Challenge #00972-B241: A Ghost of a Chance
callmegallifreya - have some spook
Challenge #00961-B230: One Gloomy Evening in a Dimly-lit Tavern
recklessprudence - Dwarfs are all male because it’s more convenient that way.
Challenge #00957-B226: Obligatory Baby Adventure
http://outofcontextdnd.tumblr.com/post/127351161618
“Dwarven baby sleeps like anvil. Wait shit, that is anvil. Where is baby?”
Hroogar the Mighty removed the swaddling to make certain. Yes. It was the actual anvil that she used for the head of her war-hammer. The handle lay innocently right next to Nagdar the Sorcerer’s staff, where it would get looked over by the casual eye.
Hroogar breathed deeply and slowly, lest she fly into a berserker rage and lay waste to everything she could see. For all she knew, that qualification also included the infant dwarven scion currently in their alleged care.
Think.
Look.
Take stock.
Nagdar was doing his meditation, doubtless preparing explosive runes. Elwyn the Bard was noodling some meditation music on her lyre. Which Hroogar was secretly glad of, for a change. It kept her mind together. Beltar was on her prayer mat, doing her daily devotion to the moon goddess.
Which left Tantethra suspicious by her absence.
Hroogar tasted the air. Finding only the slightest hint of the Rogue’s scent. Of course. Tantethra used all sorts of unguents and oils to obliterate her smell. Hroogar used every inch of her barbarian instincts to find the path of not-smell and obscured footprints that marked Tantethra’s ghostlike passage.
Which lead her to a meadow where, apparently, Tantethra had taken off most of her clothes so she could cuddle the baby.
The very nearly undressed baby.
“There, now,” Tantethra cooed. “Much better, hmm? You needed a little sun for that poor, red bottom, didn’t you. I told them. Fresh, clean water and a little sunshine and skin-to-skin cuddles. It’s aaalllll you needed…”
“Warning be good, too,” rumbled Hroogar. It wasn’t often that she got the drop on Tantethra, so she enjoyed the moment.
“What’s the point of warning you?” Tantethra pretended to be entirely un-bothered. The effort lacked much. “You’d only stop me.”
“You wanting cuddles, you say.”
“I did. You said no.”
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Challenge #00954-B223: Careful How You Wish…
(Discussing being granted superpowers, Person #2 doesn’t want them)
Person #1: I’m sorry, but whether you want to or not… this is something that is going to happen. The next time you fall asleep-
Person #2: Then I just. /Won’t/. Sleep.
Person #3 (Full of cheerful sarcasm): That sounds like a solid long-term plan!
Irde glared at Bianca. “No. No. This isn’t a solid wish.”
“You did use the words ‘I wish’, said the Djinn. What she had been doing an a Chianti bottle had to be anyone’s guess. “And your wish is my command.”
“Ah! I didn’t just say ‘I wish’, I said ‘sometimes I wish’. The qualifier itself means that it’s not a permanent state of wish.”
“Is there such a thing? I don’t think wishing is a state of being…”
“You’re not helping, Bianca.”
The Djinn blushed. In so far as a creature made of night and smoke could blush. “Er,” she said. “I… um… didn’t hear the ‘sometimes’ part.”
“Can I retroactively wish you had better hearing?” Irde tried. “Trust me. Nobody really wants to wake up with that kind of power. Okay? Can you un-grant things now?”
The Djinn frowned, brought out a thick tome and paged through it. “Uhm… er… actually,” flip, flip, flip. “Yes. I can do that for you. If you wish that I had better hearing in the past. That creates an alternate reality where the -ah- misheard wish is never granted. And I can make sure you remember this little side-reality. For free.”
“Sounds like a deal to me,” sighed Irde. “I really wish you had better hearing in the past.”
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Challenge #00950-B219: Sailor Fey
Grab another one!
http://thepreciousthing.tumblr.com/post/121702150607/finding-flight-okay-but-imagine-a-medieval
Most sailors feared to go near the Siren Pass. Beyond, they whispered, were shores of gold where the waves broke with pearls and gems as sea foam. Where untold riches and wealth awaited for anyone who could actually survive the pass. Here, there be mermaids. They decorate the rocks with foolhardy sailors who chance too close and fall victim to their song. Their bones, anyway. All of them picked clean and bleached white with sun and salt.
It’s said that they make jewelry out of sailor’s teeth. Only one sailor has been able to confirm that as fact.
They call him Anton l’Fey. Whispers about him say that a faerie cursed him with an inability to love. Some say he has never been interested in the pleasures of the flesh. Most captains trust him to haul their crew home from the bawdy-towns.
But Captain Kale had other plans for Anton. Plans that were about to come to fruition.
They anchored well out of range of the Siren Pass. Every man on the ship had to report to the shackles underneath. Anton was trusted with the keys and, not unkindly, gagged each man and wadded his ears with cotton.
The sails were set. The small ship only needed someone to steer and, of course, weigh anchor.
The latter of which took a significant amount of time, and required lashing the wheel into place.
By then, the sirens were swarming. Singing their seductive songs and wantonly displaying themselves for all who cared to look. Anton sailed on, his eyes on the distant breakers of the Golden Shore.
Their singing was very nice, but it wasn’t worth wrecking the ship for. And the lyrics offered no temptations for him. He sung a bass counterpoint, containing his lack of understanding for the world of so-called normal men. About their need to grasp and lust for people and things alike.
The mermaids changed their song. They used to be kind, and save drowning sailors. But when their kindness was too often repaid with assorted manly cruelties, they changed their tactics.
The mermaids did, indeed, bedeck themselves with jewelry of teeth. And they also displayed the scars where randy, ravening sailors had bit them. They took what had hurt them and made it something beautiful. Or at least, more beautiful than the things the sailors had done.
He’d have to tell the Captain that mermaids were nice people if you could keep your hands to yourself and your pants buttoned.
The Golden Shore was, indeed, golden. But it was not made out of gold. Pearls and gems were suspiciously absent from the shining sands.
It would have been an entirely disappointing trip if it wasn’t for the spices.
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Challenge #00936-B205: An Ace Up Her Sleeve
(Since we can do this, let’s try a different post)
Pick a prompt from one of these:
http://thepreciousthing.tumblr.com/post/121702150607/finding-flight-okay-but-imagine-a-medieval
“You fool,” crowed Master Magistar. “You thought that underwater level was a simple defensive measure!” He cackled in his usual, evil manner. “I filled that labyrinth with pure Love Potion! You cannot hope to defeat your one, true love.”
“Watch me,” said Aiana the Mighty unsheathed her rapier point. “Have you nothing else to defend yourself with, wizard?”
He bared a little of his bony chest. “The love you feel for me won’t let you harm me. Go ahead. Do your worst.”
Aiana the mighty aimed and lunged without another thought. Piercing him straight through his black heart.
“But… the love potion…”
“Doesn’t work on one who can not love,” Aiana smiled. “In your next life, do look up the words ‘aromantic’ and ‘asexual’.”
“…impossible…” he croaked. It was his last word.
She cleaned her sword and set about breaking his spells across the land. Some later sang that it was her sword that held magic against him. Or some piece of her armour. Or a charm or a blessing or even a curse.
But the truth is, sometimes, you need the right kind of hero.
[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00932-B201: We Are Magic
Person #1: C'mon!
Person #2: No.
Person #1: Aww. Please?
Person #2: No. There’s no such thing.
Person #1: But you’ll never know if you have magic powers until you try!
Person #2: *sigh* Fine. Abracada-[Words in a dead tongue, strange lights from nowhere and levitating off the floor]
What Debbie and Angela didn’t know, of course, was that it was all a trick. A light show, mostly. And her limited skills in telekinesis for the levitating objects.
Cassie kept one eye half-open, waiting for someone to throw water on her or nail her with a pillow. No such luck.
Angela somehow got her hands on a knife. She was sobbing, “I’m sorry, Cassie. I’m so sorry.”
Cassie dropped the act in a cold second. “Whoah, whoah, whoah. I was just playing with you. It was a trick. I swear.” She hurriedly invented some mundane explanations for her prank, including sibling intervention.
Thank goodness her own telekinesis skills didn’t allow her to lift herself off the floor, yet. She could explain her rising a few centimeters as standing on her tip-toes.
Mom had been right. Mortals were dangerous playmates. And some tricks must never be shared.
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Challenge #00931-B200: Bunkmate From Hell
In the name of it’s late and eventually we both want to sleep, I agree to that deal.
“You ever really think about cats?” asked Sam. “You know. Really think about cats? Like they’re a solid animal, but they act like a fluid and they can expand to fill the space they want to take up…. And the super-fluffy ones always shock you when they’re wet because they’re all like those hairless skeleton things underneath all that fuzz?”
“WILL. YOU. SHUT. THE FUCK. UP?“ Alex demanded. “It’s eleven fucking fifty pee em. Can we PLEASE go to sleep before fucking tomorrow?”
“Y’know I read somewhere that if you cut a cat’s whiskers short, they get super disorientated?”
“I would sell my soul to make you shut up, right now.”
In an almost cartoony puff of smoke, the Prince of Hell appeared. “That could be arranged.”
“Dude,” said Sam. “Am I high or did you see that too?”
“Okay, fine,” said Alex. “I want to be able to make her,” she thrust a rude thumb in Sam’s direction, “sleep when I want her to. Only sleep. No death. No fucking sleep apnea, somnambulance, or talking in her sleep like she was awake. Just sleep and only sleep. Got it. Oh. And I want to be able to wake her up, too. No fucking around on that side, either.”
“…fucking lawyers,” grumbled the devil. “You will be able to command your friend to sleep. And wake. In return for your immortal soul.”
“Fine. Great. Let’s do this.”
What she got was a clicker that glowed in the dark. Alex immediately added it to her keychain before she tried it out.
“Dude,” said Sam. “Are you really responsible for geese?“
…clikit…
Sam’s head hit her pillow with a satisfying thud.
Peace. Beautiful. Wonderful peace.
“Er,” said the devil. “You do know that your soul is mine to torture for eternity, right?”
“You try bunking with Sam for four years,” sighed Alex as she made herself comfortable. “I’ve already been to hell…”
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Challenge #00925-B194: The Feel When No Sex Life
http://thentheresthisspazz.tumblr.com/post/123284811011/mythological-creature-aus
Last one!
If you’ve already done them all, your challenge is to write a prequel to one of them
[AN: Last one, haimaee :3 ]
The social scene is really fucking awkward. So many of them expect so much of you and you never know who wants what until you’re rejected. And it hurts. It hurts worth than starving.
I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I really don’t. I come on strong and they run away. I try the gentle approach and they leave the club with someone else.
It’s like I’m invisible.
Or worse than scum.
Hi. My name is Kylie and I’ve been a succubus for three months.
If I was a guy, I could call myself ‘incel’ and have people to talk to about it. But no, I’m a girl. And that just makes me a ‘loser’.
I get bitter when I’m hungry.
And I am very hungry.
Yeah, you think being a succubus is fun, right? All the hookups you can eat? An absolute buffet of meaningless sex?
Wrong.
Try doing any of that when you’re like me. A little too chubby. A little too dark. A little too not-hourglass. A little too hairy. A little too nerdy, but never nerdy enough.
Even the pube-bearded trilby-wearing pick-up artists won’t fucking touch me. And I previously believed they were desperate.
No, seriously. It went like this:
Him: “You would look fantastic if you just dropped a few pounds.”
Me: “You’re absolutely right. You got any tips? I hear vigorous sex is a great fat-burner.”
Him: (Long, boggling stare) “You’re a creepy fucking slut.” (runs away)
And that’s the closest I ever got to eating properly.
And before you ask - no, I can’t just roam the streets waiting for someone to try raping me. I need actual lust, not a desire to “put me in my place”. I’ve tried it. It’s just not satisfying.
But the good news is, the rapist population of my area has hit rock bottom. There’s something about finding dead male husks drained of all life force, every single one with their dick out, that makes people think twice about raping.
Going to nerd cons in costume is not as effective as you might think. Especially the game cons. I get the nerd quiz to see if I’m a fake geek girl when most of the time these idiots wouldn’t know Duella Dent from Steampunk AU.
If I can’t answer their quiz, I’m a fake geek girl and get ostracised.
If I can ace it, I somehow just read that on a wiki to impress them and I’m still a fake geek girl.
If I know more than they do, I’m a fucking poser.
I can’t win.
Not even on OK Cupid. I don’t know. Maybe “Succubus seeks lust” is too forward.
[Muse food remaining: 5. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00924-B193: Witnessed
http://thentheresthisspazz.tumblr.com/post/123284811011/mythological-creature-aus
Doot doot.
If you’ve already done all 7 by now, your challenge is to cross over two of the prompts into one.
[AN: OK for future reference and my current incompetence, I’m using a checklist.
[ ] (In/Suc)cubus
[X] Siren
[X] Werewolf
[X] Cursed animal
[X] Dragon
[X] Frog
[X] Vampire
thank you for your patience with me. Oh, and haimaee? Here’s more]
“No. Just no, okay? Francis Drake did not write Shakespeare’s plays. Elizabeth the First didn’t write his plays either. You know who really wrote them? William fucking Shakespeare! The whole ‘mystery’ about the authorship was started by a bunch of little gits in Eton who wanted to believe that only blue blood is capable of creating real art. They didn’t want to admit that William Shakespeare was an unwashed commoner who came from parents who could barely read!” Ed came to a panting halt. His normally pallid face held the vaguest hint of a blush. And since he never blushed, Courtney could guess that this was a source of agitation. “And he didn’t write the fucking Bible either. He was a fucking atheist.”
“Wow,” said Courtney. “You don’t even take history. Why so bent out of shape about stuff that doesn’t even matter?”
“Because it keeps happening. You don’t want to believe that black people built the pyramids, so you say aliens did it. You don’t want to believe that the same people who sacrificed humans on pyramids in South America were the ones who made the Nazca lines. Aliens again! You don’t want to believe that the son of a couple from Snitterfield not only wrote those magnificent plays, or coined half of the language you use to deride him… so you say someone else did it for him.“ Another pause so that Ed could recover his breath. “It’s everywhere. And I am sick of it. I want to stop people shitting on his art for as long as I can live.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because he was my boyfriend! He was bi, an atheist, and the most gifted person with words that I have ever met. I only wish I could have convinced him to…” sigh. “Fuck.” Ed slumped back into his chair. “Please don’t call anyone about that, okay? I don’t want to spend another century in an asylum.”
Courtney boggled. “Another?”
“Every time I let it slip that I’m a vampire, they lock me up and I spend fifty to a hundred years trying to convince them that I’m telling the truth.” Ed sighed. “They’d probably dope me up and tie me down for years before they tried talking to me.”
“You don’t… kill anybody. Do you?”
A very sharp-toothed grin. “I used to keep pigs before I discovered coconut water. Thanks. That’s always the first question.”
“I’ve seen you in the sunlight…”
“Only underfed vampires get hurt by the sun. Coconut water. I literally live on the stuff. And before you ask, no, I do not get hurt by silver. It’s gold that hurts a vampire. Can’t be corrupted, so my kind has no defense.”
“I can’t use you as a source for my paper, can I?”
“No, for some reason, history professors really hate the people who lived in it.”
“Probably because you keep telling them they’re wrong.”
“That’d do it.”
[Muse food remaining: 6. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]