An odd story start
Nov. 13th, 2022 03:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lissalysikanAs most of my most recent posts may have indicated - I have gotten back into writing stuff. I think I have recovered from whatever brain-farts made it harder than it already is from being non-verbal autistic. BUT.
While working on a story line that I believe is really good (no comments about wishful thinking!) my brain decided to give me an idea based on tales my Mom told me when I was little. I can't see where it is going, but I'm going to drop it here. If you like it, or have ideas where it could go - feel free to comment :)
“Your world has nothing for me.” Aisha caressed Michael’s cheek. “I am a child to them and nothing I say or do will change their minds.” She smirked. “What few of them have minds.” Digging her claws into the back of his neck, she pulled his head down, then bit his lips with tiny fangs when he pursed them for a kiss. Once she drew blood she released him. “Gold? I have more than I can ever use. Technology? It only works in your world. Clothing? Do you really want to see me all covered up in animal and plant fibers? I can look any way you want me to without killing something to get there.” Caressing his cheek again as he licked the tiny holes she’d made in his lips, she smiled softly. “The thing that puzzles me is why you would want me there - or even to be there yourself. It’s an empty shell of a world with little dolls pretending to be people but following rules that don’t make sense. Tradition? Pftt. You change your minds every few hundred years and ridicule your ancestors for their choices. Then your descendants do the same to you. No, my love, I can’t join you there. I will visit you as often as you wish, but it will never be home to me. It can’t be, since it would never accept me.”
Looking into Aisha’s huge emerald eyes, Michael ran his fingertips over the side of her face. Running a thumb over her tiny lips, he pulled the lower lip down to smile at the tiny fangs and even smaller, kitten-like, teeth between them. Tipping his head down, he kissed her flattened nose. Looking into her eyes again, he ran his hand up the side of her face to stroke her long pointed ears, grinning as she moaned and squirmed beneath him. He tangled his fingers in her long curly hair, lifting her white face up for another kiss. “I understand. I don’t want to, but I do. I’d stay with you, here, but …”
“You would die way too soon. You can only live a hundred years, give or take a nap time.” She smiled up at him. “The times between will be long, but I’ll have you for much longer this way. Your hundred years will be as five hundred to me, and it’s all about me. Remember?”
Michael laughed and lifted his body a little to smile down at the small fae he’d been pinning to the forest floor. “You remind me every time I try to consider myself. I know I’m your toy. I believe you have strong feelings for me, as I do for you, but,” he shrugged. “You cannot live there and I cannot live longer in either place. It was more wishful thinking than a real suggestion. Giving you a few hundred more years of pleasure, even in bits and pieces, is more than a man can usually expect to do for one he loves. That gate …”
“Is not always there. Very few men pass through it, and fewer still survive it. You are the first I’ve heard of that did not regret it.” She grinned up at him, her dark green lips parting a little. “Although I suppose most men would not speak of the things they find here. Well, except when drunk, but who believes the stories of drunks?” She scrunched her face in as close to a frown as she could manage. “Do not be the drunk that tells tales of Faerie. Wait for me, do not pine for me.” Giggling softly, she amended, “you can pine for me, but not in public. And when you get drunk, think of the whiskeys we will share when we meet again, not of the times in between.”
“Are you sure you can travel to my world even when the gate is not there?” Michael reached to the side to pick up a flask of brandy and wiggle it in front of Aisha’s face. “You don’t have this.”
“No, we don’t. We don’t have beer or stout or whiskey or weed or … so many things you make to get you through your lives without murdering each other. Don’t turn this into a comparison of our worlds. Don’t make this parting hurt more than it needs to. Do NOT make me regret caring for you. Look forward to when we can meet again.” Aisha looked up at him with pleading eyes. “It will be a long time for you, I know - maybe five or ten years. It will be longer for me - fifty or a hundred years. Do not leave me hurting for so long.”
While working on a story line that I believe is really good (no comments about wishful thinking!) my brain decided to give me an idea based on tales my Mom told me when I was little. I can't see where it is going, but I'm going to drop it here. If you like it, or have ideas where it could go - feel free to comment :)
“Your world has nothing for me.” Aisha caressed Michael’s cheek. “I am a child to them and nothing I say or do will change their minds.” She smirked. “What few of them have minds.” Digging her claws into the back of his neck, she pulled his head down, then bit his lips with tiny fangs when he pursed them for a kiss. Once she drew blood she released him. “Gold? I have more than I can ever use. Technology? It only works in your world. Clothing? Do you really want to see me all covered up in animal and plant fibers? I can look any way you want me to without killing something to get there.” Caressing his cheek again as he licked the tiny holes she’d made in his lips, she smiled softly. “The thing that puzzles me is why you would want me there - or even to be there yourself. It’s an empty shell of a world with little dolls pretending to be people but following rules that don’t make sense. Tradition? Pftt. You change your minds every few hundred years and ridicule your ancestors for their choices. Then your descendants do the same to you. No, my love, I can’t join you there. I will visit you as often as you wish, but it will never be home to me. It can’t be, since it would never accept me.”
Looking into Aisha’s huge emerald eyes, Michael ran his fingertips over the side of her face. Running a thumb over her tiny lips, he pulled the lower lip down to smile at the tiny fangs and even smaller, kitten-like, teeth between them. Tipping his head down, he kissed her flattened nose. Looking into her eyes again, he ran his hand up the side of her face to stroke her long pointed ears, grinning as she moaned and squirmed beneath him. He tangled his fingers in her long curly hair, lifting her white face up for another kiss. “I understand. I don’t want to, but I do. I’d stay with you, here, but …”
“You would die way too soon. You can only live a hundred years, give or take a nap time.” She smiled up at him. “The times between will be long, but I’ll have you for much longer this way. Your hundred years will be as five hundred to me, and it’s all about me. Remember?”
Michael laughed and lifted his body a little to smile down at the small fae he’d been pinning to the forest floor. “You remind me every time I try to consider myself. I know I’m your toy. I believe you have strong feelings for me, as I do for you, but,” he shrugged. “You cannot live there and I cannot live longer in either place. It was more wishful thinking than a real suggestion. Giving you a few hundred more years of pleasure, even in bits and pieces, is more than a man can usually expect to do for one he loves. That gate …”
“Is not always there. Very few men pass through it, and fewer still survive it. You are the first I’ve heard of that did not regret it.” She grinned up at him, her dark green lips parting a little. “Although I suppose most men would not speak of the things they find here. Well, except when drunk, but who believes the stories of drunks?” She scrunched her face in as close to a frown as she could manage. “Do not be the drunk that tells tales of Faerie. Wait for me, do not pine for me.” Giggling softly, she amended, “you can pine for me, but not in public. And when you get drunk, think of the whiskeys we will share when we meet again, not of the times in between.”
“Are you sure you can travel to my world even when the gate is not there?” Michael reached to the side to pick up a flask of brandy and wiggle it in front of Aisha’s face. “You don’t have this.”
“No, we don’t. We don’t have beer or stout or whiskey or weed or … so many things you make to get you through your lives without murdering each other. Don’t turn this into a comparison of our worlds. Don’t make this parting hurt more than it needs to. Do NOT make me regret caring for you. Look forward to when we can meet again.” Aisha looked up at him with pleading eyes. “It will be a long time for you, I know - maybe five or ten years. It will be longer for me - fifty or a hundred years. Do not leave me hurting for so long.”
