I was thinking the theremin might've been a metaphor for something, but I like this so much better!
Except now I'm worrying about the possibility of electric shocks. Sex with traditional instruments: so much safer (as Chris desperately tries to explain to JC during the most upsetting intervention ever.)
...
So I've had two days to mull it over, and I'm thinking I may have oversold the pine cone contraceptives. I forget not everyone is as easily amused as I am.
However:
Okay. It's kind of a Cinderella/Snow White mash-up thing. JC, for reasons, flees his stepmother's castle and runs away to the woods where he's taken in by seven friendly prostitutes who live in a hollowed out oak tree that's much larger on the inside than it looks on the outside. Because magic, I guess.
They're the quaintest, most fairy-tale-like of forest-dwelling prostitutes. They sing cheerful working songs and use berry juice to rouge their lips and cheeks and, yep, craft their very own handmade pine cone contraceptives.
Which I'm just now realizing implies the existence of mpreg in this universe, something that -- *squints at WIP* -- yeah, nope, is supported nowhere else in the text.
There's no conflict. Barely any romance. Just ten solid pages of merry tree hookers. It says so, so much about who I am as a person.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2018-12-18 05:17 am (UTC)Except now I'm worrying about the possibility of electric shocks. Sex with traditional instruments: so much safer (as Chris desperately tries to explain to JC during the most upsetting intervention ever.)
...
So I've had two days to mull it over, and I'm thinking I may have oversold the pine cone contraceptives. I forget not everyone is as easily amused as I am.
However:
Okay. It's kind of a Cinderella/Snow White mash-up thing. JC, for reasons, flees his stepmother's castle and runs away to the woods where he's taken in by seven friendly prostitutes who live in a hollowed out oak tree that's much larger on the inside than it looks on the outside. Because magic, I guess.
They're the quaintest, most fairy-tale-like of forest-dwelling prostitutes. They sing cheerful working songs and use berry juice to rouge their lips and cheeks and, yep, craft their very own handmade pine cone contraceptives.
Which I'm just now realizing implies the existence of mpreg in this universe, something that -- *squints at WIP* -- yeah, nope, is supported nowhere else in the text.
There's no conflict. Barely any romance. Just ten solid pages of merry tree hookers. It says so, so much about who I am as a person.