Archive | August 10, 2011

Bringing it home

This is for @skysailor99’s prompt in my call for prompts: Make up a gender and have a character’s partner learn to understand it.

I’ve never made up a gender before, so I mad-libbed from friends on Twitter nouns, adverbs, adjectives, and, thank you barbary, a gender name:


This is in the Dragons Next Door setting, but NOT the narrator family or the smiths. Elkin were going to be elf-kin, but I liked the typo better.

I think it’s fair that I thought Farnah was male.

He was – pardon, zad was – the first elkin I’d had any real experience with, and he – zad – had, when naked, something that really looked like a penis. And functioned like one, as well, or at least close enough. Elkin are far enough from human that I didn’t worry about babies (it takes magic, a stork, and the remnants of a dragon egg to make an elkin-human cross), so I didn’t think, all that much, about the fact that zad didn’t have testes. I aways thought they looked silly on human males, anyway.

We had been together for several months when zad finally explained to me – after the age-old argument about toilet seats, no less, that zad was not male. Zad was hagadab, and, it turned out, the elkin have seven genders.

I, personally, sometimes thought two was more than enough, but I really, really liked Farnah, still do, and so I tried to learn more about my lover and zas gender.

They tend to be sloppy, I learned that first, but only in the nest. In the field, they are meticulous (I already knew this about Farnah. We worked, often, side-by-side, and spent most of our time in my apartment.) They like high spaces (the elkin are, after all, naturally alpine), and, it turns out, are the reason for the kendar myth. Already things I already knew about Farnah; shorter than me by half a foot, zad had picked the tallest chair in my apartment as zas and stacked pillows on it to make it taller.

The hardest part, as we adjusted to our cross-species romance, turned out in the end to be the easiest. The hagadab are the providers of the elkin family group; they hunt, they gather, they bring home Things. Zad didn’t mind that I earned money, but me bringing home things made my poor Farnah bristle every time.

I never liked grocery shopping that much, anyway.

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On Top.

For [personal profile] kc_obrien‘s prompt: “Not every pack Alpha has a bitch. Sometimes it is the bitch.”

If this is anything, it is very very loosely Anita-verse OC

I went home with the new alpha. Jordan was dead, after all, and Chris had won me when he won the pack. I wanted to have a conversation with him, before he had too much time listening to others.

I could see it in his eyes, that he knew something was up, but I waited until we were in the bedroom, until he started going about things in a typical werewolf fashion, to bring it up. He had me pinned to the bed when I said, conversationally, “you know what I did?”

He froze. “What,” he admitted. “Not how. Or, for that matter, why.” He looked down at me, and, as if abashed, let go of my wrists. I scooted until I was sitting up, while his face went through a few odd contortions.

“You don’t need to know how.” I had cheated like hell, that’s how, to make sure he won. “Why… I should think that would be obvious.”

A heartbeat passed. Another. “You want me to be the alpha.”

“I do.” I let him keep the suspicions he was having to himself. For now. “I am not going to be raped or beaten again.”

“I’m the alpha,” he protested. “You’re my bitch.”

“Half right.”

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This is for kelkyag‘s prompt in my call for prompts: “Dealing with the lack of reassurance on the acceptance of a newly asserted gender identity…”

Unknown ‘verse. And I hope I did okay.

I pressed myself against Caden, in the middle of our bed. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

It seemed unlikely; the book’s pages were still turning. The broad, lovely, scarred back was still to me.

“I’ve meditated on it. I’ve thought about it. I’ve been talking to my therapist about it. I’m a girl.”

Caden turned to look at me, the hot, hungry look so at odds with the heavy physics book still on the bed. “You’re Jay, my JJ.” The kiss, too, matched the look, hungry, hot, urgent. My body did uncomfortable things against Cade’s hip, and a gentle laugh echoed across the studio.

“Don’t you care?” This was easily the most important decision I had ever made. Easily the thing that would put my life where I wanted it. And I was getting kissed. And laughed at.

Cade trailed a hand down my arm. “Jay… you are my JJ. Whatever body you wear. Whatever pronouns you use. You are my JJ.” And kissed me again.

I stifled a sob into the kiss, and tried to figure out what I’d done wrong.

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Vocabulary – New Word of the Day (for the 7th) – Pastiche

I took this vocabulary test, and was, being me, a bit miffed at the words I didn’t know. But I wrote them down, so I have a new word-a-day for the next month! (I’m not sure how I didn’t know this one, honestly)

Today’s word is Pastiche

1: a literary, artistic, musical, or architectural work that imitates the style of previous work; also : such stylistic imitation
2 a : a musical, literary, or artistic composition made up of selections from different works : potpourri
b : hodgepodge
— pas·ti·cheur noun

Origin of PASTICHE
French, from Italian pasticcio

This one was actually hard to find a setting to use it in.

Dinner was, because we were feeling artistic, a pastiche: Indian spice mixes, Polish sausage, Japanese rice. American-grown wine of German grapes topped it off.

Not quite… Hrmm..

“Your work seems to be a pastiche, an imitation of several famous styles…” The customer, probably a college kid and his eyes trailing over Autumn’s tattoos rather than the art on the table, kept going, but Autumn had stopped paying attention. When he stopped talking, she asked, as gently as she had patience for (not much; it had been a long day and her feet hurt),

“So, you like it?”

He coughed, and blushed crimson. “…yeah.”

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Switcheroo… Tír na Cali, for @DaHob

This is for DaHob‘s prompt in my call for prompts.

Tír na Cali, not in a household currently used in other stories.

Content Warning: dubious consent leaning towards non-con. Bondage. Slavery. Spoiled-rotten royal kids.

Baroness Moira’s son was eager to play with his new slave. The pretty Americana, his bribe to, as his mother said, “settle down and behave,” had been wild and feisty for the first week, but now she was letting him near her without biting, and had actually seemed to warm up to the idea of playing with him.

He wasn’t stupid, whatever his mother might think, so, however willing the girl seemed, he cuffed her to the headboard and tied her legs apart. She could still bite, though, as she reminded him, snapping her teeth, so he gagged her.

The noises she made through the red latex ball were delicious; he barely had the patience to pull off his pants and grab her hips, making a cursory attempt at foreplay (she might belong to him, but he was still a Californian male), licking and nosing at her. She was already wet, writhing and moaning, so he took that for assent and took her.

He had one blinding, blissful moment inside her, before she closed her eyes, and…

…Fionn found himself looking up at himself. The gag stretched his mouth painfully, the cuffs cut into his wrists and ankles, and there was… something… stretching him. Him. Her. Stretching her uncomfortably. She yelled out, terrified, but the gag muffled the sound, made it an unclear groan.

Above her, still inside of her, Fionn-body smiled unkindly. “Shh.” He held up a hand, letting sparks dance across his fingers. “You have a lovely power. Would you like to know what it feels like?”

The Americana was in his body. Fionn whimpered, terrified, and shook her head. No. Please no. “‘eeze…”

Fionn-body, damnit, what was her name? His name… Tacey. Tacey laughed. “Then stay quiet and be a good girl. I’m going to take the gag out now.” Tacey punctuated the comment with another thrust, and Fionn swallowed a pleasure/pain grunt. She didn’t want to get zapped.

Tacey removed the gag. “Now,” he grinned, the leer Fionn was so proud of, “you and I are going to have some fun.”

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Heh, okay, obviously I don’t write enough

Meme yoinked from [personal profile] celli

The first five six people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble/ficlet of any pairing/character of their choosing. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.

Three on DW, three on LJ.

* If you wish me to write fanfic, I will. However, it helps if I’m familiar with the ‘verse
** Standardish 150-300 word drabbles here.

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WOW! Or “Day 4 and still writing…”

So. Sunday, I put out a call for prompts (LJ post) on the theme of Gender, Sexuality, and how they can go funky (short title: Genderfunky Giraffes).

21 short and medium pieces later… I still have at least 4 prompts to go. O_O

Yesterday’s summary is here (or here)

In addition, I wrote “Sniffing it Out” (on LJ) to [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commissioned prompt for More Cali Catpeople

(the_vulture, do you want something written?)

and two stories on bi characters LJ) to [personal profile] twisted_times‘s gauntlet-toss.

While I am now closed for free prompts for this call, I am open to continuing any story at my general rate of $5/300 words. 🙂 I hope to finish the remaining prompts today; if you think I missed yours, please feel free to link me to it – the LJ thread got a little insane.

If you are feeling the urge to prompt someone… moonwolf1988 is calling for prompts 😉

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