R. Cooper's Blog, page 12

still tho

Got a bunch of vellum sheets in the mail today with instructions to sign the, and to write a little extra something if the mood strikes me. I guess the first twenty people to order A Boy and His Dragon from Dreamspinner get a copy of the book with my autograph on it.

O_o

The first and only book I ever signed was a copy my sister requested and I wrote "Burn this" in it out of sheer embarrassment. (Will and Charlie porn... being read by my sister... well she probably won't read it, but still tho. STILL THO.)

So um, do people want this thing? And does the mood strike me to write something else? And then, dear gott im himmel, what should I write?

i think you're just so pleasant, i would like you for my own

Hello hello! Let's talk Berties first. Of course reading My Man Godric isn't necessary if you want to read about the new Bertie, it's just a nice option. For anyone who missed it, you can now find My Man Godric on my Free Reads page or downloadable from Smashwords. (You know, I'd put the old Ideas of Sin up there, but that requires so much editing that it's going to take me a while to even get up the energy to look at it.)

New Bertie: I have a release date, January 4. (Still in the year of the dragon even, so yay!) and it's already up as TBR on Goodreads and the Dreamspinner site *with* a cover...

It's also now officially part of a series. Or a set universe I guess. Being(s) in Love. With Some Kind of Magic and the short story Different for Humans. Woo hoo for me being organized for once! Okay, semi-organized. Okay just recognizing the concept of organization if not actually implementing it.

Speaking of, I should do something with my Arthur/Bertie and the Egg thing.

And hey, I meant to share this before, did I? It's not related to Arthur or either Bertie. It's fanart that my friend sinjah drew for the character Isabel in Let There Be Light. Steampunky, costumed goodness! (That's Isabel in the glasses, being cute and fashionable and pretending she isn't a badass) I might have posted it before. Oh well. It's pretty.

Happy Holidays, have some Godric. :)

Because it is the holiday season and because some of you have been wondering why I keep referring to two Berties, I thought it was time this went up on Smashwords. (It was a pain in the ass and you are welcome. heh).

So here it is, with a terrible cover because I am crap at art and I couldn't keep imposing on Kittie, ta dah! The original Bertie. The namesake of the new Bertie, in a way.

Title: My Man Godric
Summary: Bertie is a fool and he would be the first to say it. A fool in deed and a fool in love. For years he has steadfastly, and loudly, proclaimed his love for the country's most famous general, Godric of the South, often to Godric's embarrassment and his own humiliation The old king's bastard, and fond of embroidering the skirts he often wears, Bertie has always been considered crazy and useless. Much like the low-born Godric, he has always been an outsider among the deceit and politics of court.

But when the country is invaded by an old enemy and the rest of the court is scattered, Bertie finds himself a reluctant servant to duty. Convinced of his own unworthiness, he doesn't see the courage in his own actions, or how his outspoken honesty might appeal to someone as honorable as Godric. But with danger threatening them both and driving them apart, Bertie is hardly going to let a little thing like rank get in the way of his chance to be close to his Godric one more time. Not even an army could get in the way of that.



My Man Godric at Smashwords all downloadable and shit. :) Also still available on AO3, for those who would rather go there for whatever reason.

No you can be all prepped and see why my new Bertie *had* to be named Bertie as well.

And seriously, sorry about the cover.

Another Ficlet for Thanksgiving: Nothing That Hurt

Title: Nothing That Hurt
For: Erin on Goodreads :)
Summary: short sequel-ish thing to "Under the Bridge" set a few years later.
Warnings: if you haven't read that, be warned, they have a dark edge to their relationship. Or well, they are also sort of fluffy? It's hard to say.

AN: This is another commentfic, written in a scramble right now. So sorry for typos and things. Don't hold it against me.




Chris was staring and he knew it, but he couldn't stop and he didn't want to. Nick had showed up. Nick was in his mom's kitchen, hugging his mom, showing off just a little in his uniform. Chris studied the clean, sharp lines of it though Nicky was gorgeous enough without it that maybe it wasn't showing off at all. But his mom was fussing over it, asking Nick questions that she already knew the answers to because Chris had filled her in on everything Nick had ever written him about--well, almost everything--firing questions at him like she just wanted to hear his voice.

Chris couldn’t blame her. She hadn't seen Nick in years, and not inside her house in longer than that. Being the awesome mom she was, she hadn't said a word about the fact that after high school Chris had suddenly started receiving letters from Nick, addressing to him even though he was living on campus hours away. She'd just forwarded them to him inside his care packages, and as a thank you, Chris had given her information about Nick's stories of basic, of Afghanistan, knowing she had started watching the nightly news the same way he had, breathlessly, tense, sick and relieved when Nick's name was never mentioned.

The letters were always weeks old by the time Chris got them. He knew if something did ever happen to Nick, he wouldn't find out until it was long over. It was infuriating and just like Nick, somehow. Like a way for him to protect himself even though the lateness probably wasn't on purpose.

Just like today. For the past two years Chris had written to Nick and begged him to try to make it home for a holiday, or just to make it home at all. Chris would have made room in his off-campus apartment for him, his roommate be damned. But Nick had never answered those requests, and he'd never come. Now here he was, Thanksgiving morning in Chris' mom's kitchen, in his uniform, all dressed up and so beautiful Chris actually hurt to look at him.

The last time he'd seen him he'd been drunk. Maybe if he hadn't been so wasted he would have felt this broken back then too. Or maybe he had and he'd convinced himself it was just the Jack making him so weak and shaky. Nicky's hair was shorter, his body leaner yet somehow more muscular, but he was still Nicky, dark-eyed and handsome and troubled. The kind of boy Chris' roommate would have warned him away from. Hell, Nick had warned him away and it hadn't done anything.

Nick should never have expected that to work if he was going to write Chris letters. Chris had them all back in his apartment. Every single one stacked in his nightstand. Wrinkled and real and oddly old-fashioned. They had emailed too, spoken on the phone once or twice, Nick's voice hot and hesitant even across the planet, but still Chris had gotten the hand-written letters in the mail, pages long, like Nick took days to write them all.

"I got your letters," Chris said out of nowhere right as his mother finally let go of Nick and they both turned to look at him. His mother had her eyebrows up and flour in her hair. Nick just grinned at him, not even taking the trouble to mock him the way he should have.

"Oh yeah?" he murmured, looking at Chris the exact way he had when Chris had opened the front door and found him standing there. Chris didn't know what to do with a look like that, especially not in front of his mother, so he took a deep breath and turned away.

Of course Nick knew he got the letters. He'd answered them in the same way, learning how much international mail cost and debating nice stationary until he'd realized what a dork he was and that all Nick would care about was getting the letter at all.

It was hard to look Nick in the eye, knowing the things he'd put in those letters, but Chris did it anyway, raising his head again to give Nick the strongest look he could manage with his stomach twisting and his skin cold and his legs like rubber.

He didn't know what it meant that Nick was here. He knew what he wanted it to mean, but that was it. He almost laughed about it, because he was crazy like that, and none of his attempts at dating and boyfriendhood had made him feel like this.

"Yeah," he replied finally, watching Nicky's mouth, watching his eyes, "You want to see the house again?" It was a dumb question. An obvious question. But even with his mom there, suddenly focused intently on her pie dough, Chris couldn't make himself care. All he could think was how grateful he was that Nick was alive, Nick was there, and that he hadn't brought anyone he'd been seeing back home with him for Thanksgiving.

Nick's lips curved up and Chris took it for an answer and turned on his heel to head outside. He had no idea where he was going but the air was cold, so cold he could almost think, except that all he could think were words from Nick's letters.

God Chris if you were here… When I can't sleep I think about you. You always could make me feel safe, makes no kind of sense with you as small as you are, but there it is. Stupid right?

I hooked up with some at the airport during my last leave. He took me to his room at some airport hotel. Only guy besides you so far. Do you want to know how it was? Or just that it made me miss you and wish… I wish we'd gotten to do more. Or just what we did, but over and over again. He was good but I can't remember how you taste and I want to. Shit. Don't answer this one okay. Pretend I was drunk.

You think like that about me? You shouldn't, Chris. You got boyfriends. Good guys I bet, from the sound of it. Unless your taste has stayed awful and you're still chasing guys like me. Be just like you. You shouldn't… you shouldn’t think about me, when you're with me. Not even once in a while. But part of me is glad you do. And part of me hurts for it, wants to make you hurt. If you still like that. It's like I shouldn't want you, but you're all I want, and I wish you weren't but I'm not sorry.

Chris? Chris. Don't answer this one either.

Chris stumbled out onto the back garden path and walked around the corner of the house until he was between the house and the shed and the high fence separating them from the house behind them. Nick was behind him, flicking a lighter to light a cigarette. Chris inhaled the tobacco scent as he stopped by the shed, taking a good, long, breath to feel it down to his toes. Then he turned but he was too slow, Nick was already there, right in front of him, giving Chris that same look, like he wasn't sure what he was looking at.

"You're taller," he remarked, exhaling a small stream of smoke. It mingled with the steam from Chris' breath. Chris frowned at him, a little startled to finally notice that he was only a few inches shorter than Nick now. "You filled out in the shoulders," Nick observed a second later and Chris frowned at him for real.

"You don't like it?" He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes. Nick stopped, staring at him for a moment before tearing his cigarette from his mouth and tossing it into the cement path.

"You're still wasting those," Chris pointed out, and Nick made a small sound that wasn't exactly a laugh. In high school he might have fought someone for less.

"You're wearing my jacket," Nick whispered back, confused or satisfied or both, and reached out to run his palm over the fur collar. His hand was shaking. Chris felt just as unsteady. He sagged back against the wall of the shed and struggled to get any air at all with Nicky so close to him again.

"It was… it was cold during the drive up this morning." He licked his mouth and Nicky stopped looking at the jacket to consider his mouth. Chris had gotten in a lot of kissing practice since the last time they'd seen each other, lots of sweet kisses and hurried kisses, lots of tongue. But nothing hard or desperate. Nothing that hurt or set him on fire. "Of course I'm wearing your jacket, Nicky," he added, keeping his chin up even as his knees were getting weaker, "what else would I wear?"

"Nicky," Nick repeated, his whisper doing things to Chris, curling up inside him. Something else they hadn't done, not together, not yet.

"Nicky," Chris said again, watching Nick try to fight a shiver. He'd told Nick all about what he'd done with other boys, it had only seemed right. A torture, but a good one, the kind that he jerked off to, the kind that Nicky obsessed over in letters without apology. He just kept warning Chris away from him as if the dark things he wanted to do weren't what Chris wanted to.

Chris wished he was drunk, or at least seventeen again. Then he could be confused and horny and not know exactly how much he was offering Nicky. In the shed behind his mom's house no less. He almost laughed but it came out as a groan and just one word. "Nicky." Nick hurt him just by being, and there was nothing he wanted more. Now Nicky was here, in the flesh, he wasn't going to let him go. He slid his nervous, sweaty palms over Nick's uniform jacket and pulled until Nick had to step forward.

Nick bent his head and curved into Chris' shoulder. He was panting, the sound rough against Chris's ear, his breath hot where it slipped past the fur on the jacket collar. He hesitated, his breath hitching, and then his hands pushed under the jacket to curl tightly into Chris' shirt, into his skin.

Chris' hands kept moving, up to Nick's back to his neck, the neat edge of his short hair.

"You shouldn't have answered them," Nicky swore with his mouth sliding to Chris' ear. He clenched and unclenched his hands, tearing up Chris' shirt, not even a little smooth, more like he couldn't wait to touch him, like he wasn't sure he could. Chris shut his eyes and let out a moan that should have embarrassed him more than it did. Barely touched and already getting hard. So much for showing Nick how experienced he was.

"Of course I did, Nick. And I will, no matter what." Chris was still shaking, not exactly cold. It was a given that he would answer that. Nick should just accept that now. Chris opened his eyes again and choked back a gasp when Nick curled a hand over his fly. "Fuck, Nicky."

"Fuck." Nick echoed it against his skin, hot and angry, and sucked hard, bringing blood to the surface, bringing Chris away from the wall, making him sees stars and black behind his eyes. The sound he made had him blushing, but Nick had him aching. Already Nicky was kissing softly over the hickey he'd left.

"Yeah," Chris agreed, hard and desperate, hurt and on fire, if he could last that long. Nick pulled his hands up and lifted his head and kissed his mouth. His hands were almost too tight on his face, his breathing was too fast, the pressure nearly too much. Chris kissed him back until he was dizzy, until neither of them was breathing, and then he pulled back so he could keep on staring at Nicky.

Nicky was staring back, looking at Chris just like he had on his porch a few minutes ago. Like Chris was everything he wanted.

Ficlet for Thanksgiving. The Food Network Is Dangerous

Title: The Food Network Is Dangerous
For xelloss_poo, who asked for Charlie and Will at Thanksgiving.

Summary: Set after the events of Play It Again, Charlie and before the events of Somebody Named Will. Total fluff.





"We could just stop here. We don't have to go in." Charlie didn't mean it but he said it anyway. He had to go in. He'd promised and he never broke promises he'd made to his sisters, especially the ones he made to Anita who had always seemed to need them a little more. He was going to get out of the car and head into Anita's apartment if it killed him, and it just might. He sighed and made himself say the rest without looking at Will. "I will. You don't have to. I can tell her anything you want."

Will shifted next to him, wriggling a bit. Charlie hadn't turned the car off, so when Will disconnected his seatbelt, something on the dashboard started to beep in warning. Will instantly reconnected it then looked over at him. Charlie could actually feel his stare, it was serious and uncertain despite how Will was smiling.

"You keep saying it like it's going to be a nightmare. How bad can it be? So the food might suck. We can always eat again tomorrow at my sister's."

Charlie swallowed, trying to think of an answer that wasn't too disloyal to Ann but which would let Will know exactly what he was in for if he stayed.

"Last year she said we'd eat at three and we didn't eat up eating until eight." Charlie tightened his hands on the steering wheel. Will made a confused sound, obviously trying to think up reasons it would have taken that long to eat.

"Well it isn't like I can get picky when I can't make French Toast," he said at last, with his eyes still on Charlie. His tone was light despite how miserable he'd been at his soggy French Toast attempt. Charlie had eaten it anyway but Will hadn't been fooled. In a lot of ways, Will was his own harshest critic. Cooking wasn't something Charlie expected from him, no matter how sweet the idea of breakfast in bed had been.

"If you hadn't watched the Food Network... I don't need fancy syrup or brioche," Charlie had told him at the time while cleaning his plate, or trying to. Will had snatched the plate away and declared it unfit for Charlie to eat. He'd ended up sighing dejectedly while doing the dishes until Charlie had come up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. It was like magic how Will's tension had melted away. Charlie still didn't fully understand how such a little thing could have such an effect on Will, but then he didn't understand why Will was still trying to impress him either. They'd been together for months and Charlie thought he was so obviously gone for Will that the blind could see it.

He risked a glance over to Will at the thought. Will was studying him with a worried expression on his pretty face. Will had shaved and moisturized and tweezed--"tweezed, not plucked, Charlie" in the bathroom for a solid hour that morning, obviously nervous. For once he hadn't said a word about the lack of space for all his products and it had resolved Charlie more than ever to either find a cabinet he liked or to remodel the bathroom to better fit the both of them. He didn't think that it would be too much after a few months of living together, that it wouldn't seem too desperate, but he wasn't entirely certain of Will's reaction.

He was reasonably certain that he could play it off as a practical need if Will tried to fuss over it. Maybe he could wait until Will was up visiting his sister for a few days and have it done before Will returned.

"Charlie?" Will called him back to the moment and put a hand over Charlie's on the steering wheel. Both of Will's hands had been wrapped around his seatbelt like a lifeline. His hand was warm and soft, strong without seeming to be as he pulled Charlie's hand loose from the steering wheel and tugged it down to his knee. He kept their fingers laced together.

Charlie let out a breath and leaned back in his seat. He turned to look at the windshield wipers sweeping back and forth. The heater was still on and the interior smelled like wet, drying fabric and Will's hair product. He would have to put his face to Will's skin to inhale the subtle hints of aftershave and cologne. He suddenly wanted to more than anything.

"One year she made a pumpkin pie from scratch. The filling was green and runny," he confessed quietly. "That same year she made some sort of sweet potato mousse. All I could taste for days was the ginger she put into it. We eat late every year because she never starts on time and something always goes wrong. If she's brined the turkey at least it won't be dry, but everything else will have a metallic, salty edge to it. Once I dropped a biscuit and I swear it cracked the floor tiles. There was the time with the cheesy brussel sprouts. Or the year she decided to make Nana's tamales and rice instead and I didn't eat until almost ten. Will" Charlie sucked in a breath "Will you should get out while you can."

"Wow, Charlie. I…" Will was clearly at a loss for words. His hand had tightened at the words "brussel sprouts" but he hadn’t let go. Charlie tried to focus on that. "It's… That bad?" he asked in disbelief. "Why does she keep trying?"

"Because Missy and Katia have families to eat with, in-laws, Alicia's dad's house, and Ann and I have never had anyone." They could have headed out to Nana's where a few people would be eating, but Ann had been determined to prove she could do it. A few times Charlie had wondered if Ann was worried no one would carry on the traditions if there was no one to cook. Then he'd realized that Ann was more worried about Charlie being fed if he didn't have Nana around. "This is the first year where I won't be alone." He wet his lips and stared out at the grey landscape. "It is going to be difficult for her."

Will's palm was hot beneath his. He still wasn’t letting go. Charlie wasn't sure whether to be grateful or terrified. He felt that way a lot around Will. So far if Will had noticed he hadn't said anything.

"So you don't want me here to make her feel better?" Will spoke slowly, like he was hiding hurt. Charlie turned back to him, already shaking his head.

"No. No I want you here." He couldn't breathe at the thought of spending another year here by himself, experiencing this all alone and knowing no one else would understand. "I want you here, Will, but trust me, you aren't going to want to be here."

"Oh my god." Will interrupted him with a snort. "Oh my god, you are protecting me. From your sister's cooking. That is… that is just… Charlie that is just honestly adorable." He frowned however, and tugged on Charlie's hand again, bringing it to his chest. "But don't do that. I can't tell with you when you mean something or if…" He didn't finish, but Charlie assumed he meant if Charlie was trying to get rid of him.

Charlie let Will keep his hand for another second before he pulled it free so he could switch off the car. He set his jaw in determination and then turned back to Will, who, judging from his wide-eyed look, picked up on Charlie's mood.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Charlie told him seriously, hot in new ways that had nothing to do with the lingering heat from the heater when Will's lips parted.

"Yes, Charlie," Will agreed instantly, maybe a little fast and eager for someone about to sit through hours of an empty stomach and bad food. But he got out of the car and straightened his coat. Charlie got out too and headed to the trunk. Will had wondered what he'd been stowing in here while he'd been getting ready. When he came around to look now he let out a small laugh.

The pricey bottle of tequila was for Charlie. The wine was for Ann, or Will if he wanted it. Lots and lots of wine. There was also a box of crackers, for emergencies. On more than one occasion, Charlie had pretended to take a call and come out to stuff his face with crackers.

"Lovely," Will breathed in apparent awe. "The way you plan ahead is one of the things I love about you, Charlie," he said it easily and not at all like someone who had been thinking about saying it for a while now. But he was tense as he leaned in to press a kiss to Charlie's cheek and Charlie reached out for him without thinking, stopping Will when he tried to dash away. Will didn't look up, not until Charlie bent his head to kiss him back, right on the back of his neck above the collar of his coat. There was rain falling softly around them, getting them both wet, but he didn't think that was why Will fell against him.

"Do you want to go in now?" Charlie kept his mouth where it was, his nose in Will's hair, his lips making Will shiver.

"No but let's do it anyway." Will was all agreement and then a long, beautiful sigh. "I kind of thought so," he said nonsensically, "but I can never be sure with you, Charlie."

"Let me know how I can be more clear." Charlie smiled so Will could feel it even if he couldn’t see it, and then pulled away to grab the bottles. With only a small pause, Will joined him, taking the bottles from Charlie's hands and giving Charlie a mock-stern look.

"After all this booze on an empty stomach?" he asked archly as he turned and headed toward the sidewalk and Ann's apartment, "Don't think I won't. Now come on or we'll be late."

His day job could be a real pain in the ass

Aw, no one wanted commentfic. Sadness! I hope people at least dropped some cans off at their local donation bins? And not just the icky green beans from the back of the pantry and weird cans of spinach and such.

I hate green beans. Also mushy carrots.

Guys. Guys. Why did no one tell me Will and Charlie are adorable? No seriously. Why didn't you tell me? I was writing them all the time. I never looked at them from the outside. Oh my god. Especially once they get to their initial flirting phase.

Um, what was I gonna say here? Anyone know? I am having a vodka cran for the season. Anyway, I need to update my author bio and I don't know if I should include my Tumblr or not. Does anyone think anyone else needs a link to random fannish postings and porn that I reblog?
(Smut Monday!!!! Drunken posts! Tons of Chris Evans in various stages of undress!!)

Meanwhile, should I write a little something tomorrow in between prepping my kitchen for the big day? And what? Arthur and Bertie? Will and Charlie? Future Nicky and Chris? New kids Tim and Nathaniel? (They are ready for their porn now. Too bad the story isn't.) Hmm. Questions questions.

Want a snippet of sumpin? Do I have anything cute right now? Want a piece of something I wrote for Dreamspinner's superhero anthology thing, only then I decided I didn't like it enough to submit it? *gasp* It's like my very own deleted scene!

I should explain. My friends and I mostly thought it would be really funny if a badass Batman type superhero had a nemesis/love interest who was less like Catwoman and more like... Wonder Kitten. So it was always pretty much crack.


There was no sound, no scrape of rubber soles against cement, no creak of a badly designed plastic costume, but when the air moved, so did he, turning and straightening to see who was on the roof with him. He’d chosen long ago not to carry a weapon but his father had turned his body into one for him by his teens. He kept his posture loose as he looked over, leaving himself ready for anything even as the breath stuttered out of him.

Surprise skittered across his consciousness, surprise and something much warmer that had no place on a mission.

The man in front of him was anything but invisible. At first glance he looked like a nerd’s online avatar or something out of someone’s superhero fantasy with maybe a hint of bondage imagery. City lights gleamed off pants made from what looked like patent leather, form-fitting, laced at the fly just below the dark vest that was the man’s only protection save the tight, tight long-sleeved shirt underneath it. The sleeves were tucked into finely tooled gloves, expensive gloves, he noted, handmade like the belt hanging loosely from slim hips. A few tools hung from it, but not enough for defense or offense.

It should have looked ridiculous, except then his gaze traveled down to the boots…the boots, high, hard black leather, with mean edge in their heel, as though there might be real danger here after all.

His visitor wasn’t carrying a weapon, which meant he could be someone with a power.

Justice readjusted the several plans to escape or attack that passed through his mind and stayed as he was, wary, but unmoving. He gave away nothing, not even when his eyes had trouble lifting from that strong, wiry body. Seeing a mask was no surprise, though he noted the pale skin, the parted lips. The mask itself began at the nose and had the curved eyes of a cat and a cowl that kept him from seeing what color the other man’s hair might be, and on top of that…Justice frowned. Were those cat ears?

Great. He almost sneered. An amateur was dangerous enough, to both himself and to others, but the ones with the hero fetishes were worse. Justice was supposed to be taking down bad guys, not dealing with Wonder Kitten.

The man probably did have powers. Powered heroes and villains always chose impractical costumes. Lightening bolts. Capes. The flash helped those not “out”, with alter egos, hide in plain sight, or so they claimed, but in his opinion something simple and dark and armored was always better.

Though the way Wonder Kitten stopped to look him over, eyes wide behind his mask, his mouth still open, was a reminder that in some ways, simple was just as distracting. Justice wore a thin layer of Kevlar over his broad chest but the rest of his outfit left little to the imagination. Every contour and curve of his hard-earned muscle was clearly delineated and the only advantage that he found to the gawking and occasional lusty comment in the city’s papers, and blogs and fangroups, was that people checking out his thighs, or his biceps, or the bulge in the front of his suit never looked up to the look at the part of his face that was visible. Not one person had seemed to ever see the freckle by his mouth on the nights he forgot to cover it up and notice that billionaire and son the infamous übervillain, the Chieftain, A.G. Duncan had the same freckle.

Kitten looked up, at his face, at his mouth, and Duncan suddenly couldn’t remember if he’d covered up the spot tonight or not. He blinked and Kitten moved forward, slowly, carefully, and his outfit couldn’t be made of patent leather because it didn’t make noise, but the light moved over it like liquid as he came closer.

It was, Duncan thought vaguely, a shame about his personal code, because even reluctant heroes—he refused to call himself “super”—needed to get laid.

Why didn't I end up commentficcing this weekend? Ugh. Wor...

Why didn't I end up commentficcing this weekend? Ugh. Work drama and then editing Arthur/Bertie for their deadline today, only to lose the file and having to edit them all over again. UGH I SAY!!!

But seriously. I might space it out all week. Small snippets for small donations to the foodbank and/or Hurricane Sandy charity of your choice. Or if you don't care about that, give anyway. Disasters can happen to anyone. :)

put the blame on mame

Two weeks, more or less, until Thanksgiving, and a hurricane wreaked havoc on the East Coast of the US and down in the Caribbean. I hope everyone has shared what they can with those in need, be it cans of food, or clothes, or money, or time. I have to edit this weekend, but I might just commentfic for charity. Small donations acceptable (it's true, size doesn't matter!). And if it happens, it will be here at my lj, because I don't think GR comment sections are that long. Are they?

Meanwhile, Tim and Nathaniel are vexing and amazing at the same time. Tim is so hard on himself and Nathaniel just wants to bite him so much.

(I should explain. They are werewolves.)

link to bid on custom stories for hurricane relief

Authors auctioning stories for hurricane relief

I hope that link works.

abby someone. abby... normal.

Hello hello! I am a silly, ridiculous person so I am terribly amused and delighted that like three of you bought my little story. Delighted I say! I dance in your general direction.

In other news, I know this is bad timing with the East Coast of the US on hurricane lockdown, but I will be without free time all week so this is me, begging you to take some cans of food down to the food donation bins in your local grocery store or to look up your area food bank online (Second Harvest is a good term to Google for this) and give a few bucks. I believe in the good in you. :)

As a reward (if you want to call it that, you might change your mind after reading) here is a snippet of what I am currently working on. Tim and Nathaniel, two werewolves who are being difficult and slow and everything (I blame Tim) but I still want them to have their happy ending.


Robin’s Egg brought him a coffee and a muffin and swept out of the shop again. Tim stared after her with the muffin already in his mouth and then called out a muffled, “Marry me!” as Carl took his usual spot next to the shop. Carl chuckled at what he would probably term Tim’s tomfoolery and then took out his newspaper and shook it to straighten it. Robin’s Egg hadn’t brought Carl his coffee, Tim noticed, instead she’d sent a waitress over to do it. Tim smirked about it in Carl’s direction then buttoned his pants up while inhaling the rest of his muffin. He didn’t bother with his hair, no one was looking anyway. He normally kept it buzzed pretty short so he wouldn’t have to worry about it, but he hadn’t trimmed it since coming to Wolf’s Paw and he couldn’t help but think that the way it stuck up made him look like an eager puppy.

It wasn’t a comforting thought after a night that had almost made him feel thirteen again, though his fantasies had been so much vaguer then. He scrubbed at his stinging cheeks and moved to head through the café to get another muffin, only then Robin’s Egg appeared again with a plate of fried eggs for him.

Her wink made him blush, not that it stopped from taking the plate.

“Known a few Weres in your time, huh?” he mumbled around a mouthful of toast dipped in egg yolk and of course brown gravy. Cosmo must make gravy by the ton.

“Hunger is all over your face, sweet cheeks,” Robin’s Egg teased him, with a look in her multicolored eyes that made Tim frown and want to duck his head. She wasn’t talking about food.

“This town is obsessed with my sex life,” he moaned at her and she touched him, a gentle pat on the back of his hand that didn’t raise his hackles.

“No such thing as privacy around here, but there’s no such thing as judgment either. You get used to it,” Carl commented without looking up from his reading. Robin’s Egg gave a delicate shrug.

“Privacy is more of a human concept,” she added, then patted Tim again before withdrawing her hand. “Wouldn’t do to upset him.” She smiled without explaining that and then took off, taking Tim’s empty plate with her.

He didn’t remember cleaning it, but he must have. He licked his lips, feeling full and confused and not any less tired than he’d felt before. “Wouldn’t do to upset who? Me?” he demanded, way too late for her to bother coming back to answer him. Carl wasn’t turning from his newspaper either.

Tim looked out the window again.

“Big news day.” Carl shook his paper again, drawing Tim’s attention. “Everybody and their mama was out last night, causing all kinds of mischief. There wasn’t a wolf in town that didn’t have to be, except you and maybe the Sheriff from the sound of it.”

“From the…?” Tim started to ask but caught himself before he could make Carl’s day by admitting yet another aspect of Were life that he didn’t understand. He focused on the rest of what Carl had told him.

“The Sheriff was working last night?” Tim blinked as he took in that news, then scowled. “He worked all day yesterday. He shouldn't have worked last night too!” He was probably louder and more excited than he needed to be. A few people in the café glanced at him. Carl, however, just nodded and kept his head down. Tim couldn’t see much of Carl’s face because of the hat he usually wore, a baseball hat with gold leaves and a number embroidered on it, but he assumed if Carl was hiding his face it was because Tim was embarrassing him. He tried to calm down. “I mean, that’s his business.”

Tim was the world’s smallest werewolf and the world’s biggest loser. It was a fact. But Carl didn’t jump all over the chance to make fun of him for his crush. He was still pretending to read the paper.

“The man takes on too much.” Carl made an old man harrumph noise. “Between his job and the strays like you it’s no wonder that he had nothing planned last night, so he could take the shift so his Were deputies would have the night off. Damn shame if you ask me. If I looked like that, I wouldn’t have so much free time.”

“What?” Tim asked blankly, because he was actually hearing this. “Carl are you trying to tell me that if you looked like the Sheriff you’d be knee deep in pussy? And you a happily married man. And no one did ask you.” He couldn’t believe he said it out loud, but anything was better than imagining the Sheriff thinking of Tim as just another stray, or the Sheriff picking up the dozens of men and women that probably hit on him daily.

Carl ignored Tim’s feigned shocked and looked up, right into Tim’s eyes. “But the Sheriff isn’t like me. He isn’t like most everyone.”

“He is considerably hotter,” Tim agreed, because he was too tired to argue. Carl’s fierce eyebrows got even fiercer as he frowned.

“Boy I am starting to wonder if you’re worth it. Stop pretending to be slow.”

“Hey.” Tim huffed back at him, more offended than he probably should have been for something Carl was saying just to bug him. It wasn’t like he cared about Carl’s opinion. But Carl kept on frowning at him, like he was waiting for Tim to get a clue or grow a pair, until Tim finally scratched his nose and tried to sniff out what it was Carl was trying to tell him.

All he got was coffee and newspaper and irritation, with a mix of old man smells. He finally rolled his eyes. “You’re very interested in his love life, Carl. Got a crush I should know about?” It wasn’t as much of a joke as Tim wanted it to be, not when he was fighting back a snarl, as if some part of him was pissed about the possibility of anyone else chasing after the Sheriff, even an old man.

Not that Tim was chasing after the Sheriff either; he wasn’t stupid.

Carl made that harrumphing noise again and looked distinctly unamused. “That smart mouth of yours is going to be the death of you.”

Tim hummed in casual agreement, though his pulse picked up. “You are not the first one to tell me that.”

“Good for deflecting things you don’t want to talk about, I bet.” Carl went back to staring at the paper. Tim was about to call him on his whole ‘pretending to read the paper while harassing Tim’ act when Carl took a noisy sip of his coffee and glanced at him again. “The Sheriff is working again today, you know. Letting his Were deputies sleep in, from my understanding.”

“What the fuck?” Tim glared out the window in outrage, startling someone who happened to be passing by and looking in. Well there was one more customer they wouldn’t have. He transferred his glare to Carl. “What is Zach thinking? I knew I didn’t like that guy.” To be honest, Tim wasn’t sure exactly what Zach was to the Sheriff, since, according to rumor that Tim had no reason to doubt, the Sheriff took a lover or two every summer. Zach might be the Sheriff’s pet, living in his house and working as one of his deputies, but he either didn’t know how to look out for the Sheriff, or he was a total self-absorbed douche.

Maybe they weren’t a couple. After all Tim had gotten the impression that Weres were more possessive, well, until he’d overheard those two moms talking last night. Now he didn’t know what to think, except that Zach was a useless tool. He let out a harrumph of his own and felt about five years old when Carl shot him a knowing look. His uncle had been a master of that look, though he’d usually followed it with a disappointed sigh before dismissing Tim from the room.

“You are evil.” Tim straightened up. “Do you like to torture me because you’re bored or do you have some objective in mind?” His uncle believed in always having an objective; Tim had just wanted to be left alone. He still wanted to be left alone, no matter what Carl thought. He flung a hand up dramatically when Carl opened his mouth to answer and turned away before sitting back on the stool to wait out his shift. He let Carl call him a drama queen without comment.

After an hour of watching Weres, and a few humans, stumble into the café with dazed, sated expressions on their faces, Tim gave up and went back to dusting. He went for the shelves this time, and then started making notes on which lube needed restocking. He found some condoms too, all expired, and assumed they were there for nervous humans who doubted the werewolf immune system.

Then when that left him with nothing to do, aside from going through the cabinets and not glancing toward the window as it got closer to lunchtime, he paced in front of the bookshelves and pulled out a book at random. It was a small book, printed by a local publisher, about the history of the town.

That seemed harmless enough as a topic. Tim flipped it open and walked over to the counter to look through it. He was too tired to do much more, though if anyone asked, he was prepared to say he had to know what it was about to recommend it to customers if he ever got any.

He had the book open in front of him on the glass counter and was deep in the history of Wolf’s Paw during Gold Rush when he realized he was being watched and raised his head. He straightened at the broad chest in front of him and gasped in shocked at the discomfort of twisting bones and emerging claws. He immediately put his hands behind his back and tried to recover from his surprise.

He blamed it on adrenaline as he looked up into the Sheriff’s face, because his heart was rabbiting inside his ribs and his mouth was open and the hair on the back of his neck was definitely raised. It was so embarrassing. He was a Were, he was supposed to be able to hear leaves falling to the ground. He was not supposed to be snuck up on, ever.

His face was flushed and he knew it though he cleared his throat and tried to ignore the fact that he was pretty sure he’d yelped. “I am so smooth.” He closed his eyes and immediately reopened them at the warm exhale from the Sheriff that might have been a laugh. An actual laugh. From the Sheriff. Humiliated or not, Tim had to see that.

Nathaniel wasn’t laughing that Tim could see, or even smiling, but his expression was pleased as he stared down at Tim. He had crinkles at the corner of his eyes and his lips were parted. He was so pretty Tim almost missed it when he spoke. “You’re reading about the town.”

“What? Oh I uh….” Tim looked down and was startled to see the book there. His gaze went right back to the Sheriff, while he thought that the Sheriff looked as exhausted as a werewolf could look, and yet the soft circle of his mouth wasn’t something that Tim could ignore. He kind of smiled back, because that was what it felt like the Sheriff was doing, like in some way Tim couldn’t explain the Sheriff was smiling at him without actually smiling, and then he forgot whatever he had been going to say. “Town, right.” They were talking about the town and not how the Sheriff was hiding his smile like this, or what Tim had done to make him happy. “It’s nice here I guess.”

The Sheriff agreed with a little hum sound that made Tim shift in place. His heart wasn’t slowing down. It was kicking against his ribs like it had someplace to be.

“But you didn’t go out last night,” the Sheriff went on, and if Tim had been flushed before he was flaming red and radiating as much heat as the Sheriff now. He looked at his mouth and then into those glowing, beautiful eyes, and for once couldn’t think of a thing to say.

He managed a nod. It was better than, I stayed home and thought about you while rubbing a few out. Which, if Carl and Robin’s Egg knew, than Nathaniel was going to know with one sniff anyway. “Not what I wanted,” he mumbled instead, watching the Sheriff watch him. At least his embarrassingly puny and half-formed paws were finally shifting back into hands. Tim brought them out from behind his back, stared at them for a second, and then smoothed his palms down his sides.

“I understand,” the Sheriff bit out the words in a rougher voice than Tim was expecting and then shook his head and took a deep breath. “Good morning, Little Wolf,” he said formally and then took another deep breath and held it. Tim watched him, fascinated, okay, obsessed with the rise of his chest and the fall when he finally exhaled. The Sheriff focused on Tim. His eyes were heavy-lidded now.

“You look tired,” Tim told him, then realized how rude it was. “And gorgeous, but yeah. That’s you all over. The tired is not. Uh, good morning, I mean. I’m a little tired too. It’s weird actually.”

He should ask if it was normal. Now would be a good time, but the Sheriff took that deep breath again and leaned in to look down at Tim’s hand. He made a small growly noise and then looked over across the café.

“Fairies,” the Sheriff murmured, probably to himself, then released a puff an air. “I thought you seemed quiet,” he remarked when he finally turned his head back toward Tim. Tim gave him the same glare he’d given Carl, who was of course watching them.

“Sorry. Is there some post-moon sexy thoughts etiquette or….” Tim bit his tongue on purpose, hard enough to make him wince and draw a little blood. It put a whole new tang in the air, like adding a pepper to a dish that was already delicious. Tim shut his mouth but he had to breathe, there was no avoiding it.

Nathaniel’s breathing was becoming more noticeable, sharp and heavy. Tim kind of hated him for his ability to take in air when it was so thick with all of Tim’s stupid feelings.

“Are you and Carl in this together?” Tim wondered out loud. The Sheriff stared at him for a second, clearly lost, then just blinked.

“And you’re pissy too,” he mused. “Did you not eat?”

“It’s not even lunch yet!” Tim protested in disbelief only to look around at the growing crowd in the café and realize that it was well after noon.

“I’ll be right back with something for you,” the Sheriff told Tim seriously and then headed into the café, where naturally the sea of people parted for him. Tim stared after him, not even ogling his ass, much, because what was that?

Carl, the bastard, rolled his eyes when Tim looked his way for an explanation. How depressing was it when an old human rolled his eyes at him for being a pathetic loser who couldn't get his own food, Tim wondered, but knew the answer: very.

“I know I'm tiny but really, I can look after myself,” Tim informed the Sheriff when he returned with what was probably someone’s phone order BLT. The Sheriff paused and drew himself up and gave Tim an odd look, which made Tim remember that he was dealing with an alpha wolf who didn’t have to fetch anybody lunch if he didn’t want to.

He fell back onto the stool and took the sandwich with the quietest “Thank you” he could manage. Anyway it smelled good. Bacon-y. The best smell in the world next to Nathaniel’s natural scent.

“Just eat,” Nathaniel grunted back at him and then went silent. Tim figured that he was cue to eat now to make the alpha wolf go away. He ate, glancing up once or twice with an increasingly pissed off glare when he saw that the Sheriff looked sort of zoned out, like he might fall asleep on his feet. Come to think of it, the Sheriff looked like he hadn’t slept much in months, which was dramatic considering he’d only gone one night without sleep that Tim knew of. Maybe there was some kind of werewolf sickness Tim didn’t know about.

He finished with a defiant little burp that was distracting for a moment only because it brought the Sheriff out of his sleepy daze. He looked down at Tim and smiled, really smiled, not just hinting at one, and that smile did slow, low, shaking things to Tim. It was completely unfair that his body took it as his reward for doing as he was told and smiled back at the Sheriff without Tim’s conscious consent.

He quickly turned the smile into a stern frown, because if he was tired and acting dopey, the Sheriff was being so much worse. He had fetched Tim a sandwich. There were humans out there who would have made dog jokes.

Tim narrowed his eyes and made like he wasn’t blushing. “You should get some sleep.” Tim took a breath and gestured at the door. “Go home.” He made himself look back down at the pages of the book, and felt like he had forgotten everything he’d just learned. Then he twitched and squeaked and replayed what he had just done, because he had just outright, straight up told the Sheriff what to do. Holy shit. He raised his head and swallowed. “Eat first, I mean, but go to bed. If you want to, is what I meant to add there and didn’t for some insane reason. I am not challenging you.”

Nathaniel’s eyes seemed a brighter green next to the shadows under his eyes, but his mouth stayed soft and slightly open. “Okay,” he answered quietly.

“What?” Tim instantly demanded in a louder, stupefied voice. He wasn’t even holding the book and he still almost knocked it to the floor in total surprise. “You can’t just say okay. You’re… you.” Leaders of packs, like most Type A personalities, did not take orders from others without at least some kind of fight about who was in charge. Not according to Tim’s uncle, who had been the A-est of Type A’s, the most alpha of alpha wolves.

“I’m ready to crash,” the Sheriff explained, watching Tim’s freak out with his head cocked to one side. Tim exhaled but nodded back at him. The Sheriff had been going to go home and sleep anyway, that’s why he wasn’t mad. That was logical, even if it still didn’t make sense to Tim’s way of thinking.

Luca would have had something to say about Tim giving him orders, even orders for things he’d been planning to do anyway, but suddenly Tim wasn’t sure if it was Nathaniel or Luca who was the odd wolf out. There was a slight but growing chance that Ray and Nathaniel were normal and Luca was just an asshole. For half a second, Tim wondered what Nathaniel would think of his uncle, if he would be awed like most people and then look at Tim as if wondering where he had come from, and then he pushed the thought away while he watched the Sheriff stretch, his body making cracking sounds like he needed a massage or a good night’s sleep or both. Tim got distracted for a minute or two imagining while himself participating in either of those activities.

A massage equaled sex as far as Tim’s brain was concerned, but curling up next to a sleeping Nathaniel, that was different. Tim twitched at the thought, making Nathaniel stop stretching to bend down a bit to study him closer, as if his gaze hadn’t already been glued to Tim’s face. Tim wasn’t sure how to classify the panicked, then calm feeling he got at the idea of watching Nathaniel sleep, except that it made him hot and shift restlessly and breathe a little harder. And yeah, the Sheriff noticed. He stared at Tim with his lips parted which gave Tim a glimpse of tongue.

“Thank you,” Tim told Nathaniel breathlessly and then jerked himself back and out of reach… which really meant keeping Nathaniel out of his reach before he did something else stupid. “Why aren’t you home right now?” Tim asked him, just a little desperately. He’d just spent a whole night devoted to thoughts of the Sheriff and apparently his body still wasn’t satisfied. At least Tim didn’t feel tired anymore. On the contrary, he felt wired, explosive, ready to burst. He was going to start pacing soon just to do something that wasn’t pouncing. Pouncing. On the Sheriff. It was such a bad idea.

“I had things to see to before I could rest.” The Sheriff’s voice was getting quieter, Tim would swear to it, almost like a low rumble tuned to just Were ears. He said it like he meant Tim was one of those things. Tim’s body chose to interpret that sexually. Of course it did. The moon was still fat, but Tim was pretty sure that much Nathaniel around him would get him aroused any day of the month.

“I hate you,” Tim muttered. It was directed more at his dick than the Sheriff, but the Sheriff stopped and lifted his head. His eyes narrowed and something in his expression made Tim swallow.

“Is this about those ideas of yours?”

Nathaniel was holding back a growl, Tim knew the signs now. He’d had plenty of time to learn them, what with how the first time they’d met, Tim had looked up to see that gorgeous god-like Being looking down at him and reaching for him and had blurted out a few fears that had been lurking at the back of his mind since leaving his uncle’s home. Things like “Don’t hurt me, you bullying alpha motherfucker, you can find some other wolf to main or mount!” in front of everyone in the café.

Now that Tim had known the Sheriff for a while, he could safely say he had never seen the man look as thrown as he had after Tim had shouted that. Cosmo had said something similar afterward, while feeding Tim donuts covered in gravy, something about how he’d never seen the Sheriff look so lost.

At the time, Tim had thought the elf was nuts. Now he just noticed that even Cosmo and Robin’s Egg called the Sheriff “The Sheriff” when they were talking about him. That was weird. Tim knew his name, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Nathaniel. Just thinking about the name made him imagine saying it against Nathaniel’s skin, though somehow he didn’t think that was why the others weren’t saying it.

“No.” Tim felt like he’d put his foot in it again somehow. “No I just have work to do. Stuff….” He waved around. Nathaniel narrowed his eyes and let the silence drag on, and Tim held his breath, certain that this time Nathaniel—the Sheriff—was going to ask why Tim was so afraid of him and everyone else. But then he stepped back and imitated Tim’s gesture.

“Yeah this much nothing won’t do itself,” he remarked dryly and Tim was so surprised by the humor that he didn’t know what to do. The Sheriff immediately frowned and got serious again when Tim stared at him. But that had been a joke. Tim so wasn’t ready to let that go, not for all the serious frowns in the world.

“Did you make a joke? Is this what you’re like when you’re tired? You get smiley and funny?”

He caught a glimpse of the Sheriff’s mouth as tightened into an unhappy line and then Carl said, “Boy” in a warning tone, as if Tim had done something else wrong. He opened his mouth to taste the bruised scent in the air and turned a confused look on at the Sheriff. But for once the Sheriff didn’t seem to feel like explaining.

Maybe, Tim thought quickly, maybe he wasn’t supposed to crack jokes to the wolf who ran the town. There was a mayor, sure, and a town council with a fairy and some humans on it, but everyone knew that wasn’t how Weres worked, and it wasn’t who they would answer to, ultimately. Maybe it was like those old medieval laws banning jokes at the king’s expense.

But air didn’t taste like ego, and if wounded pride had a look it wasn’t how the Sheriff put his shoulders back and stood away from the counter. He had been leaning against it, Tim realized suddenly, at ease and sleepy and relaxed against the counter and now he wasn’t anymore. Tim looked from the Sheriff to Carl.

“I have a big mouth,” he whispered, not looking at Carl, and not even sure why he said it because obviously he couldn’t shut up when he should. It was his defining trait aside from his size. “I talk too much, but you…” It seemed wrong to imply that the Sheriff had his feelings hurt and was hiding it, and yet Carl was looking at him now like Tim could vaguely recall his mother looking at him when he’d been six and had accidentally knocked over a human child and sent the poor kid flying into the pavement.

“Well if you’re talking like that, you must be fine now. The food did its job.” The Sheriff flat out ignored what Tim was trying to say and Tim scowled for no reason at all. The Sheriff continued on, all of the sudden as talkative as Tim usually was. “Hopefully those books will convince you to take part in our summer festivals. You will be busy in here, but you should have time to have fun too. The August Moon Fair… that… you should see that one.”

“Okay,” Tim agreed blankly, still trying to figure out where the relaxed Sheriff from a few minutes ago had gone. He hadn’t thought the man’s shoulders could get any straighter, but he pulled them back even more and gave Tim a stiff nod.

“That’s good.” He unbent enough to glance at Carl again, who was an unabashed voyeur, and then gave Tim another nod. “Tim,” he paused, “remember if you have any questions you can always ask me.’”

Carl snorted but quickly looked back at his newspaper when Tim and the Sheriff both shot him a glare.

“Okay,” Tim said again a second later, though his own personal alpha sheriff tour guide through a sex crazed town might actual kill him from the loss of blood to his brain.

At his answer, the Sheriff inhaled then turned on his heels with no warning and went over to grab his lunch from Robin’s Egg. It was To Go, so he’d been telling the truth about being on his way home, but he had to stop on his way out to talk to someone Tim didn’t know. He put one hand on the door to hold it open and then put it on the other person’s shoulder as they were talking.

They were talking about parking tickets. Tim eavesdropped and didn’t pretend otherwise, not with Carl the peeper still watching him. After listening for a while—without agreeing to do anything to get rid of the tickets, Tim noticed—the Sheriff left, heading toward the station and probably his truck. He sighed as he left, a slow, tired sound, and didn’t look back this time.

Tim watched him until he was gone and then collapsed onto the stool and looked at the pages of the book without seeing a single word.

“Tired?” Carl asked innocently. Tim flipped him off without looking up, then frowned and nodded.

“Yeah actually,” he admitted and Carl snorted again. Tim considered him for a good long while. “Since you have all the answers,” Tim sighed at him when he’d had enough considering, “how pathetic am I?”

“Want an honest answer?” Carl waggled his eyebrows. Tim gave him his best fierce stare then jumped in shock when Carl broke eye contact first to mess with his newspaper.

Tim watched him, thinking about the reports of wolf antics that had to be in there, and then wondering again why the effects of gravity should do such things to Weres. But he didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer and Carl seemed nervous. Tim didn’t want to know about things that would make a tough old guy like Carl nervous, so he slumped over the counter and stared out the window.

“It’s going to be a long day,” he whined to himself. Carl must have been feeling less anxious, because he snickered. Tim opened his mouth enough to show him a hint of fang. Carl grunted but shut up, so Tim didn’t feel even a little guilty about it.