Call For Making Me Write Prompts i.e. Whip Cracking Prompts

And it is now time for me to close this request to new prompts and keep writing. *glares admonishingly at self.*

Back on 13 June last year I ran a prompt request with the goal of funding a new laptop for myself.

I still owe my prompters and sponsors two stories. Both are part written.

One is at 4,729 words and I think closish to completion but I have had many attacks of the 'bright shiny new idea!' in the last seven months, or so, and I think I need whip cracking to get this done.

If you give me a prompt I will write you 250 words on your prompt and 250 words on the outstanding June stories, working on the 4,729 story first.

It is now Saturday afternoon my time. I will close this request for writing slave drivers when I log onto my computer on Monday morning my time.

I will guarantee to write one prompt per person. I may be able to write up to one prompt per person per calendar day (that's by my count).

Aside from no erotica and no fanfic, I need to be in the mood for one and we will assume that I don't know enough about your favourite characters to write their fanfic for the other, there are no themes for this prompt call.

A Cleansing Interlude (Possibly Part 1)

I wrote this in response to jeriendhal's prompt, and I though we were going to touch on mind control or something (my apologies again to Lady Melanie), but what do I know?

It is, for those who read Nai, a quick, tiny glimpse into the future.

The courtyard house still a rental but they were in, and cleaning was underway. The bedrooms we were using, mine in the main house and Master Que’s in the east house, were habitable but we’d be eating out for a day or two yet until the gas plumber, the water plumber, and the electrician had done some unexpectedly necessary things in the main kitchen. For now we were cleaning the old classroom that was going to be the training room.

Our bedrooms had some advantages on the cleaning front. They’d had furniture in them that the, hopefully, soon to be former owners would be removing so we’d been able to move that to ground floor rooms, thus clearing our spaces and making it easier for their removalists in the long run. That had removed a lot of the dust, right there.

The large room had stood empty of furniture and floor coverings for who knew how long, and dust was everywhere – it even filled the cracks in the floor boards. When I looked, not just glanced, there were dusty cobwebs hanging from the ceiling far too high to be reached with any brush or broom. Dust even clung to the walls, painted plaster and varnished wood both.

I looked at my broom, dust pan, brushes and cloths.

I quailed.

It would take days.

It’s dust. The thought had the same tone I gave the mental voice of Wu Jen when I read Thoughts from the Floating Mountain and his other books.

I put the brushes down and took up a gi opening stance. I can do dust.