Archive | January 21, 2013

Moving in, A story of Fairy Town for the giraffe Call

For [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt.

They came to town in the late autumn, riding in on Harleys, a rumble so loud that it could be heard through the whole city.

They took up residence in Tom Morgan’s, a bar on the west side of town that catered to the rough, the poor, the wild. They simply strode in, looked around, and took over the best corner of the place.

Nobody stopped them. Nothing short of a full-grown troll had a chance, and the city, while it had plenty of the fae blood, did not lend itself to trolls and other Large Creatures.

Tom Morgan himself took one look at them and sent his wife out to deal with them. In his defense, this was not so much out of cowardice as out of prudence: the pride had far more women than it had men, and the men that were not the clear leaders were jittery and nervous around other men.

The last thing Tom wanted was a jittery juvenile lion-soul ripping up his bar, so he sent out his wife to deal with the pride.

Not being a full-grown troll, or a troll of any sort, Rudy Morgan didn’t move the pride. She served them heavy beer and light snacks, and flirted harmlessly with only the oldest of their men and the most pregnant of their woman. And she joked. Rudy Morgan, it had been said, could joke through a hurricane. Joking through a pride of lions was all in a day’s work, for her.

And it would have been fine. It would have been strange, uncomfortable and weird, but they would have adjusted until, like bikers everywhere, the lions moved on. They would have cleaned up the glass, gritted their teeth and smiled, until the lions moved on.

Until they started buying property.

Next: Moving In

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The ClockWork Collar, or The Princess of Al-ben, a kink-bingo mini-story in 25 parts. Poll 7

Previous:The Drug (LJ)

She was panting at his feet. She needed it. She needed him. And still he backed off. Still he laughed. “Please, master,” she pled. “I’ll…”

“You want to be my Princess?” His voice was thick as he dragged her to her feet. “Dress. And you can be my proper Princess.”

Next: Royally (LJ)

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The ClockWork Collar, or The Princess of Al-ben, a kink-bingo mini-story in 25 parts. Part 7

First: The Collar (LJ)
Previous: Body and Body (LJ)

The Drug

Yes, Master. Before the words were out, he touched her tongue with something, a small pill, and sweet.

“Swallow,” he commanded, and she swallowed, the sugar coating her throat all the way down. “Stand,” and she stood. “Look at me,” and she did.

His eyes were glowing. His lips were so soft-looking, so sweet. She could eat them up. She could eat him up; no, she needed to. She leaned in, and stumbled when he stepped back. “Master?”

“Not yet. No, Princess.”

She whimpered. “Master?” Her skin was burning.

“Not yet.”

“I need you.” She couldn’t bear it. “Please, Master?”

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The Darkness in the Shadows

For [personal profile] kc_obrien‘s Prompt

Don’t get me wrong, I like being a troll.

A goblin, a critter, a beastie of the night. I like being one of the gutter-people, the shadow-monsters, the whispers you don’t want to hear.

The light shines brightest down here. We have no light of our own, you see. So every spark of light that we receive is cherished, nourished, and polished until it shines, shines brighter than anything in your world.

And we collect it. Soft words and gentle whispers, sweet murmurs and the smile of a young lady. Diamonds and gold jewelry. A single pearl. A single happy tear.

That’s what we are. The thing you don’t want to know is behind you. The thing that you pass, not looking, the shadow you don’t squint into. We’re your collective shiny guilt, the puddle that mucks up your clean shoes, the gust of wind when you’ve just gotten your hair done.

We are everything, everything dirty and nasty and dark that you fear. And we love your bright bits, your earrings and your laughter, your brand new jacket and that hope you hold close to your chest. We collect them, shine them, and hang them in our gutter homes, our basement bowers, for light and warmth.

And while you drop your hopes into the gutter for us, the way you drop a couple pennies in a cup, we shine them up and hope they will keep the deepest dark away.

Because the light may shine brightest down here, but the shadows, oh. The shadows are like you’ve never seen.

Pray to your gods that you never have cause to find out just how dark.

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The Best Sin

For @Dahob’s prompt.

This comes after Sister’s Keeper

Content warning: This is a story about a succubus and her half-brother incubus in a magical dom/sub relationship..

Joff came home to find his kitchen full of men.

This was, all things considered, not all that bad. He’d certainly come home to find his kitchen full of less-appealing things, or that many men in other places (once in a closet. In his closet, not even in ‘Vette’s).

They were chatting, laughing, poking each other. It was the happiest group of men he’d ever come home to – and he’d come home to people engaged in group sex more than once.

“Oh, hi, Joffy, here, taste this.” He realized, as someone was sticking a strawberry in his mouth, that he knew this someone, that he’d slept with him, and that being fed a strawberry was every bit as intimate as taking the boy’s cock in his mouth.

“Mmmmff.” He knew food could be good. He liked making delicious food. In this kitchen. “What are we doing?” With my kitchen?

Jervis, bless his heart, caught the tone. “Ivette is throwing a catered party next month, and we’re helping her come up with ideas.”

“In here, Joffy.”

“Ivette…” That’s not my name. He stepped into the dining room, and understood, viscerally, pants-tighteningly, why everyone was bustling quite so eagerly.

“Gluttony is such a fun sin.” Her whisper was for his ears alone. The way she was eating that hors d’oeuvre, on the other hand… licking around the outside, kissing the salt off of it, and then licking the salt off of her lips. The way her fingers pinched the sides of the strawberry, the way her tongue darted out to lick it again, the way her lips pursed when she popped the whole thing between her teeth…

Joff groaned quietly. Behind him, he heard Jervis groaning as well. “The best sin.”

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Tracking Food Waste

I blogged a year or two ago about a blogger who posted Food Waste Fridays. I can’t find the link right now, but I’ve just found this article from

(Ah, here: Food Waste Friday)

We don’t waste a lot of food, and what we do, we usually compost. But it still bothers me.

Do you have any tricks for minimizing food waste in your house?

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Moodles and Noodles and Other Pantry Staples

T. and I have been experimenting, since discovering various canned meats in the grocery store, with variations on tuna-noodle casserole.

Growing up, my mom & grandma called this Toodles and Noodles, and we always omitted the breadcrumbs and sometimes the peas. It is, at its base, a pantry staple: a can of soup, half a bag of egg noodles, and a can of tuna fish, and you have a meal.

It’s served T. & I well over the years (I usually add panko to the top, and we almost always add the frozen peas).

Canned chicken + cream of chicken soup worked pretty well. It was a bit one-note, but I think adding garlic would help with that. Choodles and noodles!

Spurred on by our success, and with a can of corned beef and a can of cream-of-mushroom-with-garlic soup, we moved on to try another casserole. Moodles and noodles! To this one we added sauteed onions and mushrooms, and got something sort of like a beef stroganoff.

I’m not sure what to try next. Tofu and noodles?

What about you? What are your go-to pantry meals? Any fun variations on the classics?

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