Tag Archive | donor

3-Way Continued

This story came out of the late August Giraffe Call and was sponsored for continuation by rix_scaedu. Originally posted here and on LJ.

“This is ridiculous.” Ahouva, pressed between Jovanna and Aeowyn on the lounge couch, shook her head again, staring at the upperclassmen. They had pushed all the furniture to the walls, clearing a wide space in the center of the room, and now Kendon and Jeremiah were talking, quietly and intently, in the middle of the space. To one side, Jeremiah’s creepy little girlfriend, Lolly, bounced up and down like a kid

“It seems kind of romantic to me,” Jovanna sighed.

“It has that façade, doesn’t it?” Aeowyn shook her head. “You’re right, Who, it’s creepy.”

“Kendon and I are fine,” Ahouva continued, too aggrieved to be sidetracked. “There’s nothing wrong with us, and this creep with his creepy girlfriend has to go and get medieval like I’m some sort of possession..”

“Well, technically..”

“Oh, stop that, Aeowyn,” Jovanna snapped. “It’s just as creepy as the upperclassmen when you get into that.”

“I’m just saying…”

“I know, I know,” Ahouva handwaved unhappily. “But do they have to get all medieval?”

“There was that one time…” Jovanna began hesitantly. “At the dance?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” she insisted firmly, rubbing her shoulders. “He had a bit too much to drink, and I was being a bit loud…”

“Well, maybe he’ll win, then,” Aeowyn interrupted pragmatically. “He seems very strong, and the other guy seems kind of like a beanpole.”

“But he wants her enough to challenge for her.”

“For some reason…” She’d seen the look in his eyes. She shook her head. “It’s not romance, Jo. It’s… I don’t know, but it scares me.”

“After Kendon, I wouldn’t think a skinny nerd would scare you.”

She glared at Jo. “He’s not scary. He’s just enthusiastic.”

“Mm…”

“Hush, you two, they’re starting.” Aeowyn leaned forward in her seat as the upperclassmen began formal-sounding proclamations.

“If I lose this challenge, I promise that I will immediately transfer to you my Ownership of the Ninth Cohort Ahouva sh’Ruth,” Kendon said, the words formal but his body posture suggesting he had no fear of losing.

“If I lose,” Jeremiah picked up, just as certain-seeming, “I promise that I will immediately transfer to you my Ownership of the Eight Cohort Liliandra cy’Linden, called Lolly.”

What? Only Kendon’s order kept her in her seat. She glared knives at his back, suddenly wishing his failure. That weird little doll… why would he want her? Why was he risking losing what he already had?

“The terms of the challenge,” Kendon began, to be interrupted by the arrival of another group: Thorburn, with his girlfriend Ceinwen and his cronies, Curry and Basalt.

“We’re just here to witness,” the big man said easily, when Kendon and Jeremiah looked askance at him.

“What are the terms of the challenge?” Basalt asked. As the two explained it – again – Ahouva studied him nervously. She didn’t trust him or his friends; she’d seen them on Hell Night, stomping around like monsters, and she’d seen Ceinwen crying in the girls’ room. They were thugs, straight-out. Why were they interfering.

“Interesting.” Basalt was grinning in a way she definitely didn’t like. “What if I win? Do I get both girls?”

Kendon and Jeremiah started talking at once, shouting, arguing, until little creepy Lolly murmured, “if he challenges you both…”

“Stop helping,” Jeremiah snapped.

The tiny blonde fell silent, as Basalt, pleased, declared, “then I add myself to this challenge, challenging you both for your Kept.”

“And what are you putting up, if you lose?” Kendon snapped, while Ahouva tried to become part of the couch. No, no, not him. Jeremiah would be better…

“Myself,” the big man grinned.

~
Silence fell. “Yourself?” Kendon asked. “You’re putting yourself up as stakes?”

“I am. I’m not as pretty as the girls, I admit, but I think it’s a fair deal.”

They were thinking of backing out, Ahouva could tell, both guys shaking their heads. Maybe she could relax. Maybe she wouldn’t end up belonging to a monster; maybe she could stay with her Kendon. Then, sweetly, over the growing silence, they could hear Ceinwin asking Thornbun a damning question.

“Didn’t you say it was a major loss of honor to turn down a challenge?”

“I did,” Thorburn agreed, “but I’m sure their pride can take the hit. They’re big boys.”

No, damnit, Ceinwen, why? Did you need someone to be miserable with you? Ahouva glared at the girl she’d thought was her friend. Kendon had a temper. Taunted like that, he wasn’t going to be able to say no.

Indeed, he’d just spat out “accepted,” followed quickly by Jeremiah. Ahouva pressed her face against Jovanna’s arm and crossed her fingers, hoping, somehow, Kendon would win. He could do it, couldn’t he? He was so strong… and he wouldn’t have accepted if he didn’t think he stood a good chance. Right?

“Oh, my,” Aeowyn murmured, and then, a moment later, “Wow. Impressive.”

“Eek,” Jovanna added for commentary, and, loudly, “oh, shit!”

“Can anyone survive that, do you think?” Aeowyn pondered out loud.

“Gods, I hope so. I heard murder gets you expelled.” Ahouva cringed, her eyes still closed tightly, wishing her friends would shut up. Were they talking about her Kendon? No, they wouldn’t be that cruel.

“Wow… oh, dear.” Aeowyn’s knees curled up to her chest.

“Ahouva…” Kendon called, and she, finally, looked up. Her master, her boyfriend, was pinned to the ground, a spear of some sort through his shoulder, reaching for her. “Ahouva,” he said again. “He-” Jeremiah’s boot to his mouth shut him up, but she was already out of her seat.

She couldn’t use magic, he’d forbidden her to use it out of class. She picked up a stick, but he’d said she couldn’t attack anyone after she’d bitten one of his friends. She could flash them, maybe… no. “The clothes I put on you stay on you until I tell you they can come off, except during PE.” She couldn’t even do that. She sat down on the floor, tears flowing. He’d ordered her to help. She wanted to help, didn’t want to see him hurt. What could she do?

“Yield,” Jeremiah croaked, falling over next to Kendon. How had she missed that his intestines were spilling out? How could he still have been standing?

“Yield,” Kendon echoed, flopping like a fish on the floor. “You useless piece of shit, Ahouva, I told you to help.”

“I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to do!”

“Well, you’re someone else’s problem now.” He was coughing up blood. “I release you to Basalt. Ahouva, you Belong to Basalt now. Fuck. Someone call a doctor.”

Her world was reeling. This pitiful asshole on the floor, bleeding all over the carpet, he’d just ripped out what was left of her soul and passed it on to someone else. She felt like she was the one spilling her guts on the floor. She felt as if she was the one dying slowly. She’d failed. She’d failed and he’d given her up. She leaned over and puked, vomiting up what little she’d had to eat for lunch.

“Woah, woah.” A hand was on her back. “Here, puking in open wounds is probably a little extreme even for Kendon.” Even more gently, the deep voice added “you have to say the words, Ahouva; until you do, the promise is still eating at him.”

She looked down at Kendon, her vomit covering his chest. That meant the hand on her back was Basalt, didn’t it? And Kendon had just… “I belong to you now?”

“Yes, yes you do. Come on, let’s get you out of here.” With surprising strength and even more surprising gentleness, he picked her up like a baby. Up close, he smelled faintly of charcoal.

“Why?” she asked, leaning into his arms. What was he going to do with her now?

His shrug moved her like a wave and twisted her already unhappy stomach. “Someone had to. Uh, hold on. I have to take Lolly from Jeremiah and give her back.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/139218.html. You can comment here or there.

Puppies, continued, for Lilfluff

I swear I posted the second half of this…

This is from @[personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt “finding out you have the wrong key,” and [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commissioned request for a continuation.

It had been a very clever idea.

Davyn stared at the cage door. It had been a decently clever idea, he supposed. His parents took the damn dog along everywhere, and left him at home with the nanny. Nevermind that sixteen was too old to need a nanny. Never mind that, unlike the dog, he’d never peed on the furniture or broken a priceless vase (just the one. The dog had broken three).

It had seemed like a clever idea. They threw a blanket over the dog kennel anyway, because the stupid thing was high-strung. This way, he could ride along, wherever it was they were going, and then show up at the end and get to have all the fun. It had seemed like a brilliant idea.

It had even worked. He’d locked himself in and curled up for a nice nap, comfortable by now with the sounds of animals all around (it wasn’t like the dog was even their only dog, just the one that got to come with them. He, on the other hand, was their only son). But they’d taken the kennel somewhere and gone off without a word, and here he was waiting for them to look for their precious dog and discover their son instead…

…It had been a pretty dumb idea. Since the key he was holding would have, he was pretty sure, opened the other kennel. The fancy one they used for road trips. Not this one, not the one he was locked in. Trapped in, that was the word.

“Help!” he called, feeling pretty stupid. His knees had cramped up, and his stomach was complaining. It had been a really long trip. “Help!”

“What the… ooh.” A pretty girl lifted the blanket and looked at him, smiling cheerfully. “Stuck, are you?” Her accent lilted in a way he’d never heard before, and she was really, really pretty. Stunning, really, and here he was…

“Yeah,” he admitted, more embarrassed than he’d ever been in her life. “Just a bit.”

“Locked in, is it? Well, then…” She dropped the blanket back over the kennel. “There’s a handcart around here somewhere…”

“Wait, what?”

“Hush, puppy,” she scolded, as the kennel tilted backwards precariously. “Good puppies don’t bark.”

Davyn skidded backwards in the kennel, yelping, startled. “What?” he repeated. “I’m not a puppy, I’m a boy.”

“Mm, if you don’t hush, I’m going to do something unpleasant. Now stay quiet, dear, and this will go easier.” He couldn’t see anything except the inside of his kennel, but it felt like she’d gotten the damn thing tilted back onto the handcart and started rolling it.

“Help!” he bayed, panic making his voice squeak. “Someone help me! Someone… ow ow owwww…” He lost his voice in a yowl of misery, as, inexplicably, his body lit up in jabbing pain.

“I warned you,” came the girl’s voice. “Good puppies are quiet. Now shush for me.”

He swallowed a whimper, curling as tightly as he could in the bottom of the cage. Pain wasn’t supposed to come out of nowhere. His brilliant plan was supposed to have worked.

It hadn’t been all that bad of a plan, anyway, if only he’d remembered the keys. He sighed softly and tried to get comfortable as the pain faded. What was going to happen to him now?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/120532.html. You can comment here or there.

Three-Way

To Rix_scadeau”s commissioned prompt in my Call for Prompts: “an Addergoole student being rescued or assisted in rescuing someone by a teacher or another student whom they fear with good reason.”

Year 9, after “It’s Going Down.”
“This is ridiculous.” Ahouva, pressed between Jovanna and Aeowyn on the lounge couch, shook her head again, staring at the upperclassmen. They had pushed all the furniture to the walls, clearing a wide space in the center of the room, and now Kendon and Jeremiah were talking, quietly and intently, in the middle of the space. To one side, Jeremiah’s creepy little girlfriend, Lolly, bounced up and down like a kid

“It seems kind of romantic to me,” Jovanna sighed.

“It has that façade, doesn’t it?” Aeowyn shook her head. “You’re right, Who, it’s creepy.”

“Kendon and I are fine,” Ahouva continued, too aggrieved to be sidetracked. “There’s nothing wrong with us, and this creep with his creepy girlfriend has to go and get medieval like I’m some sort of possession..”

“Well, technically..”

“Oh, stop that, Aeowyn,” Jovanna snapped. “It’s just as creepy as the upperclassmen when you get into that.”

“I’m just saying…”

“I know, I know,” Ahouva handwaved unhappily. “But do they have to get all medieval?”

“There was that one time…” Jovanna began hesitantly. “At the dance?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” she insisted firmly, rubbing her shoulders. “He had a bit too much to drink, and I was being a bit loud…”

“Well, maybe he’ll win, then,” Aeowyn interrupted pragmatically. “He seems very strong, and the other guy seems kind of like a beanpole.”

“But he wants her enough to challenge for her.”

“For some reason…” She’d seen the look in his eyes. She shook her head. “It’s not romance, Jo. It’s… I don’t know, but it scares me.”

“After Kendon, I wouldn’t think a skinny nerd would scare you.”

She glared at Jo. “He’s not scary. He’s just enthusiastic.”

“Mm…”

“Hush, you two, they’re starting.” Aeowyn leaned forward in her seat as the upperclassmen began formal-sounding proclamations.

“If I lose this challenge, I promise that I will immediately transfer to you my Ownership of the Ninth Cohort Ahouva sh’Ruth,” Kendon said, the words formal but his body posture suggesting he had no fear of losing.

“If I lose,” Jeremiah picked up, just as certain-seeming, “I promise that I will immediately transfer to you my Ownership of the Eight Cohort Liliandra cy’Linden, called Lolly.”

What? Only Kendon’s order kept her in her seat. She glared knives at his back, suddenly wishing his failure. That weird little doll… why would he want her? Why was he risking losing what he already had?

“The terms of the challenge,” Kendon began, to be interrupted by the arrival of another group: Thorburn, with his girlfriend Ceinwen and his cronies, Curry and Basalt.

“We’re just here to witness,” the big man said easily, when Kendon and Jeremiah looked askance at him.

“What are the terms of the challenge?” Basalt asked. As the two explained it – again – Ahouva studied him nervously. She didn’t trust him or his friends; she’d seen them on Hell Night, stomping around like monsters, and she’d seen Ceinwen crying in the girls’ room. They were thugs, straight-out. Why were they interfering.

“Interesting.” Basalt was grinning in a way she definitely didn’t like. “What if I win? Do I get both girls?”

Kendon and Jeremiah started talking at once, shouting, arguing, until little creepy Lolly murmured, “if he challenges you both…”

“Stop helping,” Jeremiah snapped.

The tiny blonde fell silent, as Basalt, pleased, declared, “then I add myself to this challenge, challenging you both for your Kept.”

“And what are you putting up, if you lose?” Kendon snapped, while Ahouva tried to become part of the couch. No, no, not him. Jeremiah would be better…

“Myself,” the big man grinned.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/119485.html. You can comment here or there.

Spring Break!

To [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commissioned prompt in my Call for Prompts: A story in which both parties believe they are the abductor and the other is the abducted.

Sections of 83 words, because it pleased me to do so.

“Come away with me this weekend.”

The words had sounded so innocent, and been so permanent under the surface. Spring Break. No schoolwork to worry about (other schools might try, but a state school knew better than to bother), parents who weren’t going to ask where their kids were going, in case they accidentally found out, and she’d lied to her friends about her secret plans for the weekend. By the time anyone realized they were gone, it would be way too late.

“With you? Sure.”

That made everything both harder and easier. He’d been working out a plan, but hadn’t expected the opportunity to jump into his lap like this. He didn’t have all of his details in place; he was going to have to wing some of it. He came up with a lie for his parents and another for his friends, and packed his special bag inside his normal suitcase. He really hated winging it. It left way too much up to chance.

“It’s just down this road.”

Away from everything, secluded, private. Far enough away that nobody would hear them. Far enough away that even finding them would be tricky, unless you knew what you were looking for. Her uncle had built the place. She had never asked him why; she didn’t really want to know. She’d bleached it roof to basement when she inherited, and waited for the family to forget about it, and him, and her.

They’d been more than willing to oblige.

“This place is really out there, isn’t it?”

More than out there, it was the sort of remote he hadn’t known existed this close to the city. They’d been driving for half an hour since the last gas station (she’d filled up there, much to his relief), and the houses were few and far between, nestled into hillsides. Often, all you saw was the mailbox, lone and lonely-looking. He tried to memorize everything; he didn’t want to stand out, lost, when he left.

“Now that we’re all alone…”

With her touch, the cabin had become pretty cozy. She’d pulled all the drapes and lit a fire, leaving them enveloped in wood-paneled hunting-lodge charm. Even a passing hiker wouldn’t nothing anything, which was good, on the rare occasion that things went sour. Uncle Thomas had really planned for everything.

(She’d left the flower bed alone. She didn’t want to know who was under there, any more than her parents wanted to know where she got her money).

“Quite alone.”

The place reminded him of a couple of his bolt holes. It was well-situated, well-provisioned, and cozy, with what looked from the outside like a full basement. Somebody had put some money into this place. And now, here he was, locked in it (she hadn’t noticed when he pocketed the deadbolt key) with his quarry. Cuddled on the couch like the college kid he was pretending to be.

The only trick was going to be getting out of here with her.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/116723.html. You can comment here or there.

Hour 11 of my abduction [call for prompts]

My captors continue to pepper me with suggestions, although their feedback on these writings has tapered off. I do hope they like what they are getting.

Since my last report, I have been offered a bad Dr. Who special and some delicious nachos. Also, a marshmallow the size of my cat’s head.

I have written about a clever idea gone wrong, an Addergoole student who didn’t want to go home, a road tripgone awry, a captive who didn’t give in to Stockholm, and a captive being rescued.

The money in the pot has reached $40. Perhaps I will only be writing one fic for each of my captors.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/113837.html. You can comment here or there.

Addergoole Year 57

From Rix_Scadeau‘s commission: Something happening at the school during the time of the post-apoc stories. I fudged this a year or two to get the generations right.


Addergoole Year 57, Hell Night Morning

Ardah had intended to sleep in on Saturday. It had been a busy week, and she was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on around here. People were weird-shaped, sure. She’d seen a few weird-shaped people here and there, although her parents always tried to hide them.

More than the strange body shapes, however, was the strange way people were acting. You’d think the weirdest of it was over, but no, they all seemed to be twitchy, like the worst was yet to come. It made Ardah’s skin itch.

So she was awake, trying to pretend she was sleeping, staring at her dark ceiling, when someone pounded on her door. Years of duck-and-cover training had her out of bed, shoes on and a long shirt over her nightclothes, before the second knock came.

Her brother stood on the other side, lit strangely by red emergency lighting, looking even more demonic than his Changes normally made him. “Ardah. Hard choice time. Trust me, take the quick way. It won’t be the easiest but it won’t be what you’ll get out there.”

She eyed him cautiously. Ferris had changed since coming here, not just Changed but changed in personality. He seemed less trustworthy with every passing day. “What’s the other option?”

“Head out into this,” he gestured at the hallway, “and take your chances with the rest of the school.”

“So it’s trust you… or trust myself to be able to handle the hallways of the school.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Come on, Ferris. What gives?”

“Come on, Ardah, just say you Belong to me and I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

She shook her head, staring at him. “I don’t want to belong to anyone, Ferris. And you’re scaring me.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that. When have I ever hurt you?”

“Well, there was that time you got me stuck in the bramble bush…”

“That was the brambles hurting you, Ard.”

“Semantics.” She frowned at him, but she could tell he was getting agitated. Good. He paid less attention to his words the angrier he got. “How about the time you locked me in the cooler?”

“That wasn’t, exactly, hurt.”

“Except the part where I nearly died.”

“Come on, Ard, trust me. I’ll take care of you.”

“Or,” came a voice over Ferris’ shoulder, “you could trust me.”

“Go away, Marlon, this is my sister.”

“She is, indeed, and a lovely girl. Does she know what you were planning?”

“Crew business, Marlon, butt out.”

This was kind of fun to watch. Ardah leaned just inside her doorway and watched them. The slim, hawkish boy, who either didn’t have a Change or hadn’t un-masked yet, was smirking at her brother, half again his size. Challenging him, she realized.

“She’s not your Crew. I’m not your crew. She could be mine, though.” He held out one long-fingered hand to Ardah. “Which will it be? Me or your brother?”


Genealogy:
Ardah’s four sets of grandparents come from the following parings: Jamian/Tya, Eris/Shad (Wolf), Sarita/Finn, Kailani/Tolly

Her half-brother Ferris comes from: Jamian/Tya, Eris/Shad (Wolf), Mea/Taro (Petra), Mea/Rozen.

All I know about Marlon so far is that one of his grandparents is Raven, son of Wren and Phelen.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/110704.html. You can comment here or there.

Bowen, expanded.

Yesterday, I posted a piece on Bowen over 6 years, in response to rix_scaedu‘s prompt “Fridmar and Bowen…” in this flash-fiction meme (LJ).

It didn’t feel like enough, but it was already over 250 (270, not counting date/time tags).

Then Rix sponsored more.

This is the whole story again; the new part is the 300 words in the middle.

Year Five, Week Six
Bowen sat uncomfortably in his Mentor’s office, fiddling with his collar. He had orders about what he could say and couldn’t, but going up against the edge of his orders was sometimes enough; his face twisted and his ears went flat, and people seemed to understand what that meant.

“There’s got to be a way,” he said quietly, not quite begging. Professor Fridmar shook his head slowly.

“Being Ellehemaei about being strong,” he said, in his thick Russian accent. “What doesn’t kill you, et cetera. Find ways to be stronger.”

Year Seven, Week Eight
Professor Fridmar frowned over steepled fingers at Bowen. “Shira has been talking to me.” His tone suggested he didn’t like Professor Pelletier talking to him about anything; Bowen could already guess what this was about.

“Yeah?” Never show your cards.

“She says Adannaya has seemed strange lately. The girl is not complaining…” His look said what they both knew, that Ada wasn’t going to say anything against Bowen. “But Shira does not think she is happy.”

Bowen met his Mentor’s gaze evenly. “What doesn’t kill you, et cetera,” he quoted.

Year Seven, Week Eight, Three hours later
Fridmar had let him go. What was he going to do?

He lay in bed next to Adannaya, tracing fingers over her fear-rigid body. Her face was blank, eyes closed. “The Professors say you’re unhappy.”

She shuddered, swallowing a sob. “I didn’t say anything. I swear.”

I didn’t say anything, Aggie. I didn’t ask for any help. His remembered shudder echoed Adannaya’s. “I know you didn’t. I ordered you not to.”

I know you didn’t tell them anything, Bowen. You’re a good boy. You wouldn’t want people to think ill of me.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Year Seven, Week Eight, Saturday
Bowen was a bit surprised to find cy’ree-mate Penny knocking on his door, but not at all surprised to find she was carrying food. “Ada’s seemed off her feed in the Dining Hall. I thought my shepherd’s pie might cheer her up.”

He eyed the tasty-smelling pastry. “No mutton?”

“No mutton. May I come in?”

He couldn’t turn her down; she’d know something was up. And the pie smelled very good. “Come on,” he grunted unwillingly. “Ada’s in the bathroom.”

“Crying.” She set the pie down in the kitchenette and began serving it out.

“What? No…”

“She’s always crying, Bowen.”

Year Seven, Week Nine, Sunday
Reheated shepherd’s pie made a decent breakfast. Bowen sat watching Adannaya, struggling with himself.

“You’re mine,” he rumbled, as much telling his suddenly-guilty conscience as her. She twitched, and nodded.

“I know,” she whispered, setting her spoon down.

“I can do what I want with you. No one will stop me.” Aggie had cut his tail off, starved him. Nobody had stopped her.

“I know.” Her voice was flat.

He took a deep breath. Power was strength. Power wasn’t kicking rabbits.

“That doesn’t mean I ought to.” He watched her jerk as if he’d hit her. “Or will. I’m sorry.”

Year Twelve, October

Bowen was unsurprised to find his old Mentor standing in his living room. They all knew, by now, that the professors stopped in on their former students, “to be sure they were all right.”

Sibil had let him in, pretty, doll-like Sibil, who ran his house. The Professor was sipping the tea Talitha had brought him, and studying the two women thoughtfully. When Bowen walked in with Kate, one bushy eyebrow rose.

Bowen couldn’t help but grin. The girls were happy, with or without orders. “Stronger,” he laughed. “And better.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/109021.html. You can comment here or there.

Slave School: Equal Rights? For lilfluff

From my call for gender prompts and [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commission comes a discussion at the Cali Slave School on the Rights of Man. Err, Males.

“Aren’t you going to hold the door for me?” Steve teased. Jill wrinkled her nose at him, and did not hold the door. Pointedly.

“You know very well that’s not what that was about. It’s not like everything just turned one-eighty from home.”

“Well, no,” Seth argued, pointedly holding the door for the rest of them. “I mean, back in the States, women and men have equal rights.”

“Under the law,” Jill couldn’t help but point out.

“Well, what other kind of rights are there?”

“Social rights,” Debbie offered. She flopped in her accustomed place in Jakub’s chair; normally he didn’t mind, but today he glared at her.

“Like having your own goddamned chair when you want it?”

“Woah.” She slipped out of the chair to the floor. “Sorry.” Her tone said she was anything but.

“Cut him some slack,” Jill advised gently. “They’ve just found out they’re 1890’s women.”

“Yeah,” Seth pointed out, “but it’s not the eighteen-hundreds anymore. Women don’t get treated like that back home.”

“Depends on the woman, and the man,” Debbie argued, trying to get comfortable on the floor. With a glance to be sure it was all right, Jill settled onto Seth’s bed, watching the guys process that.

“I never treated anyone like that,” Steve asserted angrily. “Second-class citizen.” He tugged on his collar roughly, the steel cutting into his bullish neck. “Fucking second-class second-class citizen.”

“Wouldn’t that make you a fourth-class citizen?” Carl, who had been quiet through the whole thing, offered this bit with a small smirk. Jill wondered what he thought of the whole mess; of all of them, he’d been the quietest all along.

“Not. Helping. Man.” Steve yanked hard on the collar again. “That’s shit. And not only is it shit, they have to explain it all, like it’s right or something.”

“‘A woman’s place is in the home,’” Debbie countered.

“Again,” Seth argued, “eighteen-ninety, not the two thousands.”

“Dude, my grandmother thought I should go into nursing. Or maybe teaching. Good, womanly jobs.” Debbie’s voice rose louder and louder. “So don’t tell me that shit ended in the eighteen hundreds.”

“Legally, though, women got the right to vote at the beginning of the twentieth century in the ‘States,” Seth soothed.

“Well,” Jill interjected, before this could get further out of hand, “neither of us have that now. As far as rights go, Debbie and I have about one more right than you guys, and I hope to God we don’t have to use it anytime soon.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/105682.html. You can comment here or there.

*falls down and has dreams about writing to prompts*

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).

25 short and medium pieces later…

I have only [personal profile] lilfluff‘s second commissioned piece to write.

Monday’s summary is here (or here)

Yesterday’s summary is here (or here)

Switcheroo (LJ), for DaHob‘s prompt

Buuut… (LJ), for kelkyag‘s prompt: “Dealing with the lack of reassurance on the acceptance of a newly asserted gender identity…”

On Top (LJ), for [personal profile] kc_obrien‘s prompt: “Not every pack Alpha has a bitch. Sometimes it is the bitch.”

(LJ, for @skysailor99’s prompt: Make up a gender and have a character’s partner learn to understand it.

ankewehner is doing a flash fiction fishbowl, if you’re still feeling prompty.

And I’ve still got 3 slots left in this prompt-me meme (2 on LJ)

Any piece I’ve written can be sponsored for continuation.

For more information, my Donor landing page is here (and on LJ)




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