Archive | January 2, 2012

Giraffe Call Mid-Way Summary Two

It’s been another busy week of Giraffe Writing. I’m nearly done with the second round of prompts – if didn’t leave a second prompt, please feel free to stop by and do so!

Here’s what I’ve written in the last week:
First Week Summary (LJ)

The Call (LJ)
The Linkback Incentive Stories (LJ)

Fae Apoc
Warning Buzz (LJ)

A Very Dragon Xmas (LJ)

Wishing a Merry Christmas (LJ)

Aunt Family
Welcome to the Family (LJ) (Evangaline)
Tell me a Story (LJ) (Rosaria)

Tir na Cali
Cali Novel 15c (Lj) [Beta]
Best Present Ever (LJ)

Truth, Beauty (LJ)
Let Nothing Ye Dismay (LJ)
Always wanted a Pony (LJ)
Goodbye for Now (LJ)

Space Accountant
Lucky Day (LJ)

Made from Words (LJ)
Miss Midas (LJ)
Gift-Wife (LJ)
The Truth, and Hair-Pieces (LJ)
A Star in the East (LJ)

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The Truth, and Hair-pieces, a story for the Giraffe Call @trueform

For @TrueForm’s prompt.

The fairy godmothers were duking it out in the break room. The princess’ christening was just days away, and they could not come down to the required seven gifts.

They had manged beauty, fairness, level-headedness in a crisis, dexterity, charisma, and an eye for beauty, but on the seventh gift, two of the oldest fairies were in disagreement.

“Give her the ability to see dishonesty,” Nichanni insisted, throwing a right hook with a surprisingly strong arm for such an elderly-looking woman. “Every Queen needs to know when she’s being lied to.”

“Give her Truth itself,” Lisalind insisted, ducking the right hook and kicking at Nichanni’s knees. “She does not need lies, which will poison her. Speaking only the truth will serve her well.”

“Every ruler and politician needs to lie sometimes,” Nichanni sneered. “What good will she be if she can’t tell the awful Duke of Arnual that his hairpiece is believable? Or tell the Queen of Ottino that she believes their peace treaty will last?”

“And perhaps what the country needs is a different kind of ruler! Would the Duke of Arnual continue to wear horrible hairpieces if anyone had ever told him they were, well, horrible? And surely the Queen of Ottino would respect truth better than soft lies?”

“And what could will it do her to be always honest if others are still lying to her? Ottino, again. They lie easier than some people breathe. Would a sweet thing that was always honest understand that sort of prevarication? You’re foolish, Lisalind, and you always have been, you old flower-petal.”

Fidennertophilio stepped in before things could get to the pulling of silver-grey hair. “Both of you. Give her a compass in her heart that points to the truth. She will always know how to speak it, and always see when others sway away from it. And the Duke of Arnual’s hairpiece is, indeed, an awful thing.”

And thus it was that the Princess was gifted with beauty, fairness, level-headedness, charisma, an eye for aesthetics, a compass for truth, and a true hatred of all hairpieces. War with Ottino was put off for another generation, and many men suddenly found their bald pates revealed.

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The Gift-Wife, a story for the Giraffe Call

For skjam‘s prompt.


It was not the e-mail Hank was expecting to see in his inbox. Any other day, he would have deleted it as SPAM, but there had been that contest he’d entered a few months back. He hadn’t thought it was for a wife, but, well, there’s been a long list of prizes (he’d been interested in the IPad more than anything). So he clicked.

The e-mail, once read, looked surprisingly legitimate, especially considering the all-caps hysteria of its subject line. Go to this place, present ID proving that he was, indeed Henry John Christchurch, collect mail-order bride.

There had to be a catch, of course, but the attached photos were of a very lovely woman, dark-haired, exotic looking. From some country up in the frozen north, he was sure, and, more than anything, he was curious how they’d pull off the swap. Present him with some ugly girl and say she’d had a hard time since she left her homeland? Tell him that the picture was only representative?

Mika, it said her name was. Curious to see who he’d really meet, Hank packed an overnight bag and drove to the location, a couple hours outside his hometown.

The sleek businessman who greeted him at the door confirmed all of Hank’s suspicions. This was some sort of scam, some sort of time-share-thing. Wife-share? no, that was something else. Hank let the suit lead him into a posh conference room, and sat to wait.

The girl who came to meet him didn’t look like the photos; if anything, she looked prettier. Beautiful. Stunning.

“My husband,” she murmured, in accented but comprehendible English. “Will you take your bride?” Indeed, she was even dressed in a white dress, the sort of beaded confection Hank’s female co-workers drooled over.


Yes, yes was the appropriate answer. She was gorgeous. She was perfect. Hank hoped she could cook; he’d never gotten beyond burning beans-in-a-can himself.

So married they were – the sleek suit provided a priest – and Hank took his Mika home. She could cook. She could clean, although she did better directing a cleaning service. She could also, it appeared, work, and had US citizenship, and soon had a job which kept her out late and meant they were back to eating burned beans and take-out. And she could, much to Hank’s surprise, fuck like a demon, like a wild thing, and no matter what late hours she kept or how much pizza they ate, Hank remained deliriously happy. No matter how much more she earned then him, or how the house slowly became hers, not his, he stayed happy. No matter how tired and worn-out he seemed to feel, and how she seemed to grow more and more lively, Hank stayed happy.

And died happy, a smile on his face at the funeral and his lovely wife radiant, sniffing gently into her handkerchief.

Mika missed this one. He’d been sweeter than the most, though the papers had suggested he wouldn’t be. She waited a month before she called her broker, the slick man in the suit, and murmured to him, quietly, in Sweedish, “it is time to begin the Gift Delivery again.”

She’d always found it appropriate that, in Swedish, “gift” meant “poison…” and “wife.”

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Wordcount 2011 by the nubers

(a goal for next year: have more useful, consistent categories)

I was asked about my 2011 wordcount.

Then I discovered I only had my numbers back through May, so this is my wordcount May through December.

Total – 330,890 words
“Non-Addergoole” – 138,791 words (this may be low)
Cali Novel – 21,728 words
Words for money/money making – 42,139 words
Stranded novel – this is listed as 48,170. However, I made 50K
Ag Bonus stories (incomplete) – 2,267 words

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Merry Kinkmas! Tentacles & humiliation, 2 stories of Fae Apoc for @Rix_scaedu

From my card, center row, “G” and “n.” for a block of “center three, rows one and three” for Rix. (the free square picked at random from [community profile] kink_bingo‘s communal cards

100 words each, Fae Apoc

Content warnings: …slavery, drugs, confinement, humiliation….

She groaned against the pacifier, her fingers brushing against herself. The sensation – that wasn’t numb, not at all – jolted through her. She writhed, shuddered, and tried to make enough noise, grunting, whimpering, as she moved her fingers in circles.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, sending a shock of pleasure through her. “Maybe a little help?”

“Mm?” Help?

“Here, feel this??”

Feel… “Mmm!” Something, something wrapping around her leg. A tentacle? It felt like it, strong and a bit wet. Then her other leg, forcing them apart. Around her wrists, binding them together. Inside her, slowly, fore and aft.

Humiliation (situational)
“That’s it,” he murmured, as the tentacles penetrated her, stretching her hymen but not tearing it, pressing inside her, pulling against her throat. “Keep your eyes closed, pretty. Keep the plug in your mouth, keep mewling for me.

She did. She didn’t have any choice, nor did she want to stop. She moaned in wanton pleasure, spurred on by the little whispers of praise. “Good girl. That’s my good pet. You’re a wanton little animal, aren’t you?”

Animal. The embarrassment, the degradation, was delicious and horrible. You belong here. You belong like this. Nothing more than a creature. His creature.

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