Books By D. A. Holley

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Official account of Books by D. A. Holley. Dark Fantasy works by D. A. Holley (The Black Rain Chronicles, The Luckborn Series, Boundless). Erotica and Gay Fiction works by Holden Cummings (Wicked Hunger Iron Law, The Hive) #darkfantasy #mmerotica he/him

At a first glance, Markus had been just as plain as the estates he kept. Look a little longer, look beneath the surface, and the intricacies were laid out plain enough. Keep looking, and the image of the man grew in volume and weight until to keep staring threatened suffocation under all that he was. He was Hugo’s only friend. His only friend. It was a shame he had to die so young, when they could have grown old in each other’s company. Could have done so much more with their time together. The Black Rain Chronicles, Broken Bonds, p. 194
In so many of her earliest memories, he was there. Sitting on the stoop with her father, drinking beers in the afternoon sun on summer days and talking about nothing and everything while she pushed her little brothers on the swing. She remembered when the two of them had installed it. It had been her tenth birthday. Lance was just a baby then. Alex was maybe three years old. Her father had been too intimidated by the gnarled branches of that ancient oak to climb into them, so Hugo, ever fearless, had taken up the task. [The Black Rain Chronicles, Broken Bonds, p. 67]
A brutal usurpation left Andrea to pick up the pieces of a broken life when her family was ripped away from her. A father's voice echoes in her craft. A mother's gaze follows her wherever she goes. The laughter of two brothers taken too soon pursues her like a shadow. Yet in the belief she was always alone is an insidious lie. One spoken to her countless times by the uncle who raised her. Her brothers are alive. They were ripped away from her as a consequence of Hugo Silvanes’ intervention. Though fury chews at her nerves in the wake of what he has revealed, a deeper truth lurks behind her uncle's confession. Concealed within the lie is a life she was not allowed to live--kinship stolen from her in the past, its echoes redefining her present. Hugo's shadow looms over her future, promising a doom like what he brought to neighboring Lazul. If she should cling to the last familial bond she has left, she might witness the annihilation of another way of life. Killing him is the cleanest path to salvation, but killing him requires becoming what he always wanted her to be. As she draws her finest weapons, artifacts from a life she thought she left behind forever, she must face her greatest fear. That in spite of the efforts she makes to reject him, when duty demands the mask's removal, his most unsettling qualities might be reflected in her.
In my reading across various genres, I've come across some really bad sex scenes. Some of them were bad because they were trying too hard to be elegant. Some were bad because the prose was flat out distracting. A few were bad enough to make me question if the person writing them had ever actually had sex before. I'm guessing you've been afflicted with a fair few bad sex scenes throughout your reading career, so today we're going to discuss the anatomy of an MM sex scene, and how you can write yours better. Chemistry: The Bridge of the Requiter To start with, nobody is going to care about your sex scene if the people involved in it are completely disconnected from each other. When we're writing sex scenes, a substantial proportion of the tension in the scene itself is coming from the connective tissue surrounding it. That's chemistry (yes, the kind I'm inclined to have a romance with). Without interpersonal chemistry, a sex scene is just porn. It's just there to titillate you; and that's fine, but it's not likely to start the lawnmower as efficiently as if.... (Read the rest at the link)
Religiosity shapes the way we interact with the world, but when a core feature of your identity is demonized, it becomes impossible to reconcile the teachings of your faith with who you know yourself to be. This central tension is what ultimately leads so many of us to come out of the closet, when we realize that we are not bad people, and the central condemnations of our faiths are not fair to us. At the same time, this downward pressure to conform, which is disproportionately placed on our shoulders, while other alleged sins are generally excused as more forgivable even as they are also more damaging to others (adultery being the one that comes to mind), is ultimately what causes rampant issues with depression and suicide ideation in us as teens and young adults. I didn't focus on those matters when I was writing this book, instead choosing to focus on the yearning of these characters for something better than they currently have, the comprehension for what it would cost them (their relationships with their families who are entrenched in this cult), and the central tension surrounding choosing love and acceptance over the mask. These themes are all intimately linked to the experiences of queer youth. We have all been through some variation of this, even if the context behind the feelings was not directly linked to being involved in a religion that actively condemns us. Sex and intimacy, then, are presented as quiet forces of liberation, and I think that's true to our lived experiences, as well. We choose love, and learn to live our truth, when we come out of the closet. However, it is a toxic kind of love that defines everything that comes before that moment. Love from our families, who believe the way to express that love is to push us back onto a narrow path which will lead us to their idea of a happy life... To be continued....
"This is my miracle.” The passenger proclaimed. “It is the miracle of life not given but made. We are, all of us who came after you, not made in the images of our makers, not flawed statues brought to life but people, born covered in viscera to be washed in the waters at the side of the path, to be wrapped in swaddling and settled in the crooks of our mothers’ arms, and nursed at their breasts. We are people, who grow and change with the seasons, who are first born with iron in our blood and then reborn in fire when the cycle, at last, repeats. And if we are lucky, we will again be born in water, when has come our time to die, then in starlight if we are luckier still, for there are just twenty three of you, and we are born in your shadow, but in us is the ability to grow, to change in ways you cannot. What a world will it be if it is populated by us who have descended from you.” His tone had turned from triumphant to saccharine, and now he spoke as if this future he saw was one of love, and valiant because it dared to be. “What a world will it be, when those who are known by the names of their instruments are but legends we pass down from generation to generation, that they remember your gifts and your teachings, but never know your cruelty or your vanity.” His grip firmed on the oar in his hands. A chill stole through him, and unlike the chill touch of Juba, it did not impart any blessings but stole away something of importance, left something rotten behind. Is this the way our descendants think? “The sea is treacherous this day.” He said. But the waves had ceased, and a grin was painted across Juba’s lips, for he knew his Wanderer had seen, had heard, in this descendant’s words, the truth. Replaced, yes, but never forgotten. It would be the legacy of the Inheritors that they were but relics of a bygone era, for their descendants could sustain themselves, and this was always Kashmet’s plan. (Unreleased Tale from 'The Book of the Earth')
For queer people, in particular queer men, belief is so often a source of alienation, and coming out is made substantially more complicated because of it. If you have believed your final destination is hell, and you'll face eternal damnation for being who and what you are, the motivation to change at any cost is overwhelming, even suffocating. To then be dragged, kicking and screaming, into a faith that objectively hates who you are, at an age at which you are able to comprehend both that you are this thing they hate, and that there are other places in which you may be treated with respect and dignity while inhabiting this identity openly, the central point of tension shifts. There is less incentive to conform, and far more to escape. The Soul Fire Festival, an annual event at which the young men this story follows will be tasked with finding a suitable woman, through ritual dance, whom they may one day marry, is around the corner. Luke is having reservations about what it might mean for his life, if he continues to choose the mask over liberation. He still wants to believe that if he prays hard enough, his sexuality will change, and he will be "normal". Dance practice, an alley outside shielded in misting rains, becomes the location of an unexpected meet cute with Oliver, who noticed him pining after him when they were both practicing their dances earlier on. (The Fire Dance, p. 30)
Five road the winds of change, and one fell. Fifteen towers rose, clad in firelight and shadow. The one who fell, bound by four. His lover poisoned by him, driven into the dark that to him was home. Ten towers took root. Four toppled. One of stone was shackled, to live one hundred thousand lives, and to take them. The prophecy of the five great heroes is known to all of the faithful throughout Etherel, but no one truly believes they will live to witness those events unfold. It is when the sons of a crime lord in Aranor begin to display peculiar abilities that the return of the prophesied saviors and the end of an era begin to take shape. Working with their parents, Hugo Silvanes sets the stage for an unprecedented usurpation, when he commits a heinous act against the people of Lazul. Seventeen years later, he seeks to make good on a promise he made to his dear friend and sister when they set out on their mission. An indestructible book has burned. What protections an ancient treaty provided to the free world are gone. Soon, the armies of the Ten Kings, zealous worshipers of an imprisoned god, will come; and Hugo will do anything in his power to stop them, but first he must deal with a troublesome niece and her allies, who intend to kill him before he can do what is needed. A new era is dawning on Etherel, and if they are as cruel as they are brave, man may well, for the first time, guide the shaping of their world. But first, Hugo must find a way to shape their new god.
I was doing some edits on my manuscript today, and I uh...ran into something that's never happened to me before. I needed to write some raw copy surrounding a character who can't wear her feelings on her face because of the way her magic works. Lots of interiority there, but that's just a contributing factor to the end result. To be totally honest, this whole chapter sequence has just been an emotional rollercoaster. It was when I was writing the rough draft, and it is in the editing phase, too. But, this scene made me ugly cry. I've written all kinds of emotional scenes, and frankly a lot of those do come in the chapters before this. It's tough, and the reasons for that are complicated; but without getting into spoilers, basically a character one of the mains views as her kid undergoes a trauma that fundamentally alters him in a way he might never fully recover from, and her friend was an involuntary conspirator in this thing happening. Well, her friend is also an addict and has massive issues with traumas in his own past that center around some bad family stuff and an important romantic relationship gone sour, which have caused him to distance himself from strong attachments with most people, especially romantic partners. Avoidant much? I know. (Continued in Image 2)
Character concept for upcoming novel.
“You couldn’t wait two hours to get blown out to the fucking sky?” Noir snapped. Her ill gotten son had the good sense to look ashamed. His gaze was fixed on the ground, his ears drooping slightly. “It’s Andrea’s fucking—“ “Calm down, Noir. Andrea’s not coming.” Malthus said. “That doesn’t make a…what now?” her gaze flicked to him. “She’s not coming. At least, I don’t think she’ll be around tonight. Hugo’s telling her the truth about now.” “About what? That lying sack of shit has never made anything easy on her. What could he possibly be telling her that wouldn’t be another—“ “He’s telling her the truth, because something big is about to happen, and he doesn’t know if he’s going to survive it. He’s putting Bartamus on the job with her and Susannah. I think he’s putting Roach on it, too.” “B-Bartamus? He’d never—“ “He is.” “What the fuck did he tell him.” “The same thing he’s going over to tell her right now.” Malthus leaned into her ear so that the other guests wouldn’t hear him. In a barely audible whisper, he said: “Lance and Alex are alive.” She stepped back and slapped him. She didn’t mean to. The impulse struck her and her hand flew at him before she knew what she was doing. He rubbed his cheek, but the expression he set on her was severe. Not angry, but solemn. “I’m not lying to you, Noir. I’ve seen the proof. That’s the job. To get one of them back.” “But then…he’s known this whole time and he…” She withered. “Oh, she’s going to be devastated.” “Don’t cancel the dinner. Everyone being here will give her time to process things. We can go to her when its over.” “You know where she’ll be?” She’s fairly predictable. She’s going to go to her shop if I know her. I’ll go with you when we’re done here, okay. We can take the back way.” “Sky Lord’s mercy.” Noir breathed.
Heinz ketchup smoothie...because someone at Heinz needs therapy
First, let me get something out of the way. Whatever you may have heard, these riots didn't come out of nowhere. Having been living in Minneapolis until a few months prior to this happening, I had begun to view this as a powder keg waiting to blow. For one thing, Philando Castille's extrajudicial killing happened just over the river in St. Paul a few years prior and Black Lives Matter protests had been ongoing. Protesters mounted peaceful demonstrations by doing Die Ins (blocking off roads by laying down in them) on I-35W and I-94, marching through the city, blocking the entrances to the Mall of America, etc., and these protests had been met with a lot of white people who viewed themselves as socially progressive complaining about how they ought to protest the "right way". This is micro aggressive shorthand for "in a way that can be conveniently ignored". I find it difficult to accept other characterizations as valid when the same people have difficulty staying consistent about what the "right way" looks like. Leading up to George Floyd's murder, though, we saw Botham Jean and Breonna Taylor both killed by police within a year of each other, and in both instances, killed in their own homes. In Botham Jean's case, the officer broke into his home and then excused her behavior by saying she believed she was in her apartment and he was a burglar. You might understand why this is a hard pill for me to swallow. ➡️