Merry Christmas Sapphic Brats :D

Merry Christmas everyone! I would have posted earlier but we are a day ahead here, which means I am two days behind. So, that’s a reason, right πŸ˜€

I hope your holiday season is full of joy, or if not quite joy, at least some decent candy and maybe one person who doesn’t make you want to poke them with your fork. Let’s keep our expectations reasonable here. Let’s not go getting all wild with you know, things.

It will be New Years soon, which signals the start of many things, the continuation of others and the ending of some. It’s an aribitrary date, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be happy about it. And, as a wise online philosopher once asked… how are babies always born on their birthdays?

I am writing more things for you to read. I would give a time frame, but we all know it will happen sooner or later and dates are relics of an age where people thought the sun should be in charge of things. We’re more advanced than that.

So yes, happy this day to you, may it be satisfactory and may you think of at least one thing that makes you smile.

Time Flies… Lesbia Awaits…

I had not intended it to be quite this long between updates, but life has been happening with one thing and another, as has probably been the case in your world too. I am working on bringing this installment of the series to a close, and so things are coming to a head in Lesbia as old tensions rise and force Ayla and Kira to face the dynamics they’ve been dancing around for years. I am hoping to have the next book available in the new year.

Catch up on Lesbia!

Ayla and the King…

In which the witch is questioned by the angry father of the missing princess…

β€œWhere is my daughter!? Tell me at once, witch! Speak!”

Nive’s father thundered the question and demands at Ayla, but unlike his subordinates, Ayla did not respond to his threats with any kind of fear. Instead she met his gaze with a clear eye and simply shrugged. The interrogation had been going on for hours and hours and had mostly consisted of a fair bit of shouting and threats to do things worse than shouting which did not eventuate.

The king seemed reluctant to lay so much as a finger on the witch, nobody did. Ayla stood in a small clearing of humans all of whom had their weapons trained on her, none of whom were willing to approach, much like a tribe of hungry mongeese banding around a particularly elegant cobra. She had not made a single threatening comment of her own. There was simply a thingness about her which kept her would-be attackers at bay for the moment at least.

Check out Lesbia!

*Just FYI, I am preparing to finish this book of Lesbia and will be removing and editing earlier chapters as I go. The final book will be published in a few weeks-ish, and will have additional scenes and a few changes from the online serial πŸ™‚

Improving Stories

My post earlier today and tongue in cheek comment about this being an improving sort of place made me think, and thinking made me make this cover for a book (which I have not written, and yet, in some respects, am always writing*.)


(*it would be remiss of me not to point out that I do not intend my writing to actually be improving. Looking to kinky literature for moral guidance is a dangerous dalliance at the best of times.)

Politics Has Happened!

I don’t usually weigh in on politics, because frankly, nobody needs my half-baked opinions when they’re looking for something improving to read (that is why people come here, to be substantially improved in one metric or another.) But the PM for the last five thousand years in NZ has just resigned because he’s kind of over it, so I have to re-post a compilation of his best and most compelling arguments.

Trouble In The Palace…

β€œThere you are, girl!”

A sharp voice emanated from behind her just a moment before two pinching fingers descended on her left lobe. Nive turned to find herself looking into the long, thin face of a woman who had a rather dignified demeanor when she was not contorted with irritation. Her dark arched brows were halfway to her graying hairline, her lips pursed into a thin line. Nive knew this woman. Her name was Mrs Meansington, and she was the head of housekeeping. She was the one who ensured that the matters of cleaning and such were attended to.

β€œI told you to turn down the beds three hours ago. Where have you been?!”

Nive was utterly confused as to how she could possibly have been told anything, and tried to say as much, but she did not have a chance. Before she knew what was happening, Mrs Meansington had pulled up the rear of her skirts and began belaboring her bottom with the flat of her her long, bony hand.


The Beginning of Ayla

Something I’ve been meaning to work on for some time, alongside the online stories I’m writing, is a history of Ayla. When we first meet Ayla in Over Witch’s Knee, she is already many hundreds of years old and has lived a full life. She is self-possessed and of a calm and at times, commanding temperament. She takes the thief Atrocious both under her wing and into her bed, regarding her initially as something like a cross between a student, a plaything, and a lover.

Much like Kira, Ayla is not necessarily a ‘good’ character. But she is well loved in spite of her flaws. So I think my next Lesbia book will tell some of the tale of her early years. There is some cannon backstory to her emergence into Lesbia, which you can read here: A History of Ayla , but I want to write a true narrative of the trying time which she faces after emerging from the prison of her youth into the mortal world of Lesbia.

Here’s a little of that tale in progress:

Ayla took her first steps into the world of the mortals, finding herself in a forest which was exactly the same as the one she had left, and yet nothing like it at all. Her gossamer robes were too light against the cold winds of the world of the mortals. She had never felt weather like this before. Her years in the prison were calm ones. Obsidian walls did not move, nor did the air inside them, lest it be fanned by some deliberate act. Out here the leaves and grass never seemed to stop waving in constant gusts and breezes, and above them the sky went on forever. It was foreign, this world, and the young witch desperately wanted to be back in the dark shadows in which she had been born.

It could not be. The prison which she had known as home had collapsed under an avalanche of hatred. Her mother was gone, taken by the walls. There was no going back to the elven realm in which she had been born a prisoner. There was only the way forward…. a way she did not yet know and could not begin to imagine.
Continue reading