Sol Crafter's Blog, page 10
July 27, 2013
A cellphone is sacrosanct
I do not answer other people’s cellphones unless they ask me to. Voice mail exists for a reason.
A house phone is public property that any family member can use. A cellphone — that’s like a computer, a diary, a person’s whole life compacted down into an easy to carry device.
It’s one of the last bastions of American freedom. In a world where every moment of your life is documented whether you want it to be or not, you at least get to decide *who* invades your privacy.
Big Brother is watching. But he better know to keep his mouth shut.
Your sister flipping through your phone… That shit is cataclysmic.
Or what if a girlfriend answers your phone? She’s your girlfriend if you’re still not sure of the relationship. She’d be your *fiancee* if you want a long-term commitment. (A two-year engagement is about right, six months at the minimum. Don’t be in such a hurry to sign over half your stuff.)
Unless you verbally give permission, she should not be digging through your stuff. And you shouldn’t have given her your Social Security Number. That was dumb.
Anyways, it may seem rude that I don’t offer to answer my brother’s phone. Unless he says, “Hey Lisa, can you get that?” I’ll let it ring to voice mail.
I wouldn’t want him to pick up my cellphone, so I never bother his. It’s not mine.
He wouldn’t want my fingerprints on it, or my face grease, just as I wouldn’t want anyone else’s on mine.
A cellphone is sacrosanct. Respect it. Fear it. Stop demanding a trust people aren’t ready to give. It doesn’t make you seem more trustworthy. It just makes people uncomfortable as they tell you “No. Hell to the no.”
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
July 24, 2013
Does this seem like a fair deal to artists?
I’ve been trying to turn this writing thing into some kind of income, but it’s slow going and there’s a few things I want that I simply cannot afford out of pocket. And that’s not just food *ba-dump-bump*
I’ve been lucky to find an awesome publisher (Less Than Three Press) and I have some novels and stories they’re already publishing for me or that I’m hoping they’ll publish for me ^_^;;
At the same time, I also self-pub some stuff. Original works, stories I’ve serialized on my site, what have you. I’m currently going through and revamping a lot of them (rewrites, extended scenes, the full nine.)
I could submit some of the original works to other places (lots of publishers don’t accept anything that’s been self-published, but some are cool with it) but I don’t think I can do that with my free-to-read stories and it makes me sad.
I really like being able to offer free stories, but once a story’s been released on the Internet most publishers don’t want it. I can self-pub those stories, but I have to arrange all the interior and cover work myself. It’s a big headache, but I’m willing to do it. I just don’t have a lot of money to work with.
I want great cover art for my self-pubbed books, but I can’t afford to pay for 20 premade covers out of pocket, much less the amount it would cost for beautiful, one-of-a-kind covers. It’s frustrating, because everyone has such pretty covers lately, and mine… Even after a year of art tutorials and photo manipulation videos, I’m still not an artist.
But my sister is.
So I offered her an agreement that she makes me covers, and she gets 5% of the cover price for all the books sold. As long as her cover is used, she gets paid, and I told her to hold onto all her sketches and whatever because they’re hers to do with as she likes. We could have like a joint book/art auction or something. It could be fun. (I know I felt bad when I didn’t have anything really cool to offer for the fandom charity auction.)
Anyways, my sister just started her new job, and other than her preliminary sketches for The Panic Pure I haven’t seen much else out of her. So if I offered the same deal — 5% of the cover for the time of use and $40 if I decide to stop using the cover early — would artists be interested in something like that?
5% doesn’t sound like a lot, but I think it’s fair. I mean, my sister spends a week working on a cover and she gets a quarterly deposit in her Paypal, plus I pimp her art everywhere. Plus a percentage if the art’s used on any kind of merchandise. I think long-term she would make more money than if I just paid $40 upfront.
*Though thinking about it, print book prices would have to be different. The royalty per book is low because of the cost of materials. So it would be more like a percentage of the cover minus cost, versus just the cover.
*
Sometimes I get jealous. I wish I could draw. If I had her ability, I would use it all the time and I would be so rich. I mean, she can draw, paint, she knows all this 3D computer art stuff, she’s done jaw dropping stuff with ceramics and glass.
And she’s working in an office filing paperwork.
I would have sold out my art skills a long time ago. “You want some naked ladies? Okay!”
*
Here’s a breakdown:
$0.99 x 5% = 0.049 is what the artist gets per book.
$0.99 x 35% = 0.35 – 0.049 = $0.301 is what I get per book.
Through Amazon:
0.99 x 35% = 0.35 -||- 0.99 x 5% = 0.049 -||- 0.35 – 0.049 = 0.301
1.99 x 35% = 0.69 -||- 1.99 x 5% = 0.099 -||- 0.69 – 0.099 = 0.591
2.99 x 70% = 2.09 -||- 2.99 x 5% = 0.149 -||- 2.09 – 0.149 = 1.941
3.99 x 70% = 2.79 -||- 3.99 x 5% = 0.199 -||- 2.79 – 0.199 = 2.591
4.99 x 70% = 3.49 -||- 4.99 x 5% = 0.249 -||- 3.49 – 0.249 = 3.241
5.99 x 70% = 4.19 -||- 5.99 x 5% = 0.299 -||- 4.19 – 0.299 = 3.891
6.99 x 70% = 4.89 -||- 6.99 x 5% = 0.349 -||- 4.89 – 0.349 = 4.541
7.99 x 70% = 5.59 -||- 7.99 x 5% = 0.399 -||- 5.59 – 0.399 = 5.191
8.99 x 70% = 6.29 -||- 8.99 x 5% = 0.449 -||- 6.29 – 0.449 = 5.841
9.99 x 70% = 6.99 -||- 9.99 x 5% = 0.499 -||- 6.99 – 0.499 = 6.491
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
July 23, 2013
Sometimes I get scared
I have no idea what I’m doing. I stumble around with this stoically non-stressed face on, but I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing.
I’m scared.
When I was a kid, I thought I would grow up and it would all just come to me. A life, a job, a family, everything. It would just kind of happen.
Instead I’ve been left to wallow in my confusion. And I’m older now, so I’m getting scared that stuff is never going to work out. I’m going to live alone and die alone, and never once will I have enough money to survive.
I need a job.
I need my own place.
I need the security of knowing I’m not going to starve to death.
I feel so helpless because I don’t know how to help myself, and I don’t know who to ask for help.
Sometimes I don’t think I can breathe. My chest feels tight. It feels like a giant hand is pressing down through the top of my head.
I feel so alone.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
July 21, 2013
You wasted my time, ficcer, and now I kinda hate you
“This is the story that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on, my friends. Some people started reading it, not knowing what it was, and they’ll continue reading it forever, just because…”
I get it. You’re writing fanfic, natural rules do not apply, blah blah blah.
But maybe there comes a point when you need to be honest with your readers and say: “I have no idea where this is going. I’ve written myself into a corner, so here’s 100,000 words about the MCs new cat, Devilicus.”
Or how about: “This story is 20% awesome plot, dialogue, and characterization. The rest is me detailing every second of their lives in excruciating detail for no other reason than that you’re going to read it and love it. Oh, and by the way, every third ‘update’ is just a random scene apparently taken from some different story. Sorry?”
Look, I love epic fics. When I’m searching a fandom I sort by COMPLETE and WORD COUNT just to enjoy the meaty, plotty goodness of a long story.
But when your WIP fic is 700,000+ words and turns to total crap when I’m 400,000 words in? We’ve got a problem.
I feel like I’ve been tricked. Especially when your spot on characterizations go zinging off into the wilds of OOCness (out-of-character) and this thought provoking and engaging story turns into baby babbling crack.
You’re churning out a crap story, yet you expect me to keep reading it? You seriously think I’m going to praise you? Really?
There’s an epic story, then there’s “This ficcer loves their baby too much to let it go and introduces drama and surprise twists just so they don’t have to shut up.”
I’m not saying you need to study three-act structure or take a creative writing class. It’s just, dude, OUTLINE. That’s all. Even just jotting down some plot points and knowing where you’re going with it will help a lot.
And I don’t end up feeling like you killed my will to live.
~Pax
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
EXCERPT: Paradigm Shift. Peek at Park’s POV
I’m currently writing the Park portions of Paradigm Shift. He’s got a different story than Gregor, his concerns obviously being very different. It’s kind of fun 
EXCERPT:
Barely home a day and already sent out again, this time for a domestic reason, but just as important. He left his accustomed body armor behind and wore a soberly professional suit, his rank pinned to his collar.
“So why have I been called out?” he asked the Attache sharing the back of the car with him.
Her smile was a wide stretch of lips painted vivid red, complimenting her raptor’s eyes. He thought he caught a whiff of old blood lingering on her skin. “Your Family has shown much interest in acquiring another Third. As a mark of Command’s favor, you’ve been offered first crack at the Third discovered through the latest blood draw. You should say thank you.”
“Thank you,” he drawled, settling his hands on his knees. He’d known he’d done good work with that last mission, but he hadn’t expected to have a Third handed over to his Family. The State must be pleased with him and all he’d done to give him preliminary Courting options. Grandfather would be pleased.
“This is my stop,” she said. The car slowed and she stepped out before it had halted, slamming the door behind her.
Dylan amused himself with the image of her tumbling off the sidewalk and under the wheels of the large truck following behind them. It was an unkind wish, but he’d dealt with the Attache before and she was nothing but a mad dog. When she was let off the leash she barely differentiated friend from foe; it made him wary of her.
He picked up the case she’d left him and settled back into the seat to read. He had received a Third as a reward, he might as well find out what he could about–
Dylan opened the file and looked at the picture of the dark haired young man. A handsome face that might have looked cold if it wasn’t for the sly slant of his brows, the hint of laughter curling his lips. Staring out of the picture was a pair of expressive brown eyes, mesmerizing against the man’s rich olive skin.
–Gregor Tierney.
/EXCERPT
Title: Paradigm Shift
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm science fiction
Rating: mature
Status: WIP
Notes: This is a State Rule story. There are Judges, Law Officers, and zombies.
Warnings: genetic modification capability of mpreg, mentions of forced breeding, fascist society, post-zombie apocalypse.
Summary: Gregor has been living as a Two for most of his life, but it’s a lie. He’s really a Third. And now he’s been found out and pulled into the lives of one of the great Families.
Paradigm Shift: Master Post – Link: http://harperkingsley.livejournal.com/73938.html.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
July 20, 2013
What is the deal with airplane food…
No, seriously, my mind is buzzing along a million miles an hour. I’m about an inch away from bouncing off the walls, yet it’s exciting and it feels good.
Mania. It’s the greatest fucking thing ever created.
Right up until it takes that downward turn and I start questioning everything I’ve ever done or ever said and I completely go off the rails. All these things I do so joyfully now, the words I scream out to the Internet and the things that I do and buy in real life … They always come back to haunt me later.
I promise things that bring me difficulty. I feel things like floating acid tripping butterflies. And at the end of the day, I have a great time either ruining or living my life.
It always feels the same either way.
Waking up with that sense that I’ve done wrong and not quite sure where I’ve misplaced my step. It sucks. I hate it. There’s nothing I can do to change it.
You don’t know what it’s like to need help so bad, but to not be able to say the words to anyone. There’s so much shame involved with any kind of mental illness. Even just using the words … mental illness … it makes my stomach crumble into knots.
There’s some days when I wake up hating everyone and everything, but when it comes down to it, it’s me that I hate. Because everything about the world I see, that’s my perception of things, the way that my brain puts it together. I am decoding messages that only I receive.
Everyone literally walks around in their own world, because each person has their own way of seeing things. So when I can look at something and all I feel is distaste, that’s my perception of things.
My idea of beauty is different and unique, as is my sense of disgust. And it all rides on what I feel at a particular time and place, the way my brain chemistry has decided to turn things. So sometimes there’s regret for the things I’ve said and didn’t say, the things I did and didn’t do, but always I’m left to deal with the consequences.
Mental illness is like being drunk all the time. Once the mood shifts, there’s nothing to block it or slow it down. When I’m angry, I’m angry. When I’m sad, I’m sad. And when I’m happy, I’m happy right up until the point I get terrified and end up hiding in the closet because everyone is out to get me.
And I write about it, and I write about it, and oh yeah, I write about it.
Even my characters that are like gods walking on Earth have problems with the way they see things or the way they react to a given situation. Or someone gets slipped some creepy drug, and having their perception of reality violently changed sends them on a bad trip. I have never written a character that is completely well-adjusted or happy in life.
Because I don’t think that perfect happiness exists. How boring would that have to be? It’s like the Matrix. When it was perfect, the human brain rejected it for a lie.
So I think the whole of humanity is a little bit crazy. It shouldn’t be something that we’re ashamed of, though it doesn’t need to be yelled from the mountain tops. It’s just a bit of mixed up chemistry.
If diet, exercise, music, and routine behavior can adjust someone’s brain to put them in a better mood and a better working order … Then it’s not something people should be stigmatized for and everyone should know that.
There’s no reason to hide away from the world, and no reason for the world to turn on someone. Mental illness is something that can easily be handled with compassion and self-knowledge.
Because knowledge is half the battle.
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All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
July 19, 2013
NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Sixteen
Title: The Panic Pure
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm suspense thriller
Rating: mature
Summary: Daniel Worth, billionaire and CEO of Worth Enterprises is questioned by FBI agent Marshal Newman about the disappearance of one of his employees. They strike up a conversation and soon are regularly meeting and begin dating. However neither realizes just how close danger is lurking.
*
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Not being completely oblivious, he knew that something was going on. He’d spotted Sophia whispering in corners with Arthur and everything seemed very serious, but when Arthur was willing to go that far to keep him out of things, Danny knew better than to poke his nose into the mix. He trusted Arthur knew what he was doing.
So he ignored the tensions flowing around and focused on enjoying his time with Marshal.
“Are you really sure you want to do this?” Marshal asked.
Danny gave Marshal a reassuring smile. “Yes. I am absolutely sure. We are going to have fun today.” He didn’t have to mention that he was drugged to the eyebrows; Marshal had watched him take his pills before they’d left the house. He was buzzing along on a wave of synthetic serenity, feeling completely untouched by anything bad. The only thing he wasn’t enjoying was how spacey he felt, as though his head was an over-inflated balloon barely attached to the string of his neck.
“Do you want to hold my hand?” Marshal waggled the fingers of his left hand invitingly.
Danny looked at it for a long moment, the sun shining down on his head as they stood in the parking lot. There was the sound of children laughing and cheerful voices all around them. And Marshal wanted to hold his hand in public.
He licked his lower lip and reached out to take Marshal’s hand. It felt like the right decision. It made him feel safe.
The New Iblis Municipal Zoo was something that he believed in and had poured a lot of money into. Today was the grand opening of the Children’s Learning Exhibit and for the first time he had accepted an invitation to appear, though Sophia had made sure everyone involved with the event understood that he wasn’t to be singled out and he would not be making any speeches.
Danny didn’t think there would ever come a time when he would be comfortable in the spotlight. Enjoying a grand opening though, it was something he thought he could pull off as long as he wasn’t facing it alone.
“I love the zoo,” Marshal said. “None of these animals are locked up in teeny tiny cages, are they? I’ve never been to this zoo before.”
“Whoa, info dump,” Danny teased. He held out his gold leafed invitation as they approached the VIP ticket stand and were let in.
The zoo was closed to the public for this event, though his money had guaranteed that his request was accepted. Which was why the children of the Wyndstrom Home were being herded around by their minders. They looked happy to have a day out, and he’d arranged the full zoo experience for them–hotdogs, soft pretzels with drippy cheese, stuffed animals and balloons, and crates of educational books for them to take back to the orphanage.
It felt good to see the children happy and to know that he’d had a hand in it.
There was something so great about being able to give something back to the community. Starting with the most disadvantaged members. It was why he’d chosen the Wyndstrom Home as one of his pet charities. They were children in need and it didn’t exactly take a fortune to keep them in clothes and a few of the luxuries that other children took for granted.
I sound so privileged, he scoffed mentally. It was why he didn’t like to talk about his philanthropy. Thinking about the response other people would make if he were to speak his heart made him want to cringe with personal shame. He couldn’t handle it.
Here you go, Aunt Lauren. I made this for you.
What kind of crap is this? Do you honestly believe that this quality of work is going to get you anywhere in life?
No. I’m sorry.
You should be. Now go put on that outfit I got you. We’re having guests later.
Okay. I love you?
I love you too. You’re my darling boy. My smart boy. My sweet boy. My everything boy. You’re such a good boy. Will you try for me?
I try for you. I promise I do.
Will you always try for me?
I will always try for you. I’ll be such a good boy. I promise.
The best boy. So sweet. Now go get dressed. We’re having company.
Do I get some ice cream later?
If you’re a good boy.
Marshal tugged on his hand and Danny felt his mind center on the moment. “What?”
“You were spacing out there. Do you know what you want to look at first?” Marshal had a zoo map half-open in his free hand. He looked comfortable in jeans and a polo shirt, not even seeming to care that Danny was wearing the usual suit.
“You really don’t mind, do you?” Danny asked.
“Mind what?”
“Being with me.”
Marshal raised his eyebrows and pulled Danny to an out of the way stretch of sidewalk. “Why would I mind being with you?”
It felt like his cheeks were on fire. Danny ducked his chin to stare at Marshal’s broad chest. “I know I’m awkward to be around, and not just because of all the–” He swiped his thumb over his ear. “–head stuff. There’s the money angle of things and all that. You haven’t changed, you’ve stayed the same. It’s nice.”
“You’re weird.” Marshal gently nudged Danny’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go look at the tigers. Shere Khan was always my favorite.”
Danny rolled his eyes, but let himself be pulled along. His heart felt lighter than he’d known in a long time.
* * *
“Look at that smile on your face. What happened with you?” Joanna asked.
Marshal tried to control it, but the grin had a life of its own. He sank down onto his chair behind the desk. There was already a stack of folders waiting in his in-basket like a Good Morning You’re Never Catching Up With Your Paperwork No Matter What You Do Because It Will Just Keep Breeding Until The Day You Retire message. It was the kind of greeting he could gladly do without.
He took a sip of coffee and dragged the top folder off the pile. “We had a really great time yesterday. I’d forgotten how cool the zoo is.”
“So now your dates with Mr. Money involve bestiality. I’m a little concerned about you.” Joanna grinned to show she was joking.
He rolled his shoulders and uncapped his pen. “We had a lot of fun wandering around. There were a lot of kids there for the opening of the Children’s Learning Exhibit and we got to help them with craft projects. I found out Danny funds a whole orphanage.”
“What, like Professor Xavier?”
“I know, it’s crazy right? He’s Daddy Warbucks. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Probably remain cool and not turn into a Gimme-Gimme Guy. That kind of guy is a complete turd sandwich,” Joanna said.
“Oh no,” he said. “Did you join that ‘cougar life’ dating service?”
She growled and flung a highlighter at him. “Shut up. I’m not that old.”
Marshal uncapped the highlighter with a smarmy smile and nod. “Of course not.”
She huffed and crosser her arms. “So?”
At his bland look Joanna whined, “Come on, you know I live vicariously through you. How romantic was this date of yours on a scale of one to ten?”
“It was like the Lake House, but not so confusing.” Marshal shrugged.
“You have to ruin everything, don’t you? I’m a lonely woman of simple desires and you can’t even keep me in the loop of your love?” She sighed and bowed her head. “That’s so wounding.”
“Honestly, I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” Marshal said. And it was true too. “There’s just something about him that settles me right down.”
Joanna nodded knowledgeably. “It’s the soulmate principle. You two were meant for each other and somehow the moons will align and there will be surprise babies. I don’t know which one of you will get knocked up, but it will be a beautiful lifetime event.” She fluttered her lashes at him.
Marshal grimaced. “I don’t know what you’ve been reading lately, but nope.”
Joanna opened her mouth, but he got there first with a drawn out, “No-ope.”
She frowned and crossed her arms. “You ruin all my dreams,” she said, then leaned forward with a gentle smile. There weren’t quite as many sharp teeth showing and her eyes had softened. “I’m glad you’ve found someone that makes you happy,” she said.
“Thanks.” Marshal beamed at her. His chest felt full of air, a delighted pressure against his ribs. He’d never known that love felt like laughter.
“Ugh, your complete self-delight is freaking me out,” Joanna teased. “Time to get back to work.”
Marshal was skimming through folders and writing notes on a legal pad the same as she was. “Fine fine, no more details about my beautiful love affair with my handsome billionaire boyfriend.”
She groaned. “Seriously, your luck is unfair.”
“Yep.” He grinned and traded his pen for the highlighter, running it over a long, Italian name in his file. “I’m like a Lifetime movie.”
“Then you better be careful. Danger could be lurking.” She held her hands up and wiggled her fingers creepily.
“Danger-smanger. I laugh in the face of danger.”
* * *
It had been a grueling day at the office. The kind of day where the first thing Joanna had done when she reached her car was muss up her hair and thoroughly clean her face with a cleansing wipe. She might be dressed like a Fed, but she was totally off-duty for the rest of the night and nobody better call her.
She didn’t know what was happening, as everyone involved was keeping it hush-hush, but something big was going down that involved a lot of agents and a lot of man hours. Which left her, Marshal, and the other schlubs not working the case to handle everything else. They’d been buried under a pile of paperwork since after lunch.
She was tired, hungry, and she had a sneaking suspicion that she stunk from the lo-mein she’d dropped on her shirt at lunch. In all, she was glad to be home, a white paper bag of takeaway food hanging from her hand. She’d been meaning to try that health food restaurant for awhile and now felt like the perfect time.
Too much MSG and vegetable oil makes Joanna unhappy, she thought with a smirk.
The lock on her front door was sticking again and she forced it with the use of her shoulder. She needed to have another talk with the super. It wasn’t just the door giving her grief anymore. He’d also promised to fix the bathroom drain that wasn’t draining. His suggestion that she fix it herself had not won him any points.
She sighed and turned to close the door, and that was when she felt it. The sense that she wasn’t alone. It was a crawling itch in the space between her shoulder blades that made her bladder twinge. She subtly reached for her gun.
She knew it was too late before it happened. It was just this “Oh shit” realization that didn’t let her do anything.
The gunshot was a dull pop in the quiet of the apartment and the force of it flung her off her feet. Her face slammed into the nubby brown carpet and she couldn’t help thinking: That’s gonna be some road rash tomorrow.
Then the pain hit. One bullet and her whole back felt on fire. She was also pretty sure she’d peed herself.
She’d known getting shot hurt, but she’d always kind of assumed she’d be one of the lucky Rambo chicks able to power through the pain. She wasn’t.
Joanna lay on the carpet and just tried to breathe. There was a liquid gurgle sound in her chest she really didn’t like. It was hard to pull in enough air. It made her head spin dully.
All she could do was lie there as the shooter approached–dark brown pant legs and green sneakers with blindingly white laces. She tried to raise her head to see more of him, but it hurt too much to move.
Her breath gurgled out of her. She blinked and blinked and tried to remember everything she could about him. This man that had killed her.
“Pathetic,” a raspy voice whispered–it sounded like a bad Batman impression–then he kicked her in the side of the head and she felt herself starting to pass out. It was this roll of black that slid across her vision and pulled her down with it.
The last thing she heard was the click of the door shutting behind him. Her nose was filled with the scent of blood and spilled takeaway. The carpet itched beneath her cheek.
Then nothing.
* * *
The insistent discord of his current ringtone pulled Marshal out of sleep with an unhappy moan. His only relief was that Danny was completely out, his sleeping pill keeping the phone from disturbing his slumber.
“H’lo?” Marshal answered, squinting his one open eye at the alarm clock. 1:13 a.m.
“Marshal, this is Crane. Joanna is at Abner General Hospital. She was shot in her apartment.”
Marshal couldn’t breathe for a moment. There was a sense of unreality. “Who did it?”
“We don’t know yet, but I knew you’d want to know about Joanna. She’s in surgery now.” Kevin Crane drew in an audible breath. “I’m very sorry.”
Marshal climbed out of his bed and hurried to his closet to grab his jacket off the hook. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
“Don’t drive so recklessly that you cause any accidents,” Crane advised.
“I’ll try my best.” Marshal shrugged the jacket on and hurried to grab his wallet and keys off the end of the dresser. “I’ll be there soon.”
He spared Danny a glance to make sure he was still sleeping before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He figured he would call Danny in a few hours from the hospital. There was no reason to wake him any earlier than he had to.
Joanna was in surgery, but Marshal wanted to hope that it had been a simple through and through shot. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Joanna died. She was his partner and his friend. His life would be a lesser place without her in it.
* * *
Danny woke with the sense that something was wrong.
The bedroom was dark and he felt sleep hazed and a bit off from his medication, but he knew something was wrong.
The shadows in the room seemed strange somehow, but he didn’t see anything. There was a faint outline of light coming in around the drawn window curtains.
He held his breath and stayed perfectly still on the bed, listening closely for any sound. And that’s when he heard it.
Over the frightened thud of his heart there was the faint huff of a breath in the darkness.
Danny quietly freaked out, but forced himself to be careful. He slid his hand under the edge of his pillow, his fingers searching for his phone where he’d left it before going to sleep. He moved slowly and tried to pretend that he was still asleep, forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly.
He needed the intruder to think he was still asleep. He needed to call the police. He needed to keep from panicking.
The tips of his fingers brushed the cool plastic. Then one of the larger shadows near the bed lunged at him.
Danny opened his mouth to scream, but he didn’t get the chance. A body jumped on him knees first, forcing the air out of him in a shocked wheeze. He grunted in pain as a knee nailed him in the balls, then the full-weight of the intruder pressed on his chest, forcing the breath out of his lungs.
He tried to throw the man off, but the intruder wrestled him around onto his stomach, painful pressure digging into the small of his back. He couldn’t get any leverage. Danny gagged and bucked, trying to slam his head into his intruder’s face.
There was a sharp pain stabbed into the meat of his thigh.
Danny struggled against the hands pressing his wrists against the mattress. He could feel himself weakening. His eyes stung with tears as he realized there was nothing he could do.
His head spun as whatever drug had been injected into him mixed with the remnants of his sleeping pill.
There was warm skin pressed against his cheek and hot breath next to his left ear. “Hello, pretty, are you ready to play with me?”
Danny passed out.
/CHAPTER
The post NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Sixteen appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
July 12, 2013
Master Post: Paradigm Shift
Title: Paradigm Shift
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm science fiction
Rating: mature
Status: WIP
Notes: This is a State Rule story. There are Judges, Law Officers, and zombies.
Warnings: genetic modification capability of mpreg, mentions of forced breeding, fascist society, post-zombie apocalypse
A/N: I’m posting the Gregor POVs at my LJ in 500-1000+ word bursts. The version that will be available for purchase will have Dylan’s POVs, and his part of the story includes the intrigue and action happening in the backgound. Dylan’s actually scarily bad ass.
Summary: Gregor has been living as a Two for most of his life, but it’s a lie. He’s really a Third. And now he’s been found out and pulled into the lives of one of the great Families.
“I am a member of the Family,” Park stated as though it was everyday kind of news, and to him it probably was. Gregor was shocked enough for two people. “The Family requested that I assess you for the possibility of merging your genome with the Duadenora.”
“And I passed?” Gregor hadn’t meant to ask, but the words had slipped out.
Park looked amused. “So far.”
– 01 – 11 – 21 – 31 – 41 – 51 -
– 02 – 12 – 22 – 32 – 42 – 52 -
– 03 – 13 – 23 – 33 – 43 – 53 -
– 04 – 14 – 24 – 34 – 44 – 54 -
– 05 – 15 – 25 – 35 – 45 – 55 -
– 06 – 16 – 26 – 36 – 46 – 56 -
– 07 – 17 – 27 – 37 – 47 – 57 -
– 08 – 18 – 28 – 38 – 48 – 58 -
– 09 – 19 – 29 – 39 – 49 – 59 -
– 10 – 20 – 30 – 40 – 50 – 60 -
Chapter One: 01-02
Chapter Two: 03-06
Chapter Three: 07-10
Chapter Four: 11-12
Chapter Five: 13-19
Chapter Six: 20-25
Chapter Seven: 26-30
Chapter Eight: 31-34
Chapter Nine: 35-39
Chapter Ten: 40-43
Chapter Eleven: 44-
Gregor Tierney. Magister Dylan Park. Zero Park. Judge Rulf Tersoe.
EXCERPT:
This story is rated: Mature (for violence and sex)
He didn’t hesitate a moment to slide into Park’s abandoned spot and peer out through the observation hole. He had to kind of mash his face close to see, but he didn’t care.
Their balcony overlooked the whole theater. People were huddled in groups around the seats, their finery in disarray and their expressions terrified. The Players had been hustled off the stage and shoved in amongst the Patrons, their brightly colored costumes contrasting sharply.
There had to be over a dozen members of the Halcyon Horde standing by with weapons slung. They wore black and blue camo pants, black boots, and heavy flak vests. Each of their faces was covered with the flat black mask of the Horde, the only color the gold outlining the eye holes.
Gregor winced when the leader of the Horde cell opened fire on a woman in a red dress. A man had been holding her in his arms, and when the multicolored blast hit her directly in the chest, the man too went down with a choked cry, his limbs flailing before going still. The woman died without a sound.
“Now you see that we are serious,” the leader’s voice was strange and mechanical. He had a voice distorter built into his mask. “Would you like to live?”
No one said anything, too terrified of giving a wrong answer.
“I said, would you like to live?” the leader asked. “Answer me!”
“Yes! Yes we want to live!” “Please don’t kill us!” Hundreds of voices shouted out, pleading for their lives.
The leader laughed and turned to one of his own men. “You see how easy it is? You threaten the safety of the herd, and the individuals fall over themselves to spare their own lives. Pathetic.”
He turned and shot a young man; the guy was just a kid really, probably still a teenager. An older man shouted something–a name–and made to go to his son, but his wife held him back. She was crying, but resolute. Her husband stopped resisting.
Gregor had seen violence before, but it had always been through the safe medium of a view Screen. This… this was real and horrible and he hated his sense of helplessness, but there was nothing he could do to help. He had no training and no real weapons.
But Park does, an insidious voice whispered in his mind.
Park had weapons and training and he was out there, planning something to save the hostages. Something dangerous enough that he hadn’t been sure he would survive it, which is why he had told Gregor to stay hidden.
The leader of the Horde was still talking, rambling on about human weakness and animal herds and blah, blah, totally crazy, blah. Gregor had spotted Zero surrounded by the circle of his Family bodyguards. He was sitting quietly, not making a fuss, not drawing any attention to himself.
Gregor couldn’t help admitting that Zero had impressed him a bit. The guy had seemed like a complete airhead when Gregor first met him, the kind of useless, ornamental rich guy that wasted all of his opportunities by not even realizing what he had going for him. But Zero really knew how to be a good hostage. He didn’t even look afraid.
Gregor had been staring at Zero, so he was just as surprised as everyone else when the leader of the Horde developed a hole where his right eye used to be. The shot punched through the lens of his mask and continued on into his brain.
His legs folded up and he dropped to the floor. Dead.
There were screams from the hostages and the Halcyon Horde members started waving their guns around wildly, trying to triangulate where the shot had come from. There was no sign of Park.
When a female Horde member tried to scoop up the dropped Tumbler, her hand was barely an inch away before she was struck between the shoulder blades and was sent flopping forward, her spine severed. She aspirated a bit of blood across the polished floor and her limbs twitched minutely, then she died.
Gregor covered his mouth with his hand. His breathing was loud and wheezy to his own ears. His paranoia insisted they would be able to hear him.
/ EXCERPT
The post Master Post: Paradigm Shift appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
July 6, 2013
NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Fifteen
Title: The Panic Pure
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm suspense thriller
Rating: mature
Summary: Daniel Worth, billionaire and CEO of Worth Enterprises is questioned by FBI agent Marshal Newman about the disappearance of one of his employees. They strike up a conversation and soon are regularly meeting and begin dating. However neither realizes just how close danger is lurking.
*
There’s some mention of child abuse, but it’s just talking about previous abuse and FBI stuff. That’s about as deep as I’m going with that. Sad feelings will be had, but no graphic depictions of the child abuse.
*
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
=THE SPACES IN-BETWEEN=
It felt a bit like a betrayal, nosing in where he didn’t belong, but it was something he had to do. Marshal was his friend and it was obvious that he was crazy about Worth.
Hamilton wasn’t the kind of man that was willing to let a mystery go, so it had felt perfectly natural to take the information Conway had given him and run a few checks. And what he’d dug up was enough to make the hairs rise on the back of his neck.
Screw up after screw up until it wasn’t incompetence anymore. It had to be purposeful sabotage of the investigation.
Someone hadn’t wanted the Worth murders solved, and they’d gotten their way. It was just a question of who and how many agents had let themselves be lured by money into becoming just as bad as the crooks they busted. Worse even, as they were supposed to be on the side of the angels. Not helping innocent people be murdered for their fortune.
Acid was bubbling in his stomach and more than anything he wanted to go back in time a week to before he’d known any of this. But it was what it was and there was a crime for him to uncover and arrests to be made.
He now had a crate of hard copy files to go through, all pertaining to the Worth Case, and he’d notified his immediate superior–a woman he knew he could trust–that they were going to have to run an internal investigation to find all the bad seeds. The reaction made him feel as though he’d knocked over a bee hive and it was only a matter of time until people started getting stung.
And on top of everything else, his coffee pot was on the fritz and the one in the break room on his floor produced the kind of sludge he’d expect to be used to tar roofs. Definitely not anything he’d want to drink.
So he grabbed his mug and headed down to the floor below. And like fate, when he stepped into the elevator to return upstairs, he recognized one of the men leaning against the wall.
Arthur Conway was wearing a three-piece suit that probably cost more than the monthly rent on Hamilton’s condo, but he carried himself the same as when he’d been in a tee shirt and jeans. There was a pair of expensive sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and he looked bored.
Hamilton nudged his way through the elevator crowd to stand next to him. “I wasn’t expecting you here today.”
Conway blinked at him, then smiled. For a lawyer, he came across a lot less sleazy than he was charming. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Danny had me bring Marshal his lunch.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
“Huh. So this is a normal thing for you now?” Hamilton asked.
Conway shrugged. “It makes Danny happy to think that Marshal is eating a good meal while working. So he has me drop something off here before going back to the office with his lunch. It’s not that far out of my way and sometimes it’s nice to get out a little and stretch my legs.”
“I bet.” Hamilton rubbed his hands together. “Listen, there’s something I need to discuss with you. Do you think you could come back to my office now?”
“For a few minutes,” Conway said after glancing at his watch. “Danny likes to have his lunch at a specific time, so I can’t give you too long.”
“That’s all right. I just need a minute.” He wasn’t prepared to mention anything in the pseudo-public of he elevator, but he felt as though Conway could help him with the case.
He led Conway back to his office and closed the door behind them. “I read that you have Daniel’s power of attorney.”
“Yes,” Conway said, perching on a chair like a well-dressed falcon. From everything Hamilton had seen about him, Arthur Conway was not someone that fooled around. He was justifiably feared.
“Isn’t that a strange arrangement, Mr. Conway? That he would trust you with so much?”
“I have always had his back, no matter the situation. I am a lawyer. There’s no way I’d let him get scammed anywhere. I’ve also got him listed as my proxy as well. He can make life or death decisions for me just as I can for him.” Conway’s expression didn’t shift an inch. It perked Hamilton’s interest. Such passion hidden; it made him curious what else the bespoke suit covered, the depth of his loyalty.
“You are a great friend to him, but I needed to make sure for a moment.” Hamilton leaned against the corner of his desk, watching for Conway’s reaction as he loomed above.
Conway was completely cool and collected. He’d folded his hands on his lap and his ankles were casually crossed. “And now that you’re sure, what did you have to say?”
Hamilton’s lips turned up. “I can’t go into too much detail, but there’s about to be a real shit storm coming down. I didn’t want to have you get blindsided, but things are already in motion. That’s all I can say.”
“I see.” Conway didn’t acknowledge the curse word. “I suppose I’ll be notifying the PR department to beef up their ranks. I’ll also be visiting with the legal department to make sure they’re in order.”
“That would be a very good idea,” Hamilton said. He appreciated when his advice was so readily accepted. “I will let you know if there’s anymore happening.” He gestured toward the door.
Conway rose with easy grace, sweeping his hand down his thigh. He opened the door and said, “It has been a pleasure. Please feel free to call me Arthur next time.” He flashed a swift smile over his shoulder, then was gone.
Hamilton leaned back against his desk, unable to resist a softly pleased hum. He liked a person that listened to his advice, but he also liked someone that pushed back when he was playing his games.
Conway–Arthur–was the kind to play back. That pleased Hamilton.
* * *
The instant Arthur was back in the office he called two overlapping meetings. He needed everyone to be at least prepped for the trouble coming down on all their heads. They needed to keep the Worth name strong in the business world.
“Here’s his lunch.” He held the cloth bag out to Sophia. “When you get a chance later, come by my office.”
“Of course,” she said. Her eyebrows were arched questioningly, but she would wait to find out.
He gave her a nod, then retreated toward the elevator. He had some phone calls to make and a few things to arrange just in case Hamilton came through.
Arthur wasn’t sure how things were going to go, but he was hoping that whatever Lauren had caught herself up in would result in her seeing the inside of a jail cell. She needed to pay for all that she’d done, and she’d gotten away with her crimes for way too long. Though Arthur wasn’t sure how well old child abuse cases could stand up in court, he was hoping the mismanagement of funds would come and bite her on the ass.
Once he got back to his office, he closed the door and went directly to his Keurig machine. He needed coffee.
Thoughts of Lauren Green drifted through his head and he couldn’t help wishing that he could go back in time and get his younger self to handle things differently. Sure, no one around the estate was willing to do anything to stop her–not even his father, which had really hurt to watch–but there were things that Arthur wished he had done. He could have at least sent anonymous tips to child services or something.
At the time though, she had been such a terrifying figure in his life. She had been the Wicked Witch living in the castle, sucking the life out of everyone that got too close. And she had wrapped herself tight around Danny, strangling him with her presence until Arthur had been too terrified to do anything more than watch.
Cupping his mug in his hands, Arthur sat in his chair and gazed out the wide window at the courtyard below. He could see some landscapers working at the base of one of the Japanese maple trees.
He remembered being a kid with Danny and helping the gardeners. They would sneak around finding things to do all day, and though the gardeners had probably been annoyed by the presence of two small boys, they’d let them plant flowers and dig holes. It had been exciting at the time, and he could almost feel the sun beating down on his head as he worked shoulder to shoulder with Danny, smoothing the soil in the flowerbeds.
When Arthur looked back at his life, Danny was always there. They had been best friends from the first moment they met at six years old. Arthur had moved onto the estate with his father and he’d met Danny two days later. It had been kismet.
After Danny’s parents died, a pall had fallen over the estate. Everything had gotten quiet and there had been this breathless sense of waiting. At the time, Arthur hadn’t been quite sure what had happened, except that Mrs. Leanne and Mr. Kevin were gone.
Then Danny had come back pale faced and tired looking accompanied by Dr. Green, and everything had been different. A lot of the laughter had disappeared, and over the course of eight months most of the staff had been let go. They’d been a family for years, yet they were sent away as though they were less than nothing.
Sometimes Arthur wished that he had demanded Danny tell him what was going on inside the house, but he hadn’t, and he still didn’t know everything. All he knew was what he’d seen, the livid marks against Danny’s arms, legs and back, and the quiet misery Danny had carried around like a blanket. He had looked like he was dying, fading away a bit more each day.
As an adult, Arthur realized that Lauren had done everything she could to strip any semblance of security from Danny’s life. She’d wanted him vulnerable to her control, and that’s exactly what she got. Somehow, in that house behind drawn curtains and thick wooden doors, she’d broken Danny down into component pieces. Using her skills, she’d taken him apart as easy as one of Danny’s Lego men.
The hatred Arthur felt for Dr. Lauren Green was the kind that burned hot and never went out. She had been the first proof he’d seen that some monsters could be human.
There was a knock at his door. Arthur twitched and realized that he’d been staring into space with a cup of coffee cradled between his hands for nearly half an hour.
“Come in,” he called, schooling his expression for work.
* * *
Gathering up the warrants and getting them signed by the judge took a lot less time and effort than he thought it would. It turned out that some people remembered Lauren Green, and there wasn’t a whole lot of love there. She seemed to be the kind of woman that created enemies out of everyone she met.
Hamilton didn’t lead the team that arrested her, though they were some of his minions. He’d never been much for field work and the day he’d become senior enough to delegate the more strenuous roles had been a relief.
Marshal liked to call them “paperwork ninja,” and though Hamilton would have put it in less juvenile terms, he agreed with the concept. Their very lack of physicality had been what drew them together first in college then through the academy. They had been the brainy book nerds dealing with life amongst the gung-ho trainees.
Blessed with an easy metabolism and a body that crafted six-pack abs after a handful of sit ups, Marshal had never had any trouble passing the fitness tests. It was one of the few things that Hamilton envied, as he himself felt like he was fighting a losing battle against his love for fatty foods and his waistline’s desire to balloon out horror movie fashion.
He kept himself fit enough for the office, but he would never be the type to want to get into shootouts and wrestle perps. He was much happier sending out his minions to grab the suspects and handle the interrogations while he floated papers around and decided their fates for them. It was so much better than dealing with real, possibly violent people.
Especially people like Lauren Green.
Conway had called her a monster, and after seeing what she’d been up to, Hamilton could only agree.
Rasher, one of his agents, had sent him preliminary reports on their findings at her hotel room. There’d already been a quick peek at her computer and Hamilton’s suspicions had been confirmed.
Child pornography.
It was an ever growing business in a world run on technology, pictures and videos making their way around the world for the sick titillation of pedophiles. And Lauren Green had used her young patients while in America, then bought the time of children from their poor parents in poverty stricken neighborhoods in other countries, and as a last jab she had continued to peddle the pictures she had begun her business on. Pictures of her nephew from ages nine to seventeen.
Hamilton was beginning to understand how she operated and it wasn’t conducive to his peace of mind.
With all the info coming in, he could already tell that the case against Lauren Green was going to be a big one. Careers were going to be made and storybook lives were going to be ruined–Lauren Green had dealt with a lot of children, enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.
The updates Rasher sent raised the number of domestic victims from fourteen to thirty-seven to fifty-three, and there were still more coming.
“Guess she really was the Wicked Witch of the West.” Agent Rhonda Kelley shook her head, the ends of her dark auburn ponytail just brushing the collar of her shirt. “We’re going to have to send out to other labs for help processing everything. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to sleep again.”
Kelley had two girls at home. Hamilton didn’t bring them up, not when they were dealing with this horror story. Instead, he just said, “Sleep is overrated. We’re the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Insomniacs.”
She snorted. “You should cross-stitch that on some placards and we’ll hang them around the office. I’m sure the Director won’t mind.”
“What won’t I mind?”
“Evening Director,” Hamilton said, giving Kevin Crane a nod.
“Assanti. Why don’t you fill me in on this case you’ve got going. We’re already fielding calls from the higher ups and there have already been several reporters snooping around.”
Hamilton barely refrained from sighing heavily. It was one of the rare times when he wished he were out in the field. At least then he’d have a little time between making the arrest and briefing the boss.
“Well, sir,” he began.
* * *
Over the years Arthur had come to respect his instincts when they started screeching at him that everything was about to blow up. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but he could tell that trouble was about to come down the pike.
So he wasn’t surprised to receive a call from Hamilton Assanti letting him know that Lauren had been arrested.
“I can’t go into any details now, but I thought I should give you a heads up that it’s going to be bad. Given the statute of limitations, you might suggest that Marshal put in for some vacation time and arrange for him to take Daniel far away in a few weeks. Otherwise Daniel is going to be looking at some very uncomfortable media attention when this all goes public.”
Arthur clenched his hand on the phone. “Will Danny be facing charges?”
“No, but he will be asked for a statement. What we found… It’s bad and there’s a lot of it. He won’t want to be around once the trials start.”
“‘Trials,’ as in plural, more than one?” Arthur asked.
Hamilton sighed. “We’ve found some of her accomplices. It’s about to become a three-ring circus. I just thought I’d let you know that trouble was coming.”
“Thanks for the heads up. I’m really grateful for the warning.” And he was, because if there was one thing Arthur hated it was being blind-sided.
“Well, just thought I should warn you. Stuff is coming, and it’s not nice. Now, I’ve got to get back to work. We have a lot of evidence to go through.”
Arthur thanked him again before hanging up. He slumped back on his couch and dropped the phone on the cushion next to him.
He was at home, paperwork in semi-neat piles on the coffee table in front of him along with the beer he’d barely cracked open before the phone rang.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering what evidence Hamilton and the FBI had gathered. Everything he came up with that might lead to a media flurry made him dread finding out.
Just because he had suspicions about the kind of abuse Danny had suffered didn’t mean he felt strong enough to stomach the hard proof of it. But that was what was going to happen.
Danny had been so happy lately. It hurt to know that delicate contentment was going to be ruined.
Arthur considered going to Danny and telling him everything that was going on. Then he decided to wait. He would let Danny enjoy a few more days of ignorance. The time would have no effect on the case against Lauren Green, but it would mean everything to Danny, who had had so very little happiness in his life.
Hopefully Marshal would stick by Danny even with the drama to come. Because if the man ran, Arthur would hunt him down and beat the shit out of him. Then he’d come back to help Olivia make that strawberry ice cream Danny liked and maybe those chocolate cream cheese cookies.
I’d do anything for you, buddy, he thought.
He took a drink of his beer and got back to his paperwork. There was always so much he had to get done.
/CHAPTER
The post NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Fifteen appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
June 22, 2013
Franz Caulder: PWP
No one’s said anything about Franz Caulder: PWP. I’m kind of worried that they hate it D:
He has a very distinctive “voice” and some of the things he thinks aren’t very nice. Like he realizes he’s mentally ill, but that doesn’t mean he truly accepts it as part of his amalgamation. He still separates things into him and into Other-Franz. He takes his medication and follows the rules as they’re given, but at the end of the day mental illness is not a part of him. It’s something he has to deal with, like acne or the scar across his face, but it’s not him.
I guess someone could say his big ol’ scar could be the physical manifestation of the mental illness affecting him. Or it could be the Kid Nitro/Franz Caulder persona overlaid atop the remnants of Other-Franz, in which case it’s hard to tell which is the scar — the ruined flesh of his face, or the body it’s carved out of? He’s this guy dealing with a life he doesn’t remember while his delusion is so strong he’s literally become someone else. Delusion Franz has taken him over, and he doesn’t want to go back.
Other-Franz had immense issues stemming from torture he experienced in childhood. He’d practiced self-harm and had shut himself off from enjoying his life. He’d been suicidal, which led to his institutionalization. Meanwhile, Franz is strong, capable, and has been a superhero for years. Finding himself in the body of his AU-self doesn’t even phase him. It’s perfectly natural that he take over and replace Other-Franz. It’s just unfortunate that he has no memories of Other-Franz. He’s winging it.
So right in the middle of Franz’s psychodrama, I threw in Franz Caulder: PWP. Which is exactly as advertised — he takes a trip into the city to visit a club and have his first sex since he found himself in a new world.
Yes, this is basically a chance for him to have a one-night stand. It’s also a sign that he’s becoming acclimated to life outside of the mental hospital. He’s accepted that he won’t be going back to his old self. He needs to keep moving forward.
Timeline B -
Franz Caulder: Slipping through the Cracks
Franz Caulder: PWP
Timeline A -
Franz Caulder: Behemoth
Franz Caulder: Crimson Blade
The post Franz Caulder: PWP appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
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Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
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