kittyatakeyboard

[kittyatakeyboard]

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Life upon a living island is not as alien as you at first might think. Yes there is a lot more focus on maintaining the environment, but only because to tear down forests or rip up great chunks of stone would cause the creature such pain, it threatens to submerge itself deep and drown those on its back in an attempt to save itself.

Finding a young island without its own colony of people is rare, but a collection of brave souls will venture out and inhabit it, forming their own colony in the hopes of thriving.

When Islands meet, they stay together for as long as possible, drawing out the rare event, giving the humans living on their back time to mingle, fall in love and cross over to the other island. The larger the island, the longer this passing time might last: from just a month or two, until almost a year.

living islands

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It is early morning. The scratching of a little paw on the door wakes me up, and I get up to feed the small fluffy cat her breakfast, as I switch on the kettle and perform my morning rituals in the early Dawn greyness. Sometimes, my quiet activity wakes a half-sleeping child, and they join me in putting overalls and a thick coat on over pyjamas, as I trudge out into the yard.

I let the hens out of their house, collect eggs, check on the lambs in the barn, and lead the goats into the milking shed. Most of the time, I milk alone, sometimes I have an early riser to help me, but it doesn’t matter, I am finished in time to return to the house, where breakfast is being eaten, and I can sit down and join them. There is some last minute rushing, as one child or another has misplaced something, but we still have plenty of time to talk as we slowly walk up the hill to where the bus will collect them for school. I walk back alone, and busy myself with other chores: weeding the vegetable patch, checking the hatchery, clean water troughs for everyone, more sand in the sand box for the hens.

I come back into the house, eat lunch and do my small, obligatory amount of paperwork and book keeping and checking for orders. I prepare and take any orders with me when I drive down into town, handing them over to the postwoman in the office. I get more feed: both for us, and for the animals, then stop in to have a cup of tea with a relative. The eldest child calls me: he has picked up the younger ones, and is waiting for me to pick them up at the market place. I say goodbye and walk down, before we drive back home. We all sit at the kitchen table with snacks and drinks and homework: they have theirs, I have mine, and it is good to sit together even if it is in silence, knowing that they need only look up and ask, and I will offer any help I can. Sometimes we sit like this for over an hour, sometimes we barely sit ten minutes, and sometimes, when I can feel the emotion radiating out of one of the passenger seats, we skip homework at the table entirely. On days like that, we stop inside only long enough to swap school uniforms for denim and wellies, and do evening chores.

Animals are fed pellet and grain, hay feeders are refilled, water troughs checked, goats milked, formula mixed and lambs bottle fed, firewood chopped and carried inside, goats and hens put away as daylight begins to fail. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they work in silence, but after hours squashed into a crowded classroom and made to sit still and pay attention, they finally get to move, to feel their muscles work, to be in the quiet where the only noise is that of nature and animals.

Chores done, dinner eaten, and curling up on the sofa with a book: the final ritual before everyone climbs under the duvets and blankets to sleep.

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Lucy Lawless was not a particularly burly woman, but somehow she made Xena seem like a fucking tank and I don’t understand how.

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if your female character doesn’t look like she has lived the life she leads and you can’t get a sense for her actual personality by looking at her because you’re too focused on making her pretty and perfect and palatable it’s bad character design and you should feel bad

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“why does that character have to be queer?”

why not?

“why does that character have to be trans?”

why not?

“why does that character have to be a poc?”

why not?

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“write the exciting parts you WANT to write then work backwards!” is probably good writing advice for people with good working brains and not caveman idiots who will go “ooh fun part done me not want write no more” aka ME

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My mood currently.

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“Maddie, we are not putting that on our tree.” “The deal was that you gotto pick the tree, the kids got to decorate it, and I got to put the topper on.” “Maddie, I’m sorry but that is a rag bundle.”

Taylor eyed the bundle of badly sewn fabric scraps Maddie held almost protectively. None of the fabric was particularly new, and while it was clean it was faded badly. It was an angel, body made from cotton scrapes in a myriad different colours and patterns. The dress seemed to be made from a checkered blue and white tea towel. The wings were wired, and another tea towel, this one green, had been used to make them. A braid of long fabric lengths had been braided together and sew on just above the join of the wings, from which the angel could be hung from the top of the tree.

In total, the angel was maybe ten inches tall, with a wingspan the same. It was also ragged and dirty beyond the ability of being washed clean, if it could have survived such an ordeal as a trip through a washing machine.

“Look, it was my family’s. It has history. See, this singe here is from Lawrence set the christmas tree on fire one year by accident. I know it’s a bit ragged and old and dirty, but you made a promise.” “Okay fine, put the damn thing on the top of the tree, just know I’m never giving you choice of tree topper ever again.”

What goes at the top of your OC’s Christmas tree?

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Resources For Fantasy & Mythology Writers

Designing A World

City and Town Name Generator

How To Create a Believable World

Fantasy Religion Design Guide

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The Language Construction Kit

Fantasy Name Generator

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Writing Fantasy: Tools & Techniques

Fractal World Generator

Creating a Magic System

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The Pocket Watch

It seemed an odd inheritance, though my grandmother had been an odd woman. An ornate pewter pocket watch with a matching chain, yet it had no clip on the other end, making it useless as a pocket watch. Yet it still ticked, never losing or gaining a second, never needing winding up or a new battery, and changing by itself when the clocks went backwards or forwards.

It’s box was plain pine wood, stained dark by time, in which it lay on a velvet inlay moulded perfectly to both the watch and the chain, yet even the inlay had no trace of a space meant for a clip. When i first recieved this upon my grandmother’s death, I thought almost nothing of it. I was one of seventeen grandchildren, born to her third son who had been one of eight himself, so I had hardly been expecting something grand or a large sum of money.

The watch had come with a simple note, in an unsealed envelope tucked inside the box. It had been written in my grandmother’s hand.

“To whomever this watch falls into the hands of, I warn you against ever removing it from it’s case. It will never need polishing or repairing, so if you must insist on not letting it sit in some forgotten corner of your house, display it within it’s case. Do not under any circumstances place it in your pocket and use it for it’s intended function. And under no circumstances let the chain fall around your wrist with the watch open on your palm.”

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the suffering never ends

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"So you're an unqualified nurse that has access to everyone's health information?"

"I'm going to get requalified soon, during the spring. Just have to do a week's retraining and then a couple exams, won't even take a month. It's all booked and my bags are even packed for it, it's unlikely I'll need winter clothes in the next three months even with windy autumnal nights."

"Do you not have a proper doctor here? Or a proper medical area?"

"Doctor no, medical cabin is currently in the process of being built. It's just a bit difficult to get the kit to fill it with, but it'll be useful as a quarantine if nothing else."

Jack nodded slowly, feeling slightly worried that he was being told all this. Kidnap victims that see their captors faces are usually screwed, to be told this much about the camp was either him being fed lies or a certainty that he would never leave this place alive.

"Its getting to be about time for the meeting to start gathering, we can get there early and Arya can explain all." Nathan suggested after a glance through the window. The midday sun had just about passed over making it early afternoon.

-

The afternoon sun was not as warm as Jack expected, the wind cutting through his thin, borrowed clothing. Nathan threw a thick woolen blanket around him which halved the effect but didn't halt it completely to his dissatisfaction.

There had been no windows showing it, but there was a street of cabins spaced comfortably either side of a cobbled road, which stretched much further than the cabin's did in either direction. Behind one lot of cabins was forest, behind the other was what looked like farmland and then forest. Each cabin seemed to be of about equal size along the road, with a small section of garden that was mostly grass and stone planters of hardy but colourful little plants.

Nathan lead him down the cobbled street, which was only about wide enough for one car, of which there seemed to be none. He did however see a few other people: through windows, tending the fields, and one on horse back clip-clopping down the cobbled road in the other direction to them. The lady astride the horse was bundled up warm and gave them a friendly smile and nod as she passed them.

The cobbled road ran out at a large circular shape, in the centre of which a stone firepit, which a double bed would have just fitted in. Here there were larger buildings. A stables built along one wall of a huge animal barn, the open door of which allowed Jack to see penned up cows, sheep, goats and pigs with a few chickens loose among them; backing into the fields. A half finished building about cabin size, which he assumed was the medical cabin, in line with the end of the road. Between medical cabin and barn was a large cabin, two stories tall and big doors which where firnly closed; the function of the building difficult to guess. A grand three story tall wooden cabin with its back to the forest, flying a flag Jack had never seen before of a silver tree on pale blue background.

It was through this door that Nathan led Jack, into a moderately sized hall. The ceiling height did not match the roof height, at at the back both a kitchenette and a set of stairs were visible. A projector was attached to the wall, but not activated. There was a desk upon which a laptop was set up, appearing to be hooked up to the projector setup.

Wooden benches were stacked against one wall, and a large volume of wooden chairs where clustered into a corner.

In the kitchenette, a woman of average height had her back turned to the door, showing off the cascade of firey red hair that tumbled down to her hips unrestrained. As they approached she turned to face them with a swish of hair and skirt, already smiling and setting down the glass jar she held. She wore a simple A line dress, made of green fabrics that matched her eyes, with dark light green panels placed in such ways they contrasted perfectly.

"Nathan, I assume this is Jack?"

"Indeed, brought him early so you could explain it all, Mind if I leave you two at it and I'll set up?"

"Bring us a couple chairs over would you?" She asked him, before refocusing onto Jack himself. "I'm sure you're more than a bit confused already. Would you like something to drink? I'm just brewing a big pot of tea for the meeting."

She turned back to the jar, from which she was spooning dried crumbled leaves into a mess ball container. The teapot would serve at least thirty cups of tea, and the mess leaf ball was tennis ball sized.

Nathan returned, set two wooden chairs down, and retreated to begin moving benches. Arya gestured for him to sit in one as she poured a huge kettle full of water into the waiting earthenware teapot.

"Now, you were attacked by a wolf and taken to hospital, do you remember that much?"

"Bits and pieces of the wolf attack I do, but not the hospital." He answered, watching her take the chair across from him. Redheads were not Jack's thing, but he could safely say he thought Arya was more than conventionally attractive.

"Have you heard of werewolves?"

"I have, in movies and TV shows. You going to tell me I was attacked by a werewolf then?"

"No, as that's highly unlikely, we'd probably know if there was a rogue werewolf running about. What I am going to tell you however, is that you are now a werewolf yourself. You were attacked by a wolf and bitten during the time in a lunar cycle where such an event will cause a were-creature to be created. You might not show any symptoms of it yet, but as we get closer to the time of your first lunar-caused transformation, they'll gradually increase in number."

Jack nodded twice before bursting out with laughter.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're going to spin some shit about me being a werewolf, probably go on to tell me that you are a community of independent little werewolves and force me to stay here?"

Arya smiled slightly, leaning back into her chair. "Mostly. We're not all werewolves, but most of us are were-creatures of one kind or another. We also get a large amount of government funding, because they don't want us running riot and causing panic in the masses, as well as our added benefits of conservation work, rescue ops in the local areas and high number of career military we produce. We also won't make you stay with us past your first couple of transformations if you really don't want to, cos so long as we can be sure you're not a danger to the rest of the world why stop you rejoining it?"

Jack blinked again, before breaking out into peals of laughter once more.

"So what exactly kindness creature are you then?"

Arya grinned, something slightly fiendish behind it which made all the mirth vanish from his body. She rolled her shoulders back and within a split second, there was no trace of a human named Arya still sat on the chair.

A tiger, big enough that it stood at eye level with him as it placed a huge paw on his chest. Claws as long as his fingers rested against him, not quite enough pressure to hurt or put holes in his clothing, but more than enough to feel all five with perfect clarity.

Then a second later Arya was stood in front of him, training her hand up to his shoulder and smiling the same fiendish smile as before.

"Okay I belive you."

Were

The werewolf is a commonly known about creature, even if most believe it to be an entirely fictional creature. What most people fail to realise is that it is not just werewolves that can be created.

If a person is bitten by any animal on the day leading to either the full or new moon, they will become a were-creature. That is any animal with a backbone. Reptilian. Mammalian. Avian. The only exception being other humans and domesticated animals. Cattle, sheep, pigs and dogs. Animals that go feral from domestication retain their inability to bite a human and turn them into a were-creature except cats. But there are many that argue, chief among them cat owners, that to call a cat domesticated it to grossly misinterpret the relationship between cats and their human ‘owners’.

Keep reading

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By the time tea was drunk and by a few who wanted it, a slice or two of toast consumed, the four boys drifted outside into the snow with Archie. They had to force themselves through the many feet of compacted snow first to the tool shed, so they could get some snow shovels, so they could dig a decent path from the front door of the house to the cow barn. Then from the cow barn to the milking shed. Jackie came back to fetch the girls to start the milking, while the boys carried on shovelling snow to get to the feed barn, bull shed, nursing barn, stables, pig stye, sheep barn and finally the chicken coop; the chickens had to be moved into a hastily made run with the sheep, in hopes it would help them keep warm. Work that should have taken an hour and a half at most, to feed all and milk those that required it, instead took nearly three due to the shear amount of snow. The girls helped out with the feeding in an attempt to speed things up, but by the time everyone returned to the kitchen they were tired and cold beyond reason.

Jackie had had ample time to prepare breakfast, which was suitably increased in an attempt to raise spirits and feed up. The remains of the loaf started earlier had since been turned into a huge pile of french toast, with a saucepan full of spaghetti hoops stood beside it on the metal table protector. A big pot of porridge with a selection of jams and other toppings around it to flavour it. Scrambled eggs, fried bacon, grilled sausages, baked black pudding, even a few fried mushrooms, all graced the table. Another pot of tea, three jugs of drink: water, milk and freshly pressed apple juice, where also scattered around the table. Places where set, cutlery neatly laid, glasses and tea-mugs in place. Many layers were instantly shed onto a myriad of hooks, books worked off and the majority of the snow knocked off them before being left to form melt-snow puddles by the door.

“Come on, sit down and eat. There’s more than plenty.” Jackie called, sitting down at one end. Her own place was void of cutlery and crockery, as always she had eaten her fill before they returned for breakfast. Her mug was only an inch from hand though.

The workers descended and started to devour her offerings. By the time everyone was finished, there wasn’t enough leftovers for a single respectable portion. The pure meat went to the cats who had only just decided to uncurl from their nook that was a cramped cupboard beside the aga which had lost it’s door and not been graced with a new one. As usual, there was a litter of kittens huddled up at the back. The slop bucket for the pigs got everything but the scrambled eggs, which Emily and Mary’s puppy got. The little puppy had been a birthday present from Jackie and Archie to their daughter, Mary. So far the pup was only four months old but he was keeping everyone amused with his antics.

The boys went back out to work almost as soon as the plates had been cleared from the table. Much more snow needed shovelling to clear the main yard so that the morning milk could be taken into town. It took a while, with the girls joining after half an hour to tack up the horses to the carts in readiness. Jackie filled several hot water bottles, brewed a flask of tea, and gave Archie an extra scarf. He and Andrew climbed up onto the front of the cart with pails loaded up carefully behind them.

While they were gone, the three remaining boys got to work mucking out where needed, and the girls returned inside to help Jackie. Mostly with washing up. Then they huddled together in the snug, with various activities to keep them occupied. Jackie had the books to go over, keeping a log of how much milk they had sent off this morning and checking to see if they would still have enough feed to last them the winter. It would likely be a bit of a squeeze and stretch, but they’d scrape by this winter; they always did.

#549: Write This Story

The first winter storm of the year dumped three feet of snow over the town.

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"Yes, yes I did. But you landed on top of a lorry that took you safely out of harm's way."

"I broke my right leg in three separate places!"

"But you weren't shot!"

"I was in intensive care for three weeks!"

"Yeah but you weren't in the morgue!"

Taylor huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She was sat propped up in a kitchen chair, leg still in a cast resting on a stool.

Writing Prompt #280: Dialogue

“Did you really just push me off a bridge?”