugs, plates - if you couldn't scrounge it or make your own from back-yard clay, you were Sure Outta Luck, as Hannah's mother had liked to say, those times she'd noticed Hannah was listening.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Dragon Orange)
This is written to [personal profile] thnidu's commissioned continuation of Shedding Skin and The Nightmare Sated

She woke to find a trembling body next to hers. Before Akazha opened her eyes she sniffed the air and focused on the pressures on her skin, taking in the situation. Her body was back to its humanoid shape, her fingers still feeling twitchy where the claws had slipped away. She felt no metal on her, no hawthorn or rowan. They hadn’t chained her down while she was comatose, then.

The ground beneath her was hard and cold. Something soft covered her from her feet to the shoulder — a blanket? Her clothes would have torn in the shifting, they always did. The teddy bear was still pressed under her hand, and there was not one but two bodies, a small one in front of her and a larger one behind her. The larger one was trembling.

Akazha let out a sigh and opened her eyes. A toddler lay pressed against her, looking out at the world. Not far away, she could see chair legs and booted feet. Behind her, the trembling body shook more.

“Well.” She recognized the voice of the town’s mayor. “You’re awake, and the citizenry of the town has declared that we cannot kill you. So… having ‘rescued’ us, what do you want?”

“Food.” The answer was out of Akazha’s mouth before she could recognize the tension in the mayor’s voice or pick a suitable, safe answer. “Food, please.”

aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)


This is the next post in the 'Rescue, of Sorts' storyline, which can be found at this tag: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/tag/character:+daxton

It is written to a donation by [personal profile] thnidu after Rescued Indeed...


It took them a week to escape the castle, although their eventual bid for freedom was far less dramatic than the first time they’d met. “Just want to scout the countryside,” Daxton assured his parents, and, “they want us to rule something, we ought to see what we could rule,” Esha told her captain.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Dragon Orange)
This is written to [personal profile] thnidu's commissioned continuation of Shedding Skin.

It had been a long time since she’d been visible like this. Akazha did her best to ignore the people in the village; she was going to save them first and deal with them later. She rolled her shoulders and felt her second arms appear. She shifted from foot to foot and felt her tail unfurl.

In this form, she was a good three feet taller than in her human shape. In this form, she had some weaknesses that were nearly mythical, but the rest of her was pretty tough.
Read more... )
next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1156124.html
aldersprig: (Science!)
This is a continuation to Some People Just Want To... commissioned by [personal profile] thnidu

The news channels tried to cover it up, but the people were clamouring for news, and what the media would not cover, gossip would take care of. Yolanda was surrounded by it: the mad scientist. The murderer, hoist by his own petard.

The mystery formula that could make war impossible, if only...

The potential scientific benefits of Dr. Fidelli’s formula, if only...

The ways it could be modified to make a better execution drug, if only the formula hadn’t vanished.

He had to have written it down. He had to have kept it somewhere.

Yolanda tried not to flinch, tried not to smile, tried not to shout. She spent a lot of time hiding in her favorite bar, thinking about anything but biological systems and acidic toxins.

“Yolanda Giana.” A well-dressed man — far too well-dressed for this bar — sat down next to her, his body shielding her from the rest of the barflies. “I have a proposition for you.”



all funds now going to repair or replace the tablet I use to write on the bus: just broke the glass today
aldersprig: (AldersGrove)
Written to [personal profile] thnidu's prompt from 2014. here. New setting. Might be part of something else.

The Forest of Tesznerov gave the impression of being a monolith of green and brown, a forbidding wall that slowed and even stopped progress.

But if you could get past the obstructions and into the forest itself, it was bright and sunny, with patches like meadows almost half an acre large. And if you got even further in, near the top of the hill called Thistle Mountain, you might encounter the Cheramia.

Oostely had been that - not lucky, to call it luck was an insult - skilled, the first in a century to get that far and (one hoped) live to tell about it. She perched on a stump and waited, listening, until a chermiach settled down in front of her.

It chirruped out a greeting. In return, Oostely bowed deeply and responded in her own tongue. The Cheramia were one of the truly foreign creatures to be found within the technical confines of the nation, but if she had to try to describe one, Oostely might do as her great-great-grandmother had done and say "a flying cat-snake with some sort of squirrel tail." They might be as long as the distance between her ankle and hip, but they preferred to coil up like a spring, so they peeked at her through the fluff of their tail.

The chermiach whistle-popped a sound that could be a question, and then squeaked out what sounded like a human word. "Greeeeet," it clucked.

"Greetings," Oostely responded. She could not help but notice how sharp the chermiach's teeth were, or how longs its claws were, or how close it was. But her great-great-grandmother had met one and lived to tell about it, so Oostely chirruped out what she hoped was the word for peace, and prayed it would work.



(the tip jar is a kitty for reasons)
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
This is [personal profile] thnidu's commissioned continuation of In the Forest.
He was still following her. Keita didn’t know how that was possible, but every time she paused, moments later, there he was.

He was far too comfortable with the woods. People had tried to come after her before – first before the world started getting strange, and then later, their reasons less clear but their hunting no more skilled. None of them had moved like he did.

His feet fell with no noise. He broke no twigs. He left – when she double back – almost no track at all.

And he was still following her.

aldersprig: (Lyn Calenyena Rin)
[personal profile] thnidu responded to yesterday's post by asking me to create the sentence "I made a sentence". So!

laar, I

taar, you, subject

taarte, you two, and so on.

baar, he/she (person pronoun)

baarrte, those two, and so on.

archaic: baan, baante and so on (she, a group of only women).

gaan, it (animal/thing pronoun)

laanaan, me

taannan, you-object (taannante, you two and so on)

baarnan, her/him

gaanran, it-object.



Okay, phew, there's pronouns, so.

I made a sentence

Make, to create, to craft: Tair (this word, from an old word meaning "skill," which can also be seen in -tairook, "with care" or "with practiced care. Throwing something together or making something that isn't perceived as needing skill is died, from diedie, toss, this from the same root as dudiedah, tumble, from the loss post.)

Sentence!

we start with

iekiek, this exists (See also iekiekyent, a known fact.)

tel-, that which voices

teliekiek, that which give voice to an existing thing

telkiek

Need a break for some tea...




(This is the part where I need a punctuation to suggest the beginning of a sentence in my con-script, since I don't have capitals.)

Laar telkiek ezhtairak: I sentence (past tense)-make-(subject agreement)
aldersprig: (unspoken)
From [personal profile] thnidu's prompt here in honor of the Things Unspoken landing page

They called it the Unburnt Tree. In Corthwin, which had burned thrice in known history, and, from the records in the places not yet rebuilt, appeared to have burned at least three times before they began counting such things, there stood an Ash Tree. It was unbelievably tall - the tallest thing in the city - and incredibly wide. And nobody built within a hundred meters of its spread in any direction.

They called it the Unburnt Tree for good reason. By all indications, the tree had been growing for longer than Corthwin had stood. In a city which had burned so many times, in a land where massive forest fires had once ranged, the Unburnt Tree stood. When the Empire had taken over the nation of which Corthwin was a major city, the Unburnt Tree stood, unharmed, untouched, even when the catapults flung burning pitch over the walls. When an earlier Emperor had, soon before he was quietly helped to the next life, sought to eliminate sources of "superstition" throughout the Empire and ordered the Unburnt Tree cut down, the axes had bounced off.

What was more, scions of the tree or seedlings grown from its seeds, all of those that survived to be saplings or larger took on the properties of their ancestor. Now, surrounding Corthwin, there grew a wall of trees, some no thicker than a finger, but all of them bearing the promise: the world might burn, but these trees would not. And, what's more, all those who sheltered under their leaves would be safe.

The Unburnt tree could not protect all of Corthwin. But with its children, it could protect the people.
aldersprig: (unspoken)
First: Prince Rodegard Visits the Imperial Capital

Previous: The Merger of Railways

To [personal profile] thnidu's commissioned continuation
.

Rodegard knew he wasn't considered the brightest candle. He was big, enthusiastic, and sometimes clumsy - "like an overgrown puppy," his father liked to say. His skills didn't help, either: even though their nation desperately needed it, being good with the earth was considered a low skill, a dumb skill.

But he could read which way the river was flowing, and he could see the spaces where his minder wasn't saying things. He let the train roll by. He let his breath steady. He watched Kneginja Esedora watching him.

"So you're preparing me to be Empressina Nadia's consort." He found the idea neither terrified him nor thrilled him nearly as much as it should.




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 ;-)


aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
After Itty Bitty Package ane Courier Duty. To [personal profile] thnidu's commissioned continuation.

Want to bring a specific more, please to my attention? Go here.



Pregnant? Pretza was unsure if she was more surprised at that or at his correct assessment of her as female. It must be the way she was carrying her package, against her stomach and chest and under her clothes.

It was a gift, and she should not kick the tires on a gift rover too much. "Sir." It was no trouble at all to make her voice sound tired or stressed. "I need to get -"

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Where everyone with any sense needs to get, of course. Orion Free Territory is just over that hill. But there's a Corbetian contingent between here and there, girl. And you may not be my daughter, but I won't hand you over either way."

He took her hand. "This way."



Tip Package ;-)
aldersprig: (BookGlasses)
(reference: http://gosimpsonic.tumblr.com/post/54091186115/roll-them-bones)

The Meme

Today's prompt is from [personal profile] thnidu: Rolling the dice.


Oh ho ho I could go so many... okay, two or three ways with this.

The first that comes to mind is the literal. I have, like any good pen-and-paper gamer, a bag full of dice, most of which have more than six sides (I have some D4s because they amused me; I don't think I've ever used them in a game).

The thing is, although I've been playing tabletop games on and off since college, and although I learned HOW when the kid down the street ran D&D for me back in high school (My guy friends who had a regular game wouldn't let me play with them. Seriously), most of my gaming career has been LARPing.

No, not like that movie. Well, maybe a little bit. (Not like the Supernatural episode, either.)

I did World of Darkness (Vampire, Werewolf, Changeling, Mage...) LARP, which wasn't boffer and was rock-paper-scissors. No dice involved! I tended to describe it, offhandedly, as "I spend my weekends pretending to be a vampire. Or a werewolf." And it really is just make-believe.

You see, I never outgrew make-believe. Other kids stopped playing with me, but I kept thinking up the stories. Once I found out I could get other people to write stories with me - or read and engage in those stories - I was right back on the playground, having the time of my life.

So rolling the dice comes from, for me, a very similar place as writing. I'm playing in a fictional world, and I love it.
aldersprig: (KinkBingo2)
"Miss Myers, when you I said I was willing to do anything..." Danny wiped sweat from his brow. He should just shut up. He kept talking. "I suppose the tone of your voice led me to think that, maybe, since you were looking for a 'personal assistant' and it was going to be work in my degree field..."

"You thought perhaps the work would either be sexual or related to business. I understand." Lilliam Myers sat down on stone wall with a practiced skirt-smoothing gesture that did not help Danny's concentration. She was fifteen years older than him and a thousand times richer and more successful. And he worked for her, and she was talking about sex. "You weren't expecting to be laying walls and mowing my lawn. It doesn't appear to be forwarding your position any, am I right?"

"Exactly." He picked up another brick and slotted it into place.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
A commissioned continuation from (I believe) [personal profile] thnidu.

After Gonna Be a Samurai

and Going to Learn How to be A Samurai.




Being a samurai took a lot of discipline. That's what the books had said. Discipline and hard work and kimono and...

And apparently it took math classes, too, history classes, watching tv shows called anime from before the collapse, and, peh, being nice to all his fellow students. Even the silly ones.

And it took listening to Miss Ascha as if she were his sensei. Which, Austin supposed, she really was. And that meant more math and history and geology and, well, more being nice to his fellow students.

He bowed very politely to Sianna. If she wanted him to learn how to waltz, well, he guessed he was learning the waltz with her.



I don't have a strong mental image for Austin yet (except touseled light-brown hair), but Sianna looks more or less like this

Want more words, or just really like this post? Drop some money in the tip jar!


(the tip jar is a kitty for reasons)

Profile

aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Default)
aldersprig

October 2017

S M T W T F S
1 2 3 4 567
8 9 10 11121314
15 16 1718192021
22232425262728
293031    

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Oct. 17th, 2017 10:06 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios