Challenge #01855-E031: Hello, Goodbye — Steemit
They say that Elves don’t age. That’s not true. They do age, just incredibly slowly. You can see it, if you journey down a particular hallway in a particular house where the city grew up around it.
They say that Elves steal children. This is a lie. They only take those who have clearly been abandoned. This Elf, once upon a sleeting autumn day, picked up an abandoned infant that had been left to die. He could tell by the way that the baby wasn’t even cleaned or swaddled. Just born, and left to perish in the woods.
He was already one hundred and fifty, by then. And to human eyes, resembled a fresh-faced twenty. He strapped the baby to his chest, and traded furs for milk, clothes, and knowledge. The humans of the village that finally accepted him came to know him. Offered to help. Built him a house. Helped it become a home.
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01844-E020: Considering Coconuts — Steemit
Merfolk didn’t want to have much to do with the surface. There was plenty more to eat under the water and they knew it. But the two-legs-like-us[1] were getting deeper and deeper nets, and something had to be done. Let’s just say mistakes were made on both sides. Most notable of these is coconuts.
For eons of Merfolk civilisation, they understood coconuts as ill omens. Something that is made to float, sinking slowly to the bottom of the sea? That was just as much a herald of disaster as -say- something going amiss in the stars is to us. And since they were found with their husks rotted off, the merfolk spun the legend that they were human eggs, rejected by their mothers. Much in the same way that humans call shark eggs a “mermaid’s purse”.
By comparison, the truth was boring, as Iiriita found out when a human caught her in their deep net, and injured her fin. She had to stay in a tide pool while she healed and the human who caught her brought her food by way of an apology. They were a shipwrecked human, Iiriita found out as their words and understanding came together. Only able to build a small boat that would not survive the first reef, and knowing that building a bigger boat would only come to ruin, as demonstrated by the decaying wreck on the sharp rocks at low tide.
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01843-E019: Reminded of the Babe? — Steemit
My mother said/ I never should/ play with the faeries in the wood… - nursery rhyme.
The fae folk had her baby. Toddler. Even though her child could walk and talk after a fashion and perform simple tasks, Esa was still her baby and would be so until the day Risso died. Which might be soon, considering that she was marching into Fae territory with naught but her apron and her rolling pin to protect her and her Esa. Well. That, and one secret weapon that she had in a sack on her back.
They let her get in. They always let you get in. It’s getting out again that’s the worry. The fae like to have sport with mortals, and making you think you’ve won is their favourite game. So it was no surprise to find herself faced with three identical Esa’s and a smug Fae making her guess which one was her Esa.
Risso hit the smug fae with her rolling pin. “I said give me my child, not fart me about,” she snapped. “You give me back my Esa and I will keep my sack tied shut.”
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01829-E005: Working Holiday — Steemit
Even divinities need a holiday. After inspiring dancers to do new and interesting things with their bodies, with their costumes, even with lighting and how they made the music they danced to - while they were dancing - even a divine force needed a breather.
But a goddess of dance must go where she is worshipped.
You could spot her if you tried. There’s just something more about the embodiment of a divinity. A glow. An imperceptible something-something that inspires everyone around them. Even on their day off. On a cruise ship. Late at night when everyone is inebriated enough to think that a conga line is a cool idea. The influence of Terpsichore is obvious. The conga line is not only in sync, but actually looks good.
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01828-E004: A Little Inspired — Steemit
Gods cling to that which feeds them. What they are responsible for, especially the performative stuff, is also their meat and milk. Thus, you might expect Erato to gain the sickly pallor of the people one expects to find in seedy adult stores, as well as the general doughy body of the assumed clientele. Such is not the case. Erato is healthy, well-traveled, and very, very fit.
Why? Because erotica is not just dicks in the bathroom and skeevy people in trenchcoats with brown paper bags and oily complexions. Because erotica is an international art. Erotica is not just doughy men masturbating to breasts on their computers. It is reams of fanfiction in which true love is found and erections lasting longer than two hours are both possible and merited. It is art of lovingly rendered lovemaking between impossible creatures. It is even in cuddle-fic, where the protagonists do little more than soak in each other’s company in front of a fireplace. Cat optional.
It is for all these reasons that Erato is a very attractive being of indeterminate gender and nationality. They are approachable, amenable, and down for whatever. This has caused quite a lot of upset to anyone in their aura. But that doesn’t stop them noticing the little things. Like, for instance, this particular dick on the wall of a cubicle in the university that Abe ‘Bubba’ Jenkins is about to quit.
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01827-E001: Speech of the Gods — Steemit
In the lack of belief, gods and demigods go to wherever their name is still spoken, written, or known. She was once such a demigod. The muse of music. She had had believers. She had had worship. Now… all she had left was her name. Calliope. And it was here that her name was given to a machine.
They counted the year as 1850. And in a steam workshop in Vermont, Alex Durry tooled around with his master’s equipment. Steam could work wonders in this world. It moved great loads. It saved lives. And, as he discovered by moving an organ pipe over a steam vent. The noise startled him, and almost made him dent the pipe. But it did give him an idea…
They had all the equipment they could need to make a prototype in this workshop… Alex got all the spare parts he could together on one workbench. Enough to demonstrate the principal. Mister Stoddard might even be pleased enough to let Alex keep the idea. But then again, that was a high hope. White folks didn’t like the idea of escaped former slaves inventing things[1]. Alex believed in Mr Stoddard, all the same. He was a good man, and had a head for useful inventions.
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01824-D363: A Slice of Salvation — Steemit
There are some songs you just can’t sing. Or bits of them that only the singer can manage. And in those moments, the rest of the world just utters a string of gibberish that sort of almost fits what’s really there. The most popular examples of this are Felize Navidad and the middle bit of One Week. There are always others. You know the ones.
Alek was in the middle of some intricate design for a customer when one such song was playing on the radio. And since he loved to whistle -and more- whilst he worked, the gibberish came out just as he finished the red-toned circle. There was something of a bang, if one could use such a bland, four-letter word for the cacophony of noise that resulted.
The cake was ruined, and there was a confused someone standing in the middle of it. Despite the horns, the fangs, and the general redness of skin, as well as the soot and grime of burned brimstone, their face was an open book and the current page said, What the fuck? They took in the scenery of the back room of a cake shop, the sprawled figure of Alek, and the general mess that was once a very pretty cake and said, “Uhm… who… dares summon me? Please?”
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01814-D353: A Deal's a Deal — Steemit
“Anything your heart desires,” said the lord of all evil. The standard contract was not only long but in incredibly myopic print. The only legible words were, sign here. “All for one little thing that you’re not even certain could exist.”
“I only want one thing,” Marvin said, signing his name in blood. “A good friend.”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Oh… kay? Eternity of torment after you die for… a friendship?”
“Well, I don’t have anyone at all, so… yeah. Worth it.”
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Challenge #01794-D333: An Argument Against Paradise — Steemit
I could only think of all the shitty things that had happened to me in my life. The horrible things people had done to me that could have plausibly had a laugh track along with it. The awful mishaps that would be played with a ‘wah-wah-wah’ trumpet. “Was I funny?” I asked.
The deity was still waffling, “I mean, there’s different kinds of entertainment, you know. Edutainment, for instance. I can learn so much from– Pardon?”
“Was I funny,” it was not a question any more. It was an accusation. If I was going to Hell for challenging my God, I might as well go down fighting all the way. “Were you laughing? Was I your joke? Was I even a good one?”
Support me on Patreon!
Challenge #01792-D331: No Werewolves on the Moon — Steemit
Welcome to Tsiolkovski crater. No lycanthropes need apply. The second sentence had been added by a graffiti artist of no repute and was faded in the unrelenting sunlight. Lupe bunny-hopped past it on the way to the colony.
If this was what passed for jokes in this space-town…
She found the nearest airlock easily enough. Its signage was clear and maintained against the bleaching effect of raw sunlight. Air rushed in, but Lupe didn’t take off her helmet until she got the green light and the interior door opened. Customs and Immigration on the moon was four times as paranoid as the TSA in its heyday.