bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-09-08 11:05 am
Entry tags:

Attila the Hungry and the Ravenous Hoard: A Poem

Attila the Hungry sits on a throne of bowls

Each one a trophy of his offered meals

Noodles and rice dumplings and eggs and tofu

With beef and pork and chicken and shrimp

Topped with squash and sprouts and bamboo shoots

Attila the Hungry leads his Ravenous Hoard

To battle with hunger and starvation

All around the world, wherever bellies rumble

The Ravenous Hoard raises money for food

Even in their own hometowns where we’d like

To think there is no hunger or starvation

The Ravenous Hoard will work at gardens,

Farming up crops of produce for Attila

And proudly bringing home the spoils of war

Their Plowshares have been beaten into swords

To fight off riders on black horses and their scales

The Ravenous Hoard follows Attila the Hungry

Because he feeds them lots of tasty food

But also because he leads the way forward

To when nobody goes hungry ever again.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-09-07 05:55 pm
Entry tags:

A Copernican Revelation

We are not the center of the great wheel of life.

We are not the hub

Around which the vast system-wheel turns

We are the spokes

Which give it the shape to function

We are not special or unique or God’s Elect

We are not the gem

In the center of the crown jewels of Eternity

We are the links

That underpin them with strength.

We are not alone in the universe in life or sapience.

We do not stand on

Eden’s lonely island, the sole heir

We do not hold our

Solitude as divinity granted by an absent deity

We reach out our hearts

Knowing we will find brothers and sisters

Hoping they will find us

Building bridges and drawing plans

For the day we discover,

Lessening our ponderous inertia

Singing into the stars

By the arcane forms of some deep

Copernican revelation

We are instead the soul aire.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-28 04:06 pm
Entry tags:

54 and 16

It's been 54 years since a man had a dream
On the steps of a temple to freedom
It's been 54 years since he called out for equality
And 49 years since they shot him.

It's been 16 days since a girl paid attention
Outraged and saddened at it
It's been 16 days since she protested hatred
Just 16 days since she was hit

People keep moving the end of the race
People keep dying for taking a stand
People keep killing just to save face
And the red of our blood stains the land

Remember now, it's been 54 years
Since 1963
Since a man and a dream and a speech
About one day being free

Remember now, when they say that it's done
Lost to the past oh so far.
It's been just 16 days since a girl who believed
For her belief was killed by a car.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-24 05:18 pm

Trick or Treat

 Prompted by [personal profile] elaiel for my "doppelgangers/clones/impersonators/evil doubles" square of Origfic Bingo


“Trick or treat!”

“Hola my little boys and ghouls,” Zita said, smiling warmly through the skeleton paint on her lips.  “What have we here?  A scary vampiro, a pretty princesa, a strong vaquera, and… a stormcloud?”

“I’m Darkmatter!” piped the child from his mass of black and grey painted craft batting.  “I’m going to rule the world!”

“I’m sure you will,” Zita said, stifling a laugh.  “Just be sure to keep an eye on Lord Vlad here, you wouldn’t want to have to fight him, right?”

Vlad was a foot and a half taller and mostly looking bored.  “I’m already slated for minion duty,” he said.

“Well, that’s how it goes sometimes,” Zita agreed and scooped a serving of candy into his bag.  The princess and the cowgirl each got a scoop as well.  Then Zita pulled out a felt bag with a giant dollar sign on it.  “Would the villain prefer the lootbag?”

“Wow!  That’s a great prop!” said the mini-villain as he took the loot bag full of dried banana coins and fruit jerky cash.  “Where’d you get that?”

“From me,” Dacia rumbled in her Nimbus-shifted voice.  Zita let her smile split wide and eerie as her girlfriend wrapped strong arms encased in slick shadows around her waist in a hug that would seem to swallow her whole.  “Muahahahaha!”

The kids shrieked and ran away, and Zita felt Dacia kiss her cheek as she pulled the door shut behind the departing trick or treaters.

“Thank you for staying in with me on Amateur Night, Honey.”

“Of course, Babe,” Zita said, turning to hug her back as Nimbus dropped to cat form beside them.  “There are lots of heroes out there to keep the slip-ups in line, but I only have one girlfriend.  It’s not a hardship to keep you company if you aren’t comfortable going out.  Besides, I love Halloween and you come with special effects!  Nimbus is much more comfortable to hug than painted batting.”

“Oh you think this is funny now,” Dacia snarked.  “But just wait until a little Quest doppelganger comes along.”

“I’d be flattered,” Zita said firmly.

“You weren’t the one who got shot with glitter water,” Dacia said, pulling a face.  “It was horrible.  It took months to get it all out of the lair.”

The doorbell rang again.  Dacia and Nimbus stepped back to one side.

“Trick or treat!”


Zita's skeleton makeup looks like this:

Day Of The Dead, Colorful, Make Up, Mexico, Tradition

(Photo credit: Pexels on Pixabay)

Dacia-as-Darkmatter looks like this:

People, Shadow, Dark, Night, Smoke, Black And White

(Photo credit: StockSnap on Pixabay)

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-23 01:50 pm

Bingo Updates

 Well, we're getting quite close to the end of the month, so lets's review the bingo status!

Cotton Candy Bingo- the bingo card is almost to a perfect checkerboard bingo, just missing "Seeking/Finding Love" and "Meeting in a Treehouse"

Works for Cotton Candy Bingo are:New Nights is in the Calamity Johnson and Chicane line of SuperQueers, and is available for purchase at $13

Origfic Bingo- the bingo card is close to a one-line bingo down the middle, just missing "doppelgangers/clones/impersonators/evil doubles"

Works for Origfic Bingo are:If you'd like to prompt something for "Seeking/Finding Love", "Meeting in a Treehouse", or  "doppelgangers/clones/impersonators/evil doubles", please let me know!  

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-23 01:43 pm

Ears to Hear

Filling my "Ears" square for Cotton Candy Bingo, and my "physical imperfections" square for origfic bingo.

EDIT: Much thanks to[personal profile] kengr for pointing out a mistake in my spelling.


Zoe Keener-Riley had only been famous an hour and she already hated it.

It was the ears, oddly enough.  It wasn’t her phytokinesis, it wasn’t her cutting edge research on genetically modified plants, it wasn’t even her relationship to the Sentinels,  the midwest’s largest supergroup.  Helena Riley, more widely known as Doyenne, the super strong leader of the Sentinels, had basically adopted Zoe after a mission went horribly wrong and Zoe’d been left alone, but honestly they were almost all like parents to her.  Except Uncle Perriot, who probably shouldn’t be responsible for a goldfish.  Zoe would at least partly understand if it had been voyeristic celebrity gossip that garnered her more than fifteen minutes of fame.  But no, nothing as normal as that.

Nope.  What catapulted Zoe Keener-Riley into fame was her ears.

Specifically, her hearing aids.  The bright purple hearing aids made by Chop Shop the robotic Sentinel for her when she got pissed about how long the wait list for new ones was and came to the base to whine to her mother.  Some idiot had snapped a picture and made a meme and suddenly her life went to shit as she stood in the eye of a hurricane of opinions on how people should and shouldn’t wear aids.  She hated it.

“I went into lab science for a reason!” she complained.  Nobody had much sympathy, but that’s what you get when you’re raised by famous people.

“At least try to read a fan letter,” her mother urged.  “We get some really nice ones.”

“I’ve done nothing to be famous!” Zoe yelled in frustration.  Rolling her eyes she snagged a letter from the stack.  “Fine.  One letter.”

“You’re trying,” her mom said.  “That’s all we’ve ever asked.”

She sat in the reading nook and read.

Dear Miss Zoe,

I’m eleven and four months and I’ve worn aids since I was four and ten months and I think your aids are pretty.  Purple is my favorite color, and I like the swoopy thing at the back.  It looks like jewelry, but not like any jewelry I’ve ever seen.  Where do you get them?  I want pierced ears, but Mom says I have to wait until I’m sixteen.  She did say I could put rhinestones on my aids though, as long as I don’t block the battery part.


Kathy Waller

Zoe smiled and grabbed a piece of paper.

Dear Kathy,

Thank you for writing me.  I like purple too, and the swoopy bit makes the aids more secure on my ear, and spread the weight out a bit.  Chop Shop made them for me, and zyr style is pretty close to Art Nouveau.  You can find loads of art resources for patterns and ideas in books of Art Nouveau costumes.  If you want to, I’d love to see a picture of your new aid-style.


Zoe Keener-Riley

She read another letter, and then another.  Kids with aids, kids with canes, kids with wheelchairs and arm braces and all manner and form of equipment.  Each one asking for connection, for family, for comradery.  Ironically enough, for an ear to hear them.  After her hands cramped from replying, she realized she had a new hobby.  A quick trip to Chop Shop’s personal programmer Shikoba got a request for a website to help these kids connect not just with her, but with each other.  A week in, and the gallery was already teeming with photos of mods, templates and stencils, and the chat board had a thriving thread on aids for disabilities made by the disabled.  

It may have been the ears that made her famous, but if it helped kids feel heard, she would take it.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-22 02:16 pm

Hostile, Paranoid, and Okay

Update: I think this fits my "Sad/Upset" square for Cotton Candy Bingo, and since I don't feel like writing more sadness on a fluffy bingo, we're using this.


Daniel Brody wiped the last of the greasepaint off his face and double checked his reflection before getting out of his car.  Good, he didn’t look a thing like Gloom.  He did NOT need to be bringing that into his day job.

“Hello Marsha,” he said to the receptionist.  “Everyone ready for me?”

“Yes,” she scolded, “which you’d know if you were on time.  It’s 1:32.”

“You know I’m terrible at schedules, Marsha,” Daniel said, opening the door.  “I’m pretty sure it would spook people if I showed up at 1:30 on the dot.”

“Damn right it would,” growled Breaker.  The former villain-gang member was doing amazingly well at smoothing out his anger issues, but his manner would probably never dip below ‘dangerous but well meaning’.  That was okay, Daniel didn’t ask his patients to be perfect, that worked well for exactly nobody.

“So Doc,” Willy the Weasel started.  “We were talking before you got here about the difference between reasonable precaution and paranoia.  I’m pretty sure some of the stuff on the pamphlet I got from you last week isn’t actually that applicable to me.”

“What sorts of stuff?” Daniel asked.

“Well, it says here that “symptoms of PPD may include concern that other people have hidden motives, and thinking that they will be exploited (used) or harmed by others” but I legit know people want to use me.  I can’t help it, that’s my power, seeing hidden motives.”

“What sorts of things does your power say about me?” Daniel asked.  It was a risk, asking Willy to turn his truth-vision on someone with a hidden life, but he cared more about helping the guy figure out what he needed.

“You want me to get better, so I can be happy and maybe not break so many laws,” Willy said instantly.  “I scanned you before I agreed to make this a regular thing.”

“And that’s super creepy and paranoid!” snapped Horns.

“Hey,” Daniel said firmly.  “What’s our rule about judging?”

“We don’t do it,” Horns sighed, running his hand over the curling ram horns on his head.  “Sorry Weasel, I just feel really weird that you go around using your powers on people without asking.  I didn’t exactly like the last guy who did that to me.”

Willy looked abashed.  “I’m not ever going to do that to you, Horns.  I know what going up against Protectorate did to you.  That guy has some nerve calling himself a hero, when he messes with people’s heads.”

“Moving on,” Daniel said, before he could get angry again over Protectorate’s abuse of power.  “Willy, why do you feel that those symptoms don’t apply to you because of your powers?”

“Well, because it’s totally normal not to want to let people use you,” Willy said.  “I’m no doormat, I’m not going to stand there and let people hurt me with a smile on my face.  No offence, Tommy.”

“None taken,” replied the professional submissive mildly.  “I’m always the one in control when I do that.  I’m here because of the time it got really badly out of control.”

“I agree with you, Willy,” Daniel said.  “It’s normal to avoid people who mean you harm.  You don’t have to interact with people who want to use or abuse you.  But what you have isn’t so much a fear that people might hurt you, it’s a fear of going outside because people out there do want to hurt you.  The irrational part, the paranoia, is rooted in excess.  You don’t just avoid the individuals causing you harm, you also avoid people who care.  That’s why I suggested this group.  Your paranoia comes from, and in fact could itself be, a wonderful tool for survival.”

“Well, what about my ‘hostility problem’?” Hobble asked.  “I got plenty to be hostile over.”

“Well, who have you hurt with that recently?” Daniel asked bluntly.  Hobble preferred not to be “handled with kid gloves” as he put it.

“Some asshole who tried to bust up Attila the Hungry.  Nobody makes my favorite Mongolian barbecue joint pay protection.”

“Hah. Serves 'em right. Good luck walking now, suckers!” crowed Breaker.  “See, that’s hostile, but I’d say that’s okay. Everyone eats at Attila's, it's one of the only places that has an all you can eat option for supers.”

“I agree,” Daniel said.  “For people who start farther back, getting halfway to finish is a major milestone.  You all make me so proud.”

“Even if we’re hostile and paranoid?” asked Horns.

“We’re hostile, we’re paranoid, and we’re okay,” said Tommy firmly.

They certainly were, Daniel thought.  It summed up his practice perfectly.


Daniel Brody/Gloom: Antihero supernary, using highly trained skills in psy-ops to keep the East Coast criminal element from feeling too comfortable.  By day, he works as a moderator for group therapy and peer counseling, specializing in former and reforming supervillains.  His focus sometimes brings him into conflict with heroes, because of how some of his clients have been hurt.

Breaker: a supervillain with a destructive strike, he worked with gangs busting up places and things, but he quit when his boss asked him to turn that power on a person.  He has trouble communicating and several issues from time in prison, but he’s recovering well.

Willy the Weasel: a professional middleman, Willy ended up with the ability to sense people’s motives after an incident transporting something for a psychic villain.  He suddenly realized the actual motives of the people he worked for and had a breakdown.

Horns: an active supervillain with bighorn ram traits.  A clash with Protectorate gave him PTSD and he’s trying to recover from that, although he has no plans to stop his life of villainy.  He’s actually from Montana, but scarcity of mental health for villains who want to remain villains has driven him to Daniel Brody’s Massachusetts practice.

Protectorate: a superhero in Montana with empathic powers who uses them to “reform” villains by manipulating their subconsciouses.  Sometimes this works, allowing a smooth transition from villain to civilian, but more often than not he has to throw more weight into it than is healthy and it crosses into brainwashing.

Tommy: a professional submissive dealing with PTSD from a scene that went exceptionally wrong.  He likes the villain group because they don’t care he made his living being slapped, and people closer to societal norms tend to.

Hobble: A former villain who joined Daniel’s group as a part of parole years ago and never left.  He’s now much more of an anti-hero than anything, and he uses his magnetic field power to temporarily “chain” people’s legs together as his primary way of handling conflict.  Cops dislike him because it’s nearly impossible to undo until the next sunrise and that makes prisoner transport hard.  Criminals dislike him because the fields are strong enough that some people injure themselves fighting it, and a few people lost face when they peed their pants.

Attila the Hungry: a Mongolian Barbecue restaurant that caters to people with large or unusual food requirements. They have three grills, one for regular foods (no restrictions), one for vegan food, and one for Halal and Kosher foods. They supplement their ingredient buffet with donations from their fan club, the Ravenous Hoard, who do way more than just receive emails with coupons, including hold bake sales at Attila's and spend days out at the community farm that supplies them. All their
All You Can Eat buffets come with a free registration to join the Ravenous Hoard.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-22 01:03 pm
Entry tags:

On the Path of Totality

Warriors may ride on a Path of Vengeance
Paladins may ride on a Path of Divinity
Bards may ride on a Path of Chance
But I ride on the Path of Totality

A dark shadow is crossing the earth
A specter has hidden the sun
The dragons have eaten the light
Apophis is finally come

Warriors may ride on a Path of Vengeance
Paladins may ride on a Path of Divinity
Bards may ride on a Path of Chance
But I ride on the Path of Totality

A loud ringing sound breaks the sky
A fight is yet again won
The light will burn back all darkness
At the strike of a drum

Warriors may ride on a Path of Vengeance
Paladins may ride on a Path of Divinity
Bards may ride on a Path of Chance
But I ride on the Path of Totality

Hope springs eternal in human hearts
A power invested in fun
Ra is reborn as each day's new promise
Is more than our sum

Warriors may ride on a Path of Vengeance
Paladins may ride on a Path of Divinity
Bards may ride on a Path of Chance
But I ride on the Path of Totality
bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-21 10:40 pm
Entry tags:

Solar Eclipse

 I went to watch the solar eclipse, it was AMAZING.  The drive out to the path of totality was a bit rough, fortunately I was on a bus with the Linda Hall Library group that was going, so I didn't have to drive or navigate!  Score!  Once there, we set up and began the wait (we arrived early, so there was a bit, but we got prime spots on grass) and chatted among the group.  I was happy to see that so many families had brought their kids, one girl had even been pulled out of her first day of kindergarten because her parents wanted her to have this once-in-a-lifetime chance to see a total solar eclipse without breaking the bank globe-hopping.

Our spot was by a mall, so when the heat got too much, we ducked in for some AC, and wow, the East Hills Shopping Center of St. Joseph is not joking around!  They had a live band, one of the best Blues bands I've heard in a while, the Frank Ace Blues Band, they had planetarium tours (those filled up fast, sadly, but it was cool to know they had it even if I wound up not doing it) and a BUNCH of sales on, and most stores had a special deal if you showed your eclipse glasses.  I hit up the Topsy's Popcorn for limeades (extra cherries and they did not skimp) and popcorn, and watched the celestial show.

Of course, not everything was perfect, but I can't really dock points from the Library or the Shopping Center for the rain.  Even with the cloud cover, much of the eclipse was visible, and during the full totality the sky went an early-night shade of dark in a matter of minutes, leaving the faint, perfect circle of the sun's corona visible through the clouds.  The entire horizon lit up red and gold like a sunset, and the air lost maybe 20 degrees Fahrenheit for about five minutes.

All in all, a wonderful experience. 
bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-17 10:22 pm

Under Cover Fashion

Filling my "Costumes" square in Origfic Bingo and my (misread, honestly, I thought it said 'intimates') "Intimate" square from Cotton Candy Bingo.


Nzinga Marton opened her shop at exactly 4 am every day, rain or shine.  She set out bolts of Dyneema and Kevlar under the special recessed lights, she tweaked the fall of the mannequin's capes, and then she flipped her porch light on in silent invitation.  Her store wasn’t exactly advertised, nor was it what you’d call well-traveled, but her clients were loyal and they paid well.

Well, as long as she didn’t ask any questions.

Like why Sanaa “Sunshine” Thompson, the Channel 7 meteorologist showed up at 4:15 needing a replacement set of UV blocking rip-stop gloves.  Nzinga knew exactly why she needed to stock that particular shade of gold satin finish that looked exactly like Solarflare’s skin.  She also knew that nobody would benefit from her outing the solarpunk superhera.

As Sanaa was browsing the new boot selections, the doorbell rang and Nzinga let in Daniel Brody, smelling faintly of gunpowder and mournfully presenting a trench coat to her.  “Can you fix it?” he asked.

“As long as it isn’t mutative or biohazard.  I don’t repair anything damaged by suspicious liquids.  That’s how Pinnacle Designs got shut down.”

“No Ma’am,” he said respectfully.  “Standard issue nitroglycerin and burns.”

“Alright, make nice.  I’ll be done in a minute.”

She went in back and repaired the holes in the anti-hero’s signature coat, and scrubbed out the bloodstains for good measure.  Her talent of mending anything that could be mended with a moment of focus flared cool and slippery in her fingers, a line of spider silk weaving the world shut one inch at a time.  She carried the coat back out, took his payment and his thanks and as he left, Sally Corrigan stepped in past him, her red-blonde hair looking sun-bleached on her left.

“It’s an emergency, my last sports bra got roasted.”

“Come on in, we’ll get that fixed.  I’ve got another customer, that’s not going to be a problem,” Nzinga said, clearly not asking.  She didn’t care if Schist and Solarflare were nemeses, she just refused to have her shop leveled.

“Nope, I just want a bra.  I’m not here for anything else.”

“I have your standard order in back, it was only a matter of time before you damaged the last set.”  Nzinga sighed.  “You are awfully hard on your lingerie.”

“It’s not my fault the super elastics are so expensive!  If I could afford enough to let them rest more I would, but you know I don’t always get a say in when I’ll suddenly… have an issue.”

Nzinga hummed.  “You can’t call the fellow who helped you with the changes?” she asked.  “If you’ve still got control problems, that could be serious.”

“It’s not my control, it’s my triggers,” Sally confessed.  “I’m allergic to everything, and one strong sneeze’ll do it.”

Nzinga nodded sympathetically, because what else can you do when you learn that the local villainous troll can be undone by hay fever?  She grabbed the boxes and set them on the counter for Sally to pick a color, then rung up Sanaa’s order.  The meteorologist slipped an extra two hundred under her card.  Nzinga looked at her.

“I know the pain, and I’m looking good on money right now,” she explained, with a glance at her generous, ratings-drawing chest.  “We don’t agree, that doesn’t mean we should be petty or spiteful.  Thanks for the boots.”

“Have a nice day,” Nzinga said and as Sanaa walked out, she slid both the black and the ivory that Sally was debating into the nice white boxes.  “You’re covered, Miss.”


Nzinga Marton: Owner of Under Cover Fashion, a super boutique.  She has a minor gift for reality warping, one inch at a time, which she uses to complete near-miraculous repairs.

Sanaa "Sunshine" Thompson/Solarflare: Solarpunk superhera who transforms into a golden lightform to fly around Boston fighting crime.  By day she works as the meteorologist and weathergirl for Channel 7.

Daniel Brody/Gloom: Antihero supernary, using highly trained skills in psy-ops to keep the East Coast criminal element from feeling to comfortable.

Sally Corrigan/Schist: Transforming supervillain who primarily robs banks in her large, rocky form.  By day, she's a Geology PhD student struggling with debt and having had to go on sabbatical after the cave-in where she got her powers.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-16 11:50 pm

Grandmother's Trunk

 Filling my "Locked Trunk" square for Cotton Candy Bingo, and my "kids/kidfic" square for origfic bingo.


Grandmother’s Trunk was a store on the edge between the artsy district and the part of town where nobody had much money.  Although, nobody in the artsy district had as much money as the people who bought the art from the galleries, either, so money wasn’t really the divide.  According to Selby’s Great Uncle Tim, the only real difference was that the people in the tie-dye and high-necked sweaters could probably have money if they just wore suits and got jobs.  Selby didn’t think that was really how the world worked, and if it was, it shouldn’t be.  She was very focused on how things should be, since an intelligent twelve year old was just young enough to be unable to change things, and just smart enough to know someday she would have to, because Great Uncle Tim wouldn’t be around to snort about change forever.

That was part of why Selby loved Grandmother’s Trunk.  They supported the idea of kids wanting to change things, and they did their best to package up the good parts of Before so that people could carry them into After, without dragging along all the junk that nobody wanted.  Selby liked to go in on weekends and work in their Community Trade.  It was a fun program, do some work cleaning or sorting the new things that came in that week, then get store credit to buy something small, or save it up for something big.  Even kids could do it, since they weren’t paying cash and you didn’t have to keep working if you didn’t want to or the dust was too much.  Selby had been saving up for a new bike, one that wasn’t pink.  Pink was an okay color, she didn’t hate it like some girls, but it was just okay.  It wasn’t her favorite and quite a lot of adults seemed to think it was.  She liked yellow best, but nobody listened, so she was going to buy a yellow bike herself.

One Saturday, while working in Community trade, Selby found a locked trunk.  It was the old fashioned kind with the round top so nobody could smash it under other people’s things.  The heavy padlock felt like the mugs that Mr. Olsen put on the display shelf above the counter because they had lead in them and he didn’t want to sell them.  Pewter, she thought it was called.  There was no key, and when she went looking through the records in the repurposed card catalog, she didn’t find a name.  It was as if it had just appeared in the store in time for Community Trade, which it shouldn’t, Miss Kelsi kept very good records and wouldn’t accept anything without a contact number in case they found your passport or something in pocket.

“Miss Kelsi!” she called.  “Where did this come from?  What do you think is in it?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Kelsi said, blinking at the trunk.  “Let’s find out.”

So Miss Kelsi pulled out the tray of dentist tools, the little curved picks that stopped seeming scary to Selby after the third time she got one caught in a sweater.  Miss Kelsi was good at lockpicking, she helped Selby’s mom get back in the house when Selby’s little brother tried to climb the door and accidentally locked the broken lock that didn’t work with any key.  She shifted the tumblers and the click click sound made Selby’s heart race.  It was like a scene in a book, where some magical artefact would be revealed and they’d go on a big adventure.  She leaned in over the trunk as Miss Kelsi pulled the lock off and opened it.  A cloud of dust puffed into the air and Selby sneezed.

“You alright?” Miss Kelsi asked.

“Yes,” Selby said.  “What’s in the trunk?”

“Looks like… a bike helmet!”


“SURPRISE!” shouted her friends.  

“Happy birthday, Selby,” Miss Kelsi said, and handed the gold and daisy yellow helmet to Selby.  “With the special event discount, I think you can afford your new bike.”

Selby hugged Miss Kelsi.  It was a wonderful birthday surprise and a wonderful birthday party at Grandmother's Trunk

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-14 08:04 pm
Entry tags:

Water Haikus

 For the "Water" square of Cotton Candy Bingo.


Water flows gently

Caressing my skin warmly

In loving soft rain


Water lifts me up

Bouyantly, I rise to float

All stress melts away


Water tastes so sweet

When I have been hard at work

Or even just been lazy


Water runs through life

We all need it to stay alive

I am grateful for it

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-13 09:09 pm
Entry tags:


For the "Wearing Pajamas all day" square of Cotton Candy Bingo.

It is Sans-Pants-o-Clock!

Ring out the bells and throw confetti,

For the accursed leg-traps are banished

To the hamper to wait for trial-by-washer.


The hour has come,

On this day of fries, to escape from our duty,

Our suits and our ties and our shoes that pinch.

The weekend is comfort made time manifest.


Now we don our lazy apparel,

Our summer-weight flannels and jersey knits

Held comfortably low on our slouching hips

By elastic and draw-strings cinched softly.


Bring out oversize tee shirts,

And bright fuzzy socks that cushion your feet

In warm fluffy down of a rainbow riot of colors

Because in Sans-Pants-o-Clock anything goes.


None shall be shamed

Nor do shame to others for choosing a sleep shirt

Or a Superman onesie complete with fluttering cape

Or even a nightgown, red, slinky, silky… with LACE!

For it is Sans-Pants-o-Clock and we’re relaxing today.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-13 07:06 pm

Do Not Write Me Poems

For the "Poetry" square of my Cotton Candy Bingo Card.


Do not write me poems about myself
Untouchable, unknowable Goddess
Don't place me on the pedestal-shelf,
Cold and untouched and loveless.
Instead, I'd like you to show me,
Wrap me in the laughter of a lover,
Tell me things I don't yet know,
Caress me gentle and tender.
It's in the touchable love you show
Me that you see my heart.

Oh, I laugh at how you name me
You laugh at how I laugh, my eyes tipped up.
Others have said like twin crescent moons,
But you call them croissants, buttery and sweet.
You open my heart with octopi pendants
And blow soft fire into my soul's forge,
Always safe and caring for the rough edges
You know I have, scars of battles past.

You do not write me poems.
You give me the pen instead.
bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-09 09:06 pm
Entry tags:

Changing Unchanging

 This was purchased by [personal profile] chanter_greenie from my Queer Writing June '17.


Words change.

Words change their meaning.

What Awful once meant was Full of Awe

Inspiring and amazing and wondrous.

Words change.

Languages change.

Common slang becomes uncommon and esoteric

And what once meant one thing can now mean something

Beyond any scope of what was intended by the first lips

To speak that word or phrase.

Words change.

Languages change.

Cultures change.

What was common but inconvenient can be

Repainted as vile and sinful and wrong, demonized.

What once was hated and feared and rejected out of hand

Can be accepted by a later people, welcomed home

With open arms and flying colors declaring love.

Words change.

Languages change.

Cultures change.

People don’t.

People are bright fires of candles and the wrath of a storm

They are the beauty of flowers blooming in a glass house

Or hiding, ready to burst out in a moment’s warmth, for now

Surrounded by freezing snow and killing winds shrieking.

People must be watched like flame and respected like storms.

Because if you do not listen when they cry out for warmth

You will kill that fragile bloom.

So words change,

And languages change,

And cultures change.

And people cry out the names they want to be called

Fights don’t change.

And every false-hearted ally of a long war

Joining at that last moment to receive the laurels and not the scars

To bear the red of ribbons not of blood,

Will use the argument of words and languages and cultures shifting

To claim their prizes over our dead

And we; the buried flowers of snow, howl like wind and burn like flame.

We will be called what we will.

We will take the names we find fitting to our statures and our souls.

We will do this whether or not

You decide we deserve it and we will always fight back against your attempt

To keep our reclaimed arrows

For the quivers of those who cruelly shot us down with them in the first place.

And our cry will echo the same

That is not a slur it is my name!

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-08 12:50 pm
Entry tags:

A truly fantastic park

 So I stopped by the park near my therapist's office on Monday, and WOW.  This is by far the best small neighborhood park I've ever seen.  For starters, it's accessible.

That's right, a park, like with play equipment and swings and stuff, is HANDICAP ACCESSIBLE.  There's a wheelchair ramp built into the climbing equipment so that people with mobility issues can reach at least half if not 90% of the play area that's above ground level.  It's not a huge ugly metal thing that gets in the way, either, it's just a neat concrete gangway sandwiched between the Pirate Ship and the Jungle Gym.  Also for those in wheelchairs is an arm-runner, one of those pedal-like contraptions placed at eye level with an adult sitting in a chair, that you can use to work out your arms.  Except, instead of being grey and medical-looking, it's bright yellow like the Jungle Gym and I saw able-seeming kids using it while standing, because it was treated like any other part of the park.

Speaking of treating accessibility like you'd treat anything else, you know those letter-boards that some Jungle Gyms have, to help kids learn the alphabet?  This park had one that was doubled below the letters in Braille.  The letters were nicely tactile, too, so feeling up the wall seemed perfectly normal.  Add to that the fact that the entrance had animal-shaped statues signing the letters W-E-L-C-O-M-E, and it felt like this was the sort of playground you find on Sesame Street.

(Actually, it felt like the sort of playground you'd find in the Terramagne setting by [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith .)

Also, the park had two structures that introduce improved social play and age-appropriate risk.  One was a three-way spring horse teeter-totter, which yes, you can use alone, but it's more balanced with two or three.  I miss spring horses, they kept getting removed in the push to kid-proof parks, and I think that's ridiculous.  A certain amount of risk, falling off play equipment, and learning not to stick body parts in machinery because we all know what happened to Jimmy's cousin's best friend, is good for kids.  But I digress.  The last structure was the best, it was a tilted circle, on which you sat and it rotated.  One person couldn't get it going that fast, but the more people, the better it worked, especially when two or more adult-sized folks got on it with the kids to maintain speed.  People fell off, it's made for that, but the ground cover was a nicely squashy rubber affair that would prevent most broken bones, and the way it was designed, you can't get dragged under.  No more the above-age-appropriate-risk of the metal merry-go-round, this sucker made you stop when your friend fell under it.  You had to stop and help the out to get to make it go again.  Isn't that great socialization?

(Again, shades of Terramagne.)

Next time I go, I'm going to bring a bucket of sidewalk chalk.  Because I think it's the sort of park where nobody will think me walking up with chalk and a request for hopscotch is that strange.  I might even chalk out the word for welcome in other languages besides English and ASL under the statues.

It's a really great park.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-07 11:37 am

Queer Writing June '17 Landing Page

 Okay, so after much finagling of numbers, here's the buy it now price list!  Everything is much cheaper than it ordinarily would be in crowdfunding, due to this not being how I originally said I'd publish (i.e. this is crowdfunded, not individual buy) and I want to be fair.

Bi Bi Birdy- A farce of two bi girls and a Winter Screw Dance.  Also, lots of puns.  855 words.  Buy It Now- $9

Gal Pals-  Lesbian erotic poem.  NSFW.  22 lines.  Buy It Now- $6

The Poly Alphabet- A poem about a polycule using an alphabet structure.  Safe For Work.  18 lines.  Buy It Now- $5

Changing Unchanging- A Poem about the reclaimation of the word Queer.  58 lines.  Buy It Now- $15  Purchased and Posted!

Saving a Unicorn- A Unicorn hunter gets more than he bargained for.  577 words.  Buy It Now- $6

Traced Lines- Martin and Kyle from Kasperov discuss family.  445 words.  Buy It Now- $5

Love Like- A poem of Demisexual and Demiromantic love.  33 lines.  Buy It Now- $8

Elegy To The Unnamed Civilian- A poem in memory of those lost.  43 lines.  Buy It Now- $11

You can buy these through my Pay Pal with a note of which you're buying.  If there's no note, I will add it to the next-nearest amount and update the Buy It Now price.  Everything here is over $5, if you wish to leave a smaller amount let me know what it's going towards anyway and I'll keep the log of these current on this post.  Remember that the "Purchase" option on Pay Pal involves a small fee from what you send, so it's a touch more effective to use the donate/give option, although I'm not a super stickler about only doing donation.  If you choose to send by payment instead, I'll grab the extra I need from my "Tip Jar" fund on Ko-Fi to finish off coin-level amounts unless I'm out of that.
bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-05 07:19 pm
Entry tags:


 This is from my month of Queer Writing that is just not resolving into a physical zine well.  All the people who were already promised a physical copy will get one, free of charge, and in the meantime, I'm putting all the remaining works up for purchase.  There will be a landing page for buying them soon.  Thank you for your patience.


Drop a hair pin,

Pick one up,

Say it quiet,

Don’t push your luck.

Wear the pansies,

And the purple ties.

Signal quiet

Beneath the lies.

The closet door

Is like a shield

On the social


Growing low,

Hiding hearts,

Snow melts

And spring starts.

Loud and proud

Can wait for then,

Until it’s safe

Find your kin

In color codes and inside jokes

Hairpins for the queerer folks.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-04 06:00 pm

Winter Gifts

 Filling my "Gifts" square on Cotton Candy Bingo

Henrietta ran her hands through her short hair.  “You’re sure they won’t mind?”

“Honey,” said Grigor, her amazing, wonderful boyfriend.  “You’ve already met Baba.  Why are you worrying now?”

“Because I haven’t met your parents yet, and they still think you’re their daughter, and I’m terrified that they’ll hate me and then you’ll hate me…”

“Henrietta, please stop,” Grigor said calmly.  “If Mama and Papa decide not to like you, Baba will call one of the Aunts or Uncles and tell them to take me.  It’s sort of the advantage of being the grandson of the most well connected octogenarian in Florida, everyone listens to her.”

“You make it sound like you’re a teen, still able to be adopted,” Henrietta sighed.  “How is it that this is so easy for you?”

“I grew up knowing that once Baba was on my side, everything was okay forever,” he said, kissing her forehead.  “Come on, we’ll miss the first candle.”

She laughed and followed him out to the car, where he held the door for her.  It was great dating someone like Grigor, he was so calm and steady, which she needed, badly.  He also adored Stella, which was requirement number one in a partner.  Stella had been Henrietta’s friend since grade school, the two were in no way going to split because one of them was dating.  She relaxed into Grigor’s side after he opened the car door to let her out.  Somehow the car trip had been much shorter than expected.

“Henrietta, come in, come in,” called Baba Osinova as Grigor rang the bell.  “You will help me with the sufganiot.  I need stronger hands to put the filling in.”

“I… but… okay,” she said as she was dragged off away from the bustle and into a small kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” said Baba Osinova.  “I had a talk with Chana and Debra, and their men are smart enough to go where they point.  Everyone will love you, but you needed some time to understand that.”

“And the cooking?” Henrietta asked.  She got the feeling Baba Osinova did absolutely nothing without a really good reason.

“I never let anyone I don’t trust into my kitchen,” she said.  “Nobody argues the right to be here once I ask you for help.  Also, you have good strong hands and I have arthritis.  The filling is here.  I’ll get the dough.”

After cooking a batch of cheese and jam filled doughnuts and taking them out, Henrietta was feeling less nervous.  She sat quietly and respectfully as parents told children the story of Chanukah, and as they lit the candle on the menorah.

“That’s beautiful,” she told her boyfriend.  “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, I love you,” he said.

“Ewww,” called a small child of indeterminate gender.  “Kissing stuff!”

“Hush, it’s cute,” scolded a pre-teen girl.  

“Be happy that they’re happy,” advised Grigor’s teenaged brother, Tomas, as he made a face  “It’s not everyday you get to see two people that sickeningly in love.”

“Hey!” Grigor protested, swiping at Tomas.  “Get back here, Brat!”

Henrietta laughed as they wrestled a bit and Grigor planted a big wet kiss on Tomas’ cheek.

“Presents!” called an uncle that Henrietta was unsure bore any actual relation to the family.  Also, she was half sure that like her, he wasn’t Jewish.  “I have gelt!”

The kids swarmed him as he passed out little bags and boxes with chocolate coins and small toys.  Grigor tapped her shoulder.

“I got you something for Christmas, but I think you need it earlier,” he said, passing her a box.

She plucked the silver ribbon off the white box and lifted the lid that had been straining it.  Open, the box held a mass of the highest quality faux fur she’d ever seen.

“This isn’t real is it?” she asked.

“Nope,” Grigor said with a grin.  “Certified dead-bunny free.  Try them on!”

She stood, somehow aware and also unconcerned about the audience she’d gathered as she slipped into the coat and hat from the box.  “It’s beautiful, I love it,” she said, hugging Grigor.  “I didn’t get you anything near as nice as this!  I thought the presents were mostly for the kids.”

“They are, and you give me wonderful gifts everyday, every time you text me in the middle of the day to say you love me, every time you send me memes that you know I’ll like.  You’re my gift, Henrietta.”

“Now who wants challah?” asked Baba Osinova from the kitchen, buying them a moment of privacy as the door was rushed by hungry guests.

bairnsidhe: (Default)
2017-08-04 05:16 pm
Entry tags:

Maker Space

 So my local Maker Space had to move (noise and smell complaints from neighbors, lack of parking, it needed to happen) and their new space is AMAZING.

For starters, the parking space is huge.  The space is on something like 3 acres of land, I think.  There's an open parking area and one that's got a lockable fence, so those of us who need to leave large projects in the lot overnight don't need to worry about random theft anymore, so score!

The building itself has a large, well-vented garage and two forges, one charcoal and one gas (I'm planning a project to build a smaller, separate forge for greensmithing to avoid pennying the bigger forges).  Then inside a little ways is a fabrication room with loads of space for messy projects and a giant laser cutter for big projects.

Up the stairs is a set of clean, well lit rooms for indoor projects, including a designated sewing lab, a kids-space, and an electronics room.  There's also a big central room with tables and stools for communal knowledge-shares and group work.  I cannot stress how amazing it is to have a big CLEAN space for crafting in a maker space.  We're not always going to be doing things with grease and Spackle and fire and metal.  I mean, we will often, but sometimes we'll be doing things that need some delicacy and it's good to have a place with no half-tacky stains of dubious origin to work around.

Then, in the basement is the store.  It's a treasure trove of all those things you'll need a few of eventually, but who wants to run to the hardware shop to buy a box of nails you'll only use two of?  It's big, well-lit, and when we went there, had kids with pet rats hanging out and I got to hold them.  Rats are adorable and I love them.

Maker spaces are amazing and important and if you can support one near you, I recommend it.