Update 24. Commence Chapter 14 (clicky).
Due to technical difficulties (and my being really freaking tired), this
entry is just going to have the current update for now. I will be
tagging it onto the complete file later (probably some time this weekend), which is still available here.
I did convince myself not to shred my notebook and flush it down the toilet.
Mostly because my plumbing wouldn't be able to handle it.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
The way things are.
Those who follow my twitter and/or my DA already know this, but it occurs to me that I haven't mentioned it here. My already slow updates will continue to be even slower, as I am attending classes. My business is suffering in the current economic climate, and I am bone-tired from working six days a week for less than minimum wage. Time to get that back-up degree that I never bothered with.
In other news, Spectre has finally launched. I am ridiculously excited. The coming pages are ever so pretty. Then again, I might be a bit biased (just a bit).
In other news, Spectre has finally launched. I am ridiculously excited. The coming pages are ever so pretty. Then again, I might be a bit biased (just a bit).
Summoning (a smutty short)
Thank you to Rehve for her generous donation. Lucian is her rp character, I've just written him here.
This story contains elements of supernatural control and manipulation, and so touches up against the gray area between consensual and not (though both parties would have consented even without that manipulation there). There is also fight-fucking going on. I hope that covers all possible triggers.
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It’s not a difficult thing to summon a demon. I’ve read all manner of ritual and mumbo jumbo that would suggest otherwise. Some books require blood sacrifices under certain phases of the moon. Once a man in a tiny shop in Nawlins told me I had to slaughter my prized rooster with a bone knife over dishes of ground corn that had been laid out in offering three days prior. The store stank more of marijuana than the pungent incense that smoldered in every corner. I remarked that I had no rooster, and the man in the tiny shop told me it was for the best.
This story contains elements of supernatural control and manipulation, and so touches up against the gray area between consensual and not (though both parties would have consented even without that manipulation there). There is also fight-fucking going on. I hope that covers all possible triggers.
----------
It’s not a difficult thing to summon a demon. I’ve read all manner of ritual and mumbo jumbo that would suggest otherwise. Some books require blood sacrifices under certain phases of the moon. Once a man in a tiny shop in Nawlins told me I had to slaughter my prized rooster with a bone knife over dishes of ground corn that had been laid out in offering three days prior. The store stank more of marijuana than the pungent incense that smoldered in every corner. I remarked that I had no rooster, and the man in the tiny shop told me it was for the best.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Our Finest Gifts | 2 of 2
And to think, I almost quit writing forever without giving you this.
So much gore. So much.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The smell was the first indication that he was conscious again. The smell was also the first indication that something was very, very wrong. It was the stink of roadkill made ripe by the sun, and maybe turned over with a pitchfork for good measure. It filled his sinuses, spilled into his throat, and set his eyes watering as he gagged. Devon rolled, clutching his side, and slowly opened his eyes.
He was still high, but not high enough. It was too easy to think, even with the electronic clicking of the lights amplified within his ears. There were too many colors. Devon squeezed his eyes shut.
“Weeeeeeelly well well. Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke the fuck up. Was startin t’think I’d have to find your faggy ass a prince or somethin’. Shit.”
So much gore. So much.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Our Finest Gifts
Part 2 of 2
The smell was the first indication that he was conscious again. The smell was also the first indication that something was very, very wrong. It was the stink of roadkill made ripe by the sun, and maybe turned over with a pitchfork for good measure. It filled his sinuses, spilled into his throat, and set his eyes watering as he gagged. Devon rolled, clutching his side, and slowly opened his eyes.
He was still high, but not high enough. It was too easy to think, even with the electronic clicking of the lights amplified within his ears. There were too many colors. Devon squeezed his eyes shut.
“Weeeeeeelly well well. Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke the fuck up. Was startin t’think I’d have to find your faggy ass a prince or somethin’. Shit.”
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