Angelia Sparrow's Blog, page 27
October 8, 2013
Tuesday treats including a Tuesday tipple
Sounds of the Season.
One of my favorite fanvids. The Army of Darkness version of "Dead Man's Party."
Creepy Pictures, hosted by my undead oldest daughter
Your Tuesday Tipple
The Alien Brian Hemorrhage
To make an alien brain hemorrhage cocktail, fill a shot glass halfway with peach schnapps. Gently pour Bailey’s Irish Cream on top. After the shot is almost full, carefully add a small amount of blue curacao. After it settles, add a small splash (or a few drops) of grenadine syrup.
One of my favorite fanvids. The Army of Darkness version of "Dead Man's Party."
Creepy Pictures, hosted by my undead oldest daughter
Your Tuesday Tipple
The Alien Brian Hemorrhage
To make an alien brain hemorrhage cocktail, fill a shot glass halfway with peach schnapps. Gently pour Bailey’s Irish Cream on top. After the shot is almost full, carefully add a small amount of blue curacao. After it settles, add a small splash (or a few drops) of grenadine syrup.
October 6, 2013
Sunday Sweets, with free ebook.
We'll be drawing for an e-book copy of
Riding the Nightmare
on Monday. Leave a comment with your email to enter.
Eighteen gay dreams and nightmares to leave the reader wanting. Paul and Dan, architect and English professor, and werewolves, as they get together with internet friends, explore Memphis, save the world and fall in love. Chris and Dave love dressing up for conventions, usually with sexy results. Apollo and Zepheryos, a sadistic incubus, a variety of truck drivers, academics, thieves and morticians await between the covers.
Excerpt, from "Prey"
There it lurked, hulking atop a low rise, half hidden by overgrown tress and out-of-control weeds. Old Baptist Hospital with its wide lawns, iron fence and empty windows, loomed at the intersection where Pauline ran into Crump, a photographer's dream of light and shadow.
I drove by it a lot, my eyes always shifting to it of their own accord, but on this late autumn afternoon, I finally stopped to shoot. No one stopped me as I drove up the old drive, running over the weeds that came up over my bumper.
I parked out by a building with a huge smokestack labeled "Hope Clinic." My cynical side made me wonder just what sort of "hope" the clinic peddled. I wandered the grounds, shooting the broken-out windows, the long shadows, the overgrowth and desolation.
I got a pretty decent shot of my shadow next to the entrance sign, heading for the missing door. After two rolls, I got up my nerve to venture inside.
"This is stupid, Michael. Don't do it," I whispered to myself.
Ignoring my own good advice, I walked the sickly green halls, taking pictures of the empty rooms, shooting them so they'd look like antechambers of Hell. Trees were framed at just the wrong angle in the windows. The light was getting chancier and I took advantage of the shadows and unexpected illuminations.
The building had been used as shelter by transients. Bits of fires, graffiti, the occasional den in a sheltered corner where the remaining doors could be closed for protection from the wind and ice. I caught a few of these. The Flyer always ran a heart-tugging story on homelessness when the weather started getting cold.
I shot some of the graffiti. Most of it was basic crude intaglios: initials, drawings, dates. There were some more skilled artworks.
One in particular made my skin crawl. I didn't recognize it, but I shot it anyway. It looked sort of like a summoning seal, but I'd never seen one with eight points. The language around the edges looked like Latin and I figured I could translate once I got it developed. The seal had me curious, but it made me nervous at the same time.
A low-grade stomach churn and the skin crawling on my neck like It was watching me -- whatever It was. I'd see what I could find in the occult section at work.
I finished the roll and got back in my Beetle. I drove out of the gate as darkness fell and straight to the nearest bar. After two drinks, my hands stopped shaking and I poured myself back into the bug and drove home.
I'd develop the pics after work. I didn't feel like fooling with it right now.
I didn't feel like eating either, so I just went to bed.
* * * * *
So pretty this one. Oh, Lord of Lust, let him... no, he didn't touch the seal. Damn.
Ah! A picture. Now that I can work through. Yes, and he's a developer sort. When he develops that one he's mine.
Mother Lilith, why do you put such mortals so near yet so far, like the temptations of Heaven? Is it to remind us Winged Ones that we can have neither?
He's sleeping now. Father Asmodeus won't mind if I take a peek.
Hm! Bisexual. He dreams of pretty red-haired girls and pretty blond boys at the same time. I wonder which way he'd like me better? The succubus shape never feels as right as my incubus form. Most demons are neuter and we Winged Ones switch as the mood takes us. But a few, like me, have a distinct preference. I am male.
Sounds of the Season
Pics of the Day, an even dozen:
Eighteen gay dreams and nightmares to leave the reader wanting. Paul and Dan, architect and English professor, and werewolves, as they get together with internet friends, explore Memphis, save the world and fall in love. Chris and Dave love dressing up for conventions, usually with sexy results. Apollo and Zepheryos, a sadistic incubus, a variety of truck drivers, academics, thieves and morticians await between the covers.
Excerpt, from "Prey"
There it lurked, hulking atop a low rise, half hidden by overgrown tress and out-of-control weeds. Old Baptist Hospital with its wide lawns, iron fence and empty windows, loomed at the intersection where Pauline ran into Crump, a photographer's dream of light and shadow.
I drove by it a lot, my eyes always shifting to it of their own accord, but on this late autumn afternoon, I finally stopped to shoot. No one stopped me as I drove up the old drive, running over the weeds that came up over my bumper.
I parked out by a building with a huge smokestack labeled "Hope Clinic." My cynical side made me wonder just what sort of "hope" the clinic peddled. I wandered the grounds, shooting the broken-out windows, the long shadows, the overgrowth and desolation.
I got a pretty decent shot of my shadow next to the entrance sign, heading for the missing door. After two rolls, I got up my nerve to venture inside.
"This is stupid, Michael. Don't do it," I whispered to myself.
Ignoring my own good advice, I walked the sickly green halls, taking pictures of the empty rooms, shooting them so they'd look like antechambers of Hell. Trees were framed at just the wrong angle in the windows. The light was getting chancier and I took advantage of the shadows and unexpected illuminations.
The building had been used as shelter by transients. Bits of fires, graffiti, the occasional den in a sheltered corner where the remaining doors could be closed for protection from the wind and ice. I caught a few of these. The Flyer always ran a heart-tugging story on homelessness when the weather started getting cold.
I shot some of the graffiti. Most of it was basic crude intaglios: initials, drawings, dates. There were some more skilled artworks.
One in particular made my skin crawl. I didn't recognize it, but I shot it anyway. It looked sort of like a summoning seal, but I'd never seen one with eight points. The language around the edges looked like Latin and I figured I could translate once I got it developed. The seal had me curious, but it made me nervous at the same time.
A low-grade stomach churn and the skin crawling on my neck like It was watching me -- whatever It was. I'd see what I could find in the occult section at work.
I finished the roll and got back in my Beetle. I drove out of the gate as darkness fell and straight to the nearest bar. After two drinks, my hands stopped shaking and I poured myself back into the bug and drove home.
I'd develop the pics after work. I didn't feel like fooling with it right now.
I didn't feel like eating either, so I just went to bed.
* * * * *
So pretty this one. Oh, Lord of Lust, let him... no, he didn't touch the seal. Damn.
Ah! A picture. Now that I can work through. Yes, and he's a developer sort. When he develops that one he's mine.
Mother Lilith, why do you put such mortals so near yet so far, like the temptations of Heaven? Is it to remind us Winged Ones that we can have neither?
He's sleeping now. Father Asmodeus won't mind if I take a peek.
Hm! Bisexual. He dreams of pretty red-haired girls and pretty blond boys at the same time. I wonder which way he'd like me better? The succubus shape never feels as right as my incubus form. Most demons are neuter and we Winged Ones switch as the mood takes us. But a few, like me, have a distinct preference. I am male.
Sounds of the Season
Pics of the Day, an even dozen:
October 5, 2013
My Sexy Saturday: Wicked Sexy Game
Today's excerpt is from "Paying Forfeits," in which a pair of board gamers decide to start playing for sexy prizes. It was originally published by Torquere Press in their "Games People Play" line.
This is currently available from Inkstained Succubus, in their Into Dark Waters collection.
Sam and William enjoy their weekly board game. They enjoy it more when they begin playing for forfeits, a piercing here, a sexual play scene there. But when William's godson, Billy, is sent to them by his father, things change. Billy is indiscreetly gay and it is up to Sam and William to teach him proper behavior, and good sportsmanship.
BIlly has just arrived, met Sam who is being William's puppy all week, and been invited to play.
'
In the shadows of the rose arbor, William bent close and kissed Billy in such a way calculated to make Billy decide that what his godfather didn’t know about kissing hadn’t been invented. William enjoyed kissing to no end and was very good at it. He’d never understood men who didn’t like it.
“Yeah, I’ll play. I think it’ll be fun." Billy swallowed hard, realizing he’d just admitted he liked men, a terrible stain in his family’s eyes. To cover his confusion, he looked over the eight horses in the stable, then looked back at William, delighted as a child. “Can I ride?”
William gave him a wicked smile. “Only if you do so naked and allow me to watch. Would you like to take care of the horses?”
Billy nodded. “I’m crazy about horses.”
“Lovely. I’ll introduce you to the stablemaster in the morning. For now, we need to get back to the house. This week, Sam is being my puppy and it’s almost time to walk him. Come meet him.”
“Puppy?" Billy looked a little nervous. “That’s kinda kinky, isn’t it?”
“No, dear. It’s very kinky. And we’re having great fun." William pushed open the door and Sam crawled to him, collared and naked, with a leash in his mouth. William squatted down and petted him, tousling his hair and speaking in the voice people used with dogs. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Such a good puppy. Are you ready for walkies?" He clipped the leash onto Sam’s collar then turned to Billy. “Billy, dear one, would you like to walk the puppy?”
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This is currently available from Inkstained Succubus, in their Into Dark Waters collection.
Sam and William enjoy their weekly board game. They enjoy it more when they begin playing for forfeits, a piercing here, a sexual play scene there. But when William's godson, Billy, is sent to them by his father, things change. Billy is indiscreetly gay and it is up to Sam and William to teach him proper behavior, and good sportsmanship.
BIlly has just arrived, met Sam who is being William's puppy all week, and been invited to play.
'
In the shadows of the rose arbor, William bent close and kissed Billy in such a way calculated to make Billy decide that what his godfather didn’t know about kissing hadn’t been invented. William enjoyed kissing to no end and was very good at it. He’d never understood men who didn’t like it.
“Yeah, I’ll play. I think it’ll be fun." Billy swallowed hard, realizing he’d just admitted he liked men, a terrible stain in his family’s eyes. To cover his confusion, he looked over the eight horses in the stable, then looked back at William, delighted as a child. “Can I ride?”
William gave him a wicked smile. “Only if you do so naked and allow me to watch. Would you like to take care of the horses?”
Billy nodded. “I’m crazy about horses.”
“Lovely. I’ll introduce you to the stablemaster in the morning. For now, we need to get back to the house. This week, Sam is being my puppy and it’s almost time to walk him. Come meet him.”
“Puppy?" Billy looked a little nervous. “That’s kinda kinky, isn’t it?”
“No, dear. It’s very kinky. And we’re having great fun." William pushed open the door and Sam crawled to him, collared and naked, with a leash in his mouth. William squatted down and petted him, tousling his hair and speaking in the voice people used with dogs. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Such a good puppy. Are you ready for walkies?" He clipped the leash onto Sam’s collar then turned to Billy. “Billy, dear one, would you like to walk the puppy?”
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October 3, 2013
A tiny treat, the tootsie roll in the bottom of the bag
There is a circle of Hell that is nothing but trying to scan barcodes stuck on sparkly silver boxes while pop music, two different songs fro two different departments, plays simultaneously.
Sounds of the Season.
Because it is so bizarre, not to mention Nightmare Fuel. Muppet cock-fighting. I kid you not.
And a classic
Creepy Pics
Sounds of the Season.
Because it is so bizarre, not to mention Nightmare Fuel. Muppet cock-fighting. I kid you not.
And a classic
Creepy Pics
October 2, 2013
Kitchen Witch Wednesday
Kitchen Witch Wednesday
Brain Dip
1 (10 3/4-ounce) can cream of mushroom soup
8 ounces Philadelphia cream cheese, softened
1 (.25-ounce) envelope unflavored gelatin, softened in 1/4 cup water
1 bunch green onions, chopped
3 pounds cooked shrimp, coarsely chopped
(or 1 pound crab meat)
1 cup mayonnaise
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
Tabasco or creole seasoning to taste
Heat soup, undiluted, and mix in the cream cheese. Stir in softened gelatin and blend well. Fold in remaining ingredients and pour into a lightly-oiled mold. Chill until firm and serve with your favorite crackers. Chop the shrimp and green onion in a food processor for a smoother texture.
Sounds of the Season
Creepy pics of the day:
Brain Dip
1 (10 3/4-ounce) can cream of mushroom soup
8 ounces Philadelphia cream cheese, softened
1 (.25-ounce) envelope unflavored gelatin, softened in 1/4 cup water
1 bunch green onions, chopped
3 pounds cooked shrimp, coarsely chopped
(or 1 pound crab meat)
1 cup mayonnaise
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
Tabasco or creole seasoning to taste
Heat soup, undiluted, and mix in the cream cheese. Stir in softened gelatin and blend well. Fold in remaining ingredients and pour into a lightly-oiled mold. Chill until firm and serve with your favorite crackers. Chop the shrimp and green onion in a food processor for a smoother texture.
Sounds of the Season
Creepy pics of the day:
October 1, 2013
Welcome to Halloween!
It's the most wonderful time of the year. The oppressive heat of summer has lifted, the cold and yuck of winter is not yet here.
"In the Rock, we let October stay just as long as she likes..."
So, to celebrate, we have pictures and music and recipes and other fun stuff. And every Sunday, there will be a free horror story.
Creepy pics:
Songs of the Season
or for Oli, the Panic at the disco version
"In the Rock, we let October stay just as long as she likes..."
So, to celebrate, we have pictures and music and recipes and other fun stuff. And every Sunday, there will be a free horror story.
Creepy pics:
Songs of the Season
or for Oli, the Panic at the disco version
September 28, 2013
My Sexy Saturday: Sexy Into You
From "Fruits of Thine"
Available Sept 29
Blurb: Corporate retreats are dull at best, but when Carla is sent on one as a punitive measure, she isn't expecting anything to come of it, except a pink slip.
High in the Ozark mountains, nothing is quite as it seems and reality skews in interesting ways. The conference is too elementary and Carla notices people starting to go missing.
And the wild, incessant piping from the forest keeps her awake nights and stirs deeply buried desires...
She sat on the grass in a golden toga. She knew toga wasn’t quite the word, since only men had worn those, and they were complicated, while her dress was simple. But it was close enough. Her braids were caught back into a bun that looked like an old sculpture.
And the music kept playing as she sat and waited, getting hotter and hotter. Her nipples had poked up, disarranging the golden folds of her dress. She squirmed to relieve the growing tension and wetness between her legs.
And he had stepped into the clearing, tall and handsome, with lots of dark curly hair from his head and beard, down onto his chest and lower, until it turned into shaggy black goat legs with delicate cloven hooves.
Her first thought had been the Devil, but there had been no fear in his presence, only the ever-growing desire. He lifted a pipe of reeds to his lips and smiled at her as he blew across them to make the music. Pan, she had realized then. Pan, the old god of the forest and revelry, who had been the model for the devil as the Church in Rome started frowning on wild places, and things and people.
He joined her on the grass, lying on his belly, his legs out behind him. He looked up at her with longing and need in his eyes as he piped.
Carla reached out and stroked his curly hair. It twined through her fingers. He turned and kissed her wrist. A delicious tingle started at his lips and shot all through her, making her nipples ache and her clit twitch. She wanted more of his kisses. On her wrist, on her lips, on her breasts and between her legs. She wanted that sensual sizzle to envelop her, make her explode over and over again into fabulous orgasms.
“Hello, darling,” he whispered.
Available Sept 29
Blurb: Corporate retreats are dull at best, but when Carla is sent on one as a punitive measure, she isn't expecting anything to come of it, except a pink slip.
High in the Ozark mountains, nothing is quite as it seems and reality skews in interesting ways. The conference is too elementary and Carla notices people starting to go missing.
And the wild, incessant piping from the forest keeps her awake nights and stirs deeply buried desires...
She sat on the grass in a golden toga. She knew toga wasn’t quite the word, since only men had worn those, and they were complicated, while her dress was simple. But it was close enough. Her braids were caught back into a bun that looked like an old sculpture.
And the music kept playing as she sat and waited, getting hotter and hotter. Her nipples had poked up, disarranging the golden folds of her dress. She squirmed to relieve the growing tension and wetness between her legs.
And he had stepped into the clearing, tall and handsome, with lots of dark curly hair from his head and beard, down onto his chest and lower, until it turned into shaggy black goat legs with delicate cloven hooves.
Her first thought had been the Devil, but there had been no fear in his presence, only the ever-growing desire. He lifted a pipe of reeds to his lips and smiled at her as he blew across them to make the music. Pan, she had realized then. Pan, the old god of the forest and revelry, who had been the model for the devil as the Church in Rome started frowning on wild places, and things and people.
He joined her on the grass, lying on his belly, his legs out behind him. He looked up at her with longing and need in his eyes as he piped.
Carla reached out and stroked his curly hair. It twined through her fingers. He turned and kissed her wrist. A delicious tingle started at his lips and shot all through her, making her nipples ache and her clit twitch. She wanted more of his kisses. On her wrist, on her lips, on her breasts and between her legs. She wanted that sensual sizzle to envelop her, make her explode over and over again into fabulous orgasms.
“Hello, darling,” he whispered.
September 26, 2013
Let's talk about Genitalia, not the parts, the words
I am an erotica writer. You know this, otherwise you wouldn't be here. So, you are warned, lots of rude words follow.
A friend of mine is saying "Ladies, love yourselves enough to include yourselves in your sexual fantasies." She doesn't get why I prefer to write men having sex.
Part of it is simple identification with male characters in media.
Growing up, I was Han Solo and Thomas Stubbins, Vad Varo and Legolas, Indiana Jones and Spock.
Part of it is being multiple choice with several male personalities.
But most of it is words.
I'm mildly synesthetic, so words have feels and tastes.
Cock is a nice, ordinary word. It fits together nicely and feels neutral in my mouth and brain. The sounds are mirrored at front and back, and the "ah" sound of the vowel is just right. Dick doesn't work so well, because of the D sound. The PR of prick leads into the short I sound better than the D. Di makes me think of "dip," "dipshit," "Dig" "dim" and other words not conducive to good sex. Penis is too clinical and the sibilant at the end makes it weak. And it puts me in mind of urination "Pee-nis."
And there are no good words for the female genitalia.
Vagina fits together all wrong and feels nasty and slippery in my mouth, as though I'm trying to hold a glass ball on my tongue. It's the "ina" coming after the j sound. Carolina works, because the N flows out of the L. The J is too hard to have anything flow after it. It needs a hard consonant, a D or T.
Vaj is relatively innocuous. It feels complete in my mouth but sounds immature.
Don't get me started on vajayjay. The redundancy makes me want to spit to clear my brain. And the "ay" ending is just wrong in every possible way. It gives me a headache to say it.
Twat works for me the same way cock does. The t sounds are mirrored and the vowel feels right. But the W makes it a silly word. It feels overly British and a little goofy and dated. It's like saying swive instead of fuck.
Pussy. Oh please gods no. The oo sound of the U and the double sibilant combined with the -y ending? It feels really vile in my mouth. It feels incomplete. And sticky. Pussy-cat works because the hard T ending and that short A balance the slithery, sticky S. It feels crude an it takes a specific type of character to use it. Not to mention it carries a connotation of weakness and cowardice.
Cunt is an unpleasant word. The hard C at the front clashes with the T at the end. It's a bitten-off word, a grunted word, with the U and the N in the middle. (sounds a lot like grunt too). It feels thick and harsh in my mouth and in my head. It is the insult of choice for those wanting to degrade a woman, because it not only reduces her to her parts, it sounds awful.
Cunny is appropriate in historical fic, but feels immature. Too close to "Pat the bunny." Anything with a -Y ending is a word that is hard to take seriously. It's less vicious than cunt, less offensive than pussy. It doesn't have the neutral feel of twat, but mentally it feels soft and a little squishy, not nasty, just odd.
And while my heroine (probably a steampunk one) may prefer to think of her equipment as a red velvet settee, soft and waiting to cradle the visitor, the audience will laugh at that.
So there you have it: why writing lesbians is tough for me. Why I don't like writing het. Why I dislike writing women in sexual situations. It's not a hatred of women. It's a hatred of the words used for women.
A friend of mine is saying "Ladies, love yourselves enough to include yourselves in your sexual fantasies." She doesn't get why I prefer to write men having sex.
Part of it is simple identification with male characters in media.
Growing up, I was Han Solo and Thomas Stubbins, Vad Varo and Legolas, Indiana Jones and Spock.
Part of it is being multiple choice with several male personalities.
But most of it is words.
I'm mildly synesthetic, so words have feels and tastes.
Cock is a nice, ordinary word. It fits together nicely and feels neutral in my mouth and brain. The sounds are mirrored at front and back, and the "ah" sound of the vowel is just right. Dick doesn't work so well, because of the D sound. The PR of prick leads into the short I sound better than the D. Di makes me think of "dip," "dipshit," "Dig" "dim" and other words not conducive to good sex. Penis is too clinical and the sibilant at the end makes it weak. And it puts me in mind of urination "Pee-nis."
And there are no good words for the female genitalia.
Vagina fits together all wrong and feels nasty and slippery in my mouth, as though I'm trying to hold a glass ball on my tongue. It's the "ina" coming after the j sound. Carolina works, because the N flows out of the L. The J is too hard to have anything flow after it. It needs a hard consonant, a D or T.
Vaj is relatively innocuous. It feels complete in my mouth but sounds immature.
Don't get me started on vajayjay. The redundancy makes me want to spit to clear my brain. And the "ay" ending is just wrong in every possible way. It gives me a headache to say it.
Twat works for me the same way cock does. The t sounds are mirrored and the vowel feels right. But the W makes it a silly word. It feels overly British and a little goofy and dated. It's like saying swive instead of fuck.
Pussy. Oh please gods no. The oo sound of the U and the double sibilant combined with the -y ending? It feels really vile in my mouth. It feels incomplete. And sticky. Pussy-cat works because the hard T ending and that short A balance the slithery, sticky S. It feels crude an it takes a specific type of character to use it. Not to mention it carries a connotation of weakness and cowardice.
Cunt is an unpleasant word. The hard C at the front clashes with the T at the end. It's a bitten-off word, a grunted word, with the U and the N in the middle. (sounds a lot like grunt too). It feels thick and harsh in my mouth and in my head. It is the insult of choice for those wanting to degrade a woman, because it not only reduces her to her parts, it sounds awful.
Cunny is appropriate in historical fic, but feels immature. Too close to "Pat the bunny." Anything with a -Y ending is a word that is hard to take seriously. It's less vicious than cunt, less offensive than pussy. It doesn't have the neutral feel of twat, but mentally it feels soft and a little squishy, not nasty, just odd.
And while my heroine (probably a steampunk one) may prefer to think of her equipment as a red velvet settee, soft and waiting to cradle the visitor, the audience will laugh at that.
So there you have it: why writing lesbians is tough for me. Why I don't like writing het. Why I dislike writing women in sexual situations. It's not a hatred of women. It's a hatred of the words used for women.
September 21, 2013
Adventures in HTML and Shameless Self-Promotion
My website http://www.brooksandsparrow.com is all updated! Yay!
So now for some Shameless Self Promotion:
Dreamspinner's Steampunk anthology, is up for pre-order. $6.99 for ebook or $17.99 for paperback
Blurb:
Inventors, pilots, tinkers, and soldiers; magical metals to replace an aging heart or a ruined limb; steam-powered fantasy worlds of clockwork nightingales, automatons, dirigibles, and men. The stories in this anthology visit diverse times in the history of modern man, and the men who populate these tales face war and cruelty, masters and autocrats, illness and poverty and greed. Yet the heat of romance outmatches even the steam engines, and time and again, the gears of love rule the day.
Stories included are:
The Clockwork Nightingale's Song by Amy Rae Durreson
Caress by Eli Easton
Swiftsilver by Bell Ellis
The Clockwork Heart by Kim Fielding
The Galatea's Captain by Anka Grace
Screws by R.D. Hero
The Golden Goose Mark Lesney
Spindle and Bell by Augusta Li
Ace of Hearts by Mary Pletsch
Five to One by Angelia Sparrow
Untouchable by Layla M. Wier
Fruits of Thine, a paranormal, will be out from Amber Heat on Sept 29.
Blurb:
Corporate retreats are dull at best, but when Carla is sent on one as a punitive measure, she isn't expecting anything to come of it, except a pink slip.
High in the Ozark mountains, nothing is quite as it seems and reality skews in interesting ways. The conference is too elementary and Carla notices people starting to go missing.
And the wild, incessant piping from the forest keeps her awake nights and stirs deeply buried desires...
So now for some Shameless Self Promotion:
Dreamspinner's Steampunk anthology, is up for pre-order. $6.99 for ebook or $17.99 for paperback
Blurb:
Inventors, pilots, tinkers, and soldiers; magical metals to replace an aging heart or a ruined limb; steam-powered fantasy worlds of clockwork nightingales, automatons, dirigibles, and men. The stories in this anthology visit diverse times in the history of modern man, and the men who populate these tales face war and cruelty, masters and autocrats, illness and poverty and greed. Yet the heat of romance outmatches even the steam engines, and time and again, the gears of love rule the day.
Stories included are:
The Clockwork Nightingale's Song by Amy Rae Durreson
Caress by Eli Easton
Swiftsilver by Bell Ellis
The Clockwork Heart by Kim Fielding
The Galatea's Captain by Anka Grace
Screws by R.D. Hero
The Golden Goose Mark Lesney
Spindle and Bell by Augusta Li
Ace of Hearts by Mary Pletsch
Five to One by Angelia Sparrow
Untouchable by Layla M. Wier
Fruits of Thine, a paranormal, will be out from Amber Heat on Sept 29.
Blurb:
Corporate retreats are dull at best, but when Carla is sent on one as a punitive measure, she isn't expecting anything to come of it, except a pink slip.
High in the Ozark mountains, nothing is quite as it seems and reality skews in interesting ways. The conference is too elementary and Carla notices people starting to go missing.
And the wild, incessant piping from the forest keeps her awake nights and stirs deeply buried desires...
September 19, 2013
S&M on TV
I watch Sons of Anarchy, and I'm finally caught up with season 6.
During ep 1, every Chibs/Juice shipper I know (and I know a fair few) wailed.
On reflection, I realized we had just seen a complete S&M scene with no sexual component--barring the off-screen shagging once the aftercare was done.
The scene is negotiated.
Chibs needs this. Juice needs this. Juice knows what is going to happen as soon as the doors are shut. Chibs gives him further mercy by taking off his rings. (And the post on jewelry and emotions is for later, as is the post on Juice as kissable pass-around) When the boys want to really hurt someone, they don't bother.
The scene is consented to.
Juice knows what is going to happen. He gives a little nod and says only, "I love you, brother."
This is his consent. When the first blow lands, he picks himself up for the second. He does not fight back. He is taking this of his own will.
There is aftercare.
The last shot of the boys shows Chibs stitching up a cut by Juice's eyebrow. Since he's the ad hoc medic, when Tara can't be had, this is typical. But it's the gentle little cuff on the uninjured side of Juice's head that shows yes, he does care. he loves this boy, but they had to get through the scene before the affection could happen again.
This was not the non-consentual, kinky three-way snuff scene of "The Wish" episode of Buffy. This was not the goofiness of Exit to Eden. This was straight up, non-sexual S&M as I have seen it practiced. And that is a very uncommon thing in media.
Ah, Sutter, you magnificent bastard. Break my heart again. It feels so good.
During ep 1, every Chibs/Juice shipper I know (and I know a fair few) wailed.
On reflection, I realized we had just seen a complete S&M scene with no sexual component--barring the off-screen shagging once the aftercare was done.
The scene is negotiated.
Chibs needs this. Juice needs this. Juice knows what is going to happen as soon as the doors are shut. Chibs gives him further mercy by taking off his rings. (And the post on jewelry and emotions is for later, as is the post on Juice as kissable pass-around) When the boys want to really hurt someone, they don't bother.
The scene is consented to.
Juice knows what is going to happen. He gives a little nod and says only, "I love you, brother."
This is his consent. When the first blow lands, he picks himself up for the second. He does not fight back. He is taking this of his own will.
There is aftercare.
The last shot of the boys shows Chibs stitching up a cut by Juice's eyebrow. Since he's the ad hoc medic, when Tara can't be had, this is typical. But it's the gentle little cuff on the uninjured side of Juice's head that shows yes, he does care. he loves this boy, but they had to get through the scene before the affection could happen again.
This was not the non-consentual, kinky three-way snuff scene of "The Wish" episode of Buffy. This was not the goofiness of Exit to Eden. This was straight up, non-sexual S&M as I have seen it practiced. And that is a very uncommon thing in media.
Ah, Sutter, you magnificent bastard. Break my heart again. It feels so good.
