Archive | January 14, 2017

A Story about a Pegasus, for @midnight_Blaze_

So, unsurprisingly (look at the user icon), [ profile] Midnight_blaze_ told me

A story about pegasuses!”

So, here’s a story about a pegasus, set in a magical-apocalypse setting I created for a submission story I never finished (The concept being magical animals).
Lodestone could remember being an ordinary horse.

Not in words, not really; Lodestone remembered the taste of fresh grass and the sadder flavor of drought-dried pasture, the feeling of a saddle, the difference between a good rider and a bad rider.
Lodestone remembered being spooked. Being spooked was almost the hardest thing to get over. That, and the feeling that she needed her herd with her.

Lodestone missed her herd. But when the great brightness had come and the explosion had split the sky, something had changed. Not for all of them. It had been Lodestone and Jareth that the strange light touched, while the others in the herd remained…

Well, they remained horses. Jareth had grown taller, his bony back smoothed out, his coat brightened from grey to silver. The silver had touched a horn, and his hooves had changed, being just as silver, being furry and cloven.

Lodestone had not seen any of this. Jareth told her once, later, how much it had hurt, when the horn grew, when his body changed. He hadn’t needed to. Lodestone remembered the wings. She remembered feeling like she had been split apart.

She remembered the look of horror on her rider’s face as she ran out to the barn, dressed in her pajamas, staring at Jareth and Lodestone. She remembered the way it felt when her rider – when Tabitha – tried to cast a spell, the way Tabitha often did, pulling the magic and making the words.

(Words, Magic, Spell; Lodestone had not known those words before that moment, but she remembered them anyway.)

She remembered rearing up into the air, her own now-opal hooves flashing and her wings – wings! spreading, and the magic Tabitha had meant to cast coming out of her mouth.

Lodestone could remember being an ordinary horse. But the time for being ordinary animals had passed for her and Jareth, and there were many more non-ordinary beasts to find.


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Now on Patreon: Soup for Christmas (A recipe blog) and


I’ve mentioned a couple times that my parents are going vegan. For my mom, this isn’t all that much of a stretch – she’s been lackadaisically vegetarian my whole life – but for Dad, well, this is all new.

So I’ve been trying out vegan recipes for them. For the last three, four years we’ve been making Mom a jar of soup (I don’t know why Dad doesn’t like soup, I really don’t, but soup is for Mom & cake is for Dad), and then a dessert for Dad as part of our Christmas presents to them. Part of the gift is perfecting a recipe so Mom can make it later, if she likes it.

Available for all $7-and-up Patrons!

Originally posted February 16, 2014. Set in my Faerie Apocalypse setting.


“I don’t think we can, exactly, call him ‘Old Man Winter.’”

Giselle was feeling argumentative. Of course, Giselle was often feeling argumentative.

read on…

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MARKED – Lorque is very chatty, isn’t she.

MARKED – 1.12

“A tour?” That had been on the agenda, hadn’t it been? “Could we rest for a minute, first? I know sitting on a train isn’t that exhausting, but I would like to sit on something not moving for a moment.” Nilien sat down on the edge of her bed. “What is it like here?”
“Well, if I gave you a tour…” …

read on…

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January By the Numbers Twelve: Giant giraffes gambol gingerly (fiction Piece)

January by the numbers continues (now two days off~)!
From [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt “Giant giraffes gambol gingerly;” a ficlet


The planet was smack between a planet that had been renowned for its local foods and one that had been amazingly good at providing raw materials, and, as such, it became a way-stop on the transgalactic trade route.

It if had not been right where it was, it was likely it would not have been touched; at least not until a new government came into power back “at home”; the current policy was that one settled on planets but one lived in some sort of concert with the local flora and fauna. Thus, the mining and farming those two bracketing planets did was of the careful, long-term sustainable sort, and the planets were tended with, as one might say, kid gloves.

But this way-planet, this one offered some unique problems. If one was allowed to harvest not more than 25% of the local flora or fauna, what did one do when there were only three plants of any given sort taking up an entire continent? They were, of course, very big plants, spanning miles and miles, but one could not take the root of the plant for experimentation without destroying it unless one was very, very careful.

The companies who did such things preferred working in places where one could simply cordon off one mile out of four and work from there, mining or planting or harvesting or hunting. This planet, thus, would have been left alone for quite some time – perhaps forever, or at least until a more permissive galactic government took over.

But it was at a perfect way-position, and thus one small corner was cordoned off – so very carefully, destroying as little as possible of the local ecosystem – for their space-station.

And from there you could take hover-tours, safaris in very well-armored vehicles. You could, on your long layovers, soar over the giant continent-spanning leaves, watching the giant giraffe-like creatures gambol through the leaves. There were only ten of them on the continent, and they would mouth gingerly at the hover-cars, testing them to see if they were food.

It was a good planet to stop on, and a lovely tour, everyone said.

So long as you avoided the jaguar-creature.


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