naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Twenty hours to go on the Imperial Blood campaign. We are at 89%. That's $375 from goal. That's all!

If we sell that last pony slot, we're pretty much there. Home free.

Obviously I would really like to make it. Even two bucks, or five, makes a difference. If we don't make goal, we forfeit about $150 of what we've made, which would be less than ideal.



We also have those little guys for $25. The come already gift boxed to save you the frustration of trying to wrap something so weird.

So give it some thought, eh?

Thank you for everything. For all the boosting -- y'all have done a really outstanding job of it this time -- and thank you for the donations, and the words of support.

I truly, truly think this is one of the best things we've done, and if you are at all kinky, maybe give it a try.

The link, one last time!

We appreciate everything so much.  Cross your fingers.  I still think we can get there.

Someone buy that pony!



naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
We're at 83% on Imperial Blood -- $2,911 with $589 to go in two days.

I'd like to make it, obviously, but I don't think it's going to happen. Still, anything you can spare, that would help enormously.

We won't starve, but whatever makes it easier, you know? We really appreciate the help.

I personally think that this is the best thing we've produced in a long time. It's Moorcock-ian, a little, and very Tanith Lee, and the chapter Sargon sent to me yesterday had me grinning like a sack of possum heads the entire time. I couldn't stop grinning while I was talking about it, so I sounded really goofy when I was like "YAY HATEFUCKING!" It's pretty depraved, and so, so hot. OMFG.

The lovely Ashbet will be happy to tell you all about it, I'm sure, as she's generously helping us out with copyediting, and has seen the first dozen or so chapters.

I'm having a crappy and frustrating day today, sort of, so I'll leave it at that. Here is the link again: http://igg.me/p/541432.

Love you all. Thank you for being there.

Edit: Ashbet had this to say in comments:

And, yes -- people, if you are on the fence about this book, DO NOT BE. I'm enjoying it IMMENSELY, and the combination of slow build, intricately-textured setting, classic dark-fantasy elements, and OH DEAR GOD FAN YOURSELF hot kinky sex is *delightful*.

I haven't enjoyed erotica to this extent in AGES -- and I'm DIRTY, guys. So if I say it's hot, trust me.
 
Now go buy it, and you can thank me later for the recommendation ;)
 
Well, shit, I'll thank you NOW.  That's an awesome endorsement!
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
We're lagging at 75% and four days left. That's kind of steep at $290 a day until we get there, but I'm really hoping we can make it.

If you've been meaning to donate -- maybe you didn't get paid until today -- don't miss your chance! Even five bucks helps us get there.

This is, after all, how we feed these assholes:

Etrigan Lounging

Smooch Lounging

Who have been extraordinarily shitty today, but I still love the crap out of them. Also Sif and Fish, who are still kicking around, but are extraordinarily camera-shy and tend to avoid coming out into the main part of the house when the Thug Brothers are lurking about.

Here's another of Etrigan looking very Playgirl. He has these ludicrous, weedy little patches of white fur at his groin and under his arms and on his chest. He is a very manly cat, he tells me. I tell him he's neutered so it doesn't matter in the slightest. He licks his butt and ignores me. He's an asshole.

Anus is the Centerfold

It's so damn hard to get pictures of him. He's black, and the room is really dim most of the time, so we have to use the flash, which gives him these being-controlled-from-space glowing eyes. You can see a bit of the little red harness I got him so we can train him to walk -- or, most likely, just sit -- on a leash. But he wants to go outside so very badly, and there's no way in flipping hell we are letting him just go do that when he's about as smart as plywood, or ham.  He looks good in red, though.  Damn.

Anyway, both of these furry dickbutts would appreciate any help, whether that is well-wishes, money for treats and vet stuff, or linkage.  We would appreciate it, too.  This is how we get by.  I know you all know that by now, but just in case there's anyone new, you know?

Come on over! There's still plenty of perks to grab!  Three more days and then I fuck off with the bothering you!

 I must stress, Imperial Blood is really different from the other stuff we've done, but damn, it's good.
naamah_darling: Picture of a treasure chest with a skull and crossbones on top. My art! (Artistic)
We're at 74% on Imperial Blood as of this morning! We have 6 days left, and really need to make some progress over the weekend to make goal, so if you've been putting it off, now would be a great time.

There is still one pony slot left. Get your very own goth fairy pony in your preferred color, as well as the other perks that come with the package! Y'all saw what the last set of ponies wound up like. These will be just as cool!

Here's another excerpt!

Excerpt from Chapter 10

Acrisius loomed like an armored shadow, the jagged curls of his epaulets and black breastplate like claws in the air. His face floated above, white and godlike, so perfect and so still in every line, unknowable. He looked at her, and she twitched with the sensation that he truly looked on her for the first time. That he saw her whole and real, not a figure who might as well be stone and voiceless fear.

"Do you know how many brides I have taken?" he said, and his voice was almost gentle.

"Six," she said, her voice small and weighted down.

He shook his head, silver white hair uncoiling. "One, before. Only one. The rest of them. . . they did not survive to become true brides. I never touched them, not even once." He paused, as if about to speak, or waiting for her to speak, but she remained silent.

"To become a true bride, you must become like me," he said, looking down at her. "To survive my touch, to feel the caress of my hands, you must die and let another life in. But it is no easy thing to make one such as myself. Of all the lords of the Kathari - all the nine of us - only I remain. It must be done so carefully, so very carefully." He held out his hand, as though to touch her face, but he did not. She felt the hunger in his flesh like daggers in the air.

"I must make you into a creature like Narcissa, or my Nightguard," he said, gesturing to them. "Fed upon my blood, and thus my slave. You will be so, and it will change you, make you into something more than mere flesh. But I learned, to my regret, that to simply give my blood to a mortal begins to burn that mortal away from within. They cannot endure forever upon such a poison as I bleed. They burn, and wither, and die."

He looked at her again, then beckoned. "Hold out a strand of your hair," he said.

Slowly, feeling as if she dreamed, Sibylla teased from her unruly hair a single strand. She plucked it from her head and held it out, almost invisible in the darkness, a slender thread of red-gold drifting from her hand.

Acrisius reached out a hand and hooked it with his finger, and she saw it crumble away in an instant, flutter into dust as the end of it stung her fingers. She snatched her hand back and looked at him, remembering the man in the throne hall, the blackened dust that had been a living body. Now she shivered and believed - he would kill her with a touch, no matter how the blood in her neck and her back beat for him, pulled her toward him.

"To survive, you must first be given a small taste of my blood, in the ink which marks your skin. Some it smokes and burns like true embers, sears its way out and marks the skin with scars. That small mark upon your neck has killed three of those who would be my empress. Just that." He watched as she touched the back of her neck, dispassionate and still. But there was something behind his eyes, yes there was.

"Yes," he said to her look. "Just that killed three of them. One died at the second marking, her heart stopped like a stone. One, only one since the very first survived to this moment."

Sibylla was silent, but her eyes flicked around at the room. She wondered what screams the walls had endured. She wondered where the girls lay buried. Had they been younger than she, or older? Had they been afraid, as she was?

"I could mark you again, and again, seeking a clear sign," he said. "But no girl in a thousand years had taken the marks so well, so strongly. They grow upon your flesh, my blood making new marks, new paths upon you." He breathed out a cold breath like winter's dying. "You are ready."

She swallowed, suddenly turned to stone with terror or pleasure, she did not know which. Sibylla remembered to breathe, swallowed again past a locked throat. "Ready?"

Acrisius moved, brought his left hand into view, and she went utterly still and cold when she saw the sheathed sword in his fist. It was a long blade with a long hilt bound in black skin. The pommel bore a red stone like a sleepy eye, and the guard was coiled and curled in a strange style. All of it was dark and gleaming as black ice.

Slow, he set his right hand to the hilt and drew the blade forth. It was dark, like dusk when the sun has just closed its eye. A long, two-edged blade marked with sigils and words she could not guess. Long as her body, he held it up easily. The blade did not reflect any of the room's cold lights, seemed a part of something other.

"This is my sword," he said, his face set and hard. "In elder times they called it Soulbreaker, and it was feared as few things are feared. Do you know its power?"

Sibylla wanted to run, never feeling more naked than she did now, unclothed before that deathly blade. She shook her head, lowered her eyes to the floor and curled her hands into fists, rigid with the terror of blood and pain that seemed to seep from the weapon like mist.

"Well, I shall show you." He lowered the sword, and she saw the shadow pass over her, and then it touched her on the back, the slightest whisper of the edge on her skin and her world flew apart into screams. Pain, such pain as she had never imagined could exist in her body. It slashed through her like the snap of a pennon and she fell facedown on the floor, breathing harsh and deeply, gasping and shaking as if run without pause for a day and a night.

"That is the power of the sword," he said, his voice flat and contemplative. "It draws pain as other blades draw blood. Though it draws blood as well. It draws blood."

She looked up at him from the floor, terrified he would cut her with that sword, but he did not look at her. He extended his left arm and Narcissa came to him, took the sheath from his hand and laid it aside. He did not look at her as she undid the fastenings of his gauntlet with quick, sure hands. She drew the armor from his hand and left him bare to the elbow, his ancient skin so white it seemed to glow.

Narcissa set the gauntlet aside and then knelt on the floor, sinuous and graceful. Sibylla watched, transfixed, as Acrisius set the edge of his sword against his wrist and cut his flesh ever so slightly. Just a small touch, and red welled up, so dark it was almost black. He turned his hand and a droplet flowed over his palm to his finger. He held it over Narcissa's head, and she arched back with her mouth open, her tongue extended in obscene hunger.

Sibylla watched that dark drop grow heavy, swell, and then fall into the white woman's mouth. Narcissa went still, almost rigid, and then her face colored and she shivered all over. When she opened her eyes, they were filmed with red, and she closed her mouth, savoring him, shuddering and grunting like a beast.

Acrisius turned to Sibylla, gestured. "Up," he said, and she crawled back up onto the altar, red velvet sliding under her hands and knees. "They will hold you," he said, and she was seized by strong, bare hands. She looked, and saw the guards were naked, their bodies so covered with tattoos that even their faces were unreadable, unseeable, unknown. They gripped tight to her arms and legs, curled strong arms around her waist and her belly. A hand gripped her hair and pulled her head back until she looked straight up, unable to move, trembling.

The tip of Soulbreaker loomed into her view and she made a small sound, a weak sound. A drop of his blood ran down the edge and gathered at the tip, hung there for a moment, suspended. It looked like a black jewel, an agate or a carnelian, more precious than any stone. His blood, unmixed, and pure.

Before they made her, she opened her mouth willingly. She feared to miss it, and so she put out her tongue like an animal begging for scraps. She saw the drop grow heavy, and then it dropped free. Sibylla closed her eyes and lived a moment of forever in silence. Then blood touched her tongue, like a kiss of fire.
 
Come throw us a dollar or two! Our thanks to everyone who has supported us so far. We thank you from the bottoms of our pornographic hearts.  Thank you for your help, and thank you for your patience.

Etrigan is at my feet, purring.  I can feel it through my toes, which are digging into his ribs.  Smooch is grooming himself somewhere behind the loveseat, making mudcrab noises with his fucked-up little mouth.  They would thank you, too, if they could.

naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Imperial Blood is sitting at 68% with eleven days to go!

If Sargon the Terrible is nice, maybe we can have another excerpt.  At any rate, we have eleven days on the timer, and I am pleased by our progress so far.  I thought I'd send you off into the weekend with a reminder to donate if you can!

Really grateful to everyone so far for spreading the word and helping out with contributions!

Real quick updates on everything else:

I was able to bring the inflammation in my hands down enough for whatever it was to almost totally resolve on its own before the appointment.  Monday came around and I was just not up for the drive and the wait.  It wasn't happening.  No spoons for it.  I was going to have to see the doctor in two weeks anyway to have my thyroid re-checked, so I canceled and am just going to fold the two appointments in together.  I'm still taking it seriously, but right now there's nothing that needs to be done, I just need to talk to the doc.  I wish I had the fucking energy to deal with this shit as promptly as I ought to, but in the midst of a downswing, the energy isn't there.

I'm hoping to post pics of the steamponies next week!  Which is awesome, because we still have one custom pony slot open on the current campaign.

My downward depressive spiral seems to have leveled off.  I'm still not as functional as I'd like, but at least things are getting done.  Really slowly.  Even if I am freaking out about how much there is to do. 

I should use the sleep now, but I will throw the link at you one more time and cross my fingers that we make 75% by Monday!
naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
We're at 53% on Imperial Blood! That's $1,872, and I'd love to hit 2k ASAP!  Thank you to the donors and the folks who have helped signal-boost already!

I have another excerpt for you, from Chapter 9. Something for folks who like boys. Yummy.

Excerpt from Chapter 9

Minaraja dragged Garath to her hidden bedchamber, here within the coiled halls of her rooms that recursed like the hollows of a shell. She flung him down on the floor and stood before him like a poised serpent. Her red eyes glowed like coals in a night fire, and her white face was terrible to see. Garath breathed hard through his mask and bit, feeling the cold of real fear in his chest. It kissed his heart like a traitor and he wanted to spit it away. Here was a woman who not only could do what she wished, but might.

"And I thought you merely an amusing distraction. Something new to play with." She shifted inside her elaborate gown like a snake thinking on shedding her skin. "Now I know you came here for a purpose, and that purpose is bound with that copper whore the Emperor dragged before us."

She came toward him, bent quick and grabbed his mask. He expected her to unfasten the bindings, but instead she ripped the contrivance from his head, the leather biting hard against him before the bindings snapped loose. She left him gasping on the floor, his face wet with his own slaver from the bit and his jaw aching. The ghostly Severre lurked in the doorway, his eyes alight with amusement and a peculiar, hungering want.

"So you came across the ice, to this accursed place at the end of all life," she said, coming to stand over him. "You came for that girl. Why?" She spat the last word as if it were bitter.

Garath thought of a lie, but then put it aside. Why should he lie? He could not placate her with falsehoods, and looking into her bloody eyes he was not certain he could deceive her. She was the true Minaraja - a thousand years old, a creature of the dark and the cold. He remembered her teeth in his neck and shivered. What would he pay for another such bite? What had he already paid for the first?

He took a cold breath. "I followed her from the south because I love her, and no other reason. I would free her from the grasp of the Emperor. I would save her life and her soul both from this darkness." He found he was shaking and did not know why. He had never said aloud that he loved Sibylla, not to anyone. That was what shook him - he had spoken the unutterable.

Minaraja stared at him for a long moment, and then she puffed out a breath like half a hiss and laughed at him. In the doorway Severre laughed as well, and Garath spared a look for him that promised a future reckoning. His sly mockery would not save him forever.

"Love," Minaraja said, as if tasting it. "Love brought you here? Across the dead sea to this place where all hopes die, and die in vain?" She bent down, graceful as a swan. Her cool hand caressed his face, her thumb rubbed his lips. "How silly that love should bring you here, when you do not even know what it is," she said.

"I do know," he said. "I do."

She licked her deadly teeth and shook her head, like a mother shushing an errant child. "No, you know nothing. Nothing." She touched his neck, feeling the pulse-beat, and then placed her hand upon his heart. "You feel a skittering little spark inside you, and you think it is a raging fire. You feel it will consume the world, tear down anything in your path, but you cannot know." She sank down atop him, pinning him down with her weight. "You cannot know."

"I do know," he said, not caring if he angered her. His heart seemed to swell inside him, ready to burst with what he had so long held within. Now he had spoken it, it was a flood like fire on a mountain. "I know love. I love her, and I will let nothing keep me from her. I would die for her, and die gladly. I would take up my sword and fight for her - legions if need be! There is nothing I would not do for her!"

"Shhhhhhhh." Minaraja put two fingers into his mouth and stilled his tongue. "Oh shhhhh. I will spew blood from my lips if I must listen to you more. You are so very young, and pretty to be certain, but you are a child barely weaned. You know nothing at all, least of all how much of what you hold so dear is rot and carrion." She pressed down on him and he grunted, the chains binding his wrists bit against his flesh as their weight settled.

She forced his head back, inexorable, and he felt her breath on his throat, under his chin. His pulse beat harder and he closed his eyes. His cock stirred against her and he was ashamed, tried to shut his mind to how he wanted her teeth on him again.

Minaraja licked his neck and he shivered. "You think you know love," she said. "You think it will burn forever. But fire is mortal, and always fades and dies. It devours all that there is, and then it smothers within itself." Her voice was a whisper that made him twitch. "I thought I knew love, once. I thought it would carry all things before me. But I was young and doltish as you, then. I did not know pain. The pain that breaks you from the inside, the pain that unmakes you. I did not know the cold, that smothers all within its grip. I did not know time."

She nuzzled up under his chin. "Time is the hardest blade, the hand that cannot be stayed. Time will grind down all you love and make it a ruin. Time will break your will and leave you with nothing. Time will eat your heart piece by piece until it is gone and you cannot even remember what it was you held so dear." She breathed on his skin. "Here in the palace of the emperor, there is nothing but time, and cold."

Minaraja rose up and her hand hooked into his collar and dragged him up. Like a straw doll she tossed him onto the bed, effortless. "Love is a lie," she said, coming to stand over him. "Hope is a lie. Here there is only cold and dark waiting for you, and against that there is only blood, and desire." Her hands dug into the front of his jacket and she ripped it open, baring his skin. "I will show you, and I will look in your eyes when your love withers away."

He tried to push away from her but she was on him like a hungry animal. He saw her teeth flash and he had a moment of terror and lust all rushing through him at once before she bent her head and jabbed her fangs into his collarbone. He gasped at the sudden pinprick of pleasure that shot through his blood like lightning. She licked the tiny droplets that welled and then slithered lower, jabbed him again above the nipple on his left breast. Her tongue lapped at him and he hissed through his teeth, writhed helplessly against her.
 
Ahh.  Boys.

Again, come visit!
  I'm confident this is going to be a pretty amazing book.  It's already hot as hell.  The last Garath chapter really got me.  Minaraja is just horrible, and her evil verbal domination really works for me.  Yessss.
naamah_darling: The waist and hips of a very trim man in lace-up leather pants. Delectable! (Lust)
We're at 42% on Imperial Blood!  We've sold one pony, so if you want the second one, you oughtta err, pony up!  Hurr.

Sargon has posted a snippet of Chapter 4 of Imperial Blood with some forced tattooing, so here it is.

TW, maybe?  Old-fashioned tattoo needles -- the kind that, you know, jab you:

Excerpt from Chapter 4

Barefoot, wrapped in her fur, she followed Narcissa down dark halls.  The stone floor was cold enough for her to leave mist-lined footprints as she passed.  The four guards followed behind, so quiet in their armor it was uncanny, and she glanced behind more than once to make sure they still followed.  She did not trust Narcissa, and the silent guards did not reassure her.  She had no protection here, and she did not delude herself otherwise.

Down a winding stair to a tall door of ornate iron and inlaid gold.  Her guide opened it and passed within, and Sibylla followed, her heart quick as she wondered what she would find.  Her breath frosted the air, sowing little flakes of snow as she entered a room like a small cathedral, tall yet intimate, spare yet ornate.  It was round and narrow, with tall spaces in the walls that should have been windows but were not.

She paused when she saw what stood at the center, not sure for a moment what it was, though its shape was limned with menace in every line.  Beside it was a small pedestal with an array of arcane tools and a black vessel like a wine decanter, small and nested reverentially in a place made for it.  The door closed behind her and Sibylla turned, saw the guards there inside, standing arrayed against the wall.  Their presence in the small room was too much, too close and intimate.  She turned back and saw the thing for what it was: a kind of saltire, such as criminals were bound to for their torture.

Her courage left her then, and she backed away, feeling her mouth go slack and her fingers numb with more than cold.  Narcissa made an impatient face and motioned to the guards.  Sibylla gasped when two of them seized her arms and lifted her off her feet.  The fur fell from her and left her naked, the sudden cold all over like a blow.  She gasped again and then clamped her teeth together with the determination to not scream.

She did scream when they pressed her into the cold metal frame, facedown so her head hung between the upthrust arms.  The cold iron burned against her chest and her belly and she fought them, unable to even make them work to hold her, so much greater was their strength.  They forced her arms up into channels made for them and held her there.  The other two guards came and took her ankles, held her there spread and exposed, shivering under the cold and under their unseen stares.

Narcissa trailed a cool hand down her back and she flinched, biting her lip to keep from losing all control.  The white woman came around before her, tipped her chin up with one strong finger.  "Do not shame yourself, girl.  You are a child of a royal line, and that is why you are not bound, but only held.  It is expected you will comport yourself with dignity."  Very gentle, she gathered Sibylla's hair and draped it over to one side, so her back and neck were shiveringly exposed.

"It is a great honor I do you," Narcissa said, pacing slowly around.  She lifted the small flask from its place and kissed it reverently.  "So few are treated thus, so few deserving," she murmured.  her hand lashed out and caught Sibylla's throat, held her immobile.  "Do not cause me to regret that I have been kind."

Sibylla drew in a shuddering breath, then let it out.  Whatever came, she would remember who she was.  Narcissa released her and she held her head up, tried to be still as the woman busied herself with things Sibylla could not see past the fall of her own hair.  Then a hand forced her head down and she felt something sharp dig into the back of her neck.

It was curious, at first, a small jab, then another, and then an actual warmth bloomed in her skin.  She bit her lip as there was another jab, and then another, more painful.  The warmth grew to a heat, and then a burning.  She hissed through her teeth as she felt trails of it spread through her skin and sink into her flesh.  Narcissa's cool hand snaked around and held her stead as she stippled something unseen against her neck, jabbing here and here, and then here.  The sensations ceased to be distinct, grew into a duller yet deeper pain, still small.

The heat spread through her skin, and she shivered though she tried not to.  Trails of it crept through her flesh like slow-moving fingers.  It was a heat that grew and yet did not sear, not yet.  She felt something different trail down the side of her neck and Narcissa breathed low, dabbed at it with an unseen cloth and Sibylla realized she was bleeding.

"What are you doing?" she said, managing only a whisper, cold in the pit of her belly.

"You belong to the master now," Narcissa said softly, jabbing.  "You must be marked as his."  Another keen stab and Sibylla drew a sharp breath through her teeth.  Narcissa laughed slightly, not warm.  "Does that hurt?"

Sibylla realized they were marking her.  That was the small jabs and the slow burning.  She was being tattooed like them.  "Only a little," she said, holding her voice under tight control.

Narcissa laughed again.  "That will change," she said.  She continued her work, tireless and precise.  Sibylla gasped as the heat seemed to burn down through her body, spreading over her back, down her legs and creeping up her arms.  She shuddered, biting her lips.  The guard holding her right hand shifted his grip and curled his fingers around her hand, let her grip him as tight as she wished.  She wanted to look up at him and could not.  Something was coming, slow and deathly, and he knew it.

I have a big ol' thing for forced tattooing, branding, marking of any kind, what-have-you, so this chapter really did it for me.  Sargon points out that this book contains more erotic elements than most of the others had -- he's a fan of straight-up fucking, but this story is different in pretty much every way, so it builds slower, moves slower.

I am a giant kinky perv, so I am loving the shit out of it.  I don't get enough kink.  We do a little -- Witches' Mark was loaded with it (you're welcome) -- but it's not our thing.  This is hitting a lot of the really good buttons for me.  And maybe the next excerpt he posts will be one of the ones from Garath's point of view, hint hint, because not all of this is femsub.  AHEM.

Anyway, we'd be delighted if you'd head on over to campaign home and help out, or spread the word if you like.  I'd like to hit 50% by Thursday!
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Even as I was opening the window to make this post, we popped up over 25% on Imperial Blood!  So, now I want to aim for 30%!  ETA: Holy whoa, sold a walk-on!  We're at 29%!  Let's aim for 35%!

I read the chapter Sargon wrote last night and it was ludicrously, stupidly hot.  And this is what I do, so I'm fairly fucking jaded.  Maybe it just mashed my buttons: erotic tattoo scene with bonus sexy creepiness.  So, I'm pretty sure that it's going to rock clean through.

One of the things I like about it is that the big bad vampire is not just a bad boy, but creepy-as-fuck what-even-the-shit otherworldly evil.  Also, he has an enormous snake for a pet, so I'm kind of all over that.  Sargon described it as the most metal vampire story ever, and what with all the freaky quasi-gothic architecture, the snow and ice and cold, the black armor, and just the overall symbolism, I have to agree.

I really hope you'll join us on this one.  We could certainly use the help, and it's going to be really cool.

Thank everyone for the donations so far, and for spreading the word, and for helping out with donations for meds and kitty expenses.  I have the face meds I needed now, and there's also a good chunk of money in the box I use to hold emergency vet money, which there hasn't been for quite some time.

I also wanna remind people that if you want to donate, but don't need a perk, you can click "Contribute Now" and on the next page, right at the top, there's a field where you can enter a donation in any amount.  We don't sneer at people who donate $5 or $1, we appreciate every bit.

A dollar is half a bag of treats for Smooch, which I use to make amends after I clean his gunky face (Persians -- they make eye goop).  If you saw how much he loves them, you would be thoroughly amused.  He opens his wonky little mouth and lets me pop them in like a reverse Pez dispenser.

I caught him snuggling with my stuffed rabbit this morning.  Pictures forthcoming, if I can find the connector cable.

Thank you all.  The weekend is coming.  I hope it brings you fun things and lots of snorting laughter.
naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
The Indiegogo campaign for Imperial Blood is plateaued at 10%, so here's a friendly reminder to head over and donate!

Just so you can't say I never gave you nothin', here's a peek at the last half of chapter one!


Excerpt from Chapter 1

The morning was cold and dark, as if the night refused to relinquish its grasp on the earth. The clouds hung low and heavy and black. Snow blew in whirls and coils across the ice that seemed to glow from beneath, as if there were a light in the black sea. Sibylla dressed in her finery, with a stiff high collar and a corset that bound her up inside. The red and golden gown hung upon her like armor, and she sat for a long time and let the old woman brush and braid her hair. The black ship was coming, and she had no more time left.

When she stepped out from the cabin and onto the cold deck of the hard little ship she heard it. Away in the darkness to the north, something crushed and rove through the ice, and she wondered what kind of ship could do that. She felt the cold on her face, and it was no less than the cold inside her.

She wore her fur mantle around her shoulders and a diadem of jewels on her brow. She was a daughter of the House of Glorian, a lady of the Kingdom of Josanda, and she swore she would not tremble before her fate. The little silver case was heavy in her hands beneath her cloak, still cold. It seemed she could not warm it. She turned it over and over in her fingers, unseen.

The plank led down to the weathered dock, the wood hard as iron from years of cold unending. Garath stood on the shore, awaiting her formally, the blue jaquard bright beside his dark breastplate, the jewels on his sword-hilt gleaming where his white hand gripped it. His six men were drawn up to flank her path when she stepped onto land, their swords drawn and held at the ready. They stared straight ahead, as if she were invisible.

For a desperate moment she wanted to shout, to scream and wave her hands in their faces to make them move, to acknowledge that she still lived and breathed. Instead she walked between them without looking to either side. She knew Garath fell into step behind her, she could hear his footsteps on the frozen earth.

Together they mounted the steps to the gate, stepping carefully on the ice coiled upon the stone like tendrils. She stumbled once and he steadied her, his hand on her arm sure and warm. She almost broke then. Last night, she lay and looked at the vial of poison, moved it to watch the mysterious fluid run back and forth, black like blood in the dark glass.

She almost drank, but in the end, she put it aside and lay awake, not sleeping. Six others had been called to the Imperial City over centuries, she was the seventh. In the end, she did not have it within her to be less than they. Each of them had gone from the sunlit lands into the night. She could not do less, though she might wish to.

At last they stood at the top, and here the wind was fiercer, and it stung her eyes. She looked out over the expanse of ice-covered ocean and wondered again what kind of ship could pass this way. The ice was thick as a man, clear and dark and in pieces as large as a ship themselves.

They heard it coming, something unseen crushing its way to them, and then they saw it. A dark shape came out of the mist, so much larger than Sibylla expected that she was certain her eyes lied. Then it came further into view and she was afraid, because it was many times larger than her own, small craft, larger than any ship she had ever seen.

It looked like a nightmare out of the darkness, all black as if iron in every spar and gunwale. The hull was divided into two, and both prows
reared up with serpent shapes and gaping jaws. Black smoke boiled up from the bulk of it, and everything was jagged and sharp and inhuman. She heard Garath take in a breath, and she knew he was afraid as well.

A great chain was affixed to the heavy spars that bound the hulls together, and it trailed down into the water ahead of the ship. Before she could begin to wonder at it, it rose from the black sea and she fell back a step as the thing affixed to the chain reared an eyeless head up above the ice. Its flesh was black and festooned with barnacles and growths, and water cascaded down from jaws large enough to swallow three men whole. Teeth as long as her arm gleamed yellow in the gloom, and a cloud of mist fountained into the air from the nostrils atop its head. Even as she watched, it crashed down on the surface of the ice and shattered it into pieces, submerged again as the vessel's massive hulls shunted aside fragments that would have crushed a lesser ship alone.

Smoke poured from the ship into the sky and she smelled it -- a hard, metallic stink like burnt blood. A massive iron gangplank smashed down upon the lip of the gate, shaking the stone beneath them, and there came a terrible gnashing as the ship ground to a stop.

Across the span stood a towering, dark figure. Armored like a knight's fevered imaginings, with a helm that was all horns and jutting points yet no aperture for eyes, the Emperor's herald Charun stood motionless to greet them. Sibylla remembered when he came to call her, the mists of the cold pouring off him as he walked the halls of her father's palace, how the sun seemed to hide, never touching his form.

Now, he held up a single hand, the gauntleted fingers clawed like a devil's. Whether he greeted or commanded, she could not say. It did not matter. Sibylla steeled herself and stepped forward.

Garath caught her arm, gentle, not yielding. "Sibylla--"

She half-turned to him, fearing to show the apparition her back. Before she could think again she pressed the silver case of death into his hands. She met his eye for half of a heartbeat, and it was a moment she would always remember.

"Forget me," she said, and then turned away. The iron gangplank rang beneath her feet as she crossed it, and then she stood, alone, on the other side of the gate. She left summer behind her, and passed into the north. The Herald pointed her way, and the bridge behind her rattled like bones as it lifted. Sibylla did not let herself look back.


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naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
It's that time again! And so soon. We must stop meeting like this. People will talk.

The Indiegogo campaign for Imperial Blood, our 9th Adventurotica novel, has launched! We have a little over a month to raise the funds to get us through to January.

This is the vampire novel I was talking about. It's gothic in the literary sense, somewhat lyrical, definitely going to be overwrought, and it's going to be full of kinky stuff. As usual, mostly het, but with M/M and F/F sex too. Yay, fucking!

What's it about?

Lucky you! You can has trailer!



Or you can read this summary:

From his dark palace at the northernmost part of the world, the dread Emperor Acrisius rules over his vast empire. Once every hundred years, he sends for a girl of royal lineage to be brought to his court. None are ever seen again.

When Sibylla is called, she must go, not knowing what will become of her. She fears the summons will mean her death, but she finds herself entangled in the ancient, complex life of the Dark Lord: a man who lives on blood, destroys all he touches, and yearns for a lost love he can never regain. He will seek to make her his in more ways than she can imagine, and if she is to remain herself, she must resist.

Garath, the young knight who loves her, dares everything to follow her into the north, willing to brave darkness, cold, and terror to save her. He falls into the hands of Minaraja, the Emperor's first bride, a creature of deathless cruelty and unending spite. Roused to hunger by his youth and beauty, she seeks to break his spirit with pleasure and terror.

Sibylla and Garath must find their own way through this dark place of intrigue, passion, and death unending.


See what I mean? We wanted it to be a sort of . . . well, here, this is what we said on the campaign page:

"Imperial Blood is a bit of a departure from our usual tales of derring-do and pornified sex. It is going to be a kind of dark fable, intentionally taking all the tropes of the Gothic Romance and turning them inside out while still maintaining the feel and atmosphere. It's going to be serious, kink-heavy, and fantastical. The essential, central idea was 'A Beauty and the Beast story where Beauty becomes the Beast.' It's also a fun chance to p*ss all over Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey. It will feature male-dom and fem-dom BDSM, and while most of it will be het, girls will get it on with girls and guys will get it on with guys. Something for everyone, as long as you're kind of a perv."

Sargon's writing, I'm kink-consulting (Am I qualified for that? Can I get that on a business card?) and helping with sex scenes. I've read the first few chapters and I am definitely liking the tone and the places it's already going. Bad places.

Also! For those of you not so much into porn, vampires, or . . . vampire porn.



I'm offering these glass and wire ornaments in black and silvertone, instead of bookmarks. They're available a la carte, if you don't want us mailing random piles of porn to your place, which is probably understandable if you have unneutered pets who might Get Ideas or something. They're $25, and may I point out they make lovely gifts and it's not too early to think about the coming holidays. Yulepocalypse. Christmas. Or whatever you call it. They even come gift boxed so you don't have to worry about wrapping them!

AND FINALLY

Yes, I'm offering ponies again! Goth vampire ponies with optional fairy wings. At a slightly lower price this time, but they won't have as many accessories as the steamponies (pics coming), and I'm trying to move two, not just one plus a random drawing (which was fun). They WILL be fabulous. I'm seeing gothy eye makeup, maybe some flowing ribbons and/or fishnets, and possibly some fairy wings because I'd like to do more of those. And there's the NSFW bondage toys version. Yeah. Willing to go there.

So, stop by, or spread the word:

Imperial Blood, it will be awesome.

Now, oh my god, I need to use the sleep!

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