R. Cooper's Blog, page 14

and I did a funny thing. a funny, crazy, cracky thing.

Hello.

God I hope I end up writing something soon, or there will be nothing to stop me from inflicting upon you the story about how Arthur the student librarian and Bertie the dragon who fell in love and how one day after they have been together for some time, because of magic they get an egg and, no, Arthur doesn't know where it came from and Bertie just shrugs and says, "Magic, darling, obviously. The power of our love." and then claps his hands in delight because he can't imagine anything lovelier than a baby that came from the love he has for Arthur. Arthur meanwhile is less delighted because he isn't at all sure where this dragon's egg came from. How can he be any part of it? His human mind just can't quite grasp that his love helped make a baby. A dragon baby. In an egg that appeared in the living room when he came downstairs one morning after an especially pleasurable night. But his love for Bertie is very real indeed and he will do right by Bertie and what he at least believes is Bertie's child if not his own, so he sits down with his books on the pile of pillows that Bertie has surrounded the dragon's egg with and reads to it--always when Bertie is out so he won't see. But then it becomes a thing that Arthur thinks about, what should he read, what books are best to expose their baby to, and he does it more and more. Sometimes he just sits there without reading, feeling how oddly warm the egg is, looking at the jewel-like colors. He will love any child of Bertie's, but he still isn't convinced this could also be his.

Just the same he orders the house child-proofed and, after hearing Bertie's tales of his own childhood, buys several fire extinguishers. He also has the egg moved to its own room, a room that now needs wallpaper, and a crib, and several more fire extinguishers. He decides a bay window would be the perfect place to read to a baby and Bertie orders the construction of one without a second's thought. It makes Arthur feel... strange... but he blames the nesting on the magic that is Bertie when he's happy.

Bertie wants this child. Arthur hadn't known that he had either, until it was here. He still isn't sure how it was possible, no book had ever even hinted, but however it happened, Bertie's trusting, contented smiles make Arthur ache with want. Then one day Bertie finds him there with the egg, reading aloud from Lang's The Yellow Fairy Book and he can't resist curling up beside his Arthur and wrapping himself around his two treasures. He snuggles in closer before Arthur can protest or deny his embarrassment at being caught. Bertie thinks it's wonderful that Arthur would already wish to bond with their child.

"I'm not the mom," Arthur blurts out, not even sure what he's admitting to, his confusion over what people would expect of him, his old worry that Bertie would want to have a child with a female dragon, his uncertainty about his role in creating the egg. Whatever his thoughts, his one overriding emotion is obvious because his hand is running over the surface of the egg, searching for any kind of heartbeat. He sighs when Bertie pats him in that way that says Arthur has more to learn about dragons.

"Of course you are, pet. A dragon mother rules the house and you know as well as I do that what you say goes," Bertie assures him and puzzles him at the same time, because Beings never can keep their human gender roles straight, Arthur is sure. Or maybe Bertie can, and he's trying to tell Arthur something. "But even if you weren't, you would still be the father."

And with that perplexing bit of Being logic, Bertie drops his head into Arthur's lap and prods at the book. "Now go on, Arthur, please, so she can love the sound of your voice as much as I do."




I fully blame dlasta for this. I'd say it was crack, but it's kind of my headcanon now.

See there? Now oops, I subjected you all to it anyway. Crack ish commentfic for a book that isn't even out yet. What the hell, me? What the hell.

This is what not having a writing project does to me. I think I wrote kidfic. I don't even know.


Also, this universe really needs a name. Series? No, universe I guess.

Good night.

quick drive by pimpage

I haven't been on lately because I haven't been writing, and I get very depressing when I am like that, but hopefully I will have something to do soon.

Meanwhile, because I fail at pimping, I forgot to pimp this-->





For a fluffy good time!

Unintentional pun!!

I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates...

Who said, "I drank what?"


Or, completely obvious self-realization; I am not suited for interaction with other humans. No really. I knew this and yet did not know how much I knew it until faced with this idea that an author is supposed to blog or tweet or facebook or whatever to publicize shit or to make friends or whyever the hell we are supposed to do those things. But really I fail at these things. It's not matter of practice, it's a matter of a mindset that to this day cannot do simple things like understand small talk. Humans are social animals and in theory it all sounds lovely, but I can never seem to figure out what I'm supposed to say and things always take a turn for the awkward (or worse, so much worse).

Which is to say that I can't do that any more than I can pretend to feel good all the time or tell everyone what I'm feeling all of the time. Some people have no trouble merging their public face and private life, but I think my default setting is so private that there's a wall and a moat and maybe some thorny vines and a dragon or something in the highest room in the tallest tower. So since I originally joined Twitter to follow celebrities and I don't even follow them anymore, I'm going to delete that. Tumblr requires no talking so it'll stay, though it's not full of anything bloggy, mostly it's just reblogged fannish (nerdy) pictures. And Facebook? Well I might keep it up for a while longer since I have other authors on there, but I don't know that I'll be doing more than minimal updates on it. To be honest, I usually even forgot to do those. (See? Terrible at this stuff. There's a reason my third grade teacher predicted that I'd never get anywhere in life if I didn't have a secretary.)

In other news, I formatted some stories for my experiment in self-publishing only to forget that I'd need cover art. The one thing I cannot do. So it might be a while for the experiment to become public but I'm working on it. :)

Charity Fic! Free read.

Title: Different For Humans
Author: R. Cooper
For: Kristi P. who is a darling and donated generously to Shanti: an organization dedicated to providing practical and emotional support to individuals living with life-threatening illnesses. She is awesome and though she was very sweet about the prompt, I still hope she likes this.
Summary: Set in the same universe as my novella Some Kind of Magic and the upcoming "A Boy and His Dragon" (which if you haven't read, involves a world like ours except that magical Beings live alongside everyday humans and magic is almost commonplace. Also it has slutty and pansexual fairies.) Hyacinth is a radical DJ in 1961 America who is determined to make humans more comfortable around not only fairies, but themselves. This is both complicated and helped by his great and powerful yearning for his human lawyer, Walter.
Rating: Adults only please.
Warnings: Language. Sexual identity issues. Vague historical references that have been slightly altered what with the magic and fairies and all. Exhibitionism.





Different for Humans


Kristi P., once again, you are an angel. :)

Charity Fic for Shanti and Kristi P: Different For Humans 2/2

Title: Different For Humans
Author: R. Cooper
For: Kristi P. who is a darling and donated generously to Shanti an organization dedicated to providing practical and emotional support to individuals living with life-threatening illnesses. She is awesome and though she was very sweet about the prompt, I still hope she likes this.
Summary: Set in the same universe as my novella Some Kind of Magic (which if you haven't read, involves a world like ours except that magical Beings live alongside everyday humans and magic is almost commonplace. Also it has slutty and pansexual fairies.) Hyacinth is a radical DJ in 1961 America who is determined to make humans more comfortable around not only fairies, but themselves. This is both complicated and helped by his great and powerful yearning for his human lawyer, Walter.
Rating: Adults only please.
Warnings: Language. Sexual identity issues. Vague historical references that have been slightly altered what with the magic and fairies and all. Exhibitionism.



~Will You Love Me Tomorrow?~



In a crowd of humans it was hard for Hyacinth not to think of most of them as children. Even during the war he had thought that about many of them, though they had looked the same age he had. He thought it had something to do with their innocence, or perhaps just how far they still to go in the world and how destructive they might be if not properly guided.

That was his audience out on the dance floor and huddled close to the stage around him, but they seemed so young. They not only had no answers for him, they looked to him to explain the unfair and arbitrary rules of their society. As if Hyacinth could tell them why some human skin colors were considered more or less beautiful or why some love was supposed to hide itself and even the love that was allowed had to follow such limited rules.

The rules were stupid and they were ugly, and Hyacinth would not allow ugliness in the room with him. His bosses and the hate-groups of frightened humans might claim he was obscene or inciting indecency but these children loved him for how he loved them. It was so simple.

Or it was simple to him. Perhaps not to others. To Walter.

Walter had gotten a call from upstairs before Hyacinth had had a chance to question him further on why he could not admit what was between them and since then Walter had been careful to sit in his little room and leave the glass between them. But he had stared, how Walter had stared at him. He had stared without hiding his gaze, and Hyacinth had found he could not look into Walter’s sad eyes without that wrong feeling inside of him, as if he had pushed too far when he knew from Walter’s shine that he had not.

That shine spoke of Walter’s greatness, of his quiet strength. He was more than Hyacinth’s equal; Walter was remarkable and capable of so much more than sitting in a booth and making sure Hyacinth did not swear too much. It could not be it that he had asked for what Walter could not give. It had to be that Walter did not want to entrust him with himself and he could not figure out why.

There was no one to give him an answer except Walter himself.

Hyacinth looked away from the humans and scattered Beings dancing to the music he had put on and glanced around the stage until he found Walter. He was tucked away at the side of the stage, almost behind a curtain, and he looked away when he saw Hyacinth watching him. He shivered as though the room wasn’t hot with so many dancing bodies and he hadn’t rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.

He’d worn a tie to the event, and a jacket that he’d left somewhere. The same as he might have worn to work, as if Hyacinth had not asked him to this dance. With humans, he’d thought that meant something.

He had worn a shirt after all, as requested, slicing holes in the back for his wings and then painfully and awkwardly sliding the thing on. He’d drawn the line at a tie, but it hadn’t mattered because Walter had not remarked on the shirt except to suck in a breath and go even more impossibly tense.

Hyacinth’s fans had seemed to like the shirt. They were crowded around the stage even now, calling up comments and questions, inviting his opinion on the subtle changes in their clothing. Town teenagers trying to be as bohemian as the Beings in the village; Hyacinth adored all of them in their borrowed lipstick and misappropriated skirts.

He wondered if Walter had noticed the blurring of the rigid human gender lines and looked back at him. If he had, Walter was not commenting, just as he was remaining silent on the subject of the how close many of the humans had started to dance to each other during the slow songs, or what was no doubt in all the pocket flasks he had glimpsed.

There were two fairies in the crowd and Hyacinth could feel the glimmering attraction they were giving off in waves, and how it drew human boys and girls to them. Walter should have been alarmed, he should have said something. He had not.

Hyacinth could not stand seeing him so quiet and lonely in the shadows. He shifted, desperately, until it was time for a local group of girls to perform a few songs in the style of their favorite singers and then flew to the side of the stage.

“Walter, please, now I truly am sorry for how they stare at you. I never meant to make you feel ashamed. Please come out to stand with me.”

Walter stared at him, the distressed line between his eyes appearing and then disappearing. Hyacinth waved behind him, out toward the part of the stage and the dance floor that they could still see. “It’s not an orgy, you see?” Even the children trying to sparkle like fairies in their jewelry and make up were, mostly, behaving themselves.

“I don’t.” Walter looked out at the crowd too, out at the two fairies, neither of whom was wearing a shirt and despite one being female, Walter had not asked them to dress. Hyacinth plucked at his shirt and hated how it pulled at his shoulders and the itchiness on his skin that was somehow different than the fabric of Walter’s clothes. He did not understand why Walter would ask that only he cover up.

“Don’t what?” Hyacinth delicately came to rest on the ground before Walter.

“I don’t feel ashamed.” Walter looked at him and then away again. “Maybe I should, but I don’t. That’s what makes it so terrible.”

Hyacinth’s blood was singing and he leaned down without thinking and let his hands skate over Walter’s chest. “Terrible?” The wrongness was going to eat him alive.

He watched Walter’s throat move as he swallowed. “To tell you no.”

The slow, hoarse words brought a burst of glitter out of him, startling some people on the edge of Hyacinth’s vision, not that he cared.

“Then why do you?” He pushed his palms against Walter’s chest and felt Walter’s heart beating so fiercely he thought Walter was frightened. There was no sign on Walter’s face, just a sadness that made Walter frown and look away.

“Why me, Hyacinth?” Walter exhaled softly. “I’ve thought about it for too many nights to count and I still do not understand why you’d bother this much. I keep thinking you’ll tire and give up and you don’t. Then I think… I think maybe I should let you do the things you talk about.”

Hyacinth made a greedy, eager sound that made Walter swallow again before going on.

“But I never can reason it out. You have already said you’ve loved other humans.” Walter looked back at him. “It would be a mistake to ask you about them, if… if it was like this.”

“What?” Hyacinth tried to think of other humans, to recall their names. At the moment it was difficult to recall his own. He thought of his youth, the scandals he and his friends had left behind them in speakeasys and USOs. He smiled. “Of course I loved them. Those who are still alive I count among my friends to this very day, Walter.”

Walter had that look of pain and worry again. Hyacinth thought he understood and shook his head. “But that was different. Your colors, your shine, called to me from the first moment, and though you have steadfastly held me at a distance, I couldn’t help but know you further. I thought we were at least friends.”

“Yes, of course we are,” Walter answered immediately. He was a thing of rare beauty. Hyacinth bowed his head to let his mouth rest close to Walter’s ear.

“Is it such a surprise that I’d desire you?” His entire being was drawn to Walter. Walter started to turn toward him and stopped himself, his mouth close and far away.

“Was it… was it like this with the others?”

It was the second time Walter had asked that question. This time Hyacinth was unsure what he meant by it. He had a feeling Walter was asking him something else.

He let his lips graze the shell of Walter’s ear. “You must know there is only you, Walter.” He put his hand up behind Walter and grabbed a handful of the thick, rough curtain.

“That can’t be true,” Walter gasped sweetly for him and lifted his head back in what he had to know was a silent plea for Hyacinth’s mouth on his skin. He shivered at the touch of Hyacinth’s glitter all over him, that delicate whisper of feeling that humans often compared to a tickle.

“Why not?” Hyacinth felt himself drifting as if under a spell, Walter’s warm skin at his lips, the humanness of him salty and new. Walter was trembling.

“People will see,” he groaned in a strange, raw voice and grasped at the shirt he had insisted that Hyacinth wear. His breathing was loud and fast.

Fear, Hyacinth thought, and thought again of those humans who had gone off to die, and how dancing and love should never evoke the same fear as wars and murder. His human was fragile too, just as those boys had been, and Hyacinth would protect him, for Walter Hyacinth would pull back. If that was what Walter wanted, if Walter needed to wait, Hyacinth would do that, no matter the pain.

“Please not yet,” Walter begged him, as though his hands weren’t in Hyacinth’s shirt to prevent him from stepping away. “Just something, something….”

“Normal?” Hyacinth finished for him sadly and was surprised by Walter’s answer.

“Simple.” Walter dropped his chin. He was pressing forward, by small, unbelievable inches. “I want….” He could not say what he wanted.

Slow human music filled the room, simple and exquisite. Simple enough for its meaning to be clear. He listened to Walter breathe and did not press Walter in return except to say, “A dance is simple, Walter.”

Once again Walter surprised him. “I can’t dance, enough girls have said so,” he said it confidently, easily, not rejecting Hyacinth but offering a reason why he thought this was impossible. Perhaps it had been simple Hyacinth needed with Walter all along.

“One thing at a time,” Hyacinth marveled, because humans, Walter, were so different. “I’m not a girl, Walter.” He put a hand on Walter’s waist.

“I know.” Walter moaned it, with that same hint of anger and sarcasm. He had wanted to say that, probably for a long time. For all his advanced age, Hyacinth felt young and slow.

“I….” Now he was stuttering. “I just meant that maybe you weren’t meant to dance with girls.” He thought of human melodies, uniquely human words for what it meant to love one gender more than another and how the truly great love songs offered no gender at all. “Perhaps you were meant to dance with men.” He swayed, just a little, just a small step, and felt that burst of glitter and love escape him again when Walter only shivered into him. “Perhaps you were meant to dance with me. And perhaps…” the new thought was frightening but Walter listened and followed, “perhaps you were not meant to lead when you dance with me, Walter.”

Walter’s shiver this time was stronger and his breathing came harder, but he did not speak or stop moving with him. Hyacinth moved gratefully with him and spoke against his ear.

“Understand me, Walter; there is nothing about that that I do not find beautiful.” Walter’s shudders against him were like the fluttering of wings, almost like happiness. Hyacinth closed his eyes and felt no urge stronger than to stay as he was with Walter right now until the end of his days.

But the music stopped. More eyes turned toward them. Walter raised his head.

“Your audience is waiting.” He spoke quietly, his body tense as he pulled away. His face was dark with more than just a flush of embarrassment. Hyacinth put a hand to his cheek and floated, feeling the sparkling haze around him deepen.

“Let them wait,” he decreed, ready to swoop in and take Walter in his arms. Walter’s entirely too reasonable eyeroll stopped him.

“Oh fine!” Hyacinth realized he was smiling, that he was glowing, brilliantly and obviously that anyone who knew fairies would know why. He was also drawing all eyes and they would see Walter. They would know. And still Walter stared back at him as if their dance had not ended.

“But I can’t be blamed for anything now, Walter,” he sang out gleefully and flew to the center of the stage to let the human’s magic speak for him and say what anyone with eyes could already see.



~Dedicated to the One I Love~


Apparently humans could blame him for how the evening had ended. Hyacinth, twitching and flying from one side of the courthouse to another, had tried to argue otherwise, to explain the spells cast when humans sang the truth and how he had merely played the songs that his heart had wanted to hear, but the human judge had disagreed. It was Hyacinth and not the music that had incited the riot.

The police coming in to break up the party and harass people had started the riot. Hyacinth had at most inspired more freedom in the behaviors on the dance floor. Now he was stuck in the back of a courtroom and trying to remember that name of that old dead famous human who had been forced to kill himself for corrupting the youth.

That wasn’t even a real charge, he was certain. The youth had wanted to have a good time. There was no crime in that. He hadn’t forced them to drink more or dance or to imitate the Fairy by removing articles of their clothing to reveal their skin and then to allow the other youth to touch their skin.

He had given them the truth, that was all, that they were beautiful and there was no shame in what they felt for each other. He had praised Walter and let himself glow with unmistakable love for him. Simple, lovely things that should not instill fear in those in charge.

He touched his cheek though his bruises had already healed. The human children spread out around the courtroom were not so lucky. He listened to their mingled statements of defiance and fear and looked around for Walter.

Walter and the station owners had disappeared with the judge into the judge’s chambers some time ago, something Walter had asked for in a calm, authoritative tone Hyacinth had never heard from him before.

He heard it again and raised his head to watch Walter and the station owner and the judge come back into the courtroom. There were other lawyers around too, though Hyacinth did not know who had called them as the young humans hadn’t been allowed to move from their seats in hours. Walter looked out over them as he strode over in Hyacinth’s direction.

Hyacinth stood up and sparkled as defiantly as he could. “Walter.”

Walter was marked from the scuffle as well, a cut on his forehead that had only recently stopped bleeding. His shirt was mussed and ripped in places. But his bluebell eyes were narrowed and Hyacinth realized that Walter was upset. Walter was angry.

“You’re free to go. The exemptions for Beings stand.” Walter almost spit out the words. Hyacinth understood. The very idea of them was bitter.

“Us Beings who don’t know any better?” He narrowed his eyes. “What about you? What about them?” He deliberately raised his voice so the children would know they weren’t alone. Some of them turned toward him. A few of them looked to Walter. He could tell from the expressions on their human faces the shame they were feeling.

He knew Walter saw it too from how Walter went still.

“It won’t always end like this.” Not that Hyacinth was any kind of a Seer. But he had lived a long time already, longer than many humans though they seemed to live longer more and more. “In a small way I started this by sharing what I felt, but I am not ashamed of that.”

“You aren’t capable of shame,” Walter pointed out with quiet logic and Hyacinth shrugged.

“Maybe it’s like your human tailbone and serves no purpose, so as a culture we dispensed with acknowledging it.” Hyacinth looked out at the humans, his audience, the future. “I told them that I adore you. That hardly requires the police.”

“Adore me?” Walter made a strange squeaking noise, as if this was news to him. Maybe his head injury was making his thinking slow.

“Isn’t that the word? Love? Want? Need to see you daily to keep my glitter falling?” Hyacinth raised his voice again and heard a tiny, muffled laugh from one of the watching lawyers. He smiled. Oh good, someone else who saw reason. “Desire to hold and fuck and kiss?” he went on, even louder, because the judge was feverishly banging his gavel now. Hyacinth kept his eyes on Walter’s panicked blush. He looked startled and thoughtful, all at once.

“I want all the pinks and grays of you, Walter. Every shining inch. I’d marry you if the humans would let me.” Human-Being marriages were legal in all but ten states. Marriage between men was sure to follow eventually once that was legal everywhere since it was already legal among same-sex Beings, the ones that bothered getting married.

“They were on their way over to release you,” Walter relayed distantly then blinked at him. “Married?” He looked utterly confused. “Isn’t that too normal?”

“Blissfully.” It would give him the legal right to show Walter off to anyone who would listen.

Whatever response he’d thought he’d get for that, a kiss maybe, or Walter coming nearer, he didn’t get it. Walter stayed where he was and frowned. After a few moments his shoulders went back.

“I don’t know how seriously the public defenders are going to take this case.” Walter was still frowning. “There’s a stigma in working for Beings, even when civil liberties are involved. That’s why Beings are dependant on the few Being lawyers for good representation. Humans who deal with the Beings… most of these lawyers will barely defend them.” He turned around and walked back to the judge before Hyacinth could think to grab him or ask what he was doing.

“If anyone else here needs a lawyer, I’ll represent them,” Walter called out boldly, walking past the station owner, who looked furious.

“Walter,” Hyacinth exhaled in shock and delight. His shine had never been so obvious. The way would part in front of him. Seas and law books would open up. No human could deny Walter’s strength now, however much it might surprise them.

The children around Walter started to pipe up, obviously seeing it for the first time.

“And you ask me why, Walter?” Hyacinth spoke to himself, and as if he heard Walter glanced back at him for a moment.

Hyacinth buzzed with all the magic in the air. It felt like music to him and he didn’t think he was the only one. For a moment, he would swear the humans were dancing too.



~At Last~



Hyacinth was thrown out of the courthouse shortly afterward, for some reason involving obstructing the completion of duties, which apparently meant making too much noise as he’d watched Walter accept client after client as if Walter had any possible way of defending them all. Only one other lawyer had taken any of the cases with something besides reluctance.

Hyacinth had done his best to stay and when that hadn’t worked, he’d gone home to clean up and then on to Walter’s home, but Walter still hadn’t been home. By then returning to the courthouse had gotten Hyacinth barred from City Hall for life. That left Monday at station to see his watchdog again.

But Walter wasn’t there. Close to six, Hyacinth walked in to find the station silent except for the music of the evening shift ending and Betty at the front desk informing that he was wanted upstairs.

He thought his reaction to finding that Walter had been fired and that he was being kept on—with a new producer—to be very well-behaved, at least how the humans would see it. They wouldn’t know what dimmed glitter meant, or that fairy magic had its less benevolent purposes, rare though they were to see in use anymore.

He nodded without speaking or agreeing and walked into his booth for his shift and barely glanced at the sour-looking human on the other side of the glass.

Just seeing the microphone made him think of Walter. He could leave now and find Walter, stake out Walter’s home until Walter returned home, but it was not Hyacinth’s way to go quietly.

He skimmed through his records, considering songs for a moment, and then promptly at six slid over to the chair and flipped on the microphone.

“Hello, kids, I suppose you’ve heard a lot by now. Some of you might even be surprised to hear my voice, but Hyacinth is here and I’m going anywhere.” He looked over at his new producer. Then he smiled. “That’s right, I’m not going anywhere until Walter is returned to me.”

Hyacinth wasn’t old or especially powerful, but he could send out his limited magic in the most basic way he knew. Fairy magic was about fortune, when used well it was for finding things, or illuminating good people, or easing difficult situations. Used for malice, it made simple things difficult, got people lost, hid objects in plain sight, and broke down mechanisms that should have worked.

He made sure the locks in the doors to the station’s electrical room and to the roof with the radio tower were no longer functional. Then he did the same to the door to his booth. Then he took the mic again.

“I love Walter and I believe Walter loves me and for that they fired him and are attempting to silence with me some…” he glanced casually over, “frantic and unhappy and probably sort of square human.”

The phones he left working, because how else would they get Walter and bring him here if the phones didn’t work?

“Did you hear that, listeners?” he went back to the mic and repeated himself just for the joy of saying it. “Walter loves me…. I’m sure those of you at the dance noticed my good mood. But he is down there right now seeing that each and every one of you who stood with me gets protected from some stupid old laws.” He sighed. “Isn’t he marvelous? Doesn’t he shine?”

He spent a few moments imagining what he might do when he saw Walter again and then coughed. He was going to have to do this without sugar. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long.

“So you see it wouldn’t be right to do this show without him. He has made it what it was. He inspired me. So in tribute to him, until he is standing in front of me, I’m going to honor him with dead air.”

And though he had speeches and monologues to say about Walter, at those final words Hyacinth shut his mouth and pushed the mic away from his face.

He wrinkled his nose at his producer, who was on the phone and looked a little like Walter when he was being yelled at, except less handsome, and who, a moment later, dropped the phone and tried to push open the booth door.

Hyacinth waited until the man had given up and left to run down the hall and probably upstairs before he let out a deep breath.

Silence was a lot harder than it looked. He looked at the microphone again, tapped out some Elvis on the table top and then flung himself out of the chair to pour through his stacks of records.

“This one is….” He stopped himself from saying, “one of Walter’s favorites” and sighed again. This was going to be a problem. They’d better hurry because try as he might, fairies were not known for taking long stands. They always meant to, but sometimes other things were so distracting.

Like thoughts of Walter and how Walter danced beautifully no matter what he thought and how his listeners might like to hear about that.

Hyacinth came to terms with how in love with the sound of his own voice he might have been during the first hour while the station handyman was trying to unscrew the booth door despite his constantly breaking tools. He’d seemed surprised to find the tools so weak. Hyacinth could only think that if humans spent more time with Beings, they’d know when Fairy magic was afoot.

After the attempt to nicely break in had failed the station owner himself had come down to try to talk to Hyacinth through the door. He seemed to think talking equaled yelling. Hyacinth had responded by stripping off his ridiculous blue jeans and sitting back down in his chair while the man had panicked and fled.

Personally he liked his body, especially his cock. He was hoping Walter would too.

Which was what he was occupying himself by thinking about when the outer door opened again to reveal Walter at last.

He looked harried and exhausted. He might have changed his shirt in the past days but Hyacinth didn’t think so, judging from its sad, non-starched state. There was faint stubble on his jaw line, so he must have shaved, but his glasses were smudged and his hair was a mess.

As he hadn’t done the mussing, Hyacinth decided he preferred it in its usual symmetry. He jumped just the same, as if it were any other day except that this day when Walter might love him back.

“Walter,” he said aloud and wondered briefly if he still had an audience at all, if anyone could possibly be as frozen and fragile as he felt in that moment that Walter stared at him through the glass. Walter could break him, he realized. Fairy or not, Walter could break him without even trying. He only had to leave.

Walter’s gaze dropped down. He looked wrung out and already weak but he seemed to pause at Hyacinth’s nudity and take a step back. Then he blinked and looked up. He stayed where he was and closed the outer door behind him.

Hyacinth remembered the inner door. He didn’t have enough magic for much more but he could set the lock to working again, enough for the door to pull open when Walter touched the doorknob.

Hyacinth inhaled.

“Walter is here.” It was all he could say now. The silence had broken him, or his magic was all run down for a while, but either way it seemed to work. Walter stepped into the room.

“Is this a protest? As your lawyer, the station’s…” he paused, just a little saddened, “as your lawyer, you should have told me you were planning a protest.”

Hyacinth grabbed a record without looking, without caring about what it is, not even that it was from the current Top Forty. He put it on without looking, scratching the record itself with an awful sound that barely made him flinch, though Walter blinked again.

The song wasn’t terrible. His magic wasn’t completely gone. The song was, in fact, his favorite song in the entire universe.

“To hell with the station, Walter, where have you been?”

“At the courthouse and with some of the kids at their homes. Some of them no longer have homes it seems, so I had to find organizations in the city to care for them for a while before I work out anything else.” He took off his glasses to wipe at his eyes then put them back on. His eyes went back over Hyacinth’s body before he looked away. Hyacinth almost preened for him.

“The cat’s out of the bag,” Walter remarked a second later, as if that made any sense. But Walter looked so distressed. Which cat and what bag was what Hyacinth wanted to know. He very carefully did not skip over to throw himself on Walter and pet away the line between his eyes.

“Does it matter?” he asked as gently as he could. “There’s advantages to people knowing. I can demand to see you.”

“You can,” Walter agreed mildly, perhaps tired. “And you did.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Did you mind? I needed them to see….” He waved a hand. Surely he’d explained this enough that Walter understood.

Walter made a weird face. Not angry but unhappy. He huffed a little then shook his head. “I didn’t even do anything. All this trouble and I didn’t even get to do anything.”

That was a surprising and amazing and incredibly pleasing statement. Hyacinth mulled it over for a second and then almost fell into his chair his legs were so weak. He touched himself, but he couldn’t help it. Walter’s blush was perfect.

“I can fix that.” He patted his knee. “Come here, little bitty pretty one.”

Walter stayed where he was by the shelves for another moment longer and then he straightened and walked slowly over. He didn’t sit, but he didn’t do more than make a shocked sound when Hyacinth grabbed his hand and tugged him down.

Walter put his feet on the floor and sat stiffly for long moment, so still that Hyacinth wasn’t sure he was breathing. Then Walter sighed, relieved and perhaps impatient so he leaned in and slid a hand around Walter’s waist. He almost gasped when Walter immediately shuddered back against him.

“Walter.” It slipped out softly as he turned Walter’s head and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth. His hands felt heavy and glued to Walter’s body, his mouth could not stop seeking out his mouth, especially when Walter parted his lips to pant at him.

“Hyacinth. Hyacinth you know I love you. Please.” He was pleading with sweet innocence. Hyacinth kissed Walter’s cheek and dragged his hands over his chest and down to his stomach. The muscles were tense beneath Walter’s rumpled shirt but Walter did not stop him.

He shivered, but Hyacinth thought it was the glitter landing and disappearing on his skin.

“I’m sorry if I ever hurt you, Walter. But you should know you are beautiful like this.” He said it with kisses along Walter’s neck, with his hands under Walter’s shirt and then in Walter’s lap. Walter arched up into his hand in a sudden, almost pained motion. His breathing hitched into a faster, desperate rhythm.

“That’s… that’s you,” Walter panted quietly for him, sliding his legs open as Hyacinth let him push up into his palm. “Hyacinth this feels….” Walter didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to, not with his cock hard for him and his mouth open and hungry. Hyacinth kissed him again.

“Just let me,” he ordered and Walter put a hand out on the table. Hyacinth watched his fingers curl and kissed him again for the wet, choking sound he made when Hyacinth peeled his pants away to touch him.

“Hyacinth,” Walter exhaled unsteadily, and rocked up into his touch, incredible and brave. “Hyacinth,” Walter tried again, swallowing audibly. Hyacinth ran his other hand up to Walter’s nipple and toyed with it.

Walter’s hand moved, pointing before he dropped it back to the table to hold it tightly. “God, the microphone.”

Hyacinth turned to look at the mic too, at the little glowing light on it and in the “On the Air” sign above the door that was lit up.

Walter shifted against him. Hyacinth shut his eyes at the sensation of Walter wriggling in his lap and heard the increase in Walter’s breathing. He frowned, not entirely sure he wasn’t imagining it, but it was true, Walter was squirming against him in what could have been embarrassment, but his cock was perfect and hot and slick in Hyacinth’s hand and his movements were steady and regular as he rocked in Hyacinth’s lap.

Things with his Walter suddenly made so much more sense.

“You like this,” he spoke so everyone listening over the airwaves could hear them and Walter put his head back and moaned gratefully.

His skin was hot. Hyacinth opened his mouth to let Walter feel his pleasure, if he couldn’t already feel it against his tight little ass.

So this was what Walter had meant all those times he agonized over this. He was so shiny that Hyacinth fell in love with him just a little bit more.

“Shall I leave it on?” he whispered into Walter’s ear and then buried his face in Walter’s neck at Walter’s eager nod.

“Hyacinth,” Walter barely seemed to get the one word out, but Hyacinth thought it was just what he should say. He nodded too and raised his voice, just enough to share this with the world.

“Yes, Walter,” he agreed, pushing up for the first time to hear Walter’s hungry groan. The sound was better than music, with a magic all its own. “Why not?”


The End

I think I maybe think too much

Princess and Butterbean aka that kitten story is all edited and awaiting its release day. Which is in August. The 13th? Something. I don't do numbers. And Arthur and Bertie "A Boy and His Dragon" has been accepted. I don't know when they will publish it.

I should be really excited about that. But I am in that stage where I think I should have held onto it for another few billion years, which always happens to me. I hate to let things go.

Huh. Very Bertie-like of me.


Anyway, then I started watching Teen Wolf and now I have wolves on the brain again and that isn't what I'd planned to do and argh!


Meanwhile, other things progress slowly:

“You’re special, you don’t understand.”

How quickly Walter could have him flying again. Hyacinth floated closer, just a touch helplessly. It was almost shameful in a fairy in his middle years… if fairies could feel shame. Someday he was going to have to get Walter to explain shame. He imagined it as something ugly and unpleasant.

“Special?” he repeated, warm all over. Walter began to stutter. It was indecently charming. It only got worse when Hyacinth touched down in front of him.

“I mean, you’re a Being. You… you don’t have rules, or fear. You can’t get hurt.”

Hyacinth frowned as delicately as he could with the ache in his chest. He grabbed the hand Walter had left at his stomach and put it over his heart. Walter looked up into his eyes, and his were such a deep, dark blue that Hyacinth was drowning.

“I can get hurt, Walter. It doesn’t feel good, having you humans regard us as freaks, those of you that do. But some of you like us, more than can admit it. I suppose that’s why I don’t understand what frightens you.” His honest frustration had him growling like a Were and then dropping Walter’s hand to turn away.

“Hyacinth.” Walter exhaled and then groaned. “You left the mic on. Again. Because you…” he couldn’t seem to get the words out evenly, “you seem to enjoy putting me on display.” He shifted as if he couldn’t be still.

“Sorry.” Hyacinth tried to be, if only because Walter was trembling. “Is that a problem?”

the way it feels to be completely intertwined

You know like when you write a story for a thing and then realize it won't do for that thing at all? No? Maybe it's only me with random finished first drafts laying around.

Anyway, someone suggested I take my snippets and self publish them somewhere so I might do that. Just to see how it is on that side of the grass. (I suspect it will seem green, but not as green as it seems right now, amirite?)

Also I was bitch about the slut shamers and then dlasta hooked me up with a response to them.

I suck dick if I want to I love her.

Anyway, since I've been crazy busy and whiny and ranty I thought I'd try to make it up to people with another snippet of something new. This is from the thing I was going to do for Torquere's NoH8 Charity Sip Anthology...




........


“What’d you do this time to get your ass kicked?”

Chris jumped at the question. He was already shivering from the cold and shaking with adrenaline and tension but he raised his head and peered around the aura from Stanley Street’s one streetlight until he saw the shape of a boy at the very edge of the light.

Shape of a man, he should say, since according to the commencement speech that morning, they were men now, ready to face the world, or at least life after high school. Chris didn’t feel like a man. He felt pissed off and sore and stinging and scared, and he was tired of feeling all of those things so despite the kick of his heart against his ribs, he frowned and lifted his chin.

“Nothing.” He thought he was too loud, but it was at least two in the morning and the street was deserted. The distant noise of the grad party he’d just left would be blamed if anyone heard him, and the people around here were used to ignoring what their kids did.

Nicky, because that had to be Nicky over there no matter how unbelievable it was that that he’d be talking to Chris, snorted.

“Isn’t that like this town? Punishing you for what they think you want to do?” Nick’s voice was far away and slightly slower than Chris remembered it, but he hadn’t really heard Nick talking up close since grade school. He sounded drunk, Chris decided immediately and watched as the outline of Nicky tipped his head back to drink something from a bottle.

Who knew who had sold it to him. He could have stolen it since according to the rumors Nick was all kinds of criminal. The cool, scary, hot kind. The kind that good girls denied hooking up with despite how their eyes stayed on him when he crossed a room. The kind who had weed or beer if you needed it, even if he wasn’t allowed in your house when your parents were home. The kind who came to school with scraped and bruised knuckles every other day and a fat lip that only made him sexy instead of dangerous, or sexy and dangerous. Whichever, he was the kind who didn’t talk to Chris.

Very few people talked to Chris unless they were punching him and then the words were along the lines of “Fuck you, faggot” which seemed a gayer and gayer thing to say every time he heard it.

Chris licked at the cut in his bottom lip and squinted his one good eye at Nicky. At Nick. He hadn’t been Nick since they’d been kids, back before Nick’s mom had married his first stepdad and they’d moved away only to move back two years later when stepdad number two. Chris had been twelve, Nick just thirteen, and the Nick who had come back to town had not been interested in being best friends again.

Nick hadn’t been interested in being anyone’s friend. It had been a surprise to see him waiting to walk across the stage to get his diploma. Only his grandmother had been in the audience, not his mom.

“You didn’t go to Ryan’s party?” He didn’t know why he said it; it was the last thing he wanted to talk about and of course Nick hadn’t gone. Nick was having his own little party right here. He’d probably been getting drink under the small bridge that was part of the fire access road behind the last houses up here in the hills. The creek it was built over was dried up most of the year and that was where Nick spent his time, according to everyone.

“So that’s what you did,” Nick commented thoughtfully, as if they were really having this conversation. Chris couldn’t make out his expression. “You showed up.”

“Yeah.” Chris surprised himself by agreeing. He even smiled though it hurt his lip and half of his face hurt like hell and there was no one to kiss it and make it better. “Yeah. They, uh, didn’t like it.”

“I bet.” Nick snorted again. “They don’t like people who make them think about things they don’t want to think about.” He was definitely drunk. He had to be, to be talking to Chris again. Chris went with it anyway, though he didn’t go any closer. It was nice to have someone agree with him who wasn’t family.

“That’s what my mom says.” Chris glanced back in the direction of the party, blocks away now. If he wasn’t small and thin he would have hit back. Someday he was going to in some way that mattered, so they wouldn’t pick on anyone else. He looked back at Nick, who was tall and broad-shouldered and anything but little. “I just think they’re assholes. No,” he immediately corrected himself with a sigh. “That’s not really true. I know they are probably just as messed up as I am, but at the moment, I’m sticking with assholes.”

“Now there’s the Captain Jupiter I remember.” Nick slipped into the light enough for Chris to see his heavy lidded eyes and the glisten of alcohol at his mouth. He smiled a little, as if just saying “Captain Jupiter” made him want to laugh. Chris pictured them in the capes and helmets of cartoon superheroes in his backyard and felt his face get hot for no reason he could think of.

“Hey, you were my sidekick,” he defended himself without thinking and winced, but Nick stumbled and straightened up in almost the same motion.

“You were bossy,” Nick answered after a second and took another swig before holding the bottle out. “You want some?”

God only knew what was in that bottle. It was brown and almost clear in the light. Chris looked away from the pink mouth that the girls raved about and the high cheekbones and Nick’s serious, shadowed eyes and tried to act as if people offered him booze every day. But his heart was pounding as he slowly crossed the street.

Nick’s fingers didn’t brush his as he took the bottle, but Chris could see him looking over his face and seeing his cut lip, his swollen eye, his messed up hair. He’d looked like this before but he didn’t think he’d ever noticed Nick taking an interest. But if Nick was bothered he didn’t say anything, he just handed over the booze and watched as Chris tried and failed to keep his eyes from watering up as the JD hit his tongue.

“Delicious,” he croaked when he’d had enough and handed the bottle back. “Thanks.” He wiped his mouth and tried not to cough.

“My stepdad’s,” Nick volunteered in a tight voice, but shrugged when Chris stared at him. “It’s better than the pills or whippets or whatever stupid shit they’re doing back there.” He looked back at Chris suddenly, right into his eyes. Nick’s eyes were the exact shade of the whiskey he was drinking. “Why did you go? Why do you always--?” Nick stopped and raised the bottle to his mouth. He drank enough to wet his lips but not enough to swallow. “You aren’t their punching bag.”

He spoke slowly. Chris wondered how drunk he really was. He already hurt, but it hurt more to think of anyone drinking alone under that bridge.

He reached for the Jack and gave a start when Nick let him take it. It fucking hurt to drink, hurt going down, hurt his bottom lip. He hated it.

This time he did cough, only to freeze when Nicky bared his teeth in a grin. Chris felt warm and stupid and glanced at his feet.

“I know I’m not their punching bag,” he mumbled with whiskey on his breath. “But they need…” He prodded his lip with his tongue and heard Nick inhale. He looked up to find Nick still and watching him. “I won’t be invisible.”

“Your lip is bleeding.” Nick had the same warm, boozy breath and long, long eyelashes. He was wearing the old leather jacket he always wore, probably his dad’s, kind of like an aviator’s jacket from the 60’s or 40’s and if he brushed his hair to the side he’d look like a hero from old serial from history class. Chris realized he was staring, but at least Nick probably wouldn’t kick his ass for it.

“I know,” he responded after an embarrassing pause and glanced around them. Same empty street. “What are you doing out here?”

He didn’t ask why Nick didn’t want to go home, he wasn’t that stupid, but no way was he going to pry. Not with Nicky speaking to him for the first time in years.


.....



I can't stop listening to Misery by Maroon 5 and I *don't know why*. Help me!

And yes, I am working on the charity fic that Kristi P. won from me. I know you've all been hankering for a story in my fantasy universe from "Some Kind of Magic" set in 1961 with a fairy DJ pining for a shy human, right? I mean, who wouldn't want to read about that extremely random subject? (This is what I do with prompts. Sorry.)

Oh and um... I gots me a tumblr. Woo hoo!

I think Geoffrey is saying it best up there in my icon.

No seriously, why is everyone hating on the shameless sluts? Shame on *you*, you shamers. Tsk tsk tsk.

32 flavors and then some

I have a problem. I wrote a story for Torquere's NOH8 Charity Sip thing without ever actually looking at Torquere's guidelines and now I think it might not be what they are looking for. See? Problem.

Know who's not a problem? Kristi P! Who is Da Winna! And for whom I am already thinkin' about magic and banter. :)

a guy what takes his time

To get people in the mood to give (and give it *good*) a pretty -->




CHARITY AUCTION THING POST!!!!!!

Today is the day, bitches!

I am offering up my services for a good cause. I will write a new original story with a minimum of 5k words (I say minimum because I tend to go over word limits very quickly) to the highest bidder.

--Bidding will take place in an entry here in this livejournal, in this very post, because most other places will not allow anonymous bidding and some people might want to do that and I like people to have options.

--Bidders can PM me with their contact info if they don't want it public, otherwise it should go in the comment/response post, along with the amount of their bid. The starting price is $5 (exchange rates apply).

--I'll leave the auction up for five days. Sunday June 10 through Friday June 15.

--If you are the highest bidder by the time the auction closes, I will contact you and you can give me a prompt (if you wish) or not, but either way I will write something after you show proof of donation (My deadline to finish will be probably the end of July).

--By prompt I mean do you want something fluffy and sweet or something darker, or a taste for twinks, or shifters, or cops, that sort of thing. Not a complete story outline, that's limiting and no fun for either of us. (This is not a carte blanche though, I'm not writing anything underage, for example, unless you request some kind of YA. You get the idea.) The story will be dedicated to you, all pretty like, with your name at the top and everything. :)

--I might write in the universe of stories I have previously written or published but I will not be doing new stories about old characters. At least, not as main characters. :) Sorry.



Charities:

--Again, I like people to have options, so I have a choice of charities. Two local (for me) but relevant and one charity with a slightly wider net.

Shanti Shanti is a San Francisco organization that provides housing and support for people with life-threatening illnesses, including HIV/AIDS.

The San Francisco Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Community Center The mission of the San Francisco Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender (LGBT) Community Center is to connect our diverse community to opportunities, resources and each other to achieve our vision of a stronger, healthier, and more equitable world for LGBT people and our allies.

And then the NOH8 camnpaign. The NOH8 Campaign is a charitable organization whose mission is to promote marriage, gender and human equality through education, advocacy, social media, and visual protest.


The link to my blog one more time: R. Cooper is out of her damn mind

Torquere Books is also donating to NOH8 this year, and I want to write something for them, but my work schedule is crazy right now and I might not get to it. But it's a cause worth giving to even if you don't get fiction out of it. Buy These Stories



Seriously. Even if no one wants to bid on me, give to these charities, or anything like them that is closer to home for you.


Now picture me like this, diligently typing away for you on a pink word processor and debating different words to use while writing porn! Doesn't that inspire you? haha Oh well. She's still *my* hero anyway. Someday I too will live in a pink palace by the sea.