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The Garden – a story of the Faerie Apocalypse for Patreon

May23
When I posted The Gardener I was asked (and now I can’t find where, sigh) about Damkina and the apocalypse.  So here is Damkina and the apocalypse, considerably longer than I’d intended. 🙂

 🏡

The sky was black and red, and in the distance an unearthly howl echoed through the city.  But the squash would not forgive her skipping their bug treatment and the weeds in the pepper garden were unseemly.

Damkina muttered wards against bugs as she slammed her hoe into the ground with more force than was strictly necessary.  They had been here, the week before last, asking her to fight.  She had pointed at the ruins of Chicago, smoking on the television.  “That is what happens when you fight.  Like every other time.  When you have remembered how to banish them, come find me.”

They had called her last week, asking her to fight.  She had pointed to the mess they had just made of Minneapolis.  “You’re doing more harm than good.  That was no returned god that shattered their downtown, that was your warriors.  I am a gardener.   I have always been a gardener.  Leave me to my garden.” Continue reading →

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May23

When I posted The Gardener I was asked (and now I can’t find where, sigh) about Damkina and the apocalypse. So here is Damkina and the apocalypse, considerably longer than I’d intended. 🙂
🏡

The sky was black and red, and in the distance an unearthly howl echoed through the city. But the squash would not forgive her skipping their bug treatment and the weeds in the pepper garden were unseemly.

Damkina muttered wards against bugs as she slammed her hoe into the ground with more force than was strictly necessary.

Free for all Patrons!


Originally posted on 2012. If you sense a theme, it’s likely because “Wine and/or roses” was the Giraffe Call theme in Feb. 2012.
💐

It was, as fairy gifts went, rather strange.

As wedding gifts go, it was even odder.

Read On!

It was hot so the ganache frosting melted and my food photography really needs work, sorry!
🍓

When baking chocolate things in my household, there are two things that we almost always do to up the chocolate flavor, and two more we do as we remember to:

Free for all “Recipe Box” Patrons!

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It took me 30 random clicks to get a Fae Apoc Icon… Patreon Posts

May18

More of a vignette than a true story, a bit involving two pure-bred Ellehemaei some time not too long before The War. Verena has appeared recently in “…There is a Military Group in the Area. …”

💍

“I’m sorry, Tancred, but our family is depleted and this was the deal we could make.”

Tancred‘s mother didn’t look all that sorry. If anything, she looked pleased.

That was like her, though. She’d solved two problems with one stone.

Free for all Patrons!


Originally posted during the run of Addergoole: The Original Series, so sometime between 2009 & 2012.
☔
It rained at Martin’s funeral; Meckil made sure of it.

She wasn’t allowed at the funeral; ancient ancestral promises banned her from hallowed ground across the continent. So she stood outside, under the branches of the linden tree that had Named her, dressed in mourning as befit a widow, heedless of the scandal, and watched, working the Words of the rainfall into Martin’s eulogy.
Read On!

After Beryl and one Specific Boy, which is after B is for Beryl and her Boys.
🌙

“I know,” Jake admitted, “a cemetery isn’t really the ordinary sort of place to take a girl on a date. But I figured, you’re not an ordinary sort of girl, and, really, I’m not really all that normal myself, so why would we go on an ordinary date?

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“…There is a military group in the sea…”

May17

Fae-Apoc, at the apocalypse, California, 2011.

Verena Truth-Blade was rich. She had gotten that way through patience and dedication, two things her breed were not known for, and by knowing when the time was to spend and when to save.

She had learned that throwing experts at a problem, not money, was the best idea, properly-motivated experts, and had cultivated stables of such experts throughout the centuries.

So when the gods started attacking her home, she got on the phone.

“We’re not going to make it into space in time,” she told the head of her design team for the very-long-term space-station project. “Because our infrastructure is about to be destroyed out from under us. New project. We’re going under water.”

“We’re what?”

She laid out the project, ending with “give me specs, I’ll take care of the manufacturing. We’re in a hurry, we’re not cutting any corners but we are taking shortcuts.”

“Are those like…”

“Like that, yeah. We’ve got two weeks.”

“You know that’s impossible, right?”

“So’s surviving when the building falls down on your head. Work.”

Then Verena called in another set of experts and got them working on something she steadfastly refused to call an ark: a boat that could withstand the roughest seas they could imagine. She told them the same thing: “I’ll take care of manufacturing. Get me specs.”

She hung up the phone and wrote a list of everyone she cared about and wanted to save. Then she started contacting them.

Two days later, she went to the local sex-slave salesplace, first the legit one, where every potential Kept was vetted and had volunteered, and then to the shady one, where none of that happened. “I need everyone who can handle Meentik, Shape, and Transmute,” she told them, “I’ll pay well and they’ll be well-taken care of,” she said at the first place, and “I won’t ask any uncomfortable questions,” at the second place.

With her new team of six workers assembled, she informed them, “you’re going to work your asses off for six months, but I’m going to do my damndest to save you from the returned gods, and then you can live out the remainder of your five-year term pampered and Kept in the way that best pleases and suits you. Understand?”

They were wide-eyed, shell-shocked, and worried, but they nodded.

Then the real work began.

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Family Ties – a Drabble of Cynara

May16

See Also Plans
Let’s see, Math.
Cya starts year 6, 2000 AD
Yoshi starts Year 24, 2018 AD
The White Stag grandson starts… year 41? We’ll say 41, 2035
The next one is year 60, great-grandson, 2056
So call this 2064.

There were two people at Iasthai’s front door: a woman with a red streak through chocolate-brown hair and a very skinny man with hair so blonde it was nearly white. They weren’t part of the neighborhood, that much Iasthai knew; it was a small enough, isolated enough village that she knew all her neighbors — and they were clean and well-dressed like Addergoole people, but they weren’t anyone Iasthai recognized from there either.

The woman looked familiar, but Iasthai couldn’t quite place where or why.

“Iasthai?” She asked like it was a formality.

“That’s me,” she agreed carefully.

“I’m Cya Dayton, called Doomsday, and this is Charno, called Speedforce.”

“Ah? I see?” Oh… Oh! She took a step backwards.

“I swear to you, I come here meaning no harm to you or yours.”

Iasthai relaxed slowly. “How can I help you?”

“I’m hoping we can help each other.” She didn’t ask to come in; Iasthai appreciated it.

“How’s that?” she asked, carefully. One didn’t want to offend Red Doomsday.

“I like to keep track of my kin, to help them out. Unfortunately for that urge, my line tends towards boys.”

Iasthai glanced unwillingly to the back of her cottage, where her sons were playing. “…And?”

“And I’m willing to offer you and your household a home in Cloverleaf, five years’ living expenses, and pre-Addergoole education for all of your children if you will agree to allow me visitation with my grand— hrrm… great-great-grandson,” she murmured that part even quieter than the rest of her speech.

“You, not his father?”

“His deals are his own.”

“He — he said you suggested me.” She found her shoulders tightening.

“Ah, well, it’s harder and harder to find those that aren’t related to us or to Boom as a whole, the more generations go to Addergoole.”

“So you could find him for me?”

The woman smiled slowly. “As long as you agreed that you meant him no permanent harm and would Keep him no more than, say… four years.”

“You’d agree to that?” What kind of grandmother was she?

“My grands make their own mistakes. Besides, it might allow him to know his sons, and that would do him good.”

“Sons?” Iasthai asked, despite herself.

The woman’s smile grew to something sharp and amused. “I already negotiated with his first-year Keeper.”

Iasthai looked back at her tiny cottage. She took a breath. It wasn’t a great place, but they’d accepted her with no questions and liked her medical ability. “I’ll do it. WIth those caveats. Come back in… a week, if you can, and we’ll be ready to go.”

“I’ll see you in a week. Thank you, Iasthai.”

A house, a stipend, and her first-year Keeper tracked down for her. And Red Doomsday acted like Iasthai was doing her a favor. “You’re quite welcome, sa’Doomsday.”

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Fourth Date: Cya and Manus

May14

A bit later than:
Cya gets ready for a date and Almost Out the Door for a Date and Trying Again and Blind Dateand Catching Up and Getting to (re-)Know him
and Also Needs a Title
and More Cya Date and So, Tell me About your Day

See also: Red Thorns.
🍽️
For their fourth date, Manus brought her a town.

It was more of a settlement, really, a very small grouping of people who all looked at her with big, worried eyes and seemed to be very worried about their lot in life.

She’d known something was up when her normally-peaceful boyfriend was armed and suggested she do the same. “Should I bring a bodyguard?” she’d asked, mostly joking.

“no, that will spook them too much.,” his answer was a lot more serious. “You’ll be safe. you outpower all of them.”

“Them” was this settlement, twenty-three people in a burned-out town that probably hadn’t seen real inhabitance in decades. They looked up at her, and looked at Manus, and looked back at her.

“They want to fly the Cloverleaf flag,” he told her. “We caught them raiding, and stopped them pretty thoroughly, but they looked more hungry than fierce – sorry, guys – and, well..”

She walked up to one who had dropped his Mask and looked like a ragged, sad, coyote. She pulled aside his shirt and saw two red thorn marks. “Raiders?”

“Former Raiders,” Manus clarified. “They agreed to stop raiding, but one of their terms was that I try to get you to talk to them. Since I know you, well, I agreed to that.”

“So.” She looked them over. “You want to fly my flag.”

The coyote one cleared his throat. “It gives us a little bit of protection, ma’am, and considering where we’re from, we could use that protection.”

She looked at the next one over. No thorn-marks on his skin, but he had the old scars of a collar. He looked worried, and too thin, but they all looked too thin.

“And where exactly are you from?” She aimed the question at the one in front of her. She thought he might be human.

He shied away but forced himself to meet her eyes. “We belonged to the Shenera Oseraei. We didn’t want to belong to them anymore.”

“Halfbreeds,” muttered the woman on the other side of him, “and slaves. We ran away.”

“I hope you ran far, because I’m not in the mood for a war.”

The one on the end waved their hand weakly. “Teleporter, and Eo’sedek there can mask anything. So we should be safe. We came here, this far, because of Cloverleaf.”

“What do you think?” she asked Manus, although she could already guess, since he’d brought her here.

“I think they could do with some structure, and with some protection, and probably with some running water and a little help with food.”

“All right.” She studied them. “You fly my flag, you follow my laws. You want my support, you do what I tell you.”

One of the ones that were probably human stepped forward. “We want to be free, not just under another master.”

“And you will be. I won’t force obedience, but I will force lawfulness and I will give you homework.” She looked around the group. “In return, I’ll give you aid, help you rebuild this place into something comfortable, and you can fly my flag, with all the protections involved.”

“Homework?” asked the coyote suspiciously.

“Ah. Sometimes I forget I’m a teacher. Assignments to do or think about when I’m not here, as a – a human teacher might give a student.”

They shifted, looked at each other. “Like what?” asked the human one who wanted to be free.

“Well. First assignment, and I’ll be back in two days with food, water, and some other things: come up with one to four rules for your community that you can all agree on. Things to bind all of you. No bullying people into them; they have to be comfortable for everyone.”

“And we can fly the Cloverleaf?” The coyote’s ears were back. Poor thing was worried.

Poor thing had attacked her city at least twice.

“And you can fly the Cloverleaf. And those of you with thorns, I grant you the obvious exemption that you can enter your own town within the three years of your oath. Do we have a deal?”

They looked at each other. After a moment, the coyote nodded.

“We have a deal, sa’Doomsday.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you in two days.”

They wandered off slowly, Manus and Cya, to where Isra was waiting to teleport them home. “You looked like you were having fun?” he asked.

“That was a wonderful gift,” she assured him. “Thank you.”

“Do I get homework, too?” He grins insouciantly at her, and she found herself grinning back.

“Only if you want it, my dear, only if you want it.”

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The Gardener, a story of Fae Apoc for Patreon

May12
This is one of those that wandered off from the prompt, but I didn’t notice until I was done.  So have at. 🙂

🏡

The cherry trees needed extra buds plucked and the wisteria needed trimming; the dwarf willow in the tiny garden needed to be convinced back from the bench and the tomatoes in the vegetable patch needed weeding.

Damkina was humming. If the rain held off until past noon, it would be a good day.

Gardens, like people, came and went, Damkina had long since learned, albeit in a slower, more vegetal manner.  This one was young, not even a century old yet, and the people who believed they were employing her to maintain it had no idea who she really was.

That was fine with her.  She preferred anonymity to notoriety.
Continue reading →

Beauty-Beast 16: Plans

May12

First – Previous – Landing Page – Next

🔒

It took effort to pick up the fork and eat without specific permission, but Ctirad wasn’t going to risk pissing his owner off again in such a short time.

After the first bite, it took effort to not gorge. To remind himself to be a good dinner companion, he attempted questions. “So, what are your plans for tomorrow?”

He thought Timaios looked amused, but was fine with that, as long as he didn’t look offended.

“Well, I’ve got a short boring meeting and a long one that might actually be interesting. Then I have a couple unofficial things to do that might cause some interesting ripples. I think I’ll send you shopping with one of the others here in the morning, save you the boring meeting, and then you can be properly dressed for the afternoon meeting and the unofficial gatherings.”

“I feel like Pretty Woman,” Ctirad mumbles, “Except I know how to not get turned away from a store.”

Timaios laughed. “You can probably skip the wide derby hat, too. I was serious about what I said earlier; I’m going to present you as an enigma, because Tim Kaprinsky is rich enough to get away with just expecting his handsome plus-one to be allowed in anywhere. I might get lightly affectionate with you in public, if you can stand that. I might spend an hour ignoring you entirely, or ask you to weigh in on matters. If I do that, just be honest, unless there’s something I’ve specifically told you not to say. I’m either actually asking your opinion or trying to shake them-”

“-by getting the trained monkey to talk. I’ve done that dance before.”

Shit, had he said that out loud? Ctirad colored and looked at his plate.

But Timaios was laughing again.

“Very good, very good. Yes. Is all that fine with you?”

“So. I stand there and look pretty, speak when asked a question, and get cuddled when it proves a point?”

“That is, ah.” Timaios coughed. “Yes. More or less, yes.”

“Sir, as long as ‘get cuddled’ isn’t ‘get fucked’ in the middle of a restaurant and you’re not gonna start humiliating me for my opinions, that sounds great.” It sounded, he had to admit, more like his old life than his new life.

“No. I am not the sort of man who will humiliate his employees — or his possessions. I might use your answers to humiliate someone else, but the worst I might say is ‘if he gets it, Bob, why don’t you.’ Is that acceptable?”

Ctirad smiled. He actually felt at home with that idea. “I’m not big, but I look like muscle. I’m used to people — employers — using the fact that people think I’m dumb. Sir.”

That got a real smile back from Timaios. “I may have to start punishing you for calling me sir,” he said, but he seemed to have no heat at all behind it.

Ctirad found he was feeling daring. “Be careful… sir. I might enjoy that.”

“Mmm. Well then. How’s dinner?”

“Delicious.” He looked down at his plate and found it almost empty. “Really good,” he admitted ruefully. His stomach felt stretched, it was so full. “Best I’ve had in a really long time.”

“Good. Danny is well worth the money I pay her. Maybe we can put a little meat back on those bones.”

“Do you…” Damnit.

“No, please, continue.”

Double damnit. That was an order. “Do you have a gym, sir? Because if I am going to be eating-” enough. “-more, I’m going to need to work out to keep my tone up. If that’s what you want me to look like, sir. If it pleases you.” Fuck.

“I have a gym, yes. You are welcome to use it at any point where I am not requiring your services and have not given you other tasks – I’m going to note that sleeping is a required task, Ctirad. And as for your body.” He stood up and walked around the table. Ctirad struggled with the urge to drop to his knees and settled for looking down at the table.

Timaios took his chin and forced his gaze up to his eyes. “It’s a lovely body, and it does belong to me. Why don’t we say this: no tattoos, no piercings, no fake tanning, nothing humans would think of as body modification. But you’re allowed to shape and work your body in a gym as much as you want. Understood?”

No.

“So you don’t mind if I work out?”

“Not at all. You may do as you like in the gym. But for now -” Timaios released Ctirad’s chin. “Perhaps you should finish eating.”

🔒

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Funeral: Coming Home

May9

First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Theft and Ownership

Erramun was pretending he wasn’t shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Senga swallowed a sigh and looked at him. “I might be young.” She let a little acid drip into her voice. She had been around her family, after all, and it had been a long day already. “But I know a thing or two about the collar, and I’ve been on both sides of it. A collar isn’t a collar isn’t a collar, any more than a nice chain necklace isn’t a leather dog collar isn’t a bar of steel wrapped around your neck.”

She saw the flinch he tried to hide at the last one, and took a mental note. “Did my great-aunt know?” she asked, a stab in the dark but worth it with the way he was reacting, “someone had kept you as a slave before?”

He eyed her. She could see the way his shoulders turned slightly toward her, even as she kept most of her attention on the road. Traffic in this part of town could be deadly, even without the added threat of nearby family. “I don’t have to tell you that,” he said, slowly but with an implied threat. “You haven’t given me any orders to honesty.”

“Should I?”

“Depends if you want me to be polite or honest.” He was inching towards facing her. She kept her eyes on the road.

She snorted. “You’ve met my family. Which do you think I prefer?”

She almost missed the way his hands curled into fists on his lap. “I don’t like guessing games.”

“I don’t play them. I’m not the sort of bitch my cousins are” It wasn’t quite an apology, but she wasn’t feeling very apologetic.

“What sort of bitch are you, then?”

Apparently, neither was he.

She coughed to cover a laugh and let the traffic flow around them, pretending for a moment like getting the car to the right-most lane to turn onto her side street was taking all her attention. “I’m the sort of bitch who’s more honest than you want with friends and never honest at all with enemies.”

“And what about with your bound servants?”

“Well, I suppose we’re going to have to find out. It’s been a while since I had one, and the last one was a volunteer. It’s a bit of a different situation. What about you? What sort of bitch are you?”

It wasn’t a nice question. She didn’t think he’d appreciate her being nice.

“I’m not generally anyone’s bitch. Mirabella knew that. I think she’s fucking with me, giving me to you. I’m not sure why else she did it.” He shrugged. “You still haven’t ordered me to honesty.”

“You still haven’t told me if she knew you’d worn a collar before.”

Both of his hands went to his neck. “I’m not wearing a collar now.”

“No. You’re not.” This part of the drive often actually did require concentration. She handled the five-way intersection, sped up to avoid the oncoming tractor-trailer, and braked to turn into her driveway. “Except you are.” She tapped his chest, feeling a little daring but, hey, she Owned him now. She was going to have to get used to touching him eventually. “Metaphorically.”

He growled. She growled back at him, and was pleased to see he looked startled. She’d practiced that growl. “I’m yours,” he muttered. “That’s different.”

“How, exactly, is it different?” She parked the car and turned in her seat to look at him. “The collar is the symbol of being Owned.”

“Make up your mind!” He glared at her. “If a collar isn’t a collar isn’t a collar, than if I’m not a slave, I’m not collared.”

“This is going to be a long conversation.” She shook her head and resisted the urge to pinch her nose. “Did my Great-Aunt Mirabella know you’d been collared before?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “She did. Happy now?”

“Not yet, but it’s a good start, thank you. This is my house, or at least it is ‘till we take possession of Monmartin Hill Manor, which will probably take a little time. Let me show you around, and then we can go get your things.”

“Joy.” He let himself out of the car and slammed the door. His shoulders were tight and he looked like he wanted to punch something.

She was going to have to deal with this sooner rather than later. “Hey!” She caught his attention with a nice snap of her voice. “Nobody said you could play rough with my things.”

He sneered at her. “Nobody said I couldn’t, either.”

“Oh?” Not too much she wanted to do on the driveway, in front of potential witnesses, and he probably knew that. “And here I was thinking you were happier if people didn’t tell you, too much, what to do.”

That caught him by surprise. Good. She took a few steps towards him. He didn’t step back, but from his expression, he was thinking about it.

“You’re collaring me. That means you get to tell me what to do.”

“Get to, yes. Starting with let’s have this argument inside, shall we?” She tilted her head at the front door. “My team’s home. Welcome.”

“Team?”

“Crew, team, family.” She started inside, waiting at the doorway for him.

She watched him consider doing something like running away, and watched the moment when he lost that argument with himself. It made him angry, or angrier, at least; his jaw tightened and he stomped as he came towards her.

She stepped in and let him come in after her and look around. The place was, she knew, nothing special – it looked very lived-in, and like the people living there were busy people without a lot of money. “I can see why you need a Kept,” he muttered.

“Yeah, we talked about having a housekeeper come in once a week, but decided that around here, that might stick out. Besides, now it turns out we’re moving, anyway.”

He eyed her in obvious surprise. “You’re going to move your whole team?”

“Have you seen the Monmartin Hill house? I could put my whole team in one bedroom of that place and still have room left over to throw a party. Just you and I – even if the staff is still there and wants to stay there – we’d rattle around in there like mad. Besides, I like my team being where I know where they are.”

“Controlling much?” He sneered it like the insult he meant it to be.

“Needy more than controlling.” She grinned back at him like he’d paid her a compliment she was dodging. “I’m a bit clingy. I suppose it comes of being an orphan. So, until we move, this is the house, and upstairs is my bedroom. Kitchen, dining room – well, in theory.” The cheap table they’d picked up at Goodwill houses three computers, seven monitors, and three file boxes, as well as at least one cat. “We eat through here in the living room. Chitter lives downstairs, prefers the basement or just likes the sound buffer. Allayne and I have the upstairs, and Ezer when he’s around.” She strode through the living room and up the stairs.

Erramun followed, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. “But now you’re moving.”

“Well, its not every day someone gives you part of the family fortune back. This is my room. It’s yours, too. Ah.” It wasn’t a big room, by any stretch of the imagination, but sh’d gotten a nice big bed and put it in one corner. Dresser, chest, gun case, and a free-standing punching bag took up the rest of the room. “Well. I never planned on sharing the space. I guess we’ll move soon.”

Erramun looked around the room dryly. “I might be able to hang myself up in the corner there,” he offered. “By the dresses and other things that don’t seem to fit you at all.”

“Har, har.” She was just glad he hadn’t offered to put himself in the gun case. Maybe he thought she kept makeup in there or something. “How long do you think it’ll take for you to pack up your stuff?”

“Oh, maybe twenty minutes.” He looked around her mess again with a wider smirk. “I travel light.”

“One of us ought to.” She was not going to take offense. “So, let’s-”

“Senga! Sennnnie! How did it go-oh?” With all the class and delicacy of a freight train, Allayne crashed into the room.

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