Book Blast – Earnest Ink by Alex Hall

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Earnest Ink

Author: Alex Hall

Publisher: Nine Star Press

Published: October 14, 2019

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Genre/s: Queer Spec Fic, Sci-Fi/Fantasy, Thriller/Suspense

Trope/s: Found family

Themes: Mystery/adventure

Heat Rating:  1 flame

Orientation: Asexual, Pansexual

Identity: Cisgender, Trans

Warning: Depictions of Trauma, Blood, Violence, Murder,

Eating disorders, Body hatred, Transphobia, PTSD, War

Length: 72 100 words/244 pages

It is a standalone book.

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Blurb 

While twenty-year-old FTM Hemingway is making an excellent living as a tattoo artist in a near-future version of Hell’s Kitchen, the rest of the country is splintered and struggling in the wake of a war gone on for too long. Technology has collapsed, borders rise and fall overnight, and magic has awakened without rhyme, reason, or rule, turning average unwitting citizens into wielders of strange and specific strands of magic.

Hemingway’s particular brand of magic has made him a household name. Not only is he a talented artist, but his work comes to life. Literally.

When NYC’s most infamous serial killer—the East River Ripper—abducts Hemingway’s best friend, Grace, he has only days to save her. Hemingway teams up with his stoic cop roommate to hunt for the killer and rescue Grace before she becomes the Ripper’s latest victim. But as the duo chase clues to the serial killer’s identity, Hemingway begins to fear the magic he and the Ripper share might eventually corrupt him too. 

 

Buy Links

NineStar Press  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Smashwords  |  B&N  | Kobo

 

Excerpt 

Earnest Ink

Alex Hall © 2019

All Rights Reserved

I work without speaking because that’s the way I prefer it. The vibration of my machine, the softer buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, the tap of my foot on the pedal—it’s the best music in the world.

When I hit a ticklish spot, the girl I’m working on gasps, jolting in my chair.

“Don’t move,” I say. And then, with a salesman’s false cheer: “Almost done!”

The girl is sweating down the crook of her neck. She’s got silver glitter paint on her eyelids and cheeks, a new fashion trend I just can’t quite get behind. Under my lights the mix of perspiration and makeup looks like a blurry constellation.

She wanted a bee inked onto her collarbone, one of those tiny honeybees you find on good tequila bottles. Easily done, and she met the cash requirement. She’s eager, nervous, and breathing in and out in little puffs.

I can’t remember her name, but that’s fine. Customer relations is Eric’s job.

There’s another kid leaning over my glass counter, watching eagerly as I work. “Does it hurt?” he asks. “When the magic happens?”

The bee’s fat yellow thorax wriggles from side to side as it begins to wake, fighting the pressure of my needle, hungry for life.

“It looks like it hurts,” the kid says. I ignore him.

One minute more and—thanks to my peculiar magic—this bee will fly free.

I’m perched on a swivel stool, a wet paper towel in my hand to wipe away ink. It’s too hot in my studio, even with the industrial fans whirling overhead and the door propped wide open. Evening light slants in through the door and the north-facing, floor-to-ceiling window panes that look out onto West Forty-Sixth. It’s muggy, too warm for New York in October, and all of Hell’s Kitchen is wilting, including my client.

“What does it feel like?” the kid demands. He’s leaving greasy fingerprints on the surface of the glass as he strains to get a better look at what I’m doing. I study him out the corner of my eye, wiping sweat off my nose with the back of my wrist before it drips on my customer. He looks like one of the street punks who have taken to running in packs near the cruise terminals, sleeping in old, abandoned cargo containers and panhandling up and down the marina.

He’s skinny and tall, hair dyed an unsettling violet and styled into spikes all over his head. He’s got a silver ring in his septum and more hoops in his ears; his eyelashes are coated with purple mascara to match his hair. Green glitter paint sparkles on his lids. His T-shirt and jeans are torn and dirty, and he’s got a pack of black-market cigarettes rolled into one sleeve against his upper arm.

 

 

 About the Author 

Sarah Remy/Alex Hall is a nonbinary, animal-loving, proud gamer Geek.

Their work can be found in a variety of cool places, including HarperVoyager, EDGE and NineStar Press

 

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Twitter: @sarahremywrites 

 

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New Release – Finding Trix by L.M. Brown #KindleUnlimited

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Finding Trix

Author: L.M. Brown

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Sheri McGathy

Release Date: June 7, 2019

Genre/s: Sci-fi M/M/M Romance

Trope/s: One-night stand, MPreg

Themes: Bound mates

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 71 000 words/ 205 pages

It is a standalone story.

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link

Amazon US 

Amazon UK

 

 

 

Blurb

Trix is one of many felines who sells his body on the Pleasure Station, a space station devoted to entertainment, gambling, and the pleasures of the flesh. He’d never intended to spend his life there, but the place offers him security, regular cream, and over time it has become his home.

As a dual-gendered feline, Trix knows the risk of pregnancy is high, and sets his prices equally high to discourage customers. Trix never imagines that Delta, a canine with credits to spare will call his bluff.

When Delta pays for himself and Farron, a naïve avian from the swan clan, to spend the night with Trix, the three of them forge an unexpected bond, one that leaves Trix pregnant.

As a swan avian, Farron is incapable of being unfaithful to his mate, even when the bond is only partially formed. To complete the mating ritual, Farron must find Trix before the babies are born, or the bond will break forever, and Farron will be forced to live a life of celibacy.

When the Pleasure Station falls under new ownership, and the humans ban prostitution, Trix is left homeless. Upon hearing about this, Delta too races back to find Trix.

Both Farron and Delta arrive too late. Trix has vanished and the race is on to find him before he gives birth. Only then will they know if the bond they formed on their first night is strong enough to last a lifetime.

 

Excerpt

Two games in and Trix heard the voice of one of the more annoying felines working at the Pleasure Station. Like Trix, Brak was a working whore with a preference for male cocks. He was also a bigot, and for some reason had issues with dual-gendered felines. Which meant he had issues with Trix.

“What are you doing working the tables Trixi?” Brak asked.

Trix hissed at him, ignoring the question. He’d give his right testicle to know who had told Brak his parents had named him Trixi. He hadn’t told anyone that since he’d left Furyne. He supposed someone must have recognised him while passing through.

“Trixi?” the swan avian asked. “Isn’t that a female name?”

Trix sighed. Because the avian was a customer, Trix was obliged to answer his question. “Yes, it is.”

“Why do you have a feminine name?”

“My father thought my name should reflect what I am.”

“What do you mean?”

Brak laughed as he leaned on the table. “Trixi isn’t a male,” he stage-whispered.

Trix dealt the next round of cards as his face heated, more with fury than embarrassment.

“He looks male,” the avian replied. “Are you sure?”

The canine snorted. “He is male. He’s also sitting right there and getting more pissed off by the minute.”

Trix hadn’t realised his annoyance was so obvious. He’d thought he was hiding it quite well.

“I’m sorry,” the avian offered. “I’m not from around here.”

“That’s obvious,” the canine replied. “What our uninvited guest here is hinting, is that Trix is dual-gendered.”

From the confusion on the avian’s face, that didn’t help explain matters for him.

Thankfully for Trix, Brak was there to open his big mouth and clarify things in his own special way. “Trixi has a cock and a pussy, which means he can literally fuck himself.”

“Actually, no, we can’t do that,” Trix pointed out with a hiss of anger. He usually didn’t bother to correct Brak, but this avian was hanging on his every word and looked naive enough to believe him. “It just means I have both male and female sex organs.”

The canine smirked at him. “That’s not quite all it means, is it?”

Trix noticed the falcons collecting their credits and leaving the table. Damn. Valerie was going to be annoyed with him for driving away her players.

“What else does it mean?” the avian asked.

Trix sighed. “It means I can carry a litter of babies.”

Brak laughed. “During which time, Trixi becomes a female.”

“I do not!” Damn it, why couldn’t Brak go annoy someone else? And why was he even bothering to explain all this to some ignorant avian? “I’m dual-gendered whether I’m pregnant or not. It’s just a little more obvious when someone like me is pregnant.”

“How obvious?” the avian asked.

The canine snorted and shook his head. “Are you really that stupid?”

“I…”

“He’ll get a nice big pregnant belly and grow breasts so he can feed the babies. There are probably other signs too, but those are the obvious ones.”

“Not that real males want to have anything to do with his kind,” Brak added. “You have to feel sorry for them, really.”

“I don’t need your false sympathy,” Trix snarled, at the same time the avian asked why.

Brak ignored Trix to focus on the question. “It’s like this, you see. For those who prefer the female form, hard chests and cocks aren’t what they’re looking for. Yet for those who desire males, they run the risk of accidentally shoving their cocks into the wrong hole.” He gave an exaggerated shudder as though the very thought of a vagina was repulsive to him. “Imagine, you’ve got to know him, you’re just getting intimate, then you slip your fingers between his legs only to find he’s really a mutant.”

Trix hissed across the table. “Did you really just call me a mutant?”

Brak shrugged. “Are you telling me that you’ve never had a customer recoil from you after discovering what you are?”

The sad truth was that he couldn’t. It had happened all too often, as Brak was well aware. While those who preferred females gave him a wide berth, the ones who preferred males could be particularly cruel with their rejections. Brak wasn’t the only one who believed Trix wasn’t a real male and refused to accept his gender identity because of his bigoted beliefs.

About the Author

L.M. Brown is an English writer of gay romances. She believes mermen live in the undiscovered areas of the ocean. She believes life exists on other planets. She believes in fairy tales, magic, and dreams. Most of all, she believes in love.

When L.M. Brown isn’t bribing her fur babies for control of the laptop, she can usually be found with her nose in a book.

 

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Blog Tour – The Hierophant’s Daughter by M. F. Sullivan

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: The Hierophant’s Daughter (The Disgraced Martyr Trilogy)

Author: M. F. Sullivan

Publisher: Painted Blind Publishing

Cover Artist: Nuno Moreira

Genre/s: LGBTQ Cyberpunk/Horror, Sci-fi/Fantasy (Adult)

Heat Rating: 1 flame (A romantic relationship between the couple but no intimate scenes or sexual situations are described in the book. The book fades-to-black before any love scene).

Length:  approx. 100k words/ 298 paperback pages

It is Book I of The Disgraced Martyr Trilogy

Release Date: May 19, 2019

Add on Goodreads

Dive into the first volume of a bleak cyberpunk tahgmahr you can’t afford to miss. What would you sacrifice to survive?

 

Blurb

By 4042 CE, the Hierophant and his Church have risen to political dominance with his cannibalistic army of genetically modified humans: martyrs. In an era when mankind’s intergenerational cold wars against their long-lived predators seem close to running hot, the Holy Family is poised on the verge of complete planetary control. It will take a miracle to save humanity from extinction.

It will also take a miracle to resurrect the wife of 331-year-old General Dominia di Mephitoli, who defects during martyr year 1997 AL in search of Lazarus, the one man rumored to bring life to the dead. With the Hierophant’s Project Black Sun looming over her head, she has little choice but to believe this Lazarus is really all her new friends say he is–assuming he exists at all–and that these companions of hers are really able to help her. From the foulmouthed Japanese prostitute with a few secrets of her own to the outright sapient dog who seems to judge every move, they don’t inspire a lot of confidence, but the General has to take the help she can get.

After all, Dominia is no ordinary martyr. She is THE HIEROPHANT’S DAUGHTER, and her Father won’t let her switch sides without a fight. Not when she still has so much to learn.

The dystopic first entry of an epic cyberpunk trilogy, THE HIEROPHANT’S DAUGHTER is a horror/sci-fi adventure sure to delight and inspire adult readers of all stripes.

 

Buy Links – Pre-Order here

Amazon US 

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

 

Excerpt

The Flight of the Governess

The Disgraced Governess of the United Front was blind in her right eye. Was that blood in the left, or was it damaged, too? The crash ringing in her ears kept her from thinking straight. Of course her left eye still worked: it worked well enough to prevent her from careening into the trees through which she plunged. Yet, for the tinted flecks of reality sometimes twinkling between crimson streaks, she could only imagine her total blindness with existential horror. Would the protein heal the damage? How severely was her left eye wounded? What about the one she knew to be blind—was it salvageable? Ichigawa could check, if she ever made it to the shore.

She couldn’t afford to think that way. It was a matter of “when,” not of “if.” She would never succumb. Neither could car accident, nor baying hounds, nor the Hierophant himself keep her from her goal. She had fourteen miles to the ship that would whisk her across the Pacific and deliver her to the relative safety of the Risen Sun. Then the Lazarene ceremony would be less than a week away. Cassandra’s diamond beat against her heart to pump it into double time, and with each double beat, she thought of her wife (smiling, laughing, weeping when she thought herself alone) and ran faster. A lucky thing the Governess wasn’t human! Though, had she remained human, she’d have died three centuries ago in some ghetto if she’d lived past twenty without becoming supper. Might have been the easier fate, or so she lamented each time her mind replayed the crash of the passenger-laden tanque at fifth gear against the side of their small car. How much she might have avoided!

Of course—then she never would have known Cassandra. That made all this a reasonable trade. Cold rain softened the black earth to the greedy consistency of clay, but her body served where her eyes failed. The darkness was normally no trouble, but now she squinted while she ran and, under sway of a dangerous adrenaline high, was side-swiped by more than one twisting branch. The old road that was her immediate goal, Highway 128, would lead her to the coast of her favorite Jurisdiction, but she now had to rediscover that golden path after the crash’s diversion. In an effort to evade her pursuers, she had torn into a pear orchard without thought of their canine companions. Not that the soldiers of the Americas kept companions like Europa’s nobles. These dogs were tools. Well-honed, organic death machines with a cultivated taste for living flesh, whether martyr or human. The dogs understood something that most had forgotten: the difference between the two was untenable. Martyrs could tell themselves they were superior for an eternity, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the so-called master race and the humans they consumed were the same species.

That was not why Cassandra had died, but it hadn’t contributed to their marital bliss. And now, knowing what she did of the Hierophant’s intentions—thinking, always, what Cassandra would have said—the Governess pretended she was driven by that ghost, and not by her own hopelessness. Without the self-delusion, she was a victim to a great many ugly thoughts, foremost among them being: Was the fear of life after her wife’s death worth such disgrace? A death sentence? Few appreciated what little difference there was between human and martyr, and fewer cared, because caring was fatal. But she was a part of the Holy Family. Shouldn’t that have been all that mattered? Stunning how, after three centuries, she deserved to be treated no better than a human. Then again, there was nothing quite like resignation from one’s post to fall in her Father’s estimate. Partly, he was upset by her poor timing—she did stand him up at some stupid press event, but only because she hoped it would keep everybody occupied while she got away. In that moment, she couldn’t even remember what it was. Dedicating a bridge? Probably. Her poor head, what did the nature of the event matter when she was close to death?

That lapse in social graces was not the reason for this hunt. He understood that more lay behind her resignation than a keening for country life. Even before he called her while she and the others took the tanque to the coast, he must have known. Just like he must have known the crash was seconds from happening while he chatted away, and that the humans in her company, already nervous to be within a foot of the fleeing Governess, were doomed.

Of the many people remaining on Earth, those lumped into the group of “human” were at constant risk of death, mutilation, or—far worse—unwilling martyrdom. This meant those humans lucky enough to avoid city-living segregation went to great lengths to keep their private properties secure. Not only houses but stables. The Disgraced Governess found this to be true of the stables into which she might have stumbled and electrocuted herself were it not for the bug zaps of rain against the threshold’s surface. Her mind made an instinctive turn toward prayer for the friendliness of the humans in the nearby farmhouse—an operation she was quick to abort. In those seconds (minutes?) since the crash, she’d succeeded in reconstructing the tinted windows of the tanque and a glimpse of silver ram’s horns: the Lamb lurked close enough to hear her like she spoke into his ear. It was too much to ask that he be on her side tonight.

Granted, the dogs of the Lamb were far closer, and far more decisive about where their loyalties stood. One hound sank its teeth into her ankle, and she, crying out, kicked the beast into its closest partner with a crunch. Slower dogs snarled outrage in the distance while the Disgraced Governess ran to the farmhouse caught in her left periphery. The prudent owners, to her frustration, shuttered their windows at night. Nevertheless, she smashed her fist against the one part of the house that protruded: the doorbell required by the Hierophant’s “fair play” dictatum allowing the use of electronic barriers. As the humans inside stumbled out of bed in response to her buzzing, the Disgraced Governess unholstered her antique revolver and unloaded two rounds into the recovered canines before they were upon her. The discharge wasn’t a tip-off she wanted to give to the Lamb and her other pursuers, but it hastened the response of the sleeping farmers as the intercom crackled to life.

“Who is it?” A woman’s voice, quivering with an edge of panic.

“My name is Dominia di Mephitoli: I’m the former Governess of the United Front, and I need to borrow a horse. Please. Don’t let me in. Just drop the threshold on your stables.”

“The Governess? I’m sorry, I don’t understand. The Dominia di Mephitoli, really? The martyr?”

“Yes, yes, please. I need a horse now.” Another dog careened around the corner and leapt over the bodies of his comrades with such grace that she wasted her third round in the corpses. Two more put it down as she shouted into the receiver. “I can’t transfer you any credits because they’ve frozen my Halcyon account, but I’ll leave you twenty pieces of silver if you drop the threshold and loan me a horse. You can reclaim it at the docks off Bay Street, in the township of Sienna. Please! He’ll kill me.”

“And he’ll be sure to kill us for helping you.”

“Tell him I threatened you. Tell him I tricked you! Anything. Just help me get away!”

“He’ll never believe what we say. He’ll kill me, my husband, our children. We can’t.”

“Oh, please. An act of mercy for a dying woman. Please, help me leave. I can give you the name of a man in San Valentino who can shelter you and give you passage abroad.”

“There’s no time to go so far south. Not as long as it takes to get across the city.”

It had been ten seconds since she’d heard the last dog. That worried her. With her revolver at the ready, she scanned the area for something more than the quivering roulette blotches swelling in her right eye. Nothing but the dead animals. “He’ll kill you either way. For talking to me, and not keeping me occupied until his arrival. For knowing that there’s disarray in his perfect land. He’ll find a reason, even if it only makes sense to him.”

The steady beat of rain pattered out a passive answer. On the verge of giving up, Dominia stepped back to ready herself for a fight—and the house’s threshold dropped with an electric pop. The absent mauve shimmer left the façade bare. How rare to see a country place without its barrier! A strange thing. Stranger for the front door to open; she’d only expected them to do away with the threshold on the stables.

But, rather than the housewife she’d anticipated, there stood the Hierophant. Several bleak notions clicked into place.

One immaculate gray brow arched. “Now, Dominia, that’s hardly fair. Knowledge of your disgrace isn’t why I’ll kill them. The whole world will know of it tomorrow morning. You embarrassed me by sending your resignation, rather than making the appearance I asked of you, so it is only fair I embarrass you by rejecting your resignation and firing you publicly. No, my dear. I will kill these fine people to upset you. In fact, Mr. McLintock is already dead in the attic. A mite too brave. Of course”—he winked, and whispered in conspiracy—“don’t tell them that.”

“How did you know I’d come here?”

“Such an odd spurt of rain tonight. Of all your Jurisdictions, this one is usually so dry this time of year! Won’t you come in for tea? Mrs. McLintock brews a fine pot. But put that gun away. You’re humiliating yourself. And me.”

About the Author

M.F. Sullivan is the author of Delilah, My Woman, The Lightning Stenography Device, and a slew of plays in addition to the Trilogy. She lives in Ashland, Oregon with her boyfriend and her cat, where she attends the local Shakespeare Festival and experiments with the occult.

Find more information about her work (and plenty of free essays) here. 

 

 

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Blog Tour – Kickstarter for Themensha Graphic Novel Project by MxKnowitall #kickstarter #graphicnovel #dementia #LGBT #artist

 

BLOG TOUR

JUNE 1 – 10

Book Title:   Themensha

Author/Artist:  MxKnowitall (a pen name of Morven Moeller)

Publisher:  Dreampunk Press

Genre/s: SciFi/Fantasy, Slice-of-Life, LGBT, Speculative Fiction, Fiction for a Cause.

Estimated Length: 120  pages

Themensha is a graphic novel written and drawn by a young artist in memory of their grandmother and for Dementia Awareness. Morven Moeller (pen name MxKnowitall) is the author and an artist who creates gender non-conforming art. The book is based on real events and in memory of their grandmother.  It’s about a grandmother with Dementia/Alzheimer’s and her interactions and legacy left on her transgender/non-binary grandchild. People will ‘pre-order’ the book through the Kickstarter for the first run. The publisher said they’d double the print run for anything over 100 orders. The author plans to sell any additional books in the Dreampunk Press online store or in-person at conventions (which they go to regularly to sell their artwork).  Morven is hoping for at least 60 pre-orders, or even better, 250 because it’ll be a better print quality. However unlike other pre-orders, these will cost the same as the actual book, $12 (plus shipping).

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Blurb

Themensha explores the themes of dementia, Alzheimer’s disease, LGBT acceptance, family, and purpose.  Follow Leigh through the last month of their gramma’s life, where they find emotional strength, insecurity, and purpose.

KICKSTARTER BLURB

The purpose of this Blog Tour is to promote the Kickstarter project running from June 1 – July 1.

PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT AND RECEIVE

AN EBOOK,  SIGNED PAPERBACK,

DIGITAL ART PACK, OR FOIL POSTER PACK

depending on how much you pledge.

See the link for more details

THE KICKSTARTER LINK  

Excerpt

“It’s sad, but it’s okay that it’s sad.  Because my love from my gramma becomes compassion for others in need.  Because my love for my gramma becomes advice for a friend. Because my love for my gramma becomes a new closeness to others.  And it’s love like that that heals and mends and brings us together. So, not a drop of my love from my gramma is wasted.”

A black and white page from the graphic novel

About the Author

MxKnowitall, aka Morven Moeller, is a young artist out of Hampton Roads Area of Virginia. They are agender, preferring they/them pronouns, however they don’t consider that a huge part of their identity and other pronouns are also acceptable.  They have a degree in Applied Mathematics and are finishing graduate study in Mission Analysis and Engineering. This may seem somewhat peculiar, but most things about Morven are peculiar. They have multiple LGBT novellas spanning from middle-grade to new adult genres and currently eat a lot of rice and veggies due to a cacophony of medically-necessitated dietary restrictions. They are a huge anime and animation fan, and that appreciation is often an influence on their work. Their interests often include LGBT topics, autism awareness, anime fandom, fanfiction, and their loving friends and family.

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