Archive | January 2012

‘Ware Fairy Gifts

Jan3

For kelkyag‘s prompt.

Thanks to @DaHob for brainstorming help on this one!)

Now.

Tom looked at the knife the girl had given him, if you could call it a knife. He didn’t look long; there was a monster in front of him. There had been a lot of monsters in front of him lately, since the – well, since whatever the hell had happened. The gates or something, the gods, they called themselves, the dragons and monsters pouring into the world.

“Kneel,” the monster snarled. Its breath stank of carrion, and its hands were dripping with blood. The other truckers were dead around Tom, or dying, and all he had was a wooden knife.

Three Months Past

The girl looked terrified. Tom couldn’t blame her; she was being cornered by three sleazy college-boy types who were, it sounded like, offering her all sorts of rides. From the bag she was carrying – bags, he corrected – she wasn’t looking for that sort of ride. And from the looks of her, delicate in feature, wide-eyed, and a bit fae – yes, she had pointed ears, sticking out of hair that was faintly green in hue – she might need a little help.

Tom wasn’t much of a fighter, but his size usually did him where skill didn’t. He lumbered over to help.

Five minutes earlier

“I am the God of the North Wind.” The creature’s voice reached them before he did, echoing through the parking lot. “I am the monster of your nightmares. Serve me or die.”

“Fuck that shit,” George rumbled, and loaded his shotgun.

“Fuck all these freaks.” The truckers prepared for battle.

Three Months Past

“Can I help you, miss?” Tom asked, in his deep bullfrog voice, the one his second wife had called the Don’t Fuck With This Guy tone.

“She’s fine, gramps,” Boy Number One sneered. “She’ll be fine with us.”

“Just fine,” Number Two chuckled. “Besides, you know how the fairy freaks are, anyway. She doesn’t need your help.”

“She might need a priest, though,” Number Three added helpfully. He had a knife, Tom noted. They probably all did.

“I think what she needs,” he rumbled, “is a ride. Am I right, miss?”

“A ride,” she agreed, her voice quavering. “Thank you.”

Three Minutes earlier

The creature ripped through George and Martin, their bullets seeming to do nothing more than irritate it. It looked, Tom thought, like a cross between Swamp Thing and an octopus, snarling “Kneel.”

“Fuck you,” Jake yelled, and emptied his shotgun into the thing. The thing, howling, clawed Jake’s belly open.

Three Months Past

“I told you, she’s fine, old man. Move along.” Number One brandished the knife. “Move. Along.”

“I think she’s coming with me,” he answered, letting his voice get hard. “Right, sweetheart?” He thrust an arm between Two and Three and took the girl’s outstretched hand. “You boys run along.”

Number One did not want to be stopped. He grabbed the girl by the shoulders. “The little fairy freak is coming with us.”

Tom sighed. He didn’t like fighting. “She’s coming with me,” he repeated, and punched Number One in the nose. The girl escaped in the startled spray of blood.

 

One Minute earlier

Jake was bleeding out. George was dead, and Clyde – you couldn’t live without a head. Martin was in bad shape; so were Liz and Little Mike. The guns weren’t doing anything. The fire seemed to hurt it some, but the flame-thrower had died. Tom was the only one still standing.

Three Months Past

“Thanks,” the girl murmured. “I’m Ner.”

“Tom. Nice to meet you.” He helped her into the cab of his truck. “Where you going?”

“Anywhere else?” She smiled wryly. “West and South, preferably. As far as you’re willing to take me.”

“I’m going to Minneapolis.”

“Sounds great.”

“I’ve, ah, got a hat…” he offered, tapping his own ear.

“Ack!” She frowned. “That’s been happening more and more lately. Something’s going wrong.” She concentrated, and looked normal, blonde, round-eared. “Better?”

“More human.”

The drive was nicer for her company, and it was with some reluctance that Tom let her out in Minneapolis. She smiled shyly at him, checked her ears, and offered a long wooden dirk. “Things are getting weird,” she murmured. “Weirder than me. This might help.”

How a wooden play knife would help, he didn’t know, but Tom said “thank you” just the same, and hung it behind his seat.

Now.

Nothing else had worked. Tom looked at the long knife the girl had given him, ducked under three tentacles and a pile of seaweed, and jammed the knife somewhere that looked vital.

As the monster screamed, writhing in death throes, Tom chuckled, and stabbed it again. ‘Ware fairy gifts, indeed!

~*~

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/218381.html. You can comment here or there.

Goals this week!

Jan3

Addergoole:
Format, cover, and post the remaining 4 e-books
Write 1/2 of one bonus story
Post Rix fix

Giraffe Call:
Finish all small prompts for giraffe call
Summarize
Summarize the year in Giraffe
Poke donors about their extended stories (poke)
Post poll for incentive-extended story & setting piece

Other writing:
Find a something to submit to
Write a piece for that.

Longer goals:
Addergoole:
Get caught up on bonus stories
Finish & post for sale Book One as e-book
Stamps count!!

Giraffe Call:
Figure out how to easiest store stats (cluudle?) (Inventrix has an idea)
E-book?

Other writing:
Rin/Girey Ebook
Stranded Ebook
Cali Ebook
More submissions – 1/month minimum

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/218325.html. You can comment here or there.

Giraffe Call Mid-Way Summary Two

Jan2

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)

Dragons
A Very Dragon Xmas (LJ)

Facets
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)

Addergoole
Yr?
Truth, Beauty (LJ)
Yr1
Let Nothing Ye Dismay (LJ)
Yr9
Always wanted a Pony (LJ)
Goodbye for Now (LJ)

Space Accountant
Lucky Day (LJ)

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

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/217823.html. You can comment here or there.

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

Jan2

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.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/217566.html. You can comment here or there.

The Gift-Wife, a story for the Giraffe Call

Jan2

For skjam‘s prompt.

“HENRY JOHN CHRISTCHURCH, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO RECEIVE A BRIDE!”

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.

“Uh…”

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.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/217108.html. You can comment here or there.

Wordcount 2011 by the nubers

Jan2

(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

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/217045.html. You can comment here or there.

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

Jan2

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….

Tentacles
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.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/216715.html. You can comment here or there.

Merry Kinkmas! Sensory Deprivation & Phonesex, 2 stories of Fae Apoc for @Rix_scaedu

Jan1

From my card, top row, “N” and “G.” for a block of “center three, rows one and three” for Rix. Still not sure how to get tentacles in here.

100 words each, Fae Apoc

Content warnings: …slavery, drugs, confinement….

Sensory Deprivation
As the car started moving, Yaminah sucked slowly on the pacifier, trying to calm down. The trunk was padded, comfortable, warm. It felt like a nest, like sinking slowly under water; even the feeling of the car starting and moving seemed muted.

Her lips were numb, and, slowly, it felt like everything else was going numb. The world was very warm, very dark, and surprisingly quiet. Her mind floated, set loose from its moorings. She was a balloon in the sky of life. She was a pea safe in her pod. She was right where she was supposed to be.

Phonesex / Epistolary
She floated, lost and perfectly nested all at once, until his voice murmured in her ear. “Are you there, my dear?”

“Don’t know,” she mumbled around the pacifier.

“Shh, it’s all right. Grunts and mewls are fine, pretty. Can you feel your fingers?”

She wriggled her fingers experimentally. There they were. They seemed so far away. “Mmn.”

“That’s it. Now… remember, always, that your pleasure comes at my command. Find your clit, beautiful.”

She grunted assent, as her hands moved light-years to find it.

“Do you like it, touching yourself?”

Another grunt. Yes.

“I want to hear you come, pretty.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/216264.html. You can comment here or there.

Lucky Day

Jan1

For [personal profile] haikujaguar‘s prompt; this is the character/setting from these stories (and on DW)

After “Silk” (and on LJ)

Basi was blushing as he led Genique back to the First Mate’s quarters.

“We really screwed up your Christmas, didn’t we?” he asked quietly.

“Well, you kidnapped me, kept me locked in a room for thirty-one days, took my clothes, chained me up… and gave me a job. And a pretty shirt.” she plucked at the camisole. “So far, I’m not doing all that badly.”

He stared at her. “Kidnapped, enslaved…”

“Employed forcibly. And…” she shook her head. “They could have taken out a loan. My family. My employers. My friends. I would have been good for it, over the course of the loan. And no-one did.” She smiled at Basi, even as she knew she shouldn’t encourage him. “You cared.”

“I care,” he agreed, his blush only darkening his space-bleached skin. “Uh, here’s the First’s.”

“Thank you, Basimontin.” She made her escape before either of them could say something they’d regret.

In the First’s office, she was shown to a chair, much more comfortable for the jumpsuit. “Everyone starts in the Pit,” Clyd told her again, “but I’ve got some stuff I’d like you to look at before we send you down there.”

“Stuff?” Genique looked at the piles of data chips curiously.

“Stuff indeed. We have a money leak somewhere, and I can’t find it. I didn’t sign up to do the accounts. If you can find it, I’ll give you a bonus to your salary and…” she looked at the red chemise thoughtfully… “I think I have a pair of silk socks that will match that. Never worn, red’s not my colour.”

Genique smiled slowly. She was beginning to understand how things worked around here. “I could take a look,” she agreed. “Somewhere in these chips?”

“It’ll probably take you a few days. Call it three, and I’ll set you up in the office next to mine. There’s no-one there right now.” Clyd gathered all the chips together with a reader and stylus. “Good luck.”

Taking the pile of things, Genique felt herself smiling. “I do think this is my lucky day.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/215880.html. You can comment here or there.