Archive | October 2011

9 Things I Hate About…

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

A continuation Three-Way, Preferences.
3-Way originally posted here and on LJ, continued here (LJ) and then here (LJ and then
Here (Duet) and Here on LJ – and then here: Preferences (LJ)

She felt as if she’d kicked him, which made her feel bad, made her want to curl up in his lap and tell him everything was okay. She sat on her hands instead, shifting until she was sitting cross-legged, straight-backed and looking him in the eye. “Is this really about what I want, Thorburn?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?

“Because, up until now, you haven’t shown much interest in what I wanted.”

“I told you I wanted your honest assessment.” The hunched-unhappy expression was vanishing, replaced with growing irritation. “If you don’t want to tell me, you can just say that instead of bitching at me.”

“I’m not bitching,” she answered, as calmly as she could through her growing tempest of mixed emotions. “I’m…” She struggled against the urge t make him feel better and lost. “I’m just confused, Thorburn. Why now?”

“You’ve never said it wasn’t what you wanted before.”

She blinked at him. “I told you I hated you. I told you I didn’t…” She shouldn’t there. Something was wrong with him and sex. “…didn’t like the collar. Wanted clothes for sleeping. Wanted…” Well, if he took many more of her things away for complaining, she’d be left going to class naked. “That I wanted my stuff.”

His expression was a bit puzzled. “There’s a level of complaining that goes along with being Kept. I could have stopped you from complaining, or punished you more for doing it, but I thought it was better to let you get it off your chest. But you’ve never come out and said you weren’t happy with me… so I thought you were just uncomfortable being Kept.”

“Is…” Yes, there was a difference, wasn’t there? “So… ‘stop treating me like a possession’ doesn’t help, because the stupid Law says I am a possession.”

He nodded. “Exactly. And it takes a little while to get used to that. I didn’t want to overwhelm you, but you need to understand that, or you’ll cause trouble for both of us.”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble.” She was already in enough trouble herself.

“I know you don’t.” He smiled sadly at her. “You’re a good Kept.”

The praise sent an uncomfortably nice shiver through her. He thought she was good. He thought she was a good… slave. Well. “Thanks?”

He studied her. “You were saying,” he said, more gently than his norm and clearly a bit uncomfortably, “that I didn’t treat you the way you’d prefer.”

She nodded, nervous all over again. “I was. That… is not something a good Kept would say, is it?” She frowned at him, a spike of anger pushing through her desire to make him happy. “But it’s true.”

“But you think I’m nice to you?”

She sighed. They were sort of going in circles. “I do. You said you didn’t think I had context, but I’ve been watching. I’ve been listening. Talking to people, when they’ll talk to me.” Penny, mostly, and a couple other Sixth and Seventh Cohorts who were un-worried about Thorburn’s ire. “I watched Ahouva with Kendon… she’s my friend, you know. Or she was starting to be, before he got her.” She took a deep breath. This part was harder. “You’re gentle with me. You hold doors, and carry my tray in the lunchroom. You don’t yell at me, even when you’re obviously angry, and you’ve never hit me. No matter what Curry says, you’ve never let one of your friends… touch me… and you’ve protected me when someone’s gotten too close before. You take good care of me… and I know that not everyone does.” And she was beginning to believe, whoever had Kept him before, they hadn’t been nearly as kind.

He nodded, agreeing with all of her points, watching her carefully. “But it’s not what you’d prefer.”

She flinched. He was being very nice, but she still worried that there was a trap beneath the surface. “That part’s fine. I don’t mind being taken care of… I mean, it’s a little old-fashioned, but I can live with that. And I know that there really are jerks and monsters here, and that being protected isn’t a bad thing.” She trailed off, studying his expression nervously. “It’s not an either or sort of thing, is it? I mean… does the nice stuff go along with the stuff I don’t like?”

“What?” he frowned at her. “Well, that would be stupid. ‘Here, have a cookie and hold still while I beat you?’ No. I’m not that sort of asshole, Ceinwen.”

She relaxed. “Sometimes it seems like everything around here is a trap,” she explained and apologized all at once.

He seemed about to argue, and then nodded, with a rueful smile that she was fairly certain had nothing to do with her. “Okay, that’s fair.” He took her hands. “No more hedging. I promise I won’t punish you for it – now tell me what you don’t like about the way I Keep you.”

The air-twist of the promise slammed hard into the direct order, and Ceinwen spent a second trying to catch her breath, as the urge to answer pressed harder and harder on her. “The orders,” she spat out, just to make the pressure stop, and then flapped both hands at him, hurriedly. “No, no, I know that’s stupid but sometimes they make my head hurt, that’s all. I, Thorburn, sir, it’s really hard to be polite when you make me say things, I don’t like that you took all my stuff away. I don’t like sleeping naked. I feel helpless that way and you said I’d have to earn my nightgown back and then you never told me how to, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She took a long breath, but the order was still pushing her on, despite the stunned expression on Thorburn’s face. “And my stuff. And this collar, which I suppose goes with the stuff, because it’s very pretty and only matches the clothes you bought for me or picked out of my clothes.” She shook her head. “That’s kind of petty, but it’s there, anyway and Thorburn could I please stop now before this gets really, really uncomfortable?”

He already looked pretty uncomfortable. He nodded, and squeezed her hands. “You can stop. But, tell me this – there’s more?”

She nodded mutely. Please don’t ask…

“You didn’t complain about the curfew, or not having time with your friends.”

She bit her lip. “Most of my friends are Kept anyway. I’d like to see them, I mean… but there’s classes? And I guess… isn’t that part of being Kept?”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “And there’s something that’s really bothering you, more than anything, that you were talking around the whole time.”

She gulped. Oh, no… She was nodding, though.

“Something you think will be even more uncomfortable?”

Another nod, her lips pressed as tightly as she could. Tears were already falling, but she couldn’t wipe them away. He was holding her hands too tightly. His face was doing something she couldn’t quite read, but it didn’t look good.

He took a deep breath of his own, looking more than a little worried. “All right.” He released her hands and tugged her against his chest in a massive bear hug. “I won’t ask. And when you’re ready, you can tell me. But for now – well. I think we have some room for negotiation.”

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.

In Sickness…. Giraffe Call

For [profile] kc_obriens‘s prompt.

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Neil reached for Ericka’s hand, and felt the shimmer and chill as his wife’s spectral fingers settled atop his. They had been together through a lot – college, marriage, kids, grandkids, and then this, the zombie apocalypse.

He checked his weapons and watched her face and hand gestures carefully. After so long, they hardly needed words to communicate, and his Ericka had gotten very expressive since they’d started this macabre journey, but it was best to be certain of the details. “Down by the grocery store on the corner?” he double-checked.

She nodded. She wasn’t smiling, he noticed. She rarely did, now – not that he could blame her – but her expression today seemed particularly melancholy. He stroked the edge of her cheek carefully.

“I know, darling,” he murmured. “This isn’t easy for either of us. And I know – we don’t know what will happen, once it’s done. But whatever comes next, I will always love you.”

She wrapped her insubstantial arms around his neck and planted icy kisses over his cheeks, tears falling soundlessly from her eyes. Their city had been one of the first and worst hit by the zombie plague, and Ericka one of the first to be taken.

She was also proof, here beside him in ghostly form, that the walking dead out there were no longer the people they had been. Her spirit was here, with him. Her body…

Neil checked his weapons again, tested the spray on the flame-thrower, and stepped out into the street to give his wife a proper cremation.

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.


Poll-off! After having the poll up for several days, I have a three-way tie. So!

Edited to add: I clearly can’t count. But I’ll keep this poll up anyway.

Edited again to add: (the miss-count was, in part, because someone changed a vote. I feel less silly!)

Should I split the continuation-incentive up among the winners or pick a specific winner from those three?

Alternately, should I continue something I’ve written since I posted the first poll?

Original polls are here:

Manually xposted from


Poll-off! After having the poll up for several days, I have a three-way tie. So!

Edited to add: I clearly can’t count. But I’ll keep this poll up anyway.

Should I split the continuation-incentive up among the winners or pick a specific winner from those three?

Alternately, should I continue something I’ve written since I posted the first poll?

Original polls are here:

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.

Monday, Hallowe’en, almost Nano

Woo! This weekend, we picked more apples (the cold snap had not hurt those still on the tree, thankfully, so we managed to get another 2 buckets and 2 boxes worth).

(I need a bushel basket to have a decent idea how many apples we have!)

We also made applesauce and began apple butter, made and devoured apple cake, raked leaves (peh) and planted crocuses.

I found a computer-based post-it-noted system and started making notes for my nano novella (yeah, started. I’m not that good at this).

Aaand… that’s about it.

Oh! check out this! Rix-scaedu painted the Primordial card from Heirlooms & Old Lace 🙂

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.

Trash and Treasures, The Aunt Family, for the Giraffe Call

For JanetMiles‘s commissioned prompt.

Just after Heirlooms and Old lace (Lj),

and in the same setting as Estate (LJ) and Lost Spirits (LJ)

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It took Evangaline’s family less than a week after her yard sale to start coming to her with complaints.

She had been expecting the nosy visits, wanting to see what she was doing with the old house, now that she had managed to clear out some of the clutter (or throw away priceless family heirlooms, depending on who you asked).

She had anticipated the complaints about her color choices, the inappropriate gifts of things to make the house the way her cousins, sisters, aunts, and grandmother thought it ought to be; she had come armed with several stock phrases to fend off opinionated relatives, the chief among them being, “If you’d like to live here instead of me, I’m sure you could paint it however you wanted.”

She had three unmarried nieces on whom she refused that line, however, and she paid close attention to the opinions of the youngest, Beryl. Their tastes weren’t identical, but there were enough similarities that she could allow Beryl to design a guest room to her own tastes – with the added benefit that such annoyed, distressed, and confused Beryl’s mother without in anyway giving her ground to stand on. There were benefits to being the maiden aunt.

She was still stripping out old molding and repainting the walls, taking every spare moment of time between work and other commitments to work on the house before inertia could catch up with her and resign her to chintz and floral patterns, and so she was in her oldest clothes and up on a stepladder in the living room when the first of the complainers came stomping in.

Her Aunt Antonia hammered a cursory knock at the door and let herself in, the way she probably had when the house was owned by her sister Asta. “Eva,” she snapped, “this rose you sold me is trash.”

“Hello, Aunt Tony. There’s tea in the kettle and cookies in the jar. I’ll be just a moment.” She didn’t bother turning to look. If she turned to look, she might make eye contact.

“Did you hear what I said? The rose is broken.”

“I’ll be right with you. I just need to finish the crown moulding or I’ll get lines.”

“Strip it and do it again. It’s a horrible color anyway. Asta never would have used something like that.”

“But she willed me the house, Antonia. I’d pass it to you, if you wanted it…?” It was a safe offer, after all.

“Tea in the kettle, you said?” Her mother’s oldest sister huffed into the kitchen, giving Evangaline time to finish painting the lovely plum shade onto the elaborate crown moldings. She wondered, in passing, if anyone else had ever noticed the sigils and signs painted tone-on-tone in the shadowed portions of the trim. She wondered if that’s why they were so worried about her redecorating.

She picked up her tools quickly, rinsed the brush in the laundry-room sink and then, having kept her aunt waiting long enough, headed into the kitchen. There, Aunt Antonia was perched uncomfortably on the narrow chair Eva kept bare of books or paperwork for just that reason, eating a cookie and drinking heavily creamed and sugared tea.

“Finally,” she huffed. “This place is a wreck, Evangaline.”

“I’m still moving in,” she answered placidly. “There’s a lot to be done, and a lot of moving about, and-” she brought it up even though she knew better “-I’m working it all around my job.”

“You don’t need to work now, you know. The family trust fund will take care of you.”

The trust fund had been left over from an era when women did not, as a general rule, work outside the house. Eva shook her head. “I like working. The house will take as long as it takes.”

“But you can’t properly host company until it’s done.”

“Well then, I will improperly host company until then,” she answered tiredly, clearing off the comfy seat and taking two cookies for herself. “Now. The rose?” Maybe then she could get her out of here.

“The rose is broken! When Asta was a little girl, it used to smell like flowers all year round.” She waved the glass sculpture indignantly at Eva. “Now it smells like stinkberries.”

Eva took it from her Aunt carefully. It hadn’t smelled like either flowers or stinkberries to her – and now that she sniffed it again, it seemed to small faintly of rosemary and sage. “Mmm. Perhaps it is.” Safer to agree than to suggest that her Aunt’s personality stank. “I’ll refund you the twenty-five cents you paid for it.”

“But it’s a treasure! It’s worth hundreds of dollars! The craftsman who made those was a friend of Aunt Ruan’s; he only made a hundred.”

“Mm, but you paid twenty-five cents.” She pulled a quarter out of her pocket and passed it over. “If that’s all…”

Aunt Antonia was only the first of the visits Eva received as a result of her yard sale. Some admitted quietly that the item they had gotten was a family treasure, charmed or enchanted or cursed in some useful manner, and worth far more than they paid. To them, Eva said “Keep it. It’s still in the family, after all, and I don’t need it.”

Some complained that the item they had thought was a steal turned out to be trash; Eva refunded their money if they were willing, or sent them on their way if they couldn’t let go of the thing. Some wanted to know what she’d sold and to whom; she did her best to ignore the ones that made that question sound like a demand. She had an inventory, of course, but it was none of their business.

She didn’t want to admit, either, that she hadn’t known about all the enchanted items she’d sold, some of them to complete strangers. She was fairly certain she’d kept the nastiest ones in the house, and the most powerful in the family, but the more complaints she got, the more stories of “Aunt Asta’s friend” or “Aunt Ruan’s associate” she heard, the less certain she was.

The complaints about the yard sale trinkets, like the complaints about the house, surged and trickled off, until she allowed herself to believe, two months later, that she was done with family meddling for a while. She had her music blasting, all the window open to the unseasonably warm autumn day, and her skimpiest, oldest tank top on over a neon-pink bra when her Great-Aunt Rosaria knocked on her door.

Eva tried not to squirm with embarrassment as she poured her grandmother’s sister a mug of fresh tea, having cleared off the most comfortable chair in the living room for her.

“The place is coming along well,” Rosaria murmured. “I see you re-did the protections – but, interesting, you got rid of the evil eye, there. I always thought that leant a certain urgency to door-to-door salesmen’s visits for Ruan.”

“I didn’t like the FedEx guy dumping and running quite so much,” she admitted nervously. “You don’t mind the plum?”

“I think it makes it look like a French Whorehouse in here, but if you want that look, it’s your house. That’s how the thing is set up, after all.”

“Thank you.” She wracked her brain, trying to remember what her oldest surviving relative had bought at the yard sale. “No problem with the doilies or the ash tray then?”

“Aah, the tatting whines sometimes on a cold night, but it’s always done that. Surprised Asta kept it around. And the ash tray – well, when you want that back, dear, come and get it. I came to bring you these.” She pulled an ancient-looking ledger book and a slightly-more-modern spiral-bound notebook from her bag. “I can’t find Elenora’s or Zenobia’s, and neither could Asta – you might try between the walls.”

Not wanting to look greedy, Eva leaned forward carefully towards the books. “I’m sorry…?”

“Their catalogs. Asta gave me these before her death, to keep them out of her sisters’ hands. I wanted to see how you handled the hodgepodge on your own before I gave you her notes.”

Eva’s heart skipped a beat. “And…?”

“I’ve been watching you since you moved in here, dear. I’d say you’ve been showing very discerning eye.”

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Frying Pans, etc.

For The [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s commissioned prompt, a follow-up to Fae-Bane (LJ)

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 9 – landing page here (or on LJ)

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Timora had two little brothers and an older stepbrother. The moment the hand covered her mouth, she did what had worked so many times before – she licked it.

“Ew!” The hand pulled away, giving her a chance to turn around and see her would-be assailant. The boy held up both hands defensively, then quickly dropped one to wipe it on his pants. “Just… be quiet for a minute, okay, and come here in the shadows. I swear I mean you no harm today.”

Today. She nodded uncertainly, and let him tug her deeper into the shadowed hallway, trying not to stare. It was hard; even in the dim light, his eyes gleamed green – and slit-pupiled, like a cat, which, given the tiger-like ears sticking out of his hair, made sense. She reached out to touch one, wondering if they were on some sort of headband. She’d seen some of the upperclassmen with – Calvin said it was a Mask, like a glamour out of a fairy tale – with their glamour down, but she hadn’t been brave enough to touch. Now – well, he didn’t look scary at all. He looked, if anything, like he was afraid of her.

His ear twitched, and he chuckled nervously. “They’re real,” he assured her. “Now… please don’t scream, okay? I can’t protect you if you make me run away.” He gestured dismissively to a complaint she hadn’t voiced. “Okay, okay, you can do pretty well making everyone else run away too. But… you’ve noticed some weirdness?”

Timora pinched his ear pointedly. Weirdness, said the boy with cat ears. Siberian tiger ears, she was pretty sure. And oddly familiar, although the stripes were throwing her off.

“Ow! Yeah, okay. And some of the strangeness is… inhuman…?”

She didn’t pinch his ear again, much as she wanted to, instead wiggling all her fingers at him: oooh, scary woogy stuff.

“Yes, that, exactly. All right. So, did you wander the through the Hallway of no Sound?”

Hallway of no… She shook her head, then nodded it, hoping he got the point – she understood. Would her voice really scare people away? Or was this another stupid prank? “Calvin…” she began, and stopped when the boy’s ears went flat.

“Calvin ran away when you screamed. Ass that he is, he was probably waiting to trap you.” He shook his head – more and more, she thought she ought to know him, if only he weren’t so catty – and kept talking before she could try voicing another objection, or the oh, god, I made him run away, now he’ll never go to a dance with me. “I know he seemed nice, Timora, but a lot of people are really nice around here until Hell Night.”

“How…” Was she going to have to go through life mute? She pressed her lips together unhappily.

“Oh… sorry.” He made a complex hand gesture, and then, from behind him somewhere, produced a fedora. The hat went on his head – and the stripes and slitted eyes vanished, revealing a boy she’d sat behind in Lit and next to in History for two weeks. “I’m Porter.”

She mimed “Oh,” figuring that was safe enough, and gestured out into the hall and back to their hidey hole: What are you doing hiding here?

He was really quite good at charades. “The same thing as every other upperclassman on Hell Night,” he told her sadly.

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One Sharp Mother

For [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned request for more from the Baram story posted in Monster (LJ) and Memories (LJ)

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 17 – landing page here (or on LJ)

Thanks to @inventrix and @dahob for the names.

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Late October, 2011

Jaelie was in the garden when the gods attacked. The garden, such as it was, was her territory, her sanctum and responsibility. She’d been the first to be hired, such as it was, by Baram (“bought” might have been more accurate, but the pay was good and the work not onerous, and she had little to complain of), the first to come looking for him after graduation, intrigued by the legend he’d left behind, and she’d thus been the first to carve out her own place in his haven.

She’d taken to spending her mornings there, getting it ready for winter, mulching the beds and wrapping the trees. Baram didn’t mind what they did in the areas of the house and yard they’d claimed, so she coaxed hawthorn and rowan trees into a hedge along the back and grew tomatoes, peppers, potatoes (their employer was quite the meat-and-potatoes sort of guy), herbs and poisons along the fences, strawberries for the kids and squash for Viatrix. It gave her something to do with her free time, and a way to practice her Working and keep the magical muscles, as her former Mentor liked to call them, in shape.

Pruning the hawthorn – doing anything with the hawthorn, but on this day, she was pruning it – took thick gloves and a patient hand, Workings mumbled under the breath and a quick eye for trouble, so it wasn’t until the kids came yelling into the back yard that Jaelie realized their city had been invaded.

She counted noses with the force of habit – two, three, five, six, nine? Nine? Like every graduate of Addergoole, she had her two, and Baram’s other two “house elves” had theirs with them as well, (at least in Alkyone’s case, not out of any maternal sense, but because Addergoole taught you to never give up any advantage, and never give away anything for free). There should be six children, and – she counted again – yes, the six that were theirs were there, as well as, no, not three, another six kids from the neighborhood. Seven; they were trailing slowly in past her gates, looking around nervously.

“What’s going on?” she asked sharply, looking to the children that belonged here for an answer.

Gerulf spoke up first – the oldest and one of Jaelie’s by blood. “School got let out and nobody’s parents are home, but I knew you’d be here, so I figured this was safer.”

Safe was an acceptable reason to break protocol by bringing friends home. “Safer?” she repeated anyway. “What’s going on?”

“There’s monsters in the streets,” one of the kids’ friends offered. “And some sort of dragon in the air.”

“Shit.” She ignored the giggles from the kids not her own. “Ger, get them inside. You know the drill. Stop and let Vi and Aly know what you told me, then get behind the heavy doors.”

“Aw, come on, Mom.” He’d just turned ten and, with Baram as his male example, thought he was old enough to fight the world. “Can’t I stay and help?”

“No.” She pulled the trump card. “You need to protect Lilja.” Vi’s youngest was barely three years old, the pampered baby sister of their tribe. “Go.” She shooed them on, not wanting the mundane children to see what she was about to do.


Jaelie never knew if the creatures followed some sort of scent-of-Ellehemaei, or if it was sheer dumb luck that they stumbled into her hedge. By the time they arrived, her Workings had taken hold, and the sleepy hawthorns had transformed into an angry hedge. She wasn’t Named Briar Rose for nothing, after all, and the first creature through was nearly dead by the time he reached her.

To her flanks, Viatrix and Alkyone had finished the pit traps and were waiting with to burn and shock any intruders. They’d hoped they’d be lucky enough to be missed – even with the hedge, from the outside they still looked much like any other house on the block – but they weren’t taking chances. They hadn’t survived four years of Addergoole by taking stupid chances.

When the first creature broke through – fell through, really; her hedges were hungry and she’d taken lessons from Valentina as well as Valerian – Jaelie speared him to the ground. “Submit,” she demanded.

He coughed blood on her shoes, blood that slowly began eating at the leather of her boots. “Bitch,” he choked, “I’d rather die.”

Viatrix obliged him, her backhanded stroke casual enough to make Jaelie wince, while Alkyone turned to knock down the next intruder. Then a third came through, and a fourth, and the battle was on in earnest.

The combat was bloody and hard. Training her magical muscles or not, Jaelie had been out of school for six and a half years, and PTA meetings were an entirely different sort of battle. Her sisters in arms, younger, fresher, and cy’Fridmar, both of them, fared somewhat better, but the damn things kept coming. In all, Jaelie counted nine of the returned-gods monsters, although at least three of them could have been the same guy with an obnoxious power.

With every thrust and stroke and Working, with every cut she took and every stab she dealt out, Jaelie focused on keeping the intruders from the house, wondering, even as she fought and bled, where the hell their monster was. Where was the man who had bought their service with his protection and cash? Where was the monster she’d sought out because, of all of Addergoole’s legends, he seemed as if he’d be possible to work with? As the battle pressed on, the thoughts took two directions at once – damnit, where’s Baram when we need him? and shit, where’s Baram? If there’s this many here…

And then they had the last asshole pinned to the ground, three rowan spears holding him on place, and Viatrix was spitting out the line they’d already used five times. “Submit.”

“I yield,” this one choked out, through a mouthful of blood – thankfully not the burning sort. “Shit, you women are fierce. I didn’t think a halfbreed could…”

“Not the throat, Alkyone!” At the last minute, the former cy’Fridmar’s second spear went into the asshole’s chest instead.

“Yield better,” Jaelie told the returned-and-debased god, amused despite herself. “We’re not big on senses of humor around here.”

The god – probably a Grigori, or whatever they called themselves when they stepped through from the other side – coughed ruefully. “I place myself in your hands, because I don’t really want to die to-” he fell into a hacking fit for a moment “-day. What’s your Name?”

They shared a look, and, in the end, it was Jaelie who offered “Briar Rose.” She’d had lots of practice getting the tone right – laugh and I’ll kill you. He didn’t laugh this time.

“Then I am yours, Briar Rose, until you choose to release me.”

Her answer was cut short by a crashing from the front lawn.

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October Giraffe Call Closing (ish) Summary!

I still have 4 prompts to write – 2 for Ysabet & 2 for KC O’Brien – but I’m close enough to the end to post a summary.

Then I get to move on to the paid continuations! If you haven’t told me what story you want me to continue/write/etc. with your donation, please send me a note, comment, or e-mail!

I wrote 39 stories so far:

Rude Roommates (LJ) Autumn, and Ghosts
At the Movies (LJ)

The Grey Line (LJ)

Ghosts of Memory (LJ) Girey ponders

In the past
Giving up the Ghost (LJ)
Carrying the Spirit (LJ)

Tir na Cali
Ninja Kitty (LJ)

When in Rome (LJ)
Revenge of the Pumpkins (LJ)

Refurbish & Sell (LJ) “‘Spooks’ means FBI!”

(Main storyline)
Monster (LJ)
Memories (LJ) – Baram, through the lives
Not Everyone Makes it Out (LJ) and some never leave
Hell Night (LJ) Years 1, 4, & 7
Night Terrors (LJ) – Yngvi’s nightmare

(Yr 9)
Fae-Bane (LJ) Timora’s Hell Night [and notes on her appearance (LJ)]
Creeped (LJ) – Ceinwen’s Hell Night

Hallowe’en 19888 (LJ) (chibi, non-canon)

Dragons Next Door
Where Have all the… Zombies gone? (LJ) Aud & Jin having a discussion

Fears (LJ) Juniper & Jimmy, continued in:
Loophole (LJ

Questions> (LJ)
Consulting (LJ)
Salt (LJ) (After “Ketchup”)
Rule Two (LJ)
Skeletons (LJ), after The Black Tower & The Pumpkin

The Aunt Verse
Heirlooms and Old Lace (LJ)
Estate (LJ)
Lost Spirits (LJ)

Shadow Rebellion
In the Shadows (LJ)
Shadow of a Doubt (LJ)
Creep (LJ)

Inside the Walls (LJ)

Bug Invasion
Spooks vs. Bugs (LJ)

Cunning Linguist (LJ)
Ghost of Finals (LJ)
Unintended Consequences (LJ)
Keeping House (LJ)
Eat, Prey, Live (LJ)
Teddy Demon (LJ)

And we’re well on our way to that carpet!

The Giraffe Funds Raised So Far:

October’s funds:

Thanks to everyone who participated in the fun!

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