R. Cooper's Blog, page 9

July 10, 2014

Right, so, who wants to come watch me flail?

For anyone with a Goodreads account (I think. I'm not sure. Maybe anyone can go?) I am doing a Meet The Author chat thing this Saturday.

Here's the link Meet R. Cooper which is kind of a weird thing since anyone here has technically "met" me already. But you know. That's what it's called.

It will be at the GR Dreamspinner group, for three hours. 1:30-4:30 July 12. Pacific Time. (For those in other countries, this means go by San Francisco time on the world clock on your phone. Not that I am in San Francisco, but I can see the Pacific Ocean from here... okay. I can see the bay from here, not that actual ocean ocean. Not gonna lie. I wish I could see it though.)

You can ask me questions about Wicklow and Rhoades (or, say, Amelia, Louis, or Pilar) or any other character you want. I will be posting excerpts from current things and hopefully soon to be published things, maybe talking about my love of random alternate universe versions of my own stories, and oh hey, there will be a coupon offer. I might do a giveaway, although I have no idea how to do that, so.

(Such a clueless dork, you have no idea. My third grade teacher actually told my mother I would never get far in life without a secretary to handle basic things for me. This has proven to be true. But how does one get a secretary before one is a success, I ask you?)

If no one feels like asking me questions, I might just ramble on about steampunk or fairies for three hours. Or werewolves. Or imps. Or dragons. Or lonely ex-cops who are afraid to reach out for the love being offered them.

To recap, got questions about upcoming or current stories of mine? Then come over to Goodreads on Saturday and take pity on me. There's a coupon! Excerpts! Nervous babbling! It'll be fun. (Hopefully).
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Published on July 10, 2014 20:29

June 26, 2014

you beautiful weirdo

Hey! I said I would pass on the release date when I found it out, aaaaand then I forgot. I am such fail. I can't even tell you. Tsk.

JULY 7. IT'S JULY 7. THE RELEASE DATE IS JULY 7. (Oh right the poison. The poison for Kuzco. The poison chosen especially to kill Kuzco. Kuzco's poison.)

Sorry about that. However, I've been informed that pre-ordering is possible. Which is good, because Dreamspinner sent me about twenty sheets to sign to put in the paperback copies. Now I just have to actually sign them. IDK. If I were Rhoades, and I were signing a book, I would sign with something smart and classical and Greek. If I were Wicklow, I'd probably just slash an "X" and be done with it. (Yes, I make things too complicated. I should just sign my name. But where is the fun in that?) I signed A Boy and His Dragon as if I were Bertie autographing books. Why can't Rhoades sign some books?

Still with me? Sorry. Scattered thinking today. But um, yes, July 7 for the release date. July 12 for my Meet the Author thing on Goodreads (not nervous about that at all oh wait I am actually incredibly nervous and trying not to think about it.)

In other news, Dreamspinner has a new Author Arcade feature going up, in which you can access information about the author more easily, including links to social media and all that. I haven't filled out my profile yet (shocker) but I will. :)

I also submitted a novella-ish Being(s) in Love story a few weeks ago. So hopefully they will want that and soon you will get to read about the baking werewolf in love. Then I am finishing up getting Little Wolf ready for submission (which, okay I just want it done). This exciting!! Even if, somehow, it ended up at about 360 pages. (!!!) This is too many pages. I know this. It's a nightmare and yet they are so cute and precious to me. We will see.

To recap: July 7. July 12. Arcade thing. A Beginner's Guide to Wooing Your Mate. Little Wolf.


And um, sorry about my crazy. Here:

Tim watched Nathaniel take another steadying breath, then quickly glanced away when Nathaniel opened his eyes again. Tim wondered if he knew how Tim had been studying him, because his voice was as warm as his scent. “May I touch you?”

Tim had to be hearing things wrong. He tugged at his ears. “What? You’re asking to touch me?” He recognized that Nathaniel was trying to respect his feelings but that wasn’t a request Tim could be expected to answer calmly. He licked his mouth. “Yeah okay, sure, why not?” He could do breezy, really. Breathless-breezy, tense with anticipation-breezy. “Knock yourself out, you beautiful weirdo.”

Nathaniel crossed the rest of the space and stopped in front of him. Then he reached out and let his palm rest on Tim’s neck. “Beautiful weirdo?” he echoed, almost tenderly, and Tim pulled in a quiet breath. Nathaniel brushed his hand up over Tim’s throat, his fingertips trailing over Tim’s skin before he took his hand away.
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Published on June 26, 2014 13:12

May 29, 2014

Wanna see a cover?




By LC Chase. Sinful, sinful Rhoades. Ready to take Wicklow on an odyssey (in his pants, aaaw yeah).

So, as far as I know, all the editing and everything is done. Due out for sale... some time in July. I have no idea when exactly yet. Will let you know.

But speaking of July, I will be doing a "Meet the Author" for Dreamspinner in July, at Goodreads. I am... slightly terrified. I've never done anything like that. But I figure I can try it out, and if no one shows up or if (when) I do something awkward, I can drown my sorrows after, right? I kind of predict a few people showing up, mostly just to yell at me for all the unfinished and unpublished Beings stories on my hard drive.

Er, speaking of which. So I finally finished a complete draft of Little Wolf, then decided it was so long (so, so long!) because I had to explain the town it's set in. So I wrote a short story to explain the town. ...Which somehow became a novella. So now there's a random novella I hadn't planned on and I still need to edit down Little Wolf. Also I can't decide if the novella needs an epilogue. But at that length it would really be more of a small novel, and how the hell did I accidentally write a small novel about characters who didn't exist a month ago??? How is this my life? How is this my brain?

So. That happened. Werewolf. Wizard. Slight misunderstanding. Some brownies. I don't even know anymore. It has no plot, you guys. It's just soft pining for 57k. And meanwhile, there Little Wolf sits. Impatient. Glaring at me. Tapping his itty bitty foot. (He's not actually itty bitty.)

SIGH. But hey, in the meantime, if you guys feel like discussing your favorite magical shifter type romances, http://rainbowgoldreviews.wordpress.com/ is having a chat/discussion about them this weekend. I was invited but I have real world job (ick) and cannot attend. Someone should go represent dragons though. :)



Now.

Personal moment. Something to learn about me is that sometimes I disappear. It can be an introversion thing, or a focus on writing thing, but it can also be a negative thoughts/bad mental place thing. Sometimes it's a combination of all of those. The upside? I've been writing and editing a lot. The downside? Well, is the downside. Also I'm not really in the best place to judge what I've written when this happens. I only mention it because I'm never sure how much of an author's issues people want to hear about, or what is expected of an author's presence online, but I prefer to be honest about stuff like this. I can't be happy and upbeat all the time and I usually try to avoid posting when I'm like that. But I'm not hiding it, so much as I don't want to bring others down too. But, yeah, I vanish once in a while. jsyk.
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Published on May 29, 2014 19:13

April 10, 2014

his name is Tulip and there is sunshine in his smile

You know when you have all the ideas and you just want to write everything and you can't because that just isn't possible but also because of Other Things and Real Life?

SIGH.

Hi! No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I've been focused on finally (FUCKING FINALLY) finishing a draft of Little Wolf. (Or whatever I decide to call it.) Talk about a story that got away from me. Oy! The thing is almost 400 pages so yes, I need to edit that a lot. Unfortunately I can't edit it right now because I'm busy editing Wicklow's Odyssey for your consideration and that is a lot of work too. So much work. At least Wicklow and Rhoades are lovely. (And the others, who really need porn of their own. I mean... romances of their own... and then porn. Then after I think about all that fun stuff I get to worrying that Wicklow and Rhoades and their story might be too weird for people. I think it's lovely but I'm such a nerd. And dork. Dorky nerd. My Tumblr is testament to this.)

The point being, never fear I have been working. And of course, the CUTEST fairy story popped into my head during all of this because I can't write it right now and that is always the way. (BUT HIS NAME IS TULIP AND I LOVE HIM. TULIP THE SOMEWHAT SHY FAIRY.HE NEEDS ALL THE PETS AND CUDDLES IN THE WORLD. FLOWER CROWNS MIGHT BE INVOLVED. I NEED TO STOP THE CAPSLOCK NOW, I KNOW. ahem.)

My brain might be a little fried from nonstop writing/editing. This is very possible. I apologize. Also, hey, everyone. I think Wicklow comes out in June or July. I want to be writing and I can't right now. That's all. Update over. :)
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Published on April 10, 2014 20:31

February 16, 2014

Audiobook! Plus something that is probably obvious to most of you.

Audiobook has arrived! The one for A Boy and His Dragon has, I mean. A Boy and His Dragon at Audible (Confession: I get the giggly squeals when I try to listen to my own words being read out loud. I am blushing right now.)

In other news, it occurs to me that those not into the geeky online things might not realize what AUs are. I write a lot of AUs of my own characters, usually in unedited little snippets to amuse the people who follow me on Tumblr. For example, I posted a short Bakery AU of Ray and Cal from Some Kind of Magic for Kristi P for Valentine's Day. An AU is a story set in an alternate universe from the one in which the original story is set. I tend to still consider AUs Original, in a sense, (because change one fact about a character and you change the character) but it's not really a point I'd argue because mostly AUs are supposed to be fun. :) Though to make it even more confusing, sometimes I just label them "crackfic"... which they basically are. A cracky, nutty version of a story you already know.

I mention this now because every once in a while I will read a comment from someone very confused or someone will remind me that not everyone is a giant geek like me and so people don't always speak my language. If anyone ever doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about, feel free to ask me so I convert you to a giant geek too.

Anyway! AUs. I love my characters and I love variations of them because it's interesting to see how a slightly different background can entirely change the way a story would go. I tend to write fuzzy little AUs just to make me smile but if you want to know more about them, may I suggest Wikipedia? (Obvious caveat that Wikipedia is Wikipedia and always open for debate and editing.)

(Oh my though, modern AU of My Man Godric in which Godric is the head of security for a rich, old, noble family and Bertie is the public scapegrace, always in the tabloids, usually caught staring adoringly at Godric. It's really quite embarrassing. And I still think about that AU of Play It Again, Charlie in which Will gets to know Charlie while he's still recovering in the hospital. I think about that one when I need some angst.)

I forgot my point. I guess, just... look at these idiots.

Ray the baking werewolf and Cal the besotted customer

This was originally an unedited Tumblr post. Original notes have been left in.

(I bet he makes savory pies and quiches filled with ham and croissants rich with butter. I bet someone else normally makes all the sweet, delicate things, like someone else normally works the counter. But one day Penn, who runs the register and does their books, has to go do some family thing with her mother and since it's a slow day she tells Ray he has to come out to help customers if anyone rings the bell.)

He was right in the middle of preparing the beef for some spicy mini beef pies, done Louisiana style, when someone rang the bell and it didn't put him in the best mood. He only had so much time to get some prepared for their lunch rush. He'd ask Murphy to go deal with the customer but Murphy had a special order of lemon tarts to complete. Someone had ordered them at the last minute. Ray was not fond of people who made huge, demanding orders at the last minute. Penn tried to remind him that business was business, but some customers needed a basic understanding that their bakery was not a McDonald's. Things took time, even with the occasional magical assistance.

In his nose was an irritating mix of lemon and onion which did not improve his mood as he pushed through the bat-wing swinging doors that led to the main room. He knew there was a frown on his face but he couldn't be bothered to care.

What did make him pause was the reaction from the fairy waiting by the counter.

"Oh, a face like that should not be scowling so," the fairy remarked, tilting his head back to study Ray with wide, swirling eyes of brown and purple and green. The colors made Ray think of Mardi Gras, and King's Cake, and frosting.

Ray didn't usually care for frosting but for a moment he licked his lips at the imagined taste of sugar. Then the fairy spoke again. "Then again the frown suits you. You're a were, aren't you? Maybe fierce is exactly how you should look." The fairy was not subtle in looking Ray over, but then they never were.

"Can I help you?" It came out a lot crankier than it should have. Penn would have had something to say about that if she'd heard it. Ray shrugged it off and didn't apologize or explain his frown. The fairy would forget about it in a few minutes anyway once he got some sugar.

He was actually pretty low-key for a fairy, with much smaller wings than usual, as if he was part human. He even had a shirt on, unbuttoned to reveal a bare chest glowing with health and sparkles, but still a shirt.

Ray headed over to the pastry counter after a moment's hesitation. The fairy wasn't going to want anything savory and he probably wouldn't want a whole cake, but a box filled with individual pastries was always a fairy favorite.

"So you're finally out here." The fairy's gaze darted to Ray's apron, coated in flour as well as hints of blood from the meat. "Oh, Ray," he realized out loud and then stopped. He twirled his wrist and looked slightly guilty as he explained. "Penn talks about you."

"She does?" It was not what Ray meant to say at all but he fought off a blush and stared back at his winged admirer as impassively as he could. The fairy--half-fairy, smiled at him. It was possibly the kindest smile Ray had ever seen.

"Penn is wonderful," the fairy offered with that same beaming smile. Ray thought Penn was wonderful too. She had never once scoffed at a werewolf living in a city and working as a baker. He loved Penn. He had no idea why he'd frown harder to hear that the fairy liked her too.

"She thinks the world of you, you know." The fairy leaned forward, putting his slender hands gracefully along the top of the glass case, sending glitter raining down the lace doily underneath the display of cupcakes that Penn kept out to tempt the lunch crowd. Ray realized his hands were also on the glass counter but couldn't remember having moved forward. Yet there he was, the glitter almost close enough to touch him.

He could hear Murphy swearing at his crust in the kitchen but the sound seemed far away, drowned out by his own heart in his eyes and the rapid, hummingbird beat of the fairy's heart right in front of him. He inhaled, noting a new scent, like fresh caramel and cinnamon, overlaid with a desire that somehow surprised him despite the fact that this was a fairy, and fairies were, well, given to showing desire openly and often.

"You talk about me?" Ray could not believe himself. He didn't know what had come over him. If anything he was known for not talking. Now he was asking stupid questions in a hoarse voice and he felt hot, hotter than usual, hotter than the kitchen at its busiest.

The fairy danced from foot to foot as he nodded. "I asked her and she was only too happy to talk about you."

Ray blinked. His head was swimming. His vision seemed to sharpen on the increasingly bright cloud of glitter around the fairy. He thought the fairy's mouth was the most beautiful mouth he'd ever seen. He considered whether, being half-human, the fairy might like one of his pies, or at least a croissant. Ray would fill it with dark chocolate and dip it in cream if the fairy would prefer it that way. Ray would feed it to him himself, anything to keep him smiling and happy.

He shook his head but the scent only got stronger, like crisp meringue and caramelized pears.
"You see," the fairy began again, leaning in and staring at Ray as though Ray was one of the bon bons on the shelves below, "I catch a glimpse of you from time to time, and you and your frowns are the shiniest thing I have ever seen. But you never come out. Not once. Not ever. And then Penn said--"
"Yes?" Ray was growling and too distracted to be embarrassed about it.

"Penn said she'd make you come out. As a favor to me. And to you. She said, 'The wolf needs to indulge his sweet tooth' and grinned and told me to come in today."

"And you remembered?" Ray couldn't keep the surprise out of his tone.

The fairy's smile was only a little saddened by his rudeness. "When it comes to what matters, Ray, fairies remember everything."

"And I matter?" Ray took another long breath. Hope was sweet and light like powdered sugar. He didn't know what that meant.

The fairy danced in front of him again, though wriggled might have been a better word. "You matter so much I put on clothes," he offered, wrinkling his nose in a way that made Ray feel even warmer.

"I wouldn't have asked you to do that," he murmured, only to hitch his shoulders at the fairy's delighted laugh.

"I knew I would like you, Ray." It wasn't something Ray should argue with. Weres also tended to like or dislike others immediately, although based more on scent than any "shininess".

"You don't know me," he argued anyway, inhaling so much want/want/want that he pulled at his apron. He wanted to lean closer so he did, forgetting lemon and onion in order to breathe in blackberry jam and spiced peaches and rosewater. There was a sweat too, human scent, man scent, and the combination made him flush. The fairy smelled like the best things in the world.

"That's easy enough to fix, isn't it?" The fairy stuck out his hand. "I'm Cal.

His hand was warm. His glitter was like being sprinkled with chocolate dust. And he smiled when Ray brought his wrist up to his mouth.

...

Still fierce Ray, but not nearly so, er, dickish about fairies uptight because he isn't a cop and doesn't have all those pressures on him. I imagine they were almost kissing by the end of that encounter and on a date/screwing shortly afterward. Maybe they make it through one date first. Then everyone at the bakery has to deal with Ray, ridiculously in love and Mated. Aw.

To sum up, I am weird. I write weird little things. People can always write me and ask me what the hell I'm doing if it's too weird. :) Also, SHINY NEW AUDIOBOOK!

(Also, apologies if this really is obvious to you. I just noticed several comments from confused people recently and didn't want them to continue being confused.) :):):)
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Published on February 16, 2014 17:15

January 17, 2014

in which the author talks about characters no one has seen yet and then asks a question

I never know what to say in these blog posts. Sure, if you want fannish squeeing and random pictures of food and porn there's always my Tumblr, but an author-y blog posts people are supposed to be more author-y, have things to say about writing or the world in general that aren't just notices about upcoming release dates, all that. Only honestly I know next to nothing about the publishing world, and I feel like everything else comes out in my stories anyway. What does that leave? Just the updates. *sigh* But, you know, they are exciting to me and exciting things are fun to share.

First things first, everyone knows I posted a free short story, right? Well, I did. It features a slightly cracky (a lot cracky) fairy tale version of two characters who have been TORMENTING ME FOR OVER A YEAR NOW.

Ahem. I suppose that is something to talk about. Some stories are like that. You know exactly what is going on and you're compelled to write them as quickly as you can get the words out and you remain obsessed with them even once you are done. Wicklow and Rhoades were like that for me. But other stories are just a big mess. They keep growing and nothing ends up as you originally planned until you finally make yourself finish after many stops and starts and then suddenly it's exactly how you wanted it. But different. Will and Charlie were more like that. Er, Nathaniel and Tim are apparently like that as well. They insisted on writing themselves and that is always a struggle.

And can I tell you how much I regret giving werewolves quick healing powers and a fast refractory period? And how much I regret writing a sexual frustrated, *incredibly* confused young werewolf? Because I have spent hours upon hours upon hours writing porn and I'm not done yet! At least they have kind of reached an understanding, the two of them. Soon Tim might even understand what cuddles are.

(He needs lessons. Wicklow, now, you could give Wickow cuddle lessons and he'd still stare at you like you're crazy... So, I write characters with space and touching issues. So I write characters with issues. Ah well. That isn't news.)

Hmm. Updates. So. Wicklow and Rhoades were accepted (yaaaaaaay!) Preliminary title: Wicklow's Odyssey. That might change. Expect Civil War Steampunk sometime in July or early August.

Meanwhile, I was sent notices that audiobooks are going to happen for both, "A Boy and His Dragon" and "Play It Again, Charlie." I even got to listen to some samples. That was thrilling! And anxiety-inducing. And strange. And fantastic. And I don't generally listen to audiobooks so I hope those turn out okay. I will let you guys know what they are coming out.

I continue to write Tim and Nathaniel (working title(s): Little Wolf. Or The Alpha of Wolf's Paw. Or What Wolves Do. Or... something chess related. Because when you think werewolves, you think, chess.) Getting closer to the end. Woo hoo! I still don't know what to do about my short Beings stories. I want to write a few more and put them all together, but then again I don't know if Dreamspinner would want that. I'm such a weird writer.

And um, oh hey. Conventions and things. Fun? Something people in more than a hang around the comic book booths kind of way? What kind of conventions do people go to where they want to interact with authors? *Do* they want to interact with authors? (Or m/m authors for that matter?) What's that like? I have only ever gone to one convention and it was a very large one and very expensive and well... I did not enjoy it much despite my nerdiness. So I am trying to see the appeal. They aren't something you can explore on a whim when you are on a budget.

Depends on what you want to get out of them I suppose. y/y? y/n?
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Published on January 17, 2014 19:55

December 19, 2013

I accidentally made a story--Merry Christmas!

So... I was writing Christmas snippets for people on Tumblr while also editing Little Wolf and someone asked for a fairy tale and what was meant to be a short thing turned into a slightly longer story.

Ah. Me and my weird brain.

Anyway, so, Little Wolf is an unfinished novel about a very confused little werewolf finding his mate and for whatever reason, he reminds me and Selenographics of a cracky fairy tale about a princess locked in a tower. Which is probably how this happen.

Little Prince
(The Little Wolf Fairy Tale AU)

Summary: Prince Timothy is betrothed to Prince Nathaniel, who is handsome and kind and perfect. It's awful.


*please ignore the typos. I wrote it in a couple of hours and it's supposed to be for fun*





“How in all the Hells did I end up here?” Timothy howled at the sky then lowered his head to direct his wrath at a more logical target. “With you?” he added a moment later, letting the words drip with disdain because disdain was really all he had at this point. His best escape yet, a combination of stealth and cunning and outright speed, had gotten him the furthest from his uncle’s castle—and the tower Timothy called home—than he’d gotten in years. And what happened when he finally entered the Shastian Wildwoods in an attempt to cross into Neri? He stumbled into a night sentry from the Prince of Neri’s camp who had stepped away from the main group to piss and the sentry brought Timothy straight to the Prince. Of course.

Nathaniel of Neri watched Timothy’s rant in careful silence. It was one of his more annoying habits, although not as annoying as his way of waiting until Timothy had calmed down to offer a comment on Timothy’s latest exploit.

Timothy glared up at him and was once again irked by their height difference. It didn’t mean anything in itself; Timothy was shorter than most everyone in his family and many of courtiers besides. But Nathaniel of Neri was another matter. He was tall and broad even among people known for their height and size. He was big so people listened to him. As naturally as breathing people listened to him and took him seriously and didn’t stare at him as if he was some sort of changeling left behind by the Sneaky Folk. When people looked at Prince Nathaniel it was with respect, or lust, or some combination of the two.

Timothy absolutely refused to stare at him in the same way. He might be short by the standards of his family, and covered in brambles, and wearing a dress that had been used as a clever disguise, but he was still a prince of equal if not greater rank than Nathaniel of Neri.

Of course, if Tim had been alone he would have admitted to admiring Nathaniel’s height and breadth. He might have confessed to fantasies of biting the smooth brown column of Nathaniel’s throat and dreams of pulling Nathaniel’s cloak and tunic away to mark Nathaniel’s perfect skin with his hands. Timothy had no way to know if Nathaniel’s skin was perfect but he assumed it was. Everything about Nathaniel was perfect. His height, his looks, his manner, even the location of the kingdom he would inherit. It was the reason they were betrothed.

That and the curse.

Timothy scowled harder to think of the curse and was not surprised when his displeasure got no reaction from the other prince other than his continuing attention. Just once Timothy wanted to get a reaction out of Nathaniel that wasn’t that blank assessment. Anyone who hadn’t heard Nathaniel’s dry remarks aimed in Timothy’s direction would have assumed he was stupid. Sadly, he wasn’t. There was a mind behind his pretty face.

At the silence, Timothy flicked his glare further up, from Nathaniel’s shoulders to his eyes. He paused as he always did, stunned and suddenly breathless, to see those large golden eyes fixed on him, the long, dark lashes the same shade as his short black hair, the thick eyebrows, the straight nose and perfect, full mouth.

Tim had overheard servants praising that mouth, wondering how it would feel, envying Timothy for getting to taste that mouth for himself. Timothy had some idea of what the servants meant, although most of what they’d said had been outside his limited knowledge of the activities in the marriage bed.

He realized he was staring and that his face was growing hot and jabbed a finger in the space between them. “I’m not supposed to be here!”

“And yet here you are.” Nathaniel spoke at last. Tim curled his hands at his sides and considered how to throw a punch. He doubted it would land. Prince Nathaniel had trained with his knights and wore a sword he knew how to use. Timothy, in contrast, had been locked in a tower with books for company when his uncle had deemed Timothy a danger to himself. He could read and write in six languages and speak in none of them save his own. But in that one he could and would speak as clearly and decisively as the king he’d one day be.

“Here I bloody well am.” Timothy crossed his arms then uncrossed them because it made his borrowed dress pull up under his chest. The dress was stretched tight across his shoulders and hung loose everywhere else on him. It was also the color of pale spring roses with a blue trim that exactly matched his eyes—an unfortunate accident that made it seem as if he’d chosen the dress for that reason.

“Do you ever think about that?” Nathaniel crossed his arms too. He’d taken off the leather he usually wore while riding, leaving him in just a simple tunic shirt and breeches. The sentry who had found Timothy had recognized him despite the dress and brought him to the small stone house on the edge of the Wildwoods. It was just Timothy’s luck that Nathaniel had been using his family’s hunting lodge tonight. From the way Nathaniel was dressed, Timothy’s arrival had either called him from his bed or someone else’s, and the large canopied bed behind Nathaniel appeared untouched.

Timothy’s stomach tightened. He blamed it on the prince and glared even harder. He was certain Nathaniel had already sent a note to his uncle the Regent to tell him they had found the errant Prince Timothy. Timothy was likely to be returned to his tower at any moment. He didn’t see what they had left to talk about it or why Nathaniel would insist on being so damn reasonable. “Think about what?” he demanded at last.

“Why you always end up finding me despite your best intentions?” Nathaniel stepped over to a table not far from the bed and grabbed a scrap of linen. He poured some water on it then crossed over to Timothy and held it out.

Taking that as a sign that he had dirt on his face, Timothy snatched the cloth from him and threw it to the floor. Nathaniel’s gaze followed after it. When he raised his eyes again there was a small, unhappy smile at his perfect mouth but he nodded as if unsurprised.

“I didn’t find you,” Timothy hissed, even more irritable because he was acting childish and he knew it, “I found a damn border sentry.”

“Why even come through Neri on your way to freedom, or wherever it is you’re going?” Nathaniel turned away, taking a few moments to pull warm, fur-lined boots over his bare feet as if his toes were cold. The room was rather chilly. The fire had only been lit after Timothy’s arrival.

Timothy opened his mouth but paused before answering, unexpectedly thrown by the idea that Nathaniel of Neri had toes that grew cold the same as any other man. It wasn’t that Timothy didn’t think of Nathaniel as a man, obviously he was a man, a beautiful man, a perfect man, it was just that… Timothy didn’t think of him as a man. It was better that way. Now here Nathaniel was, tired and cold and no doubt missing the physical attentions of some harlot, or worse, some friend who often shared his bed. Some friend he called lover.

Timothy took a step back. “I… this border is close to the river.” He made himself focus on the discussion again and not on Nathaniel in love with someone else. “I could take the river to the ocean. Then I could go anywhere, anywhere in the world.” That had been his goal ever since their betrothal had been officially confirmed. Timothy had been twelve then, although the contract between the two kingdoms guaranteeing Timothy’s hand on his twentieth birthday had been arranged the week of his birth. Somewhere out there had to be a way to break the curse and Timothy intended to find it He’d go to the ends of the earth if he had to, and he said as much.

“That far?” Nathaniel glanced at him, then away. “With what skills were you hoping to make a living, Little Prince? I hope more than just your handsome face.”

“Don’t call me that!” Timothy shouted, fully prepared to risk a sword for the chance to just try punching his betrothed, just once.

“The name has always angered you.” Nathaniel angled his head to the side then sighed and wiped a hand over his mouth.

“Was it supposed to make me happy?” Timothy’s voice continued to rise. It always did in Nathaniel’s presence. Everything his uncle tried to instill in him, diplomacy, tact, manners, always disappeared when faced with this one man. Timothy vividly recalled trying to scale the castle walls at twelve and getting caught in a nest of thorns. He’d been rescued by a knight and his entourage who had been approaching the castle. Timothy had thought the knight the most handsome man he’d ever seen. The handsome knight had wiped the scratches and blood from Timothy’s arms and face and laughed in a gentle way that had only convinced Timothy the knight was the shining epitome of chivalry.

Then Timothy had noticed the Neri crest of a black wolf and the emblem of the royal house on his knight’s shield and realized he was in the hands of his future captor. He’d nearly thrown himself under a horse in his efforts to escape the prince’s care and had burned with humiliation when the prince had saved him from that too.

Nathaniel had only deepened the wound by revealing he’d recognized Timothy from his family’s famous blue eyes and dubbing him, “Little Prince.” Timothy would have hated him for that alone even if he hadn’t been destined to someday take Timothy in marriage.

“I know I’m little,” Timothy snarled at him, “I don’t need you making me into more of a joke.” He was very aware of the fact that he was saying this while wearing a stolen dress.

“I never meant it as a joke, not as a mean-spirited one.” Nathaniel kept himself still, the way one did around stray dogs and wild animals. “You were frightened. I was trying to calm you. Then it just… became my name for you.” He took a breath. “I will stop calling you that if it bothers you that much.”

Timothy flicked a cautious look in Nathaniel’s direction. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, if it bothers you,” Nathaniel insisted, exactly like the shining prince he always was.

Timothy crossed his arms again. “It doesn’t. If what I wanted mattered I wouldn’t be marrying you, now would I?”

Nathaniel flinched. He always seemed taken aback by Timothy’s blunt attitude toward their betrothal. Nathaniel was generally polite about it but Timothy knew someone like Nathaniel had his choice of the populace if he wanted a lover, and he certainly could have commanded a better husband-to-be from any of the other nearby kingdoms even if their countries shared a border and were traditionally allied with each other.

Besides, if Nathaniel did have a friend who shared his bed, who cared for him and got to claim him as their own, then they wouldn’t want him marrying Timothy. Nathaniel could be infuriatingly polite about it until doomsday but Timothy knew there wasn’t much about him that would to appeal to Nathaniel. Timothy wasn’t tall and breathtakingly handsome. He was less than tall, and rather than handsome, he was, well… Nathaniel had once told him he was charming, and though that had likely been more of Nathaniel’s courtly manners, Timothy hung on to the memory. In truth he was far from charming. He spoke loudly and out of turn, all his knowledge came from books, and his dancing skills were abominable. At the ball for his eighteenth birthday he’d discovered that with Nathaniel distractedly close to him he lost his ability to move his body with anything resembling grace.

After one too many times tripping forward into the warmth of Prince Nathaniel’s chest, Tim had bolted from the ballroom. Amid the titters from the watching crowd he’d run into the garden, startling several couples taking advantage of the dark. From the garden he’d gone to the stables, hiding himself away in one of the stalls in a pile of soft hay and falling asleep not long after. He’d woken to Nathaniel’s worried face and the knowledge that he’d chosen the stall holding Prince Nathaniel’s horse.

It wasn’t fair. All Timothy wanted was to make up his own mind, to not be trapped in this agony alone forever. But there seemed to be no escape and tonight was further proof. He sighed and flopped down into a nearby chair. “How long until my uncle’s men arrive? Shall I be spending the night?”

His uncle was going to tighten the restrictions on Timothy’s behavior for sure now, although he might be slightly mollified to learn Timothy had not endangered his life this time. Then again, he might not see it that way if he knew about Timothy sneaking past the armed guards in the guardhouse. The next two months were going to be difficult. Two more months of freedom and then Tim would turn twenty. The throne would be his. So would Nathaniel.

“The night?” Of course Nathaniel would take that question the opposite of how Timothy had intended it. “You won’t be spending the night.” Or not. Timothy had been wrong. His face grew hot again.

“Fine.” He didn’t want to spend the night in Neri, even if there were fewer guards around him and Nathaniel was too kind to lock Timothy away somewhere as Timothy’s uncle would have done. Nathaniel likely couldn’t wait to get back to bed.

Timothy swallowed and risked another study of Prince Nathaniel. Nathaniel remained on his feet, watching Timothy as he always did, as if he’d never seen anything like him. It made Timothy remember his “diplomatic” trips to Neri to present himself—be forcibly presented by his uncle—to Nathaniel’s parents and siblings. He didn’t know who had been more surprised when Timothy had tried to conceal himself in a rolled up rug only to be unrolled in the throne room in front of the queen, the king, Nathaniel, and Nathaniel’s brother and sister, the royal family or himself.

He’d stared at the family in horror and then immediately turned to Nathaniel and that carefully blank expression of his. He’d been startled when Nathaniel had smiled. Nathaniel’s siblings, both younger, had seemed to think it equally funny. Timothy’s uncle had been convinced Timothy had offered Neri a monstrous insult and Timothy had spent the rest of the visit surrounded by guards when not in Nathaniel’s presence.

The queen and king had been polite about the whole thing. As polite as their eldest son, in fact, which only convinced Timothy more that he would be ill-suited to be Nathaniel’s husband. What would Nathaniel want with a husband who never failed to speak his mind? Yes, Timothy had studied estate management and maths and languages, but so had many other nobles and royals. There was nothing special about him to recommend him to someone as great as Nathaniel Neri. They were a poor match. Nathaniel would be miserable and it did neither of them good to pretend otherwise.

“So when will my uncle’s men be arriving?” Timothy tugged at his dress, wishing for a change of clothes, or at least better shoes. The dress, unfortunately, had required dress slippers of silk and his feet were blocks of ice. He tried to curl his toes and made a noise when he couldn’t.

“They won’t.” Nathaniel made a sudden impatient, almost furious, noise and ripped a fur throw from the bed. He stormed across to Timothy with such energy that Timothy remained stuck in his seat, unable to move as Nathaniel approached. Nathaniel tossed the fur at him and held up a hand before Timothy could think to form words. “Just use it. You’re obviously cold. It’s not going to make us more betrothed than we were yesterday.”

Timothy sucked in a breath then closed his mouth. The fur easily reached the floor. He dug his feet into it to warm them even while he was trying to find a way to stubbornly reject the offering. He supposed accepting one kind act would do them no further harm. “Fine,” he finally allowed, “Thank you.” Then he remembered what had just been said. “What? What do you mean they won’t?”

“I mean, I didn’t send word to the Regent.” Nathaniel was regarding Timothy draped in the fur with an expression that Timothy could only describe as very satisfied. “The more he tries to keep you from endangering yourself in your escape attempts, the more trouble you get into. There has to be a better way, like conversation. Since you’re here, again,” Nathaniel was only less than perfect when he was being dry and cutting, “don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“No. There’s nothing to talk about.” Timothy sank deeper into the fur. “You can stop being so nice about it, visiting repeatedly, sending me those letters. We both know you’re looking forward to this about as much as I am. Just go back to bed with whoever it is you obviously prefer and leave me to plot our way out of this.”

Sooner or later, one of his escapes would work. He just had to figure out a way around the curse. Then he’d stop finding Nathaniel instead of his destiny. It was just like his uncle to anticipate that and ban all books on magic from the castle except for the ones kept locked in the wizard’s chambers.

At sixteen Timothy had snuck into the wizard’s chambers to borrow a book on breaking spells, but he must have read something wrong. Instead of breaking a curse he’d fallen into a deep sleep and to his mortification, Nathaniel had been summoned to kiss him awake.

The saving grace of the whole incident was that Timothy remembered nothing of the kiss, only waking up to Nathaniel’s remarkable gaze fixed on him. Of course, then he’d humiliated himself by touching his fingers to Nathaniel’s mouth and blushing when Nathaniel had smiled in happy relief. Timothy had lurched out of bed in the next moment, landing in a heap to the floor, and had promptly been marched up to the tower that he would call his chambers until his wedding by his furious and worried uncle. The last thing he’d seen before being led from the room had been Nathaniel watching him from where he’d still been kneeling at Timothy’s bedside.

“Your plots always seem to end with me. Doesn’t that concern you?” Nathaniel’s tone was almost desperate. “At all?”

Timothy waved that off. “That’s just the curse rearing its ugly head.”

To this day he didn’t know what his parents had done to anger a member of the Sneaky Folk so much that they’d inflict this on their son. An arranged marriage was one thing, but magic to force it to happen, to take away what little control the children could take in the event? That was pure spite. Timothy would have done his duty if not for that, that horrible blight forever in his future, tying him to Nathaniel no matter what he did.

He looked up again at Nathaniel’s silence. “It’s probably worse for you.” Timothy hadn’t really considered that either, deliberately, because thinking of Nathaniel wishing to be rid of him was the kind of painful thought to leave him moping for days. Now here he was, alone in Nathaniel in his bedroom, his cold, lonely bedroom that Nathaniel hadn’t even been using because he’d had somewhere else he’d rather be. Timothy sighed. “I have known of the curse my every waking moment but you grew up without it. You can remember a time when you were truly free. Well, as free as a royal can be.” There was always duty.

“Little Prin--” Nathaniel stopped himself in the middle of the nickname. “Timothy. Of what curse do you speak?”

Timothy lifted his head in surprise. “The curse. Our betrothal and the fairy “gift” that came with it.” He didn’t know why Nathaniel would need this explained; he’d been there as much as Timothy had.

“There was no curse.” Nathaniel spoke slowly.

Timothy shook his head. “I read the accounts. ‘The fairy Robin’s Egg spread her wings over the babe in the cradle and the young boy-prince at his side and pronounced the words in her tongue to ensure the union between the two kingdoms.’”

“Yes. I was there,” Nathaniel interrupted. It was the rudest he’d ever been.

Timothy gaped at him for a moment then settled back in his seat. “Then you know she doomed us to each other. Not just marriage, oh no, she cursed us to this fate. You’re inescapable, like destiny. At least until we break the spell.”

“That isn’t what she said.” Nathaniel stared at Timothy for a long time without so much as blinking. “That isn’t what she said at all.”

“Yes it is!” Timothy’s voice cracked. “Obviously it is. She said we were bound and in that our nations would find happiness. She bound us unto death. Wedding or not, I’m,” Timothy stuttered as he hadn’t since he was sixteen with his mouth buzzing from a kiss he couldn’t remember, “I’m yours. You are the only one I think of ever since I first saw you. You are perfect and I am,” he yanked the fur up to his chin and ignored his stinging face, “I am the thing you can’t escape.”

“Little Prince.” Nathaniel came forward so swiftly Timothy had no time to move away. Nathaniel frowned down at him and then to Timothy’s utter shock he got to his knees so Timothy had little choice but to look back at him.

“Yes, you are perfect to me,” Timothy growled at him. “And I am a stunted, pale, reader of books who cannot joust or even ride a horse with dignity. I cannot dance and when you take me to bed I will have no skills there either, not like your… not like whoever you might prefer. I would have consented if not for that.” He dropped his head and studied Nathaniel’s throat. “It is worse than all the Hells knowing I feel this and you feel nothing.”

“Timothy.” Nathaniel exhaled his name. “Little Prince. Look at me. Please. Just once, voluntarily look at me instead of acting as if I disgust you.”

It was the shaky note in his voice, a note Timothy had never heard before, which made him raise his eyes. Then he went still. Prince Nathaniel seemed stunned, a faint color darkening his skin even further, an almost feverish glow in his eyes. His mouth was open, his full lips just parted. Timothy remembered touching them and cast his gaze safely elsewhere once again.

“There is no curse,” Nathaniel pronounced, taking his time as if he needed the words to be clear. “For years you hated me because of an imaginary curse.” He shook his head then put his hands on either side of Timothy’s seat. Timothy’s eyes were again drawn to his. Everything in Timothy was drawn to him and always had been, always would be. It wasn’t fair.

Nathaniel shook his head again. “There was no curse. Robin’s Egg bound us because we were already bound. She foresaw our fates—our hearts—and spoke of them and our families betrothed us, as they probably would have with or without a fairy gift. We were bound together unto death but in our union our nations would find happiness. It was a blessing. A blessing.” Nathaniel’s warm tone did not last long. “A curse? I could strangle you. For years I have--”

“But. No. That isn’t…” Timothy was too warm now. “I read it and then I met you and you were… you! You don’t want me. Look at you and then look at me and my everything!”

“I have.” Nathaniel’s nearness was affecting Timothy’s body again and his ability to react.

Timothy was not certain where to look. “You don’t want me,” he argued at last. “You were forced into this just as I was.”

“As a child it felt that way,” Nathaniel agreed. Timothy shot him a surprised glance. Nathaniel’s eyes were closed. “I was raised fully aware I was going to marry you and though I remembered dear Aunt Robin’s Egg’s blessing, I had no concept of what love was, or what she had been trying to tell me. Then I got older and I felt differently.”

Timothy failed to keep the curiosity from his voice. “Differently?”

Nathaniel was still kneeling before him. “My beloved aunt died. I was just fourteen and all I had left of her was her gift to me. I thought about it often over the next few years and I realized what a gift it truly was. Unlike everyone else who has to search, maybe spend a whole life searching, I knew exactly where my true love was and he was waiting for me the same way I was waiting for him. Or so I thought.”

“You were looking forward to meeting me again?” Timothy pushed the fur away, irritated with the warmth coursing through his skin and restless with how Nathaniel refused to move from his position at Timothy’s feet.

Timothy had thrown himself over the castle wall and Nathaniel had simply been there, waiting.

“I was only eighteen. I had no idea what I was in for.” Nathaniel’s tone was hardly a match to what he was saying.

Timothy frowned at him. “What were you in for?”

“Being treated like a monster. Being thought of as so frightening and repulsive that you threw yourself under a horse only minutes after meeting me. In your efforts to escape me you’ve put yourself under a nearly irreversible sleeping spell and almost broken your neck twice that I know of. You danced with me and barely said two words and then slept in the stable rather than spend another minute with me. If it didn’t hurt so much I’d admire your persistence. Part of me still does. It response to it I refused to give up as well.” He paused. “You never answered my letters.”

“I kept them.” It was impossible not to flush and feel stupid at the admission, or at the heavy way Nathaniel considered him. The careful study no longer seemed designed to irritate. Instead it was more cautious, the look of a man who was not sure of his welcome. Timothy continued to frown, mostly out of habit. “But I am small and bookish, an embarrassment. Your family--”

“Think I have always been too serious and have never been so entertained as when you fling your sharp words at me and show up in unexpected places,” Nathaniel cut in before Timothy could finish, “Although they did not understand your reluctance to marry me any more than I did. My father thought it was nerves. My mother,” Nathaniel’s voice went dry again. “My mother suggested a different reason and an entirely different approach. Now I wonder…”

“You have wanted to marry me all along?” Timothy could not believe it. “But you are handsome, kind and honorable and brave, just as a prince should be.”

“And you are clever and fearless and determined, exactly what a prince should be.” Nathaniel shifted and somehow their bodies were much closer. Nathaniel was between Timothy’s knees, or would be if he continued in that direction and Timothy’s skirt were not in the way. “I have wanted to speak you, to know you, since we were boys. I knew it was as my aunt had predicted but I did not understand what that meant until you made your first visit to Neri, the moment the servants unrolled the rug to reveal you, irritated and disheveled. Your eyes found mine before you tried to get to your feet. They were wide and bright and happy to see me, just for a moment. You had clearly meant to be smuggled out of the castle but you had ended up back with me, and before you began yelling you looked for me until you found me, and you were happy.”

Knowing himself so obvious was shaming but it was Nathaniel who was flushed emotion. “Then I was happy too, happier than I had ever been before. There is no one else like you, Timothy of House Dirus. I like your height. You are not so little. When we danced I thought how nice it was to have your head at my shoulder.”

“You did?” It was the barest squeak. Timothy could not fully believe what he was hearing but he had no reason to doubt it. Not even Prince Nathaniel was so polite as to pretend to be in love.

Nathaniel nodded. “You were awkward as a boy but so was I. At eighteen I still had knobby knees and feet I hadn’t grown into. I’m sure you noticed.” Tim pretended that he had, watching Nathaniel in open fascination as he kept talking. “At sixteen you were clumsy but your skin was starting to clear and when I kissed you, you woke up. For a few moments I feared you wouldn’t and Robin’s Egg had been wrong after all. But you woke and I knew then it was true. You were meant to be mine as I was meant to be yours. The night of your eighteenth birthday I spent hours rehearsing ways to invite you into the garden with me. Then you dashed off to sleep with the horses instead.”

“Would you have kissed me in the garden?” Timothy kicked out in his excitement and Nathaniel caught his feet in his hands. His toes were still cold, Timothy was surprised to realize. He was aflame but his feet were chilled. Nathaniel’s hands felt as hot as Timothy’s face. His thumbs slid down to the arch of Timothy’s feet. Then he nodded.

“Oh yes,” Nathaniel’s desire was dry too—as dry as a tinderbox. “I was going to take my mother’s advice. I wanted to feel your mouth under mine again in better circumstances.”

“I have no memory of that kiss.” Timothy extended his toes and shivered all over in surprise when Nathaniel’s fingers pressed there as well, big and warm, first through the slippers and then without them after pausing a moment to remove them.

“If you wished me to I would kiss you again right now.” Nathaniel’s hands were doing things to Timothy’s ability to control his body. It seemed Nathaniel didn’t just have to be near, he could also touch Timothy to do this to him.

Timothy panted but turned his head. “What about your lover? This is your room but you have not been sleeping here.”

Nathaniel made a noise that was pleasingly rude. It seemed Timothy could spur the perfect prince as no one else could. “You do get ideas into your head, don’t you?” Nathaniel’s fingers curled around Tim’s ankles, hot as a firebrand. To think those servants had wondered about Nathaniel’s mouth when his hands were equally interesting. “I have not been sleeping, Little Prince, not a wink. I’m—I was—two months from a wedding to the man I love, a man who hates—hated—me. If you tell me you’ve been sleeping well, I will accuse you of lying.”

“The man you love.” Timothy gulped. “But I am Little Prince.”

My Little Prince,” Nathaniel countered and tugged on Timothy’s legs to bring him forward. Timothy’s hands landed on his shoulders, the same ones he had dreamt of night after night in his tower with his prick in his hand and no one to laugh at him. His heart was pounding, his skin raw with new sensations. He looked from Nathaniel’s eyes to his mouth. Timothy had succeeded in his best escape to date only to wind up here, his head tilted down for a kiss that was too slow in coming, a kiss he wanted among many other things. Things Prince Nathaniel might have given him sooner if he had only thought to ask.

“There is no curse,” he murmured, letting the understanding shiver through him. “You’re my true love,” he realized all over again a moment later, and tumbled down from his seat to press their mouths together.





edited to add the lovely fanart Selenographics made for this! *squeee*



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Published on December 19, 2013 21:58

December 12, 2013

are you seducing me or am i seducing you?

For everyone as broke as me--COUPONS! You get a coupon! And you get a coupon! I'm throwing coupons at you!

They're for stories up on Smashwords, but still, coupons. (And remember, there are free stories up on Smashwords too. FREE! THE BEST THING!)

Treat yo' self! Personally I have a hard time spending money on myself. Sometimes it helps when there is a sale. In this case, 50% off! *sings like Donna and Tom Haverford* Treat Yo Self 2013!

Coupon Code for With Everything I Have is CH88S

Coupon Code for Ideas of Sin (for the brave who are into pirateses and rough sex and 1600s religious debate and things) is LD78Q

Both good until January 6, because I like the sound of Twelfth Night. And don't forget the free ones. Freeeee! Have fun.

Meanwhile, people, so all I seem to want to do is write short stories about Wicklow and Rhoades and that is no fun for anyone since I don't even know if Dreamspinner wants them. (ah the nervewracking wait for a response) What should I do if they don't? Smashwords them? Amazon? Hmm I also kind of want to write a cracky alternate universe story with Tim and Nathaniel where Tim in a prince(ss) trapped in a very tall tower (until he escapes) and Nathaniel is the long suffering knight trying to help him/get laid.

Poor Nathaniel, he never gets laid. At least not by Tim.

I am really failing at short stories for the Christmas season. Hmm... maybe John and Rennet at Christmastime? Oh shit. I don't think anyone knows John and Rennet either. Well boo. I swear I've been writing. Just... I've been working on long things and short stories that don't really have a home. (yet) Sorry. Have an excerpt while I continue to plug away.


A little bit of Kazimir the Firebird.



"That was quite a show," remarked a voice from the shadows, and Kazimir angled his head toward his audience. His head still ached, but he kept his chin up while the man came forward until his toes were on the edge of Kazimir's soft circle of light. His audience was a man of average height, handsome, though part of his face was hidden by an unfashionable growth of beard and a small mustache. Curls of brown fell into his face where they were not tucked behind his ears, and glasses hid his eye color, but his clothes were plain, a shirt and pants, with braces, or suspenders as Americans called them. He was American too, though his French accent was better. Kazimir had the impression of a direct gaze before the man glanced away again. His lips were full and pliant.

"At the theater tonight, or what just took place on my balcony?" Kazimir stared at him, waiting for the man to look at him again, wondering why he would look anywhere else with Kazimir in the room with him.

"That." The emphasis in the word was almost amusing. "What just took place. Though I also thought your performance tonight was incredible. Not everyone gets an opera written for them, not everyone deserves it."

He implied that Kazimir did, which Kazimir already knew. But Kazimir nodded after a moment, and the man took a drink from his own glass. It held something brown, with ice. The man swallowed with evident pleasure and then said nothing, continuing to keep his eyes from Kazimir.

"You should not capture a Firebird," Kazimir addressed the topic at hand, and watched soft lips open on what could have been a silent laugh. His glow was flattering to the man's cheekbones, the light olive tone to his cheeks.

"Should not?" The stranger moved and Kazimir got a hint of dark eyes narrowed in thought. "Was that act for his benefit then?"

"If not his then for the next creature he tries to buy." Kazimir shrugged and sighed loudly at the stillness from the man opposite him. "You have more to say? You think I was cruel? That he did not deserve rejection?"

The man considered him over the wire rim of his glasses, direct and indirect at once. Kazimir knew he was being studied, and yet could not catch the man's gaze. The strange, somewhat insolent human took another drink of his brown booze. "You didn't have much respect for his feelings."

Kazimir surprised himself by letting out a short, icy laugh "He should have had respect for mine."

"Were yours clear?" If possible, the man seemed equally amused, though Kazimir did not understand why he should be, unless he found Kazimir himself funny. The human could have been one of those men who feigned disgust at things like magic or the blended world that magical creatures lived in, where human morals and customs did not apply. He barely looked over thirty, but it was not only old men who regarded fairies and demons with hatred and loathing. Lately many seemed to, as if the problems of the world were to be laid at their door, as if beings of magic had been the ones destroying banks and dividing countries up into arbitrary pieces.

Kazimir drew himself up and curled one hand into a fist, two remaining pearls hard in his palm. "What responsibility is it of mine to make my feelings clear? My feelings are mine." His voice was clear, the little American would not argue. Kazimir kept on. "He was told no. It is not my fault he did not listen."

He let out a puff of air and wished for more vodka. It was a long time before he thought of speaking again, but when the American did not say a word, he chose to answer with silence, and so they stood. Then the American shifted forward again, coming further into Kazimir's light but stopping before Kazimir had to step back. Kazimir wondered if the man had seen him shudder away earlier, or if this human had simply been raised with better manners. He inclined his head, as though granting Kazimir the point, but did not admit his fault aloud.

Kazimir felt something, not altogether fear, slide down his back. He frowned and made his smile cold. "Human men in general do not give ground until forced to," he pronounced, bitter and unsurprised, and wondered if a mere glimpse of his neck would be enough to undo this one, or if more would be required.

The American stared to the side for a moment longer, then took another drink. He gave Kazimir a short look, then snorted and spoke in English. "Fucking true enough," he remarked, "we will defend to the last man salients of no value to avoid the appearance of retreat."

It was a confusing statement, one Kazimir was not entirely sure he translated correctly. Before he could ask, the American went on, growing warmer at the subject or from his liquor. "Not to say you have no value, or that you are a piece of land. Merely agreeing with you. It's difficult to let go. It can be difficult." He scowled down at his glass.

"You are drunk." Kazimir was neither amused or shocked, though he was not certain why he bothered commenting. His guests were currently swimming in gin.

"Usually," the American hummed a little, a piece from the opera tonight, "I usually am, when not working. May I ask you something?" He paused. "Did you not like the pearls? The gesture was beautifully executed, and I applauded, but outside of this apartment people are hungry."

"And the inhuman creature throws away pearls while the bread lines grow." Kazimir looked down to straighten his robe and when he raised his eyes, the American was looking right back at him. It took him too long to speak again. "Perhaps I prefer diamonds." He held the man's gaze even with the touch of electricity down his back and the ache in his bones. "Do you have diamonds?" he ducked his head to inhale greedily, and glanced up, an unrivalled courtesan. He swept a look over the American's clothes, noting the lack of starch in the shirt as if it had been worn a few times since its last cleaning. It might be the man's only dress shirt. Kazimir clucked his tongue pityingly and straightened. "I don't think you do," he sighed as if bored and waited. When insulted, some dogs licked your hand, others bit.

This dog tilted his head to one side. "You want diamonds? Common diamonds?" He seemed unwilling to admit the possibility that anyone would see a diamond as anything other than a shiny stone, though he returned the same sweeping look Kazimir had given him.

Kazimir felt himself go still. The human pretended not to see, though he must have.

"No, rubies surely. You must have been offered rubies too," the American went on, then wrinkled his nose and gave Kazimir another of his brief, searching looks. "Forgive me but as much as I can see you in jewels, your own natural beauty would render them redundant. You're handsome, yes, your jaw, your shoulders, your tapered waist and straight nose, but mostly… beautiful. Beautiful is the only word that suits you, or, I should say, it is the only word that comes to mind that wouldn't embarrass me."

"So you offer me no jewels at all?" Kazimir could have played coy, accepted the compliment and whatever money the man did have. He intended to, but the words came escaped him in a lilt, a graceful humming note when there should have been a blast of sound.

"Flowers. Those I would give you, if I had the money to, which I don't." The American nodded and took another drink. Kazimir could not tell if he meant it at all; the man looked at him in the same way as before, direct and then from the side, strangely shy. He was a schoolboy until he spoke.

"Roses?" Kazimir angled his head up and let out a pointed, light yawn. His heart would not slow. "Orchids?"

"Mere weeds!" the American scoffed, serious or playful, Kazimir could not determine, and did not allow himself to react though the American went on, "painted blooms in paper coffins, cut and wrapped and stuffed into a vase for display. No, not those. Not for you."

"What then?" Kazimir leaned back against a wrought-iron stand, velvety fern fronds tickling his bare skin. He put his wrist to his forehead like a film actress. The American's breath seemed to leave him in a rush, and when Kazimir looked, the man was watching him, earnestly now, if he had not been before.

"Wild flowers, the kind I have only ever seen in fields in Belgium. The kinds that grow on this continent no matter what is done to the land. Cascading colors so bright they're obscene. Blooms so beautiful they make you forget that even flowers fight for survival. Wild flowers, hardier than anything grown in a nursery. I'd make you a crown of them."

"Free flowers then?" Kazimir countered, his hand falling to his throat, though the weight of the pearls was long gone. The American threw his head back and laughed. It was too loud from drink, but still a rich, pleased sound that drew attention. A few people stopped at the doorway to peek at them.

"No jewels and no flowers will please you, Monsieur Firebird?" He was charming now suddenly, this American, leaving Kazimir to stare and wonder where his shyness had gone.

"I have never asked for them," he insisted, still with his hand at his throat, and the man dropped his crooked smile before Kazimir had even fully realized it was there.

"So you throw them away as though they are nothing?" He was gruff but quiet, and once again Kazimir could not tell if he was joking. He could not ask any more than he could ask for stories of these fields where wild flowers grew. He had traveled by train many years ago but had never stopped to look out at farmland turned grey with trenches and rain. He took a breath.

"That is no way to talk, Monsieur L'Américain, not if you wish to win a firebird." He was not drunk, but he sang it out, so sweetly it seemed a mockery.

The American frowned. "You said I should not--" he started, but was cut off by the arrival of Michel, who turned on the lights as he strode in. The American shut his eyes for a moment and swore, in the crude manner that seemed his habit. "Fuck."

Kazimir took a moment to study him in the light, from the shine in his brown curls to the dull scuff of his shoes. His trousers were recently ironed, but frayed, and a tarnished watch was ready to fall from his pocket. His lips were indeed yielding and pink, but held lines at the corners that spoke of pain. He was no schoolboy, but older than thirty, though not much. He was thin, and his skin had a tint of its own, as if good food and sun were all that were needed to make him beautiful, and perhaps a shave. He was not a picture of health. His skin was dotted with sweat despite the chill, like a human, a tipsy human without much money who had not eaten a solid meal in some time.
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Published on December 12, 2013 17:58

November 17, 2013

Free story (and one inexpensive story)

I promised better links once I had covers. To what? Some might ask. Well to a pair of steampunk stories I wrote a while ago that didn't know what to do with, so I put them up on Smashwords.

And I Am Happy

My steampunk Alternate Universe story for Will and Charlie from Play It Again, Charlie

Description: Will is a terrible valet. Until he came to the house of war hero and respected MP Charles Howard, he was more of a rich man's convenience than a valet. No one predicts he will keep the position for long but Charles Howard is not at all what Will expects. A reserved, insecure man who hides his pain from the public, Charlie--as Will secretly thinks of him--believes that no one, especially his pretty valet, would want him. Will longs to convince him otherwise but even if Charlie were the type to dally with a servant, Will is a valet, a man, with a scandalous past, and Charlie is a famous figure.

In a late Victorian England where cars exist, if only for the rich, and telephones are a symbol of wealth, a progressive spirit has led to the appearance of acceptance. But though certain laws have been repealed it doesn't mean people's attitudes have changed or that class differences don't still exist. Will is content to serve his gentleman with no expectations of anything more. He only wants his master to be happy. Will makes Charlie smile but master and servant is all they can ever be, or is it?

Price: FREE. Everyone's favorite word! But if you like it and are curious about this Peter and Sebastian that Will mentions, then skip on over to


With Everything I Have


Description: Sebastian has a problem. He's in love with his best friend Peter and has been since their schooldays when they were outcasts together. His pining is so obvious that all of London knows, even his frustrated mother who just wants him to be happy. The only person who doesn't know is Peter. An abusive childhood with a controlling father left Peter emotionally detached and socially anxious and now he mostly hides himself away in his house where he designs the unique, fast cars that are status symbols among the town's elite. People would kill to own a single one of Peter's cars. Sebastian owns four. The meaning in that is obvious to everyone but Peter.

In a late Victorian England where cars exist, even though they aren't exactly comfortable, and computers allow the shy to avoid human contact , a progressive spirit has led to a begrudging acceptance of the sexuality of certain members of society. The sodomy laws have been repealed so that two men might spend the rest of their lives together, but that is no guarantee of happiness. Peter risks his neck driving at dangerous speeds for fun but sees passion as something to be frightened of. Sebastian has been struggling to get Peter to realize his own feelings for years but he is starting to worry that it may never happen. Peter seems to want no part of the future that Sebastian is offering him, on the surface at least. But a future without Sebastian might be something that not even a mind like Peter's can imagine.

Price: $1.99 But um, there's feelings! And smut! And suspenders... which... okay thanks to Selenographics and Wicklow, I have kind of a kink for now. hmmm Peter and Sebastian need some more smut. Maybe I will commentfic that with Selenographics when I get bored.
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Published on November 17, 2013 13:41

November 8, 2013

if you would kiss me once more, we could find out if there are other things you would enjoy

Oh, Rhoades, you sly, sexy scoundrel!

I just want people to read my steampunk thing with Wicklow and Rhoades so that they can lust over the other characters like I do right now!!! Whyyyyy? I need my pain and love for them to be shared by others!

I mean honestly, when you accidentally make every character in your story crazy hot in different ways and you imagine all their epic loves but at the same time, just picturing all the monkey sex fanfic that I hope some of you are inspired to write, well... good luck keeping your chonies on. (If that sentence made no sense, remember I am extremely tired.)

Of course, even if Dreamspinner wants the thing (so far I have heard nothing. Not even a reply to report receipt) it will be forever until it comes out. Forever, I say! And yeah okay that depends on people also reading the thing and then liking the thing. That part might be tricky. Sigh. Hmmm I'm probably going to have to fic them all myself, and no one will have the slightest idea what I am talking about. Sadface.

Before I get too upset about my eternal dorkiness, I should explain a few other things.

See, I wrote this Wicklow and Rhoades steampunk saga as a short story for Dreamspinner's steampunk anthology. Only my reader was like... "No, this needs to be longer. I need to know all about these two delightful muffins." (Only she's British, so those might not have been her exact words.) So it ended up much longer. But meanwhile, because I was trying to get a feel for steampunk, I wrote two other short stories.

The first was a steampunk Play It Again, Charlie AU, with Will the terrible valet and Charlie as his gentleman. The second was a story set in that same world about two other characters. I didn't know what to do with them, so I put them up on Smashwords. You can check them out if you like. One of them is even free! They don't have covers yet. Next week probably. R. Cooper on Smashwords. Proper links when I have proper covers. :)

Also I was going to do an "all the proceeds from the sales of this story go to charity" thing for the holidays (because I live in the US and our government cut foodstamps and other aid programs because our government is full of assholes) but I wouldn't even get the money from Smashwords until after the holidays, so instead I am just going to give to my local foodbanks some food and money. I encourage everyone to do the same. Seriously. Just drop something off in the donation bins in your grocery store or look up a local foodbank online. :):):)


This is more random than even my usual ramblings. I've been very busy, okay? My brain is little fried.
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Published on November 08, 2013 21:19