Originally posted on Patreon in August 2018 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.
This story comes after The Gardener, The Garden, and To the Garden. It is part of the series with First Garden. It takes place in the Fae Apoc world during the apocalypse. ⛈️
Outside of her garden – their garden – the war was still raging.
Damkina and her people had done what they could. They had pushed the borders of the little museum garden all the way to the edges of the city. Now, every Welcome to Greenville sign was surrounded by greenery and flanked by a polite but closed cast-iron gate.
As good as Damkina was – and she was very good – she could not control the weather itself, and there was a drought sitting, not just over Greenville, but over much of the surrounding area.
And there was a five-god army coming towards the widest gate of the city. Continue reading
First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
Mélanie sat with the wealth of clothes on her bed – her bed, her room – and was unsurprised when they began to carefully hang themselves. “I don’t suppose you do alterations, do you?” she asked the air. The clothes would fit her, mostly, but the very nce trousers would look nicer if they weren’t cinched in three inches with a belt.
The hanger tilted side to side thoughtfully.
“Maybe? Sort of? Requires you to talk and you’re not a big fan of talking?” Mélane guessed. She had no idea if the house could talk and, if it could, why it didn’t.
But on the last option, the hanger started tilting forward as if nodding. Continue reading
A Fae Apoc story prompted by @SkySailor. Set in the post-apoc of Fae Apoc.
“Excuse me? Excuse me, I’m looking for an expert?”
He looked like nothing you’d stop to look twice at, and most people didn’t even bother with looking once. He was weedy, small, underfed. Fifteen years after the collapse of most of the world, he looked like – well, like it was a miracle he was still alive.
Nobody worried about him.
“What sort of expert, son? We’ve got all sorts here.” The aging professor had not been quite so aging when the school had stopped being quite the same institution he’d been hired by. Tenure was, however, tenure, and there weren’t that many universities hiring Labor Economics professors in this day and age.
Not when they were more worried with the simple economics of laboring enough to survive. Continue reading