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So Why Didn’t Gay Marriage Solve Everything? 🍄

Hey, babes ^^

So let me start by saying I don’t want to craft walls and bars with words so that people feel this is the only reality. This is the difficulty of society—the difficulty of being a storyteller when people reading the story don’t understand reality is not actually confined by our perception of it. We are confined by our perceptions of reality. I’m going to tell a story about how I see parts of reality and why I write what I write. This reality is not shared by everyone—thank fuck—but I’d love to hear your responses. I love to talk about this shit. XD Oh, and fuck, I will be getting back to the comments of last week. I got most of you—I’m so excited you’re excited about the Demon Virus interactive story! I just got caught up in writing and didn’t want to leave.

With that out of the way, I love the premise of this book and I want to talk about it! I haven’t read it yet, to be totally upfront. Once Hellcat is done I’m going to indulge in fun, damn it! (and yeah, this kind of reading is totally fun for me and my inner nerd… as is writing… as is writing Hellcat—I’m actually having lots of fun. XD) But just reading the premise, I think you can understand where ‘Sadie Sins’ might be really on board with this whole concept and it has my mind sparking.

Why Straight Guys Love Their Gay Guys: Reviving the Roots of Male Sexuality

After fifty years of progress and the advent of gay marriage, statistics on the well-being of gay men are as grim as ever. Rates of suicide, alcoholism, and drug abuse have not budged. Anxiety, depression, loneliness, and poor health are just as widespread. Studies have shown that gay men who live in urban gay communities actually are worse off, not better.

The utopia promised by gay marriage has not materialized. Gay men seem to have run out of ideas for future progress. There is little acknowledgment of the fact that something remains badly wrong. Nor is there a diagnosis of what is wrong.

This book proposes that the diagnosis is obvious if we look at the origins of male sexuality and how it was expressed in other cultures. The anti-sex Puritan system in which we are now immersed is relatively recent in human history. Yet in less than 2,000 years, knowledge of how other cultures lived and loved has been systematically wiped out. The forms of male sexuality were remarkably similar from culture to culture. But starting with the early Europeans in the last years of Rome and continuing around the globe as Europeans colonized the continents, natural male sexualities have been cruelly repressed and then obliviated. We are all Puritans now.

The greatest taboo of all in male sexuality remains unchallenged and is still heavily enforced. That is the taboo of male-male sex, which until 2003 was still a crime. This book argues that the plight of gay men is only a piece of a much larger catastrophe — the Puritanical repression of the sexualities of all men, in an attempt to harness the enormous power of male sexuality for social purposes in the name of moral progress, with promises of greater glories to be found in heaven. The damage that Puritanism caused to human beings and to stable social systems was never noticed. In fact the damage and misery were regarded as good. It was seen as payback to the devil.

This book is not arguing for something new, untested, unknown, and radical. Rather, the challenge is to return to something very old — the joy of male-male sex — which took similar forms in most of the cultures that we have knowledge of. In such worlds, it was understood that some men are more masculine than others, that some men are gayer than others, and that heterosexuality and homosexuality are complementary and of equal value. And those old worlds were worlds in which every gay man was able to take for granted what to us today is the impossible dream — sex with a straight best friend.

The Root of Sin is a Story

This is the root of all my stories, from the dirtiest noncon/dubcon/beast/incest/degradation to the sexy, happy fluff. This is why I write sex, to offer a narrative that to ‘give in’ to your fears and break the societal constructs surrounding sex will allow you to find pleasure instead of the sin. The sin is a lie, it’s something we were taught, not something that exists. But our brains hold power over us, our narratives—the narratives of society, of the casual little phrases we don’t even think about that create the bars to the cage that say sex is bad and wanting sex means you’re bad. That sweat, shit, tears, cum, vomit, urine, blood, flesh, bones—these things that are a part of living in a human body, something every single person on this planet experiences—is on some level bad and offensive. The body must be hidden and those who don’t hide theirs are narcissists, deviants, godless, seducers, sluts, asking to be harmed because to have a body is to deserve to be raped. These are the narratives we hear every day, little stories that filter in and our brains pick up and form a construct of the world around us.

This is also the root of censorship—I know, that other thing I love talking about! XD I find censorship extra fascinating because rarely is it just for reality but for imitations of reality. If you’ve been watching news about Trump and his ‘shithole’ comment, I hope you’re laughing as loudly as I am every time a newsperson goes to say the word shithole and instead they say something like “bleephole” or “you-know-what hole” XD OMG. They can’t even quote reality. Someone, somewhere is demanding these people not say certain words, and my fuck, they fucking listen, don’t they? They create a complete construct around avoiding certain mouthsounds, and those who don’t conform are punished. Book censorship of course is just as insane—the belief that an idea is wrong and shouldn’t be allowed to exist or people will be harmed.

Sit with that for a bit. Lol. So many people afraid of their brains, claiming their actions are powerless to their thoughts. How easy it would be to justify murder if we truly believed we weren’t responsible for our actions? We thought about killing someone, then we did—blame the thing that gave us the idea, not the choice of committing an action. Society can see how ludicrous that is for murder—usually, don’t get me started on the Stand Your Ground law—but for sex? For an internal desire expressed in the body that our history (and some current cultures) claim is just as atrocious as murder? Far less rational thought occurs when reacting to a societal message of morality.

The Societal System

Society pushes to say ‘don’t accept who you are unless… *insert demand*’ Unless you look a certain way, unless you act a certain way, unless you get that paycheck of a certain amount, unless some god loves you, unless you sacrifice, unless you earned it, unless you prove you’re worthy, unless your parents/teacher/priest/doctor/boss/celebrity/friend/someone approves… unless you’re something else. The message is you aren’t good enough as is; you must be something else and then you will be acceptable and loved. And this isn’t just the big society, that vague ‘them’ that encompasses a state or continent. There are tons of societies from groups of friends, to families, to the workplace, to your singular mind, and in this particular book’s case, the gay community.

I fear just the act of placing the gay label is the first step in this slippery slope of crafting cages and demanding of yourself to be something else concerning sexuality. It was in the lesbian scene I saw the most fighting, the most cruelty, the most anger. I met women abused by men who turned to women, only to be abused again. Or to abuse others. To seek drugs, to steal, to break up relationships, to blame others for their actions. Everyone was a hookup instead of a person. Everyone a savior to prove they’re worthy instead of a person. I saw women who demonized men, women who demonized mothers, women who demonized beautiful women—really, just pick a ‘type’ and someone hated them because of how they looked, how they acted, how they existed.

I saw so much unhappiness in that place, including the beautiful group of males who crossdressed as females and were so defensive, it felt like I was in a war scene when they stepped off stage and walked through a sea of women and seemed to expect to be attacked/judged/mocked. And given the sea of these hurt women, they might have had experience to feel that way. I saw women who desperately needed to have their peers reflect them so they could see who they were. It was identity through the control of others. Identity through comparing. Identity through reacting. They could only find themselves when interacting with others—others who had to fit their narrative or were punished. And why did those who were hurt by not fitting stay to fit? Because they gained identity by staying, by being labeled. Every person there was there by choice.

I can’t speak for gay men in that scene. Why? Because the sexes were segregated when it came to gay and lesbian and the clubs and parties I found myself at. I think part of the whole meat market aspect of that scene was, if you’re not in the market, you’re not welcome. I dunno. Maybe they couldn’t reflect off of such a different looking person—a man—so they kept them away? Maybe what the did reflect pushed them away? I can speculate but I don’t actually know. If I knew there were men out there who hated me just because of my gender the way some of those women hated men (even if those roots were based in abuse,) I probably wouldn’t be in a rush to hang out. XD

A Living Narrative

So, this is a story of the past that doesn’t exist anymore. One place in time through the eyes of one curious woman whose brain loves to find patterns in people and understand. These are moments in my life I remember to write the narrative of today–even if today is completely different. And this is part of the problem; we as humans take the past and project it into the future. We decide everything we know makes us a fortune teller. XD

During that time I spoke with women who left the scene who confided how painful it had been for them, how insane it was compared to being sexually evolved out in the world. I was still watching the scene trying to understand why everyone seemed to have a prescription or a drug or a trauma they were taking while calling themselves these two dimensional labels and looking to be seen but not really known. I was straight out of the psych ward hanging with a lesbian (who by the time I left was considering identifying as a male) who was fresh out of prison, and I had a bipolar bisexual girlfriend (who called herself a lesbian once she started dating me but nearly married a man right before.) The bubble I was in was real but that doesn’t mean it was the entire view.

After the psych ward, where you’re labeled by your brain/behavioral ‘malfunction’—you know, the true way to identify who you are, by the thing that fucks up your life completely and you can never be free of. XD The illness that makes you wrong compared to everyone else; that’s who you are. Sigh. Now that’s a system of suffering that keeps people suffering, and after the psych ward, the scene just seemed all too familiar. You can be sexually free, but only when you label, so make sure you know what your label is and don’t try to change it. We already have identified you by this label and we don’t want to be confused or worse, annoyed. Your sexuality is a judgment on us, especially if you ever fucked us—don’t you dare be bisexual or trans, cus that just confuses the fuck out of us and our sexual identity.

It was a beautiful chaos of pain as people tried to discover themselves while stepping on everyone’s toes. As much as they hurt each other, they hurt themselves even more, and the ones who stayed—so many stay until they find what they need—they hurt themselves the most.

Why Do We Do It?

I love people, I truly do. I love their insanity as they claw at themselves demanding the impossible while hoping against hope if they reach that goal, the suffering will finally stop. And while they’re clawing at themselves, they’re screaming at anyone who looks a little like them, demanding the same of them—be perfect, be this, be the thing I need so I can be free already. Hurry the fuck up and be what I want! XD Ah, it’s so powerful, so amazing, so fucking cruel and beautiful and we demand of our loved ones first, don’t we? Those who provide us the most on a material and emotional level we then refuse to allow to be free of our filter. If you change, then who am I?

I can look back and see how lost I was when I was this person who needed others to be a certain way so I could feel safe in the world. Err… like a year ago. XD This part is not an old story and she still pops up time to time. What an exhaustion trying to get people to change just so I could calm the fuck down over stupid shit like dishes. And what pain I inflicted on myself with my own demands.

Lol, that’s why my writing is so different these last months with less a focus on completion and more on actually writing the story as it wants to be. I finally learned to stop demanding so much of myself, and I’m still learning. A writer can be an ass to herself and decide if editing isn’t perfect, you suck. (whoops.) If that novel isn’t published by the end of the month, you’re a horrible person. And then you can find other writers to agree with that inner bitchy voice. It’s easier to see the interactions with my loved ones and stop, but the pain I commit on myself by having all those inner demands? Whooo, it has taken time.

It takes time not to respond to my loved ones when they come to me to identify them. When some days they want to feel weak and helpless in the world and they lash at me to give them the promise that I’m strong enough to carry it all for them, or that I perceive them incapable so they don’t have to try. Sometimes they define me by the mold toxicity so that they can be my hero for a little bit even if it means I can’t be my hero. It’s not a one way street—everyone is in a relationship by choice to gain whatever it is they need. Some people are afraid to move forward and they want someone to point it out to them so that they can tell themselves they don’t have to move forward, they can just be angry at you, bitch. XD Or they ask you for advice, ask you to carry them and do it for them, and when you don’t, ah, what a washing away of responsibility. Such bliss. They don’t have to do it because they handed you the responsibility, and if you don’t do it, oh, well, it gets to slip away and be unimportant, dragged out only during later arguments to ‘win’ in the battle of dominance for the right to narrate the shared story. Lol, it’s beautiful.

This could be the pain of the group, of the lgbt community that holds itself back, that demands others be a certain way because they have to be a symbol, a representation of an entire sexual movement. It has to look a certain way, and if you don’t fit you shouldn’t be allowed to exist as you are—change for us so we look the way we should.

Freedom to marry doesn’t give you anything when you’re not free to be yourself. It doesn’t change the way you think the world still sees you. It doesn’t change the way you still see yourself. It’s not only straight people who have the ability to judge. I see so many who have struggled to find their sexual identity and they feel threatened by the existence of someone similar but different. I have plenty of gay people still tell me bisexuality isn’t real. Some fear the spectrum because then they don’t know where they fit, who they are without the sexuality label nice and clear. I love writing straight to gay because of this—to show that facing the fear of being different from your self expectations can lead to pleasure.

My theme as a writer seems to be submission to inner dark desire=pleasure. XD I knew nothing about bdsm when I started writing erotica—I thought it was a super tacky genre from the few books I read at the time with all their equipment and living in clubs and their silly rules. All I saw was the structure and none of the underlying emotion. Now, after studying the push and pull of the human psyche as it seeks relief in others, I see the struggle of relinquishing to self.

So funny, the battle of the ego just looking for an escape to let go, looking for someone to save them because they don’t want to think they have the power. If they have the power, then they’re obligated to change their life, right? No thank you, just hand that over to the guy with the whip. XD Keep the changes in a safe place, one room, one little therapeutic dose of giving away control, giving in to desire without fear of consequence in the real world. A structured fantasy with the only one to judge being yourself and your partner.

Toxic Fruit

I like the premise of the book, of the greater society, of history and religion and the rejection of the human form being the roots of this problem. I want to see if it goes further. The roots still feed the plants that bear fruit, and where do we see the hurt coming from when history is dust, and morality is merely a system in place that no one is actually controlling? Why do those newspeople really hold back from swearing on television? Do they give a fuck about the concept of morality, or do they care about losing their jobs? Individual humans in this world punish them, and those who are punished choose to accept that’s the trade off to being free to speak certain words on TV—ha! I live in a country where we hold up free speech as some big right while saying it’s not allowed on television. Wow. Individuals strike out at others, demand from them what they demand of themselves to keep the world one way. They perpetuate the message while being bombarded by the message.

We are intelligent beings with technology and information beyond anything we have had before, but we still repeat the broken messages that keep us trapped. Why? Because we open our mouths and speak them. We do this; we are society. We teach our kids to be ashamed of the very bodies they are born into, while we look for ways to stop hating ourselves. We tell ourselves we can’t win in fights we never bother to battle. We create a god we must impress, must live up to, or we will suffer damnation. We decide that speaking up deserves pain, so only the most brave speak up. We create all the monsters that we end up battling or avoiding, while blaming the monsters.

Redefining Reality

Is that an ugly thought? Should it be censored so people don’t have to feel uncomfortable? The beauty of these systems that hurt us is how a changing of the message can save us. If the system in place is redefined, everything it touches redefines. Oh, let’s say the Pope declared sin nothing more than a fallacy of the mind used to control society, and every church in the system took up that belief and spread it to the followers. The next generation of Roman Catholics (and whoever listens to the Pope) could be free of sin. Actually free, instead of the indoctrination of bestowing original sin on every child born just so they could ‘baptize’ it away.

What if the psychiatric community decided to look into how allergies are linked to mental illness? What if they taught how most people who have allergies but don’t produce a certain response are far more likely to suffer mentally from bipolar to depression to mania to agitation to ocd to fits of rage, hence the rise of suicides during high pollen counts? What if when your kids are taught about nutrition, they’re not taught skewed information in there by companies—sugar—who don’t want people to know their product is not required on any level?

Systems allow for very big changes in a short amount of time and hey, they’re already in place. The media is such a system, which is why we have some channels spewing the extreme conservative narrative of ‘fear your neighbor and self,’ and others the extreme liberal narrative of ‘nothing you do is good enough unless you reach our blessed heights.’ I’m a liberal and my fuck, it’s like being a vegan among vegans—you’re never fucking good enough. Lately, I feel like I’m back in church answering to some faceless god of morality claiming gloom and doom if ideas exist and it totally sucks. No wonder Trump is terrified of the media. It’s a system bigger than him capable of changing the narrative of the world, the narrative he can’t reflect off of. He chose his enemy and his enemy grows bigger because of it.

But the caveat? Even when a system changes, it’s still up to the individual to change, to let the old message go. To allow through their filter of the world for things to be different, for things to be fun and not so fucking serious. Ugh, everyone is so damn serious. Do you know how many authors I see resend newsletters over fucking typos? Typos. Gah. I had an old guy glaring at me Christmas Eve—the entire night—and only found out when he said goodbye that he was offended by my lipring. XD I had it for 10 years but he was certain it would be infected by tomorrow because something in his past made his perception of my reality look dangerous.

Our brains are the system of oppression we’re trapped in. We perceive the messages and give them importance enough to actually follow them. Every message out in the world was first conceived in someone’s mind, which was then expressed through language where other minds picked it up, decided it was important, and followed or rejected. I used to think a vow of silence was about being able to finally hear yourself; now I wonder if it’s to do no harm on the world through the influence of words. But the words aren’t the harm, it’s still the minds that turn them into something more and act upon that belief.

There are so many people out there afraid of their thoughts. I wonder when they’ll see that they choose to act, they choose to make thoughts into an action? They choose to believe a message and hold onto it, making it part of their identity.

We Are the Storyteller

In our brains live these realities, these perceptions, these characters born of narratives—I think you’ve all met my characters in stories. XD But just as I’m an obvious storyteller, we are all telling a story about the world and about ourself. We tell the story that our attraction and gender is a part of our identity, that our job gives us value, that our family is a reflection of ourself, that if we’re not liked then we are bad/lacking, that our face defines our beauty, that to lose everything is to really lose everything.

It can be so hard to break out of that story, to see that we still persist even when everything changes. Maybe that is the joy of reading. For me it is the joy of writing. I write freedom (sexy, dirty freedom, lol) for every character I conceive. Maybe to experience a narrative—any narrative—between pages feels safer, allows us to see how we can wiggle free of the story of our life and be something else—but safely, in our brains, because that is where that story lives.

The reality is, for all my intentions, I can only hope people find freedom in my books. For some, they may be perpetuating the cage they’re trapped in, seeing their own self dissatisfaction reflected in the characters and never following to where it’s okay to be okay with yourself. Lol, those outraged reviews from poor souls so angry about the sex or the swearing or the lack of consent or the typos; I don’t think they got it. XD Maybe a few more rounds in the story until they see it can’t hurt them, pleasure is actually pleasure no matter the circumstances in a story. Orgasm = good. My characters still seek freedom and I will still record it, but there is no way to control how any of it is perceived. It’s all in the reader’s mind.

The individual is the god of their story, their world, their life. As your personal storyteller, do you choose to be the hero, the victim, the protector, the caretaker, the child, the clown, the villain? Do you let it change or are you stuck with one identity, struggling to be more than your job or your role in a family or the thing that fucks your brain up? So many stories we write about life, but are any of them as satisfying as the ones where we learn to love ourselves? And… insert masturbation joke here. XD

I have rambled the fuck away. Today I’m an artist, an observer of life who seeks understanding in the name of freedom from my own brain. I hope in my little journey, you have found some too. Let the walls fall down and get some fresh air, eh?

The New Boy

An Iron Eagle Gym Novel

Lance Packet just got a contract to shoot an erotic BDSM deck of cards; the only problem is finding models. So far everyone he’s interviewed thinks he’s looking for sex for hire. Then in walk three perfect examples of men: Tide and his friends, Tyrone and Bran.

Tide Germaine is a model and a Dom. He and his best friend Tyrone opened The Iron Eagle Gym as a place for gay men in the lifestyle to work out, do scenes, and congregate with like-minded men. The modeling is just another job for Tide, but it soon turns into a grand seduction as Tide falls for the shy, self-conscious photographer. The problem is Lance doesn’t believe he’s in Tide’s league, and he’s not at all sure about the Dom and sub thing.

It’s not going to be easy, but Tide’s going to have to convince Lance he belongs at Tide’s side as both lover and sub.

A Night To Remember: Phoenix Wedding Night

A night of romance, passion, and love that they’ll never forget…

Love and passion are in the air as the newlywed couples share their first night together as husbands. Finally released from their celibacy pact, the men are more than ready for a long night of warm romance and heated love. But they aren’t the only ones sharing their hearts and their bodies as other couples, yet to be wed, make the most of this enchanting evening as well.

Note: This is an M/M romance and should be read by readers 18yo and above only.



The Drunk Email

Nick has had a crush on his older brother for as long as he could remember. Justin is just so perfect; handsome, strong with blond hair and blue eyes. It’s impossible to look anywhere else. Nick never thought he’d ever tell his brother how he felt. That was until Justin went on a school trip out of country and Nick got lonely and really drunk.

Merry MM Reading- And No, That Wasn’t A Holiday FU 🎄

Hey, babes

You ever have someone say ‘Merry Christmas’ to you like they’re really saying ‘fuck you for not being Catholic’? Or is it Christian… Protestant? Baptist? …Muslim? (Have I offended everyone yet?) Who are the super angry ones who think Christmas only belongs to them? It’s a vibe I’ve been picking up this festive holiday season. Huzzah, Christmas. XD

The edited version of Apprentice Saga is officially live. Oh, and guess who’s officially on Google Play?! *wink* That was a pretty cool surprise this week.

Exhausted. That is the word. @[email protected] Um… Hellcat didn’t happen this week. Not shocked, unfortunately. Just too much going on. Sorry if I’m super late getting back to comments and emails. I think I need the next few days as a vaca (aka, working my ass off in social and holiday settings instead of writing) and I’ll be bright eyed and bushy tailed after… maybe? Ugh. Oh, and I’m plotting something for after Sorcerer Slayer. Like a choose your own adventure story but it’s like a scavenger hunt to find all the sexy story options and I want to hide sexy drawings in there too. I’m not explaining it well, but I’m super excited about the idea. Seriously, I’m beat today and I just woke up.

Okay, it’s kinda tough figuring out how to be agnostic when raised Catholic. I mean, for one, holding onto all the guilt (ba-dum-bump! XD) The holidays are a special level of wtf. My end of year goals were to spend this week not broke, not exhausted, and not pissed off at everything (usually this feeling has a lot to do with the first two issues.) Then I ended up in a mall I was well aware was moldy, got sick—am still sick and recovering as the fever keeps coming back—and yeah, basically did it to myself.

That feeling of social obligation comes on really strong this time of year and it drove me into a damn mall. Mall—the worst four letter word ever. Buy, or create meaningful things to show you give a fuck about the people you love while having wars over the ‘right’ way to wish someone a nice next couple of days. Ah, Christmas, you do know your roots are pagan, rights? Some people—those really smooth, got it together people—stretch this problem out. They buy over the year so it doesn’t feel like a chore. They manage that social obligation for an entire year because it’s that strong you gotta reach that goal whether it’s now or later… I might be cynical of the people who manage this shit well. I’m a notorious procrastinator who kicks and screams to the bitter end. Don’t get me wrong, I love having fun this time of year and spending it with good people. It just feels like a minefield of avoiding all the other bs that comes along with it.

You know what was awesome about the Grinch? By taking all those presents away, he was able to give the little Whoville critters a gift to see you don’t have to be trapped in materialistic systems to be happy. My fuck, I need a Grinch. Come on, mold, you’re green and grumpy. Save me from myself—this is half a joke. XD Only because I was a fucking beast when sick on mold. Like, I made it an excuse to work 3 times as hard as everyone else because, you know, sick and dying. Logic has no place in my brain. (Umm… but read my books cuz I’m totally coherent. I know, my sales pitch is the best. XD)


The Raven Prince

Anywho, how about some fun, LGBT goodies to read? Jean-Paul Whitehall has his first book out of YA short stories where all the proceeds go to an LGBT charity. If you pick this gem up and like what you read, would you mind putting in a review? Jean’s just building his list and he could use all the help he can get—and it’s a damn fine book! I’ve only read the first story so far (Our Lady of The Axe), but I couldn’t put it down while eating breakfast.

You can snag it on Ninestar and on Amazon!

A hoarding holiday of goodies

The Elves of Christmas – $0.99

Two months before Christmas at the North Pole, Santa’s workshop bustles with activity. Santa is coming early with only half a day’s warning to inspect the elves’ progress!

Pepper, who designs and makes special one-of-a-kind dolls, is ordered by his boss Jingle to take time out of toy-making to wash three stories of windows and decorate every room in preparation for Santa. He assigns Ice to assist. But for Pepper, it’s a bit of a problem. Ice is a surly elf, even disrespectful toward Santa, while Pepper reveres Santa to the point of hero-worship.An unlikely pairing, they must work together in order to finish before Santa’s arrival.

But can two elves with conflicting value systems even get along?

Amidst secrets, resentments, toasted cheese sandwiches, snowman building, a blizzard, and Santa’s nerve-wracking visit, Pepper and Ice discover a mutual attraction. If they can overcome wrongful assumptions and failed expectations, love might just take its natural course and lead them to a Merry Christmas.


The Raven Prince And Other Stories

Amazon and Ninestar

The Raven Prince

Sixteen-year-old Mike hopes he can blend in at his new school. Except he’s short, slender, goth-looking with the shiny black hair, black eyes and thick lashes, wears an elegant suit and tie, and drives a Mercedes convertible. He’s also gay, a raven shifter in a human school and eventually he has to be the Raven Prince.

Standing up to the bullies who rule the school—Preacher’s Son, Banker’s Son, Sheriff’s Son, Principal’s Daughter—isn’t blending in. When the Four can’t get to Mike, they go after him through his best friend, Johnny, the devoutly straight wrestling star who doesn’t care about the gay thing.

If Johnny is hurt, will it take the Raven Prince to get justice? Raven justice?


An Ex, A Dog, and Winter Wonderlands

What could be worse than a breakup right before Christmas? An old flame who broke you barging back into your life…

Vlad has his life together. Great job, great home set in a typical winter wonderland mountain resort, a loving dog, and amazing friends. On top of that, he loves Christmas. All’s jolly until the universe conspires to ruin it for him: breaking up with his flaky boyfriend days before the holidays, his former best friend who broke Vlad’s heart returning home, and enough snow to ruin all of Vlad’s plans.

Vlad knows why Geo came home to Romania: to visit his family for Christmas. He wasn’t supposed to meet Vlad at the airport, or spend a few days at Vlad’s place while his parents are snowed in elsewhere. To protect himself, Vlad does his best to avoid any real connection, but old habits die hard and they find themselves entangled once more.

The last time Geo left him, Vlad almost failed to put the pieces back together. However close they get this time, it won’t change the fact Geo has to return to his life in another country. Is a little holiday romance worth the heartbreak Vlad knows he’ll have to face?

An Ex, a Dog, and Winter Wonderlands is a perfect read for those who love Christmas romances and second chances.


A Broken Sword

The last thing Dursus remembered was Brutus’ sword biting into his leg…until he awakened in a strange room and certainly not in Ancient Rome.

Mike Dinsmore, a veterinarian, hears a scream and discovers a strange man bleeding profusely in his study. He binds the wound, applies all of his medical knowledge, and nurses the unconscious man back to life. When the man recognizes the broken gladius in Mike’s possession, he realizes that like his friends, a gladiator has come through time for him.

But Dursus is missing a leg and needs to learn to walk, and to live again. Can he do so with Mike by his side?




In Case of Emergency: Gay Christmas Romance

Former stepbrothers find Christmas romance under the tree.

After years alone, Daniel Diaz is finally ready to shake up his orderly, solitary life. He’s about to leave for a cozy Christmas getaway with his new man when he gets the call from the ER that his former stepbrother has been admitted with a concussion and a broken hand—and Cole put him down as his emergency contact. Why the hell would he do that? Daniel barely knows the guy. After all, their parents’ marriage lasted less than a year and it was a decade ago!

But Cole has no one else to look after him and strict doctor’s orders not to be left alone. So fine, Daniel will bring him along on vacation to make sure he doesn’t starve or fall into a coma. This is supposed to be Daniel’s chance to explore romance again after locking down his feelings for too long—except it turns out his could-be boyfriend is more interested in partying and being an obnoxious jerk. Daniel sends him packing, and now he’s stuck with a virtual stranger in an isolated mountain cabin.

Cole Smith crushed hard on cranky Daniel when they were teenagers. Alone with him in a romantic winter wonderland, those feelings roar back to life. Glimpsing the caring, vulnerable man under Daniel’s frosty shell, he yearns to get closer. Christmas is a time for surprises, and Daniel and Cole discover a scorching connection that just might melt their hearts.


Dragon Birth – $0.99

A Night Of Passion Can Change Everything

Jason has been on the run looking for sanctuary with his past breathing down his neck.
One look at Anthony and he begins to think of the possibility for a future. They are remarkably different in so many ways.

They’re going to learn the hard way that there’s a fine line between love and hate. One night is all that it will take with far-reaching complications in the cold light of reality.

Can they make it work when Jason knows the eyes are following him everywhere?



A Dye Hard Holiday (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #5)

It’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of year for Gabe and Josh Roman-Wyatt as they celebrate their first holidays as fathers, but someone’s war on St. Nick threatens to ruin their holly jolly Christmas.

The Norman Rockwell holiday they had envisioned implodes and shenanigans ensue in true Josh and Gabe style, but that only makes the couple more determined to rejoice in the love and joy they have found in one another. A Black Friday showdown, two foul-mouthed birds, one lumbersexual, ugly Christmas sweaters aplenty, four invading grandparents, and a sexy twist on an advent calendar lead up to oh, holy nights. Catch up with your favorite characters and meet some new faces in a tale that is sure to make you feel as warm as Josh’s creamy, hot-buttered rum concoction.

A Dye Hard Holiday is a funny story about two fathers trying to hold it all together as they juggle busy careers and family life while planning the perfect holiday season. Will they be rocking around the Christmas tree or will it be a blue Christmas? The book is approximately 50,000 words long and is not intended as a standalone book. This supplements the Curl Up and Dye Mysteries series, which should be read in order. This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adults 18 and over.


Apprentice Saga: Demon Bonded Collection #2

Insanity comes in all forms…

Ky’s recovery from the overseer Demencious is short lived. His parents have lost all trust in him, and Ky again has to wonder if he’s losing his mind. That is until he starts his first art class at his new college and meets an actual sorcerer apprentice.

Liem Kane could have been a typical teenager, but there is something terribly wrong beneath his well-groomed exterior. His demon, Fido, is twisted and abused, the wolf Relic tormented daily by his young master.

In his quest to save Fido from certain death, Ky must face Liem’s master. A demon trainer of cruelty that far surpasses his young pupil, Tobias has no qualms in murdering those who disobey. Ky faces off against this monster among men. It’s kill or be killed, and Ky isn’t sure he can live with either option.


Huge MM Giveaway and Mindless Rambling 🌲🎁💀

Hey babes!

My mind is a whirl of awesome lately. Finding my happy, finding my fun. The three H’s; waking up happy, healthy and horny. XD What more can a girl ask for? …hairy? Could that be an awesome fourth? Humble? Nah, never that. XD How about hoarding? Aka a signed copy of Demon Arms plus another 22 books? (Yeah, weirdest segue ever. You’re welcome.)

Jex Lane, writer of the Beautiful Monsters series is having a giveaway. Sign up and enter to win a whole lot of sexy in paperback form.

The end of the year is fast approaching and it has me thinking about how I want to spend my days. I’m not sick anymore, feel amazing—think my thyroid kicked on and I’m finally out of starvation mode. Lentils are delicious, btw. Fuck, I missed eating. I spent years running from life, running from PTSD, running from my perspective of everyday shit while trying to reach something that would make it all better. I’m already there. Life is fucking good, and now it’s just a matter of living it.

I think I want to start making sexy yaoi art again. It’s been so long, I don’t know if I’ll be any good, but I’m sure it will be fun to try. Book covers have to be pretty tame to keep from being banned from certain platforms. But since I’m going all in with the adult side of Patreon, maybe I’ll start doing art to add to the fun of things. Hardcore, drippy fun. XD

Goal is to have all the Demon Bonded stories moved by this weekend and Apprentice Saga available for sale again. Hellcat has reached a level of monster demon cock I was hoping for (woot!) but still requires a few more scene rewrites before it’ll be ready. I hope I’ll make it for Christmas. Oh, and I posted some new Harry Potter fanfic wips on the site under free this month if you missed that. And… is that it?

Hmmm… I think it’s rambling time about perceptions of reality and the insanity of censorship

Stumbled across this vid last night and I love his voice. XD It’s nice to know there is still a culture pushing back against censorship, even as the world tries to demand that ideas are the same as actions and should be policed. Anime/manga is where I got my roots in art and story telling. The genre isn’t considered mainstream when it comes to book covers but most of my story plots are inspired by the push and pull of the wonderfully dirty comics I grew up on. Comics that have been used to fine and convict normal, everyday people and put them in jail in countries including America.

There’s this thing about the human mind where you hear the same story again and again and you start to believe it can only ever be that way—like a love story where true love only looks a certain way. My mom raised me to expect to be married by college—but I wasn’t allowed to date before then, and I was a girl, so I probably wasn’t going to college anyways even though I was mad smart. I’m in my 30’s—this wasn’t some ancient time long ago—but her beliefs reflected her childhood culture and she put that on me, repeating the story she lived (or maybe just heard) into a new era. This is the danger of rigid brains.

I think it’s why I’m so wary of tradition. It reminds me of that amazing poem about walls by Frost, and I think of the era in Europe when people were starving to death because all the nobility walled their land and no one could hunt, no one could travel because of the neurotic fucks who needed walls for some idea of order and ownership. Their beliefs that walls were important blinded them to how they literally killed people.

Humans are really good at creating systems that hurt themselves, and it starts in simple irrational beliefs in their mind that they react to. The belief that a thought, that an image, that a bunch of words could have the power to harm someone is the driving force behind censorship. Well, that and the need to be responsible for other people’s pain and protect them from feeling uncomfortable. It’s the root cause as to why people can be bullied on the Internet—they let their perceptions and emotions decide that words actually hurt them. The reality is, words cannot hurt you. You allow words to hurt you. If you didn’t hear those words, or see those words, they couldn’t have an effect even though they’re right there. If they’re in a different language, they mean nothing to you, just marks on a page or screen or noises in your ear. Your brain and how it perceives those words is where your pain comes from. But for those who let the pain grow, who believe those words, they can act irrationally, they can harm themselves, even kill themselves. They take an action in reaction to their emotional response.

Saying I’m sorry you feel that way, might seem like a total douche-bag thing, but it’s true. People hurt themselves. An action is an action. Pain, on the other hand, is the body and mind perceiving pain. We perceive the things that hurt us, whether someone else intended to hurt us or not. We still decide if it hurts, if it’s worth clinging to and making a big deal about and hunting witches down to make everyone pay.

It’s sad to see so much suffering, but how can the answer be to remove the words? The words didn’t do anything, the person did by believing the words. And do we try to help the people who are more apt to believe these words—words that are everywhere, that can be read, understood, never even directed at them but is still perceived as personal attacks? A relative of my bf was arguing with a recorded message (I wish I was joking) getting worked up because she thought there was a real person on the other line. She was yelling at nothing, at the perception in her head, while blaming a human being that didn’t even exist. She caused her own pain, but should we stop phone calls, just in case?

For some people, the very thought that they are doing this to themselves creates pain—because how the fuck can they accept that they are the ones hurting themselves when clearly someone else is attacking them? Someone must be to blame, someone must be punished because it hurts and they think their pain has value. But that’s humanity for you—that’s the root of PTSD, which is why this lesson is so powerful to me. I am well aware how my thoughts and perceptions of the world kept me trapped and unhappy. It is a choice to believe. PTSD is a mental system of anxiety and paranoia that feeds itself with its own thoughts, and the attempts to escape from those paranoid, negative thoughts are seen as death. Yet here I am, free, because I chose to stop believing.

When people believe that the representation of something is as real as what it’s representing—that a drawing is a person, that a doll is a person, that a company is a person—they react to an irrational belief. Not only do they react irrationally, but they take that irrational thought and project it into the future. We must act to stop an outcome that will definitely occur! If a drawing is a person, then people who see this drawing will go out and rape, or kill, or act insane because… fortune telling? It made them? They’re not responsible for their own actions?

The only madness occurring is in the mind of the person reacting to a thought as if it’s reality. A fleeting dream they insist happened, harmed them, and must be prevented. And yet, we have laws built around this insanity because someone believed a drawing is a person, that it is objectifying, degrading, harming a gender or a movement or a culture and to exist is to make people act. You know, the same way women shouldn’t be allowed to exist as sexual (showing off their ankles, or their legs, or their faces, or ass or tits—pick a culture and time period of what’s too sexual for a woman to exist) because someone will rape them for men have no power over their own dicks. The perpetrator of an actual act isn’t responsible, it’s the fault of something that existed as is, a woman without clothes or shame, that forced them to act.

People are very good at believing insane things and then clinging to value systems to justify it. Because what would happen if they relaxed and just let a drawing be a drawing? What would happen if they had to be responsible for their actions instead of blaming anything they can? Death. I think PTSD reigns in the minds of many, and I hope they find their way free. If they really want to.

There was this concept in the Matrix where when the aliens first put humans into the computer program, it was ideal, perfect, no conflict. But people died or didn’t flourish because they believed life required conflict. Shit was too nice so they were freaking out. It says it all about humanity—the need to hurt ourselves because we believe we need to. I know so many like this; I was this. So what if we believed we didn’t need to hurt all the fucking time and things could happen and not result in pain?

Here’s to a year free of insanity. I want to make some dirty art, a ton of super dirty books, and I want to live each day having fun no matter what my situation is—because it’s my choice to believe that my finances and circumstance define my happiness. They don’t. Money does not represent happiness, or freedom, or anything, it’s just money. It’s actually an amazing example of how far human insanity goes that we can find ways now to trade digital numbers for food and items and feel like it’s an equal value. If we all had six more zeroes at the end of our bank statement this month, everyone a millionaire, would the world stop and blow up in flames? If we could all afford to eat and live in houses, would some god come down to crush us all for daring to be happy? It’s just numbers on a screen that represents paper in a vault, that represents gold in another vault, that represents something of value because gold is… shiny? Why do we want gold? It’s time, but some people’s time is worth more than others? People are fucking insane so why buy in?

This year I say yes to happy, yes to fun, yes to not giving a fuck about all the many neurotic bullshit things my brain tries to make me believe is real. I say yes to questioning every system, every belief, and every boundary until breathing doesn’t feel like fifty stones weighed on my chest trying to keep me down.

Speaking of saying yes to better,

I redid the Hellcat cover to make it more dark and sexy. Sexy is better, pretty sure. *eyebrow waggle*

Vampire Finding Love

The Hunters have long made it their agenda to kill every last vampire.

Ronnie Perkins, fears for his life as he walks home alone. He tries to hide his fangs but still the Hunters spot him.

This is how it all ends.

But then, a solitary figure appears, swooping in and saving the day.

Claude Montgomery does not know why he put his neck on the line for Ronnie.

The two vampires are now on a crash course toward the rest of their lives. When the Hunters place a bounty on their heads, how will they escape?


Omega’s Teacher

Harry is a lonely omega who desperately wants an alpha and a family. He doesn’t want an alpha to control him but to be his life partner in every way. He’s a hardworking English teacher at the local high school who hears the ticking of his biological clock…and worries time is running out.

Alex is a Science teacher, an alpha new to the local high school. He’s not looking for an omega, he’d rather be a free spirit than settle down with a clingy omega.
Harry is shocked and furious, when the hot new teacher turns out to be the bully that made his life hell in middle school. After an explosive reunion, the principal realizes he’s got a problem on his hands, and comes up with a way to solve it.

They’ve got one weekend to learn how to get along…or someone is out of a job.

This is a 33,000 word story of male pregnancy with a HEA. This is book 3 in the Baby Makes Three series, but can be read as a stand-alone.


Midnight Lovers

The Man That’s Supposed To Protect Him… Is Also Becoming His Lover

Life changes drastically for escort Kato when one of his friends is brutally murdered.

Even more unexpectedly, the man in charge of investigating the case- the charismatic Inspector Dole – takes more than just a professional interest in him.

But before long, he himself is in fear for his life, from an unknown assassin, intent on killing men like him for his own dark purposes.

Will Inspector Dole be able to protect Kato from danger and solve the case before it is too late?


Natural Magic 7


“You really seem to love her. Is she pretty? I think my mum was pretty, but I don’t really remember.”

“She’s really pretty, probably the prettiest mom in the whole world. She’s really nice too. She reads to me, and sings, and at least twice a month we both go out on an outing.”

“Outing?” The only outings Harry had been on were the few to the park, and once in a while he’d go somewhere with the Dursleys when his Aunt couldn’t find a babysitter.

“Yeah, we’d go for tea a lot, and sometimes clothes shopping… We always looked at the store windows even when mum said she didn’t want to buy anything. I was her protector. She didn’t like to go out alone because she has weak blood, and passes out a lot…” Draco trailed off, clenching his fists at his sides.

“She’s okay, Draco.” Harry placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The way you talked about her, your mum must be smart enough to take care of herself.”

“But she doesn’t know anyone here. How do I know some mean muggle isn’t going to attack her without me there to help! She could be passed out in the middle of a street or—”

“Stop it, Draco, she’s fine.”

“No, she’s not. She’s sick, and worried about me, and she could even be lost too!” Draco sniffed, his eyes going wild behind the new tears threatening to spill.

Harry sighed, placing the bags on the low wall they were passing so he could grab onto the boy’s narrow shoulders.

“Hey, it’s going to be all right. If something happened to her, they’ll take her to the nearest hospital and they’ll make sure she’s okay. And, if you’re just worrying for nothing and she’s fine, then she’s probably talking with the police right now to help find you.”

Harry carefully wiped the boy’s tears away. “Either way, you’re both going to be all right, and see each other again real soon. I wouldn’t have come along if I didn’t think it was possible. I would have pointed you to the police instead, and went back to sleeping in the tree.”

Something in his little speech must have been funny because Draco’s eyes widened in surprise and he giggled tearfully. “What? What did I say?”

“No… it was a really nice thing to say, really,” Draco managed past his giggles. “I do believe you. My mum is probably fine and I’m just worried.”

Harry looked unconvinced, mostly because the weird blond had yet to stop laughing.

As if reading his mind, Draco continued. “You—You sleep in a tree!” He laughed aloud, throwing his hands up as if the humor was obvious. “I thought you were an elf because I saw you in a tree, but you’re just a muggle, and yet you sleep in a tree! It’s funny.” Beaming, Draco pulled on Harry’s arm, only giving the boy a moment to grab the lunches before skipping down the street.

“I’m a what? A muggle?”

“Yup.” Draco answered distractedly and pointed to a skyscraper in the distance. “What is that? It looks like some weird, shiny mountain but my mum said that people work in it, and it lights up at night.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Harry commented thoughtfully, as Draco once again asked another strange question. PB&J equaled peanut butter and jelly; what kid didn’t know that? And come on, asking what a mailbox was for, or bicycles, or asking, god help him, why didn’t Harry just lose his glasses and see better? Draco was not normal, and Harry found it absolutely fascinating.

“I told you, I’m on an outing with my mum,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

Harry just rolled his eyes. “You’re a horrible liar, just so you know.” He said it lightly, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings. Sometimes you had to hide things, and Draco had no reason to trust him with the truth. He wasn’t about to let the boy think he bought his act, though.

“What? I was on an outing!”Draco insisted, his cheeks turning pink.

“Right, right, but where are you from? You won’t tell me that, will ya?” Harry smiled and pulled a juice box from one of the bags, handing it to Draco.

Together they had eaten their way through one of Dudley’s lunches. That left them with another big one and Harry’s own pitiful bag. He figured it would be enough for dinner, although he hoped it wouldn’t take that long. The more time he spent with Draco, the more he got the feeling that they may be looking for a long time—like a really long time.

After letting Harry fix the straw for him, Draco sipped on the drink, using it as an excuse not to answer. The first rule with dealing with muggles was secrecy. And he knew it wasn’t just for his own safety, but for Harry’s as well.

Right now Harry still had deniability. Wizards didn’t like muggles knowing about them. A lot of Draco’s people looked down on muggles, like they weren’t good enough to talk with or even touch… as if they were diseased. It had only taken a few minutes with Harry to see how wrong that opinion was.

“Want some?” Draco handed the juice to the brunette, making sure Harry saw him not wipe the straw off when he got it back and took another sip. He didn’t think Harry had any diseases, and he didn’t think he was stupid or inferior. Actually, the boy was really smart… He’d probably know how to keep a secret, too.

“I don’t usually sleep in a tree, you know. I live in a house with my Aunt and her family,” Harry mumbled, feeling it was important Draco know he at least had a home and wasn’t as poor as his clothes made him look.

Draco nodded. “You were hiding from your cousin, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry glanced over at him. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, I’m the first heir in my line. Father wants mother to have another child, just in case, but she’s really delicate. It makes me glad I was born a boy, because my mum would have to keep having children until she bears a male heir.” Draco was oblivious to the confusion on his new friend’s face.

“Oh… well, if your mother wasn’t delicate? Would you want to have a brother or sister? I always wanted one—a real one, not like Dudley or the berks he hangs out with. I think I’d feel less alone, having someone around who understands me.”

“I don’t know. My parents, they really understand me.” Grabbing onto Harry’s hand, Draco gave it a small squeeze and smiled. “What’s to understand about you?”

The question surprised Harry, or maybe it was the simple kind gesture he wasn’t used to having directed at him. “What?”

“You know, what makes you you? Why do you feel so different from the rest of the people around you?” From what Draco had observed, Harry was a totally different species from all the muggles he had seen that day. He wanted to know why.

“Oh, umm… well, let me think.” It was a strange thing to figure out. Harry knew, there was no question there, but he wasn’t quite sure why, or what he knew.

“They’re hiding something from me, my Aunt and Uncle,” Harry blurted suddenly. “About my parents and about me. They know who I am and they hate me for it.” He turned gleaming eyes to the blond. “It’s hard to explain…”

Draco frowned, holding Harry’s hand tighter. “I don’t think anyone can really explain hate. Why do you think they feel that way about you?”

Harry shrugged, looking down at his shoes. “Weird things happen to me. It really freaks my Uncle out. He yells and knocks me around like it’s my fault. My Aunt will start shrieking, her lips and knuckles going all white like a ghost is about to jump her.”

“What happens?”

Harry met the worried gaze hesitantly. He was afraid to lose his new friend so soon. Eventually something weird would happen and Draco would freak out and never want to talk to him again. It always happened. Draco was pretty cool, but Harry was sure he’d still think he was weird or worse, lying about the stuff that happens to him.

“Weird things happen to me sometimes,” Draco offered quietly, hoping to stop the boy from chewing on his lip in anxiety.

Harry glanced glowing green eyes his way, hope sparking. “…Really?”

“Sure.” Draco flashed a small smile. “Like for starters…” Draco held up their clasped hands. “I can feel stuff, umm energy… a special type of energy. I can feel it in you.”

“Yeah?” Surprised, Harry reached up so he held Draco’s hand in both of his, crushing their lunches in the process. “What’s it feel like?”

“Uh, well l-like magic, of course,” Draco stuttered, the wild tingle coming from Harry’s hands going all the way down to his toes.

Harry watched the boy blush, his mind whirling. Draco had said the M-word, and he had said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Uncle Vernon had told him time and again, until he was purple in the face, that magic didn’t exist and anyone who said otherwise was a filthy waste of life. He had said it so many times, and always so angrily, that it had made Harry sure that he was lying about it. It made him wonder if magic was actually real.

“What… what does magic feel like?”

Draco shook his head dumbly, clasping his other hand over the two holding his. “It feels like you.”

Mother had told Draco about the rare muggles that grew up to have powers like his own kind. Eventually they would be accepted into Hogwarts, a school whose founders were indiscriminate with who was allowed to attend. They would become a part of the wizarding society… Harry would become part—

“You’re a wizard!” Draco cheered, lunging at the brunette and tackling him into a bear hug.

“W-what?! Ooof—watch it…!” Knocked over, his elbow stung from where it had hit the ground, Draco’s weight pinning him down. Rearranging his glasses, Harry gave the beaming blond an annoyed glare. “Are you off your rocker?”

Draco laughed, too happy with the prospect of Harry living in his world to notice his discomfort. “You know what a secret is, right?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the question. “Yeeeah. Why? Is that why you can’t tell me where you’re from?” He blinked innocent eyes at the blond.

“Well yeah, it’s a big secret, you see… But, if you can promise not to tell anyone, a real promise, a blood oath, then I could tell you. You’re going to find out when you’re older anyways. If you know, it will make it easier for you to help me find my home so, umm… yeah. What do you say?”

Harry wriggled distractedly; Draco’s weight was sending tendrils of warmth through him and he wondered if that was what magic felt like. Harry wanted to know the secret, there was no question about that. For some reason, he wanted to know everything about Draco, more so than he could remember ever wanting to know anything. “What’s a blood oath?”

“We both cut ourselves and mix the blood together while saying ‘I swear on my life I’ll never tell.’ It doesn’t have to be a lot of blood…”

Actually, since Harry was a muggleborn the oath might not even count. It wasn’t real magic, but things concerning blood alone could be more powerful than some spells. “We’ll have to find something sharp. That is, if you want to?” Draco tilted his head questioningly, smiling bemusedly as he caught the soft calming scent the boy gave off.

“Did you just sniff my hair?” Harry asked, a giggle bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

Draco blushed, realizing that was exactly what he had just done. “No! I j-just… oh, stop laughing!” He sat up, sitting on Harry’s legs so the laughing boy wouldn’t jiggle him.

“This is going to be so brilliant, Harry. When we find my mom she’ll be so happy to meet you. She might even charm up her famous fairy-honey squares just for you.”

“Fairy-honey squares?”

“Yeah, yeah, they’re really good! Even better than that candy bar we had. Come on.” Draco got up and grabbed Harry’s hands, pulling him to his feet. “We need to find something sharp.”

Natural Magic 5


“Waaah—Ooof! Owwww, ow, ow, ow, owwy, ow…”

Harry started from his nap, grabbing frantically at the branch he had fallen asleep on before he could fall from his perch. Light headed and not quite awake, he blinked around for whatever it was that had woken him, his gaze eventually falling on the sniffling form on the ground below.

“Hey, are you okay?” Harry called down, leaning over to get a better look at the little blond. Bright, crystal clear gray eyes sparkling with tears met his, widening in surprise to see him there.

“Are you… are you an elf, or a tree spirit?” the boy whispered, his voice strained from crying.

Harry furrowed his brow, pushing up his glasses that gravity was trying to pull from him. Didn’t the kid know elves were make-believe? “What?”

“I’m sorry! I just wanted one little bitty branch to make a wand. That’s all, just a little branch. I’ll leave if you want. I’ll never touch a tree again, promise! Just—just don’t hurt me…”

Harry stared in disbelief, watching as the blond fidgeted, obviously ready to run if need be. “Why would I…? I’m just a kid, that’s all. I’m not some sort of elf spirit or what not.”

The boy didn’t seem relieved but winced and gingerly held his arm. Harry could just make out the red staining his shirt. “Hold on. I’m coming down, okay?” He grabbed hold of the branch he was resting on and pushed off, swinging down with his legs flailing a moment before his toes found footing on the branch below. Harry bent and used the tree trunk for support while he crouched and sat on the branch he had landed on, slowly making his way down to the ground.

Draco scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve, watching the strange boy maneuver down the tree. If it weren’t for the funny clothes, he’d think the boy was lying about being non-magical. He was very agile and small, just like the elves mother had told him about. The wild hair and glowing green eyes completed the image and Draco couldn’t help but stare as the boy leaped to the ground, landing as gracefully as a cat.

Stepping around the big rock, Harry walked up to the blond with a look of pure concern. “Is your arm okay? You’re bleeding.”

“No, I-I’m fine.” Draco shied away, feeling nervous around the wild looking boy. He was just too intense, energy crackling around waiting to spark like a broken toaster Draco had seen for the first time just that day.

Harry blinked, taking in the boy’s strange clothes and odd hair color. He lived with a family of blonds, but none of the Dursleys’ hair was quite as stunningly bright, almost white. And he had never met anyone with eyes like that, all silvery like. “Oh. Are you sure? That’s a lot of blood… And you ripped your shirt.”

Draco stared blankly down at his arm, seeing the large gash for the first time. It had hurt when he had fallen, but he was too busy crying about it to notice the blood.

“Err… you’re not going to faint, are you?” Harry put a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder as all color drained from his already pale face. “Here, maybe you should sit down.” He carefully led him over to the big rock, helping him lean against it. “Listen, if you tell me what they look like, I can go get your parents for you.”

Draco shook his head dully, first studying the ground and then the narrow grimy hands that were carefully pulling his sleeve apart to reveal his wound. He had to get back. He had to find his mother. The clock tower never seemed to get any closer and he had been walking for a while now.

“It’s not too bad… just a nasty scratch I think.” Harry gently closed the fabric back up and pressed it firmly to Draco’s upper arm to slow the bleeding. “Here, just hold it like this and it’ll be better in no time.”

“I, uh… thank you.” Draco covered his hand over the one holding the makeshift bandage, the boy carefully pulling his away. He’d never had a real cut before. Mother would always charm it away the instant he started crying.

“How do you know how to… um…?” Draco trailed off, feeling too miserable to really talk aloud. He had just noticed all the cuts and bruises on the brunette. The boy probably had a lot of first hand experience at treating cuts, being wild and living in trees.

“Oh, that’s from my cousin Dudley,” Harry answered, noticing where Draco was looking. “He’s bigger than me, and his parents love him and really hate me, so they look the other way when he beats on me. I’m pretty fast though, so he doesn’t catch me a lot. That’s why I was up there.” He pointed to the treetop. “Dudley’s too fat to lift his own weight. He’s real lazy, just like a pig. Good thing for me pigs don’t fly.”

The joke worked and Harry cheered inside to see the blond crack a small smile. “Come on, I’ll take you to your parents.”

The boy was small, almost as small as Harry, and he seemed really delicate, like he’d be easy to break if Dudley got his fists on him. His hair was nearly as white as his clear skin, and with his large crystal eyes Harry thought the boy likely more a tree spirit than he would ever be. Almost otherworldly… and it made Harry feel special just to be near such a beautiful boy. He probably had really caring parents that made sure he never got hurt. His clothes looked fancy, like a rich kid’s, so that would make the kid’s parents extra fussy if something had happened to the pretty blond.

“Oh, my name’s Harry, by the way. Do you live around here or are you on a trip too?”

“Oh, ummm… a trip, I guess,” Draco said lamely, unable to meet the boy’s questioning gaze.

Surprised by the obvious lie, Harry took a step back and shoved his hands in his over-sized jean pockets.

He hated being lied to, but he supposed maybe the blond had a good reason. Harry had to lie to his schoolteachers when something strange would happen, because he knew they’d only punish him if he told the truth. Of course, they always thought he was lying when he told the truth, which was why he was punished. It was easier to tell them what they wanted to hear, that way his Aunt and Uncle usually weren’t called about it.

“So… what’s your name?” Harry pressed when the boy didn’t supply it freely.

“Draco Malfoy, of the pureblood Malfoys,” Draco whispered, digging into the dirt with his shoe. “Um… you wouldn’t happen to know where here is, would you?”

“What… the park? Uh, I think there’s some sort of sign back that way.” Harry glanced towards where he had left his cousin and friends. Draco Malfoy… it was a strange sort of name. Kinda regal sounding, and maybe a little, well, special, like magical even.

The boy gave off that sort of air; he was too perfect to be real. He was really graceful, and with his eyes and hair he seemed almost not human. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t. What kinda person would see a kid in a tree and ask if he was an elf, all serious like?

Then again, he could just be crazy too… Shrugging, Harry turned back to Draco. “Why? Don’t you… err, don’t you know where you are?”

Draco shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “No… I-I can’t find my mum, and I d-don’t know where I am…” Saying it aloud was harder than he thought, and Draco began to cry, not from pain this time but from utter fear and hopelessness.

“H-Hey, it’s okay…” Not sure what to do, Harry placed a hesitant hand on Draco’s shaking shoulder. He had never known a boy to cry before in front of anyone else. Girls from school sometimes, but not boys. They would have been teased and beat up mercilessly. But Draco seemed less the type to care what others thought.. He was weird, just like Harry. “I’m sure if we find a policeman they’ll be able to find your mother and, uh, take you back home… Really…”

Harry couldn’t understand why the boy started crying more at his words. Harry sighed, not sure how to fix the boy, but very much feeling terrible that he was crying. He was pretty sure the police would be able to help… unless Draco really wasn’t from around here but some sort of elf or something… but that was just silly. “Listen, honest, all you have to do is tell a policeman your address and they’ll take you home in a jiff.”

“No! You don’t understand!” Draco wailed, sinking to the ground and burrowing his head in his arms. He shouldn’t have left the store. He should have waited there for his mother and… and if something h-horrible had happened to her no one would ever come for him no matter how long he waited! Mother and him had been the only ones from the wizarding world that knew they were there!

Draco began sobbing in earnest. He was never going to get home again. The muggle world was so big, and no one even knew he was there, and he had no magic to protect him, or gold, or anything!

Harry bit his lip and sat down beside Draco, letting the boy cry it out. Given that he probably had a good family and home life, he looked devastated to not be able to find his way back.

Harry would love to not have to go back with the Dursleys, but he didn’t have any other place that would take him in. That was really the thing, though. It didn’t matter where it was, he’d just be happy to have people that loved him. He would do anything for that… No wonder the boy was so sad.

“Draco?” Harry scooted over and carefully tugged at the blond’s arms until red-rimmed crystal eyes met his. “I’m going to help you, alright? We don’t have to go to the police if you don’t want. I’ll help you find your mum no matter what. I promise.”

Scrubbing his face free of tears, Draco gave a half laugh, half sob. “H-How old are you?”

“What? Er, eight… What’s that have to do with anything?” Harry scoffed. “I swear, I’m gonna help you.”

Harry looked so determined, Draco almost believed him. “Do you know the area well? I need to find a certain spot.” He sniffed and pointed to the clock tower that could be seen through the trees.

“Well… actually, I don’t.” Harry smiled sheepishly. “But, I am good at finding things. I have really amazing luck, and a good sense of direction. I know all about the rail system and how to get to Privet Drive from there—that’s where I live, at Privet Drive. Once I’m done helping you, I can just hop a train and go home.”

If Harry remembered right, elves were supposed to have pointy ears. Draco’s weren’t really round, but he wouldn’t call them pointy either… so he probably wasn’t an elf after all. His own ears weren’t that round either but he was pretty sure he wasn’t an elf. Aunt Petunia never would have taken him in if he were.

Draco bit his lip thoughtfully. He really didn’t want to be alone anymore in the huge muggle city. A companion meant twice as much help looking. But the boy was the same age as him, and it seemed wrong to let him get caught up in something like this. “What about your parents? They’ll be worried if you suddenly take off.”

“It’s kinda hard to worry when you’re dead,” Harry said blandly, shrugging his shoulders. “My Aunt and Uncle take care of me, but they won’t care. Honestly, I’m sure they’d be happy if I went off and never came back. They’d probably throw a party. I think Dudley would be the only one who would miss me, and that’s only because he’d have no one to blame when he breaks, or steals something from his parents.”

His own problems momentarily forgotten, Draco stared in disbelief. “You can’t mean that. Family is supposed to take care of each other… It’s—It’s like one of the rules!”

“I don’t know about that…” Harry scratched the tip of his nose, staring out into the woods. “I think my parents loved me… I’m pretty sure they did, but they died when I was just a little baby. Sometimes I think my Aunt wished I had died along with them. But I didn’t, did I?” He turned back, flashing a crooked grin. “One day I’m going to grow up and get away from all of them. I’ll fall in love, and have a family of my own, and I’ll make sure they’ll have as much love as I always wanted. That’s a ways off though…”

Harry blinked, sobering a bit. “Um, so did you want to get going now? Stuff like this, it’s best to figure it out the first day. After that I think things get more complicated, needing food and shelter, and all that.”

Draco stared silently at Harry, trying to figure out how someone so small had gone through so much, and could still smile so easily. They were the same age, and yet Harry seemed to know a lot more about some things that his parents had never covered. Life experience, he supposed. If anything, it made him a good person to be around in the muggle world, and… Suddenly Draco realized he didn’t want the boy to leave him.

“I just need to get a branch from that tree and then we can go, alright?” Draco reached a hand up, holding onto the rock to help stand. Startled, he gasped as Harry suddenly slid his arm under his armpits and lifted him up like it was nothing.

“I’ll get it,” Harry said, leaping up the side of the big rock before Draco could say otherwise. Draco watched as the boy jumped up to the low branch; was he really only some muggle human? Harry moved like a tree spirit or something.

Draco took the time to dust his pants off, willing the funny blush that had sprouted when Harry had suddenly grabbed him to go away.

“How’s this?” Harry called down, pointing to a fair sized branch longer than his arm.

“It doesn’t have to be so big.” Draco held his hands out to indicate the size, and Harry nodded, quickly snapping a piece and dropping it down to the waiting boy.

Draco caught it, surprised that it was exactly how he had wanted; thin, straight, and with no bumps or knots to mar it.

Before Harry could jump down, Draco whispered the words his father taught him to help find large concentrations of magic. Because Draco’s magic was weak from his inexperience, the locator would only be able to find really big magic, but that was okay because the only magic he was looking for came from the center of the wizarding world. If he went in that direction, he was bound to run across his own people.

“Hey, have you eaten lunch yet?” Harry jumped to the ground, cheeks red from the sudden activity. “I was just about to get mine before you showed up. I’ll get you something if you want… it might take a while until you get a real meal.”

Draco flushed, touching his stomach lightly. He’d had a late breakfast with mother before the trip into the muggle world, but with all the walking and worry, he was famished now. “I am a little hungry, I guess.”

Harry smirked. The boy was obviously starving. “I’ll go get us something to eat. Be right back.”

“Wait—” Draco grabbed onto Harry’s sleeve, eyes wide and desperate. “You’ll come back, right?” He didn’t know what he’d do if he was left alone again.

Harry turned, grabbing Draco’s hands and squeezing encouragingly. “I’m just going to get food to keep us going, and then we’re going to get you home. Your parents are probably really worried right now. If my parents were still alive… Well, people who care about each other should always be together, you know? It’s just how it should be.”

Beaming, Harry let go and skipped backwards. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back. Promise.” With that he ran off, back towards Pier’s parents and the bags of lunches waiting to be eaten.

Draco watched until the boy disappeared among the trees. Sighing, he sat back against the rock. The low throb in his arm kept him from relaxing, so he decided to see if it was all right. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of food muggles ate. Probably stuff less dangerous than food from the magical world. It’s not like there were monsters to disguise themselves as food around here.

Carefully, Draco pulled the bloodied sleeve away from his skin and peered down through the slash in the material. Huh, the bleeding had stopped. Actually… Draco opened the fabric wider so the light could reach the wound. It looked, well, smaller. He could have sworn the cut had reached higher, all the way up to his shoulder, but now it was only a thin red line about three inches long on his upper arm.

…Maybe Harry really was magical.

Smiling to himself, Draco climbed up to the top of the big rock and sat, swinging his feet idly while he waited to catch sight of the wild boy.