Measured Words

They're doing two rounds this year! And I've just been saying how I need inspiration.... I'm quite happy with the card, as well!

( Card! )

Let's do this thing! I went for the original card for various reasons, and here it is :D I'm excited!

( Bingo card! )

Dear Invisible ficcer!

Thank you for writing me a story! I am am certain I will love it, and I want to reassure you that optional details are options. These are just a few ideas of things I would like to see - they are meant to help you, and if you have a better idea, please go ahead and write it! There aren't a lot of things I'm terribly offended by in fic, so please don't worry about offending or squicking me. I like all kinds of relationships - het, slash, femslash, and other and with a few exceptions I don't have any strong pairing attachments for these fandoms. If you want to write dirty kinky porn, have at! If you're way more comfortable in the gen world - have at! I happily read and appreciate fics of all ratings, and I won't judge you for writing what you're comfortable with. In longer stories, I do prefer that porn be *part of* a story rather than it's main focus, but since the minimum word count for this is only 500 words, I realize that can be a tall order, so all I ask is that the characters be as convincing as they can while they're getting it on.

And now - onto ( the requests! )

And a second fic, this one about the previous generation...

Title: Slip me home as we seal us in
Fandom: Highschool Horror (Game)
Rating: Teen
Lenght: 4382
Notes: This is pretty much original fic, no canon knowledge necessary. References to teenage sex and pregnancy. Okay really it is *about* teenage pregnancy. Title from the Cocteau Twins song "Pitch the Baby". Set c. 1997.
Summary: Nathan gets some huge news from his grilfriend.

( Slip me home as we seal us in )

I decided, what the heck, I will give Kink Bingo a shot this year :D

( Card within, nsfw ;p )

I'm stealing this from velvetmouse because I would like some little scraps of writing I can do!

So here's how we're going to play this: I write out the alphabet below. You give me a word for an unclaimed letter, a fandom and characters. I write either a single (100 words) or a double (200 words) drabble. Rejoicing happens.

As for fandoms, I'm willing to push myself a bit so feel free to ask for things that aren't on the list and if I don't know them at all, I'll let you know :3 feel free to ask for OCs and world building stuff, because I love that shit and its a fun challenge to do it with drabbles.

(For the moment I'm working in Gdocs and using their word count...)

-Pretty much any game I have been in ever
-Anything based on my original writing or ongoing/abandoned/neglected serials
-Star Trek - I can can probably do most series other than Voyager or Enterprise
-Inception
-Georgette Heyer - The Masqueraders, Venetia, The Foundling, False Colours
-A Song of Ice and Fire - mostly books, I never finished watching the show, for Reasons -_-
-Merlin
-Sherlock (haven't finished the second series yet)
-Spartacus
-Firefly
-Transformers (G1, IDW comics, Beast Wars or Animated... or game related, see above)
-Oglaf
-hell I dunno, try me, I can't list everything @_@

( here there be letters/prompts )

Two more inception drabbles - one for inception100, and another that arose from it but isn't currently postable to the community. Open to better title suggestions for the second.

Warnings on the first for questionable consent, sexual violence, and mind-fuckery.... all that in 100 words :V

( The Girl with the Green Ring )

( Mad Dreams )

Title: Dream Girl
Word Count: 100
Rating: PG13?
Challenge: Drabble Challenge #6 - Forgery
Characters: nebulously gendered OC


The moral nebulousness of the dream realm meant that there was a growing market for arranged erotic encounters. The workers were called dream girls, though they could be anyone.

Even within the realm of Morpheus’s brothel, Muse was a specialist. Muse wouldn’t give you just any pretty face, or even one of the popular encounters with knock-off celebrities, personalities cobbled together from red carpet interviews and tabloid headlines.

Muse would give you the girl next door. Or your best friend’s wife. Or your best friend.

It was delightfully ironic, Muse considered, that these most mundane impersonations commanded the highest fees.

August Writing Challenge for August 20 - Think of the most boring person you know. Now imagine them committing a crime.
------------------
Andrew was a solid person. Reliable. Calm. Patient. He could be described as a family man, as he was married with two young sons. He felt devoted to them. Several pictures adorned his ordered desk at the art school where he taught.

His life, especially his earlier life, certainly sounded glamorous. He had previously been employed by a major motion picture company, and worked on one of, he thought, their best big budget children's films. People seemed impressed, certainly. "I worked on the lions," he would tell them. And briefly they would seem excited. He could show them some of the framed cells on his wall, but there was not much more to the tale. Animation was a repetitive process, and his months of work flashed across the screen in bare minutes, if that.

And of course, now he was a teacher. He taught animation and drawing at a small college in a small city that had pretensions of producing alumni who could compete in a rapidly saturating market. Computer animation was all the rage these days anyway, and young people flocked to this new development as they did with everything technological. They still had to learn to draw the old fashioned way first, and for that they came to Andrew. The school's enrollment was small, but he still taught three sections a week each of life drawing and basic animation.

They often used live models for life drawing. When he was a younger artist, Andrew had been surprised at the number and variety of people, young women especially, who were willing to disrobe in the name of art. Even if that 'art' was the amateur scribbles a room full of awkward teenage boys. The girls no longer phased him now. He would tell them to pose, clothed or naked, for so many minutes at a time depending on the nature of the drill. He hardly paid attention to them, except to coach a student as to which curves he (or she; but rarely she in this business) should be paying closer attention. They were lines to him, not flesh. He saw them rendered in charcoal or graphite in two dimensions - beauty (or not) on paper, not in flesh.

Andrew knew that he had lost his sense of enchantment. There was little wonder in his life. It depressed him. His wife noticed this growing dissatisfaction, and though she didn't understand, she tried to help.

"Why don't we go away this summer? We have the money. The kids are old enough - they'd love a fun vacation somewhere exotic, wouldn't you, kids?"

And so it was decided - a summer vacation to the family, to Fiji. Beautiful beaches with cool blue water lagoons, a five star estate - a luxurious tropical island getaway. The very thing to excite a mind dulled to the extraordinary. Andrew wondered if perhaps they couldn't find beautiful beaches and posh hotels closer to home. There would be the same mix of tourists in Fiji as in Florida, he felt - the same half naked women (lines and circles) stretched out in the sun or reclining by a palm shaded pool, drink in hand. The children might disturb the other hotel guests, and nevermind the protestations they would make when it came time to have their travel shots. They might be old enough to travel, but surely not old enough to appreciate it.

But the plans went ahead nonetheless. They would go for two weeks in mid August. The resort promised activities for the children, and assured the family that there was a wealth of interesting activities in which to participate among the many islands of the chain, from hiking to museums, fun parks to snorkeling or diving and, of course, the beaches. Andrew thought that perhaps this would be enough. "I went to Fiji for two weeks this summer," he could tell his coworkers. He could show pictures, if anyone was interested. It sounded sufficiently exotic - many people never left the borders of their home towns, let alone their countries or continents.

The reality was quite different. The airline lost their luggage. The resort was full and busy and he staff was harried. The boys complained about the day programs - they didn't like the other tourist children, or the activities, or the food. His wife, always optimistic, suggested alternatives.

"Why don't we try going to one of the outer islands, dear? See more of the traditional life here - get away from the tourist traps for a bit. It will be a cultural experience."

He saw no reason to disagree, and they packed up for a few days at a small village. Andrew privately considered that this would be just another kind of tourist trap, even if it was not as popular. They got to live in a traditional hut and could get involved, through the aid of a cultural interpreter, in various aspects of village life. The reality grew on him in a short period of time.

The boys loved it. They got to try new things, and made easy friends with local children eager to impress the richer North Americans. There was less structured supervision, and they raced around searching for turtles and shells, or watching for sharks in the bay. Andrew tried his hand at different village activities. He made some sketches, gave them away to their hosts. The people here seemed impressed. He made some short flip books for the kids staring some of the more popular animated characters they might have seen on a neighbor's tv. He enjoyed himself, though his wife became somewhat nervous.

"Is all this sanitary? I don't like the boys running off and playing in the dirt." Andrew reminded her that the idea had been hers and also that they'd all had their shots. Modern first-world medicine was less that half an hour away by plane or boat.

The few days in the village were perhaps just what he'd needed, Andrew decided, to give him some fresh perspective on life. A cultural experience, indeed. But the thing that really changed everything happened just the night before he left.

He'd woken up in the middle of the night of his own accord. His family still slept, but he heard noise from outside the village. It sounded like some kind of festival. Careful not to wake anyone else, he threw on shorts and a t-shirt and slipped his sandals on as he proceeded outside to investigate.

The sounds led him to a small path well hidden by some leafy tropical shrubs. As he followed it, the sounds - chanting, really - became louder, and he could see the flicker of firelight. It never occurred that he might be intruding, or that his hosts might offer him any threat. Indeed, as he passed the sentries who called out his name, they beckoned him forward.

About a dozen of the village men, dressed in costumes that made them look like they'd stepped out of pictures or drawings of previous centuries, were arranged around a spit in a small clearing. Some were dancing and singing, some few had drums. Others were eating, or had clearly just eaten. His hosts smiled widely in welcome, and drew him forward. Somoene passed him a headdress, another a drum. The chant was simple, easy to take up. The meat on the spit smelled tantalizing, though he knew it was no animal.

"Come, come," they cried in between breaks in their song. "Come, Andrew." Someone drew a knife, and cut a piece of flesh from the roasting body. "Longpig," they explained. He ate - not much, but it pleased him. He couldn't dream of doing anything else. In the morning, they returned to the resort.

The family flew back to civilization a few days later, but Andrew knew he was changed for good. Everything might seem the same, but nothing was. He'd shared in something powerful, secret. Taboo. It set him apart. It never faded from his mind. He went back to teaching, but the dullness was gone. The inadequacies of his students seemed inconsequential now. He was full of wonder - member of a secret elite. No one could ever take that away.