Sol Crafter's Blog, page 12
May 25, 2013
Part 5 – Slipping Through the Cracks
So Franz is spinning out into being this whole series of stories kind of guy. Would anyone be interested in seeing that? (At least half as interested as I am in writing it, because I am totally willing to write the fok out of this. Serious business.)
When I started, it was something different, but it’s been steadily evolving. Not so much a romance as a life story. What’s posted here for the hop is pretty gen. It’s just him dealing with this giant mental shift while powerless and locked up in an asylum. Plus there’s the whole deal with his mom, the giant scar on his face, and the stuff with Nicole.
And you all know that if you go to the “Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia” post and leave a comment I’m giving out free copies of this story. Like, to every single commenter.
Plus one lucky commenter will win a copy of my Allies & Enemies short “Psychotic.” Remember that cut scene I was tossing around? Yeah, it became a thing of angry/fearful/exultant/life affirming emotional displays and violence against some bad people. Kind of darkish, but with a happy ending.
Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Kid Nitro went to sleep in his own bed, and woke up on another Earth in the body of an alternate Franz Caulder. It’s a world without metabilities, which is jarring enough, but it’s also a world where Other-Franz is a mental patient grappling with some serious problems.
Slipping Through the Cracks is part of my message for the Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia blog hop.
Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia Part 2 – Slipping Through the Cracks Part 3 – Slipping Through the Cracks Part 4 – Slipping Through the Cracks
* * *
Another groggy hangover day. He felt rundown and as though he couldn’t handle anymore. He wondered if this was what dying was like, a slow sleepwalk through a mental hospital with people moving in and out of his peripheral vision like ghosts.
Lifting his head seemed impossible. So he trudged around with his hood pulled up and his shoulders slumped, and the sight of his own slipper wearing feet became familiar.
*Only they’re not my feet,* he reminded himself. But it seemed hollow and far away.
He’d been in this place a week and he already felt worn down. He was losing bits and pieces of himself to the drugs and the worried faces and he couldn’t stop it. Not once he was caught trying to hide his meds and earned himself a constant presence when it was Happy Fun Pill Time.
It wasn’t even his fault, not really. Whatever they kept shooting into his hip to knock him out had really messed with his brain. His hands felt as though he were constantly wearing mittens, or maybe even boxing gloves, and any kind of fine motor control was right out the window. So of course he was going to be spotted palming his pills when he couldn’t even get his fingers to close properly.
At least the nurses were cool about it, disappointed to a painful degree, but cool. They just shifted things around so he was observed to be swallowing his pills and kept on like everything was normal.
Which meant he was getting a full dose of the meds, and getting used to being zombified was a bitch.
“I think my meds are too strong,” he announced at his first session with Dr. Werth.
“You do, do you?” She sounded vaguely amused, but also as though she was listening.
Franz nodded. “Yeah. I feel like my head is a giant watermelon on my shoulders and… and I haven’t been able to get an erection.” He blurted out the last part and his ears felt hot enough that he thought they might explode from the pressure. Still, it was something he felt was important.
He’d never tied his self-worth in with his sexuality, but sometimes he wanted to jerk off and not being able to get it up *at all* was about to make him seriously lose his mind. Especially knowing that the cause was all the pills they kept jamming down his throat.
“Is that why you stopped taking your medication?” She was looking at him over the edge of her glasses and he had to shift away from her lightning gaze.
He pulled his hood closer around his face. “Maybe.”
Dr. Werth sighed. “Okay, Franz, here’s the deal: You keep taking your meds as directed, and I’ll lower the dosages. We’ll play around a little and see what works.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.
She smiled sadly. “Because you deserve to have someone be nice to you. Besides, you’ve been more outgoing lately. You’ve really been trying, so I’ll try my best too. Your dosages might have been a little strong for you. What do you say, you keep taking your meds and talking to me, and I lower your dosages and maybe in a few weeks we can arrange a visit from your mother?”
“My mother?” *But she’s dead.* He felt nailed in place and would have stopped breathing all together if she wouldn’t have noticed.
“I know you’ve wanted to see her for a long time and I think you’re ready now. You’re stronger than you were and she’s been making all the NAMI meetings and receiving her own therapies. This could be good for you. Both of you.”
“Okay,” it came out a whisper.
The idea of seeing his mother — who had become more myth and legend in his mind than woman — was huge. She’d died so long ago that he had no real memories of her, just the things that he could cobble together from stories and the vague feeling he got when he ate certain chocolates or smelled certain flowers: “She’s been here. This was what she loved.” And that was it.
But she was alive in this world. He could actually see her and talk to her and it was one of those things he’d always half-dreamed about.
*Except she’s not YOU’RE mother.* He shoved that traitorous voice down deep. He didn’t want to hear it. Not when he had a chance to meet his mother in person, something he’d never thought would happen.
All he’d ever had were old videos and photographs. A series of images to encompass the entirety of a person.
“Good.” Dr. Werth rubbed her hands together and lounged back in her leather chair. It didn’t even squeak. “You’ve been making great progress recently, Franz. I’m very proud of you.”
“Thank you.” It seemed like the thing to say.
“Now, would you like to discuss what happened with Bertie? Are you feeling safe enough to talk about it?”
This wasn’t how he’d thought talking to a therapist would go. He’d imagined lying on a couch while someone nodded and “uh hm’d” at the proper points. It would be some painful process of sobbing and self-hatred. Instead, this was just a casual conversation between two people; Dr. Werth came off more as a nosy aunt than a figure of authority.
“He didn’t do anything to me. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to me. Yet I still freaked out. I don’t know why.” He twisted his fingers in his lap, the sleeves of his red sweater covering most of his hands. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“It can be frightening, can’t it? I remember my first panic attack — it’s not something you can ever forget — and the way it felt as though I were being crushed. It’s very frightening.” She took a sip of her coffee. He could smell it, hot and sweet. “You’ve always been very brave about how you handle things. You’re one of my heroes.”
He didn’t know where the blush came from. It just seemed to happen by itself.
“If you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s fine. You know I’m always here and ready to listen,” she continued. “I worry about you and like to see that you’re doing okay.”
“I’m okay. I just had a rough patch. Bertie just caught me when I was in a bad head space.” The words came as easy as breathing and sounded completely natural. He was a little stunned by how good he was at filling the silences without sounding like he was just babbling.
“That’s really all that happened?”
Franz shrugged. “Seems like. Can I go? I’m feeling really tired.”
She gave him what might have been a disappointed look on someone else. “You go right ahead. We’ll change up your medication, so don’t worry.”
“Thanks doc.” He stood and gave her a little wave before leaving the office.
Sleep had become one of his havens in this new world. Sleep was the place he went when he simply couldn’t handle anymore and he needed to get away for a little while.
TBC…
Slipping Through the Cracks is part of my message for the Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia blog hop.
Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia Part 2 – Slipping Through the Cracks Part 3 – Slipping Through the Cracks Part 4 – Slipping Through the Cracks Part 5 – Slipping Through the Cracks
Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.
The post Part 5 – Slipping Through the Cracks appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 22, 2013
Part 4 – Slipping Through the Cracks
Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Summary: Locked in a mental hospital, Kid Nitro is falling into the life of an alternate version of himself. Franz Caulder.
Check out: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.
* * *
He felt groggy and out of sync. His body was a heavy suit pulling him down and even though he couldn’t sleep anymore he felt exhausted.
Franz realized that he didn’t react very well to being drugged. The hangover was awful.
He flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt and forced himself to leave his room. Dwelling on things wasn’t going to do him much good. Besides, he thought he was supposed to be hungry. Though it was strange to feel a hollow emptiness in his stomach, yet have next to no appetite at all.
He barely made it halfway toward the dining area when Dr. Werth cut toward with him a serious face on. “We really apologize for what happened yesterday with Bertie. It was unfortunate scheduling and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“I wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Franz said.
“I know you hoped you were past the point of having panic attacks, but this isn’t a catastrophe. It’s a minor setback, and as long as you promise to keep trying, we can keep moving forward.” She was looking at him with a steady expression of determination.
“I’ll keep trying,” he said.
She smiled and patted him gently on the shoulder, careful to keep her hand in view at all times. “Good, good. You’ve progressed so far, Franz. Now, go get yourself some breakfast. I think Joshua broke out the waffle maker.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that.”
Walking away felt weird and uncomfortable. He hated not knowing how to respond in a given situation. All those years of training wasted by his lousy memory and lack of tactical skills.
Franz ghosted around the edges of the dining area and prepared himself a tray that boasted two perfectly golden waffles slathered with butter and strawberry jam. He picked up a carton of chocolate milk and went to sit across from Nicole.
She’d freaked him out, but at least she was a friendly face. He could feel everyone else’s eyes burning into the sides of his head and forced his shoulders square. He smiled at Nicole. “Good morning.”
She was messily peeling a hardboiled egg, the pieces scattered across an unfolded napkin. She held the egg a few inches away from her mouth as she spoke. “Well, you’re definitely the weirdest fucking thing I’ve seen all day.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on. You had a fucking freak fit outside yesterday. Why the hell are you acting all cheery and bright?” She took a bite, yolk crumbling bright yellow around her lips. “Usually you’d be moping around and sobbing as you write in your diary. What the fuck?”
So Other-Franz wasn’t the kind to bottle it up. That was valuable to know.
He poked at his waffle reluctantly, the golden perfection doing nothing for his lack of appetite. It felt like a waste.
“I’m trying something new,” he said. “That other stuff wasn’t helping me, so I figured it was dumb doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result.”
She wagged the last bite of egg at him. “That’s nearly scientific. Who would have thought that pretty face could hide such a brain?”
It was instinctive. His hand moved by itself to cover the left side of his face. It was the classic Phantom of the Opera face hug, his palm hovering over the scar without touching, and it felt strangely right. No one could see as long as he covered it up.
When he realized what he was doing he forced his hand away and down onto his lap. He clasped his right hand tight around his left, fighting his instinct. He bowed his head and held on, his ears burning hot with embarrassment.
Franz had never felt like this in his life. His emotions were all over the place and the body kept doing things without his control. He felt like he was losing himself.
“Sorry. Fuck, you just had one of your episodes, fuck, I am so sorry. There’s no way I was trying to trigger you or anything,” Nicole said. She sounded honestly contrite.
Franz sucked in a gusting breath and held it for a long moment before gently exhaling out through his nose. When he spoke, it was while staring down at butter dripping off his waffles. “It’s not your fault. You just surprised me. And why do you have to talk like that all the time?”
“What the fuck do you mean?” she demanded, then snorted a laugh. “I figure the worse I talk, the more people will pay attention to me. I spent my whole life with no one ever hearing a single word I said. Then the first time I told my mom to go fuck herself… She actually saw me. She might not have liked what she saw, but she *saw* me. It was the first time ever.”
“Wow, that’s strong.”
She scoffed, “No it wasn’t. It bought me a one-way trip to psycho camp. Religion for my spirtual betterment, mortification for my physical well-being, and pretty prancing counselors to provide the temptation. Because punishment and fear of punishment is powerful strong. I would have been better off keeping my mouth shut and letting my mom ignore me until I was out of the house. Because once you’re a freak, then you’ve got to be fixed. That’s the rule.”
“It’s a sucky rule,” Franz said.
Nicole smiled, her eyes shining bright with either tears or defiance; he wasn’t sure which. “You’re damned right it’s sucky. Especially when there wasn’t anything to be fixed.”
“Did your mom send you here too?” He wasn’t trying to pry into anything personal, but he needed to know as much as he could about this world. And he was a bit curious.
“No. The state sent me here.” She pushed her long bangs away from her face with her hand, the lank strands not wanting to stay behind her ears. “My mom didn’t do her research and sent me to the kind of place where sadists earn their paycheck. There was a big raid and all kinds of trials and people went to jail all over the place. And I got declared mentally unfit and there’s no psychologist that will sign off on letting me go. None of them trust that I would keep taking my meds.”
“Would you?” he asked.
She laughed. “Who fucking knows? I’m just some headcase that can’t be trusted on the street. They’ve got like degrees and stuff.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say.
After breakfast was group therapy. He sat in his usual pose with his arms crossed and his hood up and tried to imagine himself somewhere far away. Completely other than here.
Yet he couldn’t seem to close his ears. The words around him kept getting sucked into his head and unwillingly he was absorbing the things the man was saying in that awful droning voice. Just snatches here and there as Franz tried to will the sound away.
“…drove right over the cliff. There was blood everywhere and parts splattered all… took fifteen people… police… And when I woke up I was in lockup and I knew it was serious. I’d screwed up again. I’d been out of my mind, but the things I did and the people I hurt, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for that… wonder sometimes why no one ever helped me… I was alone… hurting… I did awful things to survive yet… still feel dead inside…”
That voice was spinning out tendrils that were digging themselves into Franz’s ears, burrowing their way into him. His ears itched and ached and he dug his fingers into his elbows until he couldn’t take it any longer and he covered his ears with his hands.
The man kept talking. The words lost all meaning, becoming nothing but emotions washing over Franz. A dark flood of guilt, horror, despair.
He leaned forward and dug his forehead into his knees as he pressed his hands tight-tight against the sides of his ears. His breath came from him in heaving gasps and tears trickled from between his tightly clenched eyelids. He felt as though something had broken open inside of him and every part of him was being covered in slow moving syrup.
He was drowning with no air to fill his lungs and he felt sounds escaping his throat but he had no control over any of it. All he had the ability to do was hold his ears and pray that he would make it through this moment, that everything was going to be all right.
There was a harsh buzzing sound filling up his head. His keening cries couldn’t cover the painful, grinding *sound* that rang through his skull.
He was dying.
There was the distant whisper of motions and yells from the people around him, but he was too wrapped up to listen. The buzzing was so loud and there were colors swirling around the backs of his eyelids, sickening hues that made his stomach squeeze tight. And through it all there was an endless overflow of tears until even through his misery he could feel them hot against his face and soaking through his pants.
He didn’t know what was happening. Everything was out of control and he didn’t have the wherewithal to focus on anything but what was happening to him.
There was a warm hand on his shoulder and something prickly nudged against the back of his hand. There was the murmur of words, but he couldn’t focus.
The nudging continued until he lifted his head a little and cracked his eyes open. The overhead light stabbed at him, but he blinked until he was able to make out the small white pill cup being waved near his face.
He swung an arm to knock the cup away, but the nurse simply held it out of reach a moment before once again trying to press it on him. It took him a long time to comprehend that the pills were supposed to help him.
He kept trying to say no, but the buzzing was getting so loud that he was surprised the room wasn’t shaking. Finally he snatched the cup and swallowed the pills, choking a little when he drank the offered water.
He lowered his forehead back onto his knees and held onto his head. That hand on his back rubbed soothing circles. He might have pulled away, but that contact felt like an anchor holding him back from the pain swelling in his head.
He stayed there for some immeasurable length of time before he was finally able to unfold himself from the chair and was led back to his room. He kept his eyes tight squeezed shut and his hands on his ears, but the nurse held his elbow gently.
He climbed onto the bed when urged and let his shoes be tugged off. He was covered by the thin blanket. There was a rattling sound and blinds appeared from somewhere to cover the window. The light was switched off and everyone left, the door closing solidly behind them. He was in the dark alone.
Franz curled around his pillow and cried.
He wailed and sobbed and he made sounds deep in his throat that tried to split him apart. The pain ebbed and flowed through his head on the trail of that throbbing sound.
Even knowing that it was all happening inside his head, he still clutched at his ears. It felt as though it was helping.
He soaked his pillow and cried until his breaths were coming in hitching gasps and he felt completely broken open. The bed jerked with each of his hiccuping breaths and whatever those pills had been, he felt as though he were floating in place.
And somewhere he fell asleep.
He was sucked down into the dark, but it only felt like it took a moment. Then he was blinking open crusty eyes and the room seemed much darker than before and his mouth tasted horrible.
Colors throbbed bladelike across the walls, seeping in under that line of light on the door. He huddled around himself as the colors took form, a gibbering monkey in a red jacket with gold epaulets. Then more animals, dancing and cavorting, and there were circus tents in the background and the spinning shadow of the ferris wheel.
Franz watched everything, his eyes stuck at half-mast, gazing fascinated at all of the animals as they performed their show. Then the bear stepped in front of the lion and there was an argument and the monkeys were refusing to let the bear play with them.
Tears pinched the corners of Franz’s eyes and his heart was beating loud and fast in his chest. He could feel it thumping against his ribs.
He tried to climb out of bed and stumbled and fell. He lay sprawled for a moment, but the animals were dancing too close and the ferris wheel was spinning fast enough to leave a blazing trail of light across his eye and the monkey was leering at him and he was absolutely terrified.
He crawled to the door, the blanket tangling around his legs. He kicked it off and reached up to grab the knob with his hand, using it to pull himself to his feet. Then he stumbled out into the light.
One of the white wearing nurses saw him and walked over. It was the one that had made the waffles, Joshua. Franz liked Joshua.
“The monkeys wouldn’t let the bear play and he’s real sad and the light spinning and… I don’t feel good.” He leaned forward and threw up next to his own bare feet.
Joshua’s hands caught him before he could sag and fall. He was led toward a couch when he panicked about going back into his room with *them*. He was settled on a couch and someone wrapped his blanket around him. And throughout it all Joshua stayed next to him, a warm presence, solid and real.
TBC…
Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.
The post Part 4 – Slipping Through the Cracks appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 21, 2013
Part 3 – Slipping Through the Cracks
Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Summary: Kid Nitro went to sleep in his own bed, and woke up on another Earth in the body of an alternate Franz Caulder. It’s a world without metabilities, which is jarring enough, but it’s also a world where Other-Franz is a mental patient grappling with some serious problems.
* * *
He was running. His legs were churning fast and the world was spinning past him in slow motion. The faster he went, the more the world slowed down, until he thought that if he just went a little faster then time would stop all together.
Lightspeed was a bright yellow blur ahead of him and he couldn’t help being jealous. There was a reason Lightspeed was known as the world’s fastest man. Franz always felt a bit left in the dust.
Clenching his jaw, Franz pushed himself until his legs began to burn. Faster and faster until something seemed to happen, a strange switch over that turned the world around into a swirl of color and he was RUNNING with no impulse to ever stop. He felt as though he could keep going forever.
Lightspeed was always just a few steps ahead of him, always that little bit faster, but Franz didn’t feel like giving up. He knew that if he kept going, one day he would catch Lightspeed. One day *he* would be the fastest man alive.
“I’m going to catch you!” he shouted, the wind trying to whip his words away.
Lightspeed glanced back over his shoulder with a teasing smile on the visible portion of his lips. “You’ll have to try harder than that, boy.”
Franz yelled when Lightspeed put on another burst of speed and zipped ahead. Franz tried to catch up, but it seemed impossible. The man was just too fast. There was no catching that speed.
Franz woke with a jerk and the momentary sensation that he was falling.
He sat up and looked around the room, hating it and wanting to go home. He wondered if Nigel was taking care of himself without him there to nag him.
He got out of bed and went out to deal with his second day in Rotham Lite. He figured it wasn’t going to be too bad; he wasn’t locked behind a security door with padding on the walls like they had at Rotham. Housing both the criminally insane and the non-violent but permanently disturbed, Rotham had been rated as the world’s “Fiercest Asylum” by FasHonesta Magazine and that had only been a little bit of a joke. Rotham killed people.
This, though, was a completely different situation. These people actually cared for the mentally ill instead of just locking them up. He’d heard people discuss letting them out as an option, but he’d never believed it would work.
He’d heard all the stories about what the mentally ill would do if they were let out in public. There would be murders and rapes and horrible things all over the place. Everyone knew that’s what would happen. They had to be locked up for their own good, only allowed out to work and then only with a chaperone. It made sense; they were completely unbalanced and should be locked up for the good of everyone.
It was an idea Franz had always believed in. Except here in this world, the mentally ill were treated like normal people for the most part. They were only locked away when they were an imminent threat to themselves and other people. Otherwise they received what what was called “out patient” care, something Franz had never imagined possible. He was used to the idea of mental patients receiving permanent medication dispensing pumps to keep them safely controlled and happy in their Mental Health housing. Here, someone that just needed a few pills could live a normal life *outside*.
Which meant that Other-Franz had had some serious issues he’d been dealing with. Franz suspected violence and antisocial behavior, though it was hard to tell without asking what his prognosis was. He figured it would be better to wait for the information to present itself than ask dumb questions.
He’d been considering proving his sanity and getting out, but discovering how this world worked made him have to think. If these people that seemed so understanding about mental problems had thought it was a good idea to keep Other-Franz locked up for nearly a year, would it be such a good idea for him to get the guy out? If there was a body switch, Other-Franz would be out on the street with a clean bill of health. Could he do that to these people?
Sometimes he hated having a conscience. Because he definitely wanted out of this place, but not before he found out if it was safe for Other-Franz to be out in the world.
Franz wished that he knew anything about mental health disorders, but it had never been one of his concerns. *Those people* lived in special care facilities where regular people never had to see them or worry about them. When he’d occasionally had to deal with someone crazy, it was usually a supervillain he could hand over to the CMPF; it wasn’t his problem.
Yet here he was in this place, surrounded by people that made his skin crawl uncomfortably, and it wasn’t something he could happily ignore. They were right in his face and the doctors and nurses thought he was one of them.
The only relief he had was to keep reminding himself, “I’m not crazy.”
He held to it through another group session where he slouched in his chair with his arms crossed and his mouth shut. He held to it for the twenty minutes when he was forced to write down his *feelings*. And he was only a little violent with the paintbrush when it came to arts and crafts time.
He was feeling as though the walls were closing in by the time they were taken out after lunch for their daily walk. He pulled on his hoodie and promised himself that everything was going to be all right. Nigel would get him home and everything would be all right.
The air was crisp outside, a switch from the summer he’d left behind. The sky was a grayed out blue with some darker clouds in the distance. The leaves on the skinny trees framing the lawn were changing from green to yellow and he couldn’t help reaching up to touch them. Everything felt so real.
Franz looked around at the other patients with him–two men and three women–but they were seemingly off in their own worlds, wrapped up in their own problems. The nurse with them let them all do their own thing, knowing that the tall chain link fence surrounding the large yard would keep them in.
He turned to look back at the hospital, his eyes tracking over the windows and what he could see of the roof. It was a solid red brick square looming four stories high with bars on every window and only the wide double doors for entry or exit. He didn’t see a whole lot that he could work with.
For about the ten millionth time in his life, he wished that he had taken the extra courses the CMPF offered on escape and survival. He’d always had his superspeed and his superstrength; being normal had never been one of his worries, so he didn’t know how to do it.
His body felt strange to him, heavy in a way it had never been before. The hum that he’d heard thrumming in his blood since he was a little kid was gone. He felt drained, a shell of himself.
But he was still alive, and powers or no powers, he was still Kid Nitro.
Franz looked around at the fenced in yard and the other patients. He’d never been in a situation like this, had swung things so he would never be in a position like this.
He’d never seen much purpose in facing hardship when he didn’t need to. If the world went to hell, he was sure he could survive whatever got thrown at him. He didn’t need special training because he would be fine. Plus he’d have Nigel, and Nigel knew practically everything.
Except here he was in another world all alone. And he was worried that he was going to screw everything up. Because without guidance that’s what he always did; he ruined things. He was a ruiner.
Franz must have been too deeply in his own world, because the overly friendly arm slung across his shoulder almost made him fall. He caught his balance and looked at the brown haired man that held him.
Cheerfully round body and a clean-shaven face that was nearly cherubic in its sweetness. But there was something in the green eyes that put him on edge. “Shame about the scar on your face, but you’ve always caught my eye, Franzy. You’ve got something appealing about you. You’re a very handsome boy.”
Franz felt a throb of creeping dread go through his whole body. He couldn’t help it. He *cringed* away from the man. “Leave me alone, Bertie,” he blurted out, and it didn’t even sound like his voice. It was so timid and small; weak.
It felt as though all the strength was draining out of him and the fight went with it. He felt small and fearful and there was this rising sense of helpless misery.
He experienced the phantom slide of hands across his bare skin and the ghostly whisper of voices in his ears. And there was fear and pain and somewhere in the dark someone was screaming.
The sound that escaped his lips made his whole body twist. His throat felt squeezed tight and his testicles were trying to draw up. Every bit of him felt strung with wire and the world was narrowing down to a pinprick of light and he was fading away.
“Bertie, you have been told before that you are not allowed to speak to Franz. It was part of our agreement to treat you.” The nurse sounded exasperated. “Are you all right Franz?”
He couldn’t speak. He was being pulled out of his skin, colors smearing around as his breath came in fast pants that left him still desperate for oxygen.
He wondered if he were dying.
The world was getting too bright and everything looked too sharp and frightening. He was scared, he couldn’t help it, and he wasn’t even embarrassed when he felt the warm gush of hot liquid down his leg.
His head was whirling and spinning and he couldn’t breathe. Everything was too bright, too harsh, it was killing him, wiping him out, destroying him bit by bit as the world spun fast and faster. He keened, the sound rising from him like a bird and…
There was a nearly gentle prick against his hip. He hadn’t even seen her get close. The needle looked gigantic in her hand.
Then everything slid sideways and he went too. Just for a little while.
TBC…
Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes.
Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.
The post Part 3 – Slipping Through the Cracks appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 20, 2013
There are times when…
There are times when…
I am completely crazy. Certifiable. And the worst part isn’t the being crazy, but the knowing I’m being crazy and not being able to stop myself.
Sometimes I can’t control the volume of my voice so I mutter and mumble or I nearly shout and my laughter’s too loud. Other times I find myself waking up in the middle of some big lecture on like politics or Firefly. And then there are the times when I want to hide myself away forever and if I was a billionaire I’d be an elusive one.
There’s like a dozen-dozen people all fighting for space inside my skin, and every single one of them is deathly afraid of being known. I thrive on being the outsider even as some part of me is begging not to be so desperately alone.
I realize that I could step outside my door and meet a hundred people in any of a million ways, yet I can’t seem to manage to take that step. Instead I lurk in the shadows like Batman, which is oddly fitting considering what I write.
Yes, I write about superheroes and supervillains and people with amazing abilities. It’s something that I’ve done since I started my first book way back at the dawn of time; a vampire story early in the Of Blood universe. That book was super long and traveled here and there without settling down anywhere, and was truly a masterpiece considering I was 15 when I wrote it.
You could already tell my brilliance at that time because there was only one Mary Sue, and she was a secondary character pulling a cameo. So not only did I base a character on myself, I went full on self-insert. It makes me laugh now. And the funny thing is that back then I didn’t even know that fanfiction existed.
My roots are buried deep into original fiction, and it all started with vampires, and not the ones from Buffy. Nope, I didn’t even start watching Buffy until 2000, then I became a SUPER FAN. Before that, though, I was already fascinated with vampires, starting with the first time I read “The Silver Kiss.” It’s why all my vampires have white-blond hair; I actually wrote that into my canon.
Then there was L.J. Smith’s Vampire Diaries and NightWorld books; I devoured those by the dozen as a moody teenager. My then-friend Michelle tried to get me into pre-porn Anita Blake, but I was totally into young adult books at the time — stuff like Christopher Pike, Andre Norton, Patricia Wrede, Gordon Korman — and I was like “Nope.”
I read all the early-Anne Rice books (right up until they got too outside my interest) and I tried Charlaine Harris, but they didn’t hold me for too long. My vampire love took me to Lord Byron as a vampire and Jonathan Barret, then went even further to hit up sci-fi’s C.S. Friedman and her “The Madness Season.” Of course I also managed to read about Terry Pratchett’s version of Discworld vampires, which made me kick my feet with delight before I read “They Thirst” by Robert R. McCammon (who also wrote “Swan Song,” “The Wolf’s Hour,” and “Stinger.”)
And somewhere during all the reading about vampires, I started writing about them too. Stories of hating immortality but being afraid to die, a man forever trapped in the body of a young boy, and plenty of werewolves and wereleopards and elves. It got to the point where I had written so much into Lianndra that it’s become impossible to work with. It lives in a box now, my beloved headache. My first completed novel.
I’m proud that I wrote that first novel, jumped that first hoop, finished that first story because I’ve never stopped. I’ve written and written and poured out all these different messages that have been building up in my brain, and my books are my panacea.
Writing frees me from the crazy, but the crazy drives the writing. So sometimes I am completely crazy.
The post There are times when… appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 18, 2013
Part 2 – Slipping Through the Cracks
Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Summary: Franz goes to sleep in his bed and wakes up locked in a mental health hospital with no idea how he got there or why.
Check out: Part 1.
* * *
By the time he was back in his room and was sure he would have a bit of time alone, he was about an inch away from throwing a screaming fit.
Making sure the door was tightly closed, he pulled the napkin wrapped bundle of pills he’d hidden in his underwear out and took them directly to the bathroom. He was glad they trusted him enough to allow him his own toilet and sink; he knew there were some facilities where the patient was only allowed a bare mattress and could expect invasive body searches on a regular basis.
He flushed the pills down the toilet and felt a little better.
Most of what he knew about mental hospitals was stuff he’d learned from TV and movies. He’d been worried all day that he was going to get caught with the pills and evil doctors would end up giving him shock therapy or a lobotomy. It was terrifying.
Franz stood in front of the sink and examined himself in the mirror. It wasn’t made out of glass, just polished metal, which left his reflection slightly wavery and out of focus. He was able to see himself, but for a long moment he didn’t recognize the man standing there.
This was the first time he’d seen himself since he’d woken up. He hadn’t realized he would look different from what he was used to. It sent a jolt of fear through him.
This all might be real.
The man in the mirror was in his early-twenties with the light brown skin he was used to. His black eyes were almond-shaped and there was something Asian about the cast of his features, but he mostly looked black. His mother had been half-white and half-Japanese while his father had been black. They’d died when he was too young to have many memories of them, though he remembered how British they sounded.
The fact that he knew they spoke with Estuary English accents had been something he’d learned from Nigel. Before that he’d watched old home movies of them and thought they sounded like something off the BBC. It had also been Nigel that had told him all the stories he’d missed about who his parents were.
His mother had been Sophia, his father was Terence. They had been Butterfly Woman and Mothman, and Dr. Scourge had torn his family apart.
Dr. Scourge had killed Terence, and Sophia had killed the supervillain. Then she’d taken her grief, bottled it up tight, and burnt herself out fighting crime for another year as a solo act. One day she’d gotten careless and she’d died, leaving him an orphan with more questions than answers. Some part of him had never forgiven her.
He’d lived in foster care until he was ten, never understanding what had happened to his parents. Until Nigel had come and taken him away, an old friend of his parents that only wanted the best for him. And Nigel had turned out to be Lightspeed. He lived with a superhero and he’d grown up to be a superhero himself.
He was Franz Caulder. He was Kid Nitro. He had battled supervillains and helped to protect the world from destruction.
But the guy in the mirror… He didn’t know what to think of that guy.
There were strange shadows and a jagged series of scars across the left side of his face. When he turned his head sideways, it looked like the letters FA or FR had been carved from his jaw up toward his ear; the writer had been interrupted given the ragged upsweep that almost bisected the corner of his eye. The skin was puckered and burned looking, though the blade must have been as sharp as it was hot.
He stared at himself and it looked bad. That scar looked old, several years at least, something that had to have happened when he was a teenager. It was ugly, no doubt about that, and hadn’t received any kind of aftercare. One look told him the wound had healed naturally with no doctors.
Franz would have immediately gone to a plastic surgeon. If one of his bad guys had carved up his face like that, Franz would have used his League of Superheroes medical card at the nearest hospital. He would never have a scar like that, not with the miracles of modern medicine.
There was something very bad wrong here and he was beginning to suspect that it was him. He hadn’t been in his bed last night, or at least this body hadn’t. This body had been here, locked up nice and cozy with Other-Franz in his cell where he belonged.
Just like in the old Chrestomanci books. He’d been body snatched. It was the only explanation.
Like the gears in some great machine his Essence, or soul, had been shifted one universe over. And somewhere out there someone was walking around in his body living his life. While he was here in this alien/familiar/terrifying body with this giant, horrible scar across his face.
Franz reached up to touch the scar, but stopped. His finger hovered, then he dropped his arm.
He stared at his reflection for a long moment and forced his shoulders square. He could handle this. He was Kid Nitro. He could handle *anything*. Even a crazy case of body switching.
He would just have to remember to be careful not to damage the body. It wasn’t his, and he already missed that vibrant hum that had always filled him before. He felt wrapped up in the fleshy prison and it was strange feeling so powerless, but he would do his best to take care of the body. Because until he managed to switch back, he was only borrowing someone else’s skin.
There went his chances of ever being a beauty queen.
The laugh garbled out of his throat and he stumbled out of the bathroom to flop down on the bed. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t care.
He was in an alternate universe. It was the only explanation.
“Fuck, why me?” He covered his face with his hands and allowed himself the luxury of a hysterical moment. The barely muffled sounds that escaped his mouth made his own ears hurt, like listening to some wounded animal he couldn’t help.
It was cleansing though. Letting it all out.
And when he’d gotten himself back under control, he forced himself to his feet and began examining the room. It wasn’t that bad. The doors opened and he had his own bathroom and he wasn’t sharing with anyone. Definitely not too much like real prison.
He’d been to prison before, or at least the juvenile version of it. They’d been pulling a sting and he’d been undercover at Barosoma, otherwise known as Kiddy Max. The CMPF were tracking Hesse Mijandro, the leader of the Purity Movement’s Junior Believers, and Franz had been asked to befriend Mijandro’s cousin Ursa.
He’d done a good job of it and they’d become prison friends, close enough for Ursa to see him as a real friend. And after they’d gotten out–timed close enough to keep the relationship meaningful but not close enough to be suspicious–it had seemed completely natural for Ursa to invite him around.
They’d gone to movies, they’d shopped, they’d gone to baseball games, it had been great. Franz hadn’t had that much fun with another person in a long time and it had felt real. Ursa had become a friend.
And through Ursa he’d gotten close to Tiedre Mijandro. Close enough to be invited to the Mijandro compound overnight. He’d done his job. He’d gotten the information and he hadn’t been discovered. Six months of being Alex, friend and sometimes lover of Ursa and Tiedre, had left him feeling changed inside, but he’d done it. Because he was Kid Nitro, sidekick of Lightspeed.
The Mijandro case had won him a lot of respect. They’d seen him as a kid and some had tried to talk him out of taking the job, but he’d told them he was ready to do his part. He was ready to go in and use Ursa to get what he needed and it was going to be no big deal.
The Purity Movement had taken a big hit when their junior division was brought up on criminal charges for selling drugs and guns and robbing houses. And the world was made a little better.
Except he’d felt like crap for a long time. Ursa and Tiedre had really become his friends, and he’d brought down their family. It had killed him to see them hurt, but Hesse Mijandro had been out of control. Franz had done what he needed to do.
He was Franz Caulder. He was Kid Nitro. He made the hard choices. He did his job.
He firmed his jaw and the last of his quiet sniveling faded away. He’d been in hard spots before. He’d get through this.
There wasn’t anything of much interest in the room. The dresser held more of his same scrub pants and tee shirt ensembles, along with a bundle of white socks and plain briefs. There was a plastic tub in the corner that held some paperback novels — mostly sci-fi and fantasy — and a handful of spiral notebooks. That was about it, other than a red hoodie flung over the back of the room’s single chair.
He thought about taking the bed or the chair apart to fashion some kind of weapon, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He needed to find out more about why he was here.
All he needed was to bust out of the hospital, then have Nigel manage to flip him back. If the Other-Franz had a mental illness that made him violent, the last thing Franz wanted to do was break the guy out. That was like an invitation to feeling guilty if Other-Franz went on a murder spree or something.
He grabbed the hoodie and pulled it on. The inside was soft fleece and he lifted the hood up around his head. That was a lot better.
So he was in another world in an alternate version of his body. He could deal with this.
“I’m Kid Nitro,” he whispered, climbing back onto the bed. It took him a long moment to find a comfortable position lying on his side and he wrapped his arms around his legs.
He would find out everything he could about this world and he would make sure no one knew that he didn’t belong. Because if he told the doctors here that they needed to let him out because he was a different Earth’s Franz Caulder, they would think he was crazy and he would only make things more difficult for himself.
He needed to play this cool and smart.
“I’m Kid Nitro.”
Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.
May 17th is the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia. The link is: http://dayagainsthomophobia.org/.
The post Part 2 – Slipping Through the Cracks appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 16, 2013
Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia
Welcome to my stop on the Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia blog hop. My name is Harper and I write a mix of mm and slashy sci-fi and fantasy stories with an emphasis on plot over porn.
It feels weird to realize that even just a few short years ago people didn’t believe that gay marriage would ever be possible. It was one of those things that had people shaking their heads and saying, “That will never happen.”
Look at us now.
There’s hope that someday people will wake up to the idea that everyone deserves to be treated equally and that the world can become a better place than we’ve let it be. There’s been several frustrating steps backward on women’s issues, religion, and gun control, but I refuse to give up on the idea that as long as we keep pressing forward things can get better.
And that’s what this hop is about for me. It’s about spreading the word that even though there’s been some positive changes, it’s not enough. Homophobia and transphobia exist, it’s true, and we need to stand up and say “Enough. No more.”
If we stop being complacent and band together, we can change the laws and the world. It won’t be easy and it will take time, but future generations will be able to look back on the past and shake their heads and say, “There’s no way that really happened.” Because to those kids yet unborn, the idea of people being beaten and murdered for the color of their skin, their sex, their religion, or their sexuality will be an archaic idea of barbaric people that no longer exist.
I can’t wait for that day to arrive. I’m hoping it will be during my lifetime.
Okay, so I was kind of waffling about what I was going to offer up as a prize. A backlist title, something that’s not released yet like A&E, I had no idea.
Then I counted up the days of the hop and a crazy idea entered my brain. What if I wrote a story and posted an entry every day of the hop, and at the end I would give a PDF copy to every person that comments. That way everyone gets to be a winner.
So comment to receive an ARC of the tentatively titled “Slipping Through the Cracks,” by Harper Kingsley after May 27th.
Suggest a more fitting title and receive a dedication in the book when it becomes publicly available.
One lucky commenter will also receive a copy of the Allies & Enemies short, “Psychotic.”
Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Summary: Franz goes to sleep in his bed and wakes up locked in a mental health hospital with no idea how he got there or why.
* * *
Franz went to sleep in his bed.
He woke up to a changed world.
The first thing he noticed, even before he opened his eyes, was that his sheets were strangely scratchy and his mattress was mysteriously hard with more jabby parts than he had ever experienced before. He imagined it was what lying on a bed of nails was like.
Franz sat up with a groan and his eyes widened in shock as he looked around.
The room he was in was painted a glaring white and was sparsely furnished. There was a plain brown dresser against the wall and a cheap framework desk under the barred and uncurtained window.
The bed he was on was a metal frame with a thin futon mattress thrown on it. Uncomfortable and unappealing, it — along with the bars on the windows and and the complete lack of any kind of personality in the room’s decor — gave him his first inkling of where he might be.
The slate blue drawstring pants and the thin white tee shirt he was wearing gave him his next clue. They definitely weren’t the pajamas he’d gone to sleep in.
Donning the robe and cheap cloth slippers he found, he tried the door and was pleased when it opened easily. At least he was in a minimum security facility. He’d been half-afraid he’d been locked in the depths of Rotham, but obviously he was somewhere much fluffier and lighter.
He stepped out of the bedroom to find himself in a large common room.
Long couches had been used to section off a square of space in the center of the room. The U-shape the couches created was opened to face the nurses’ station.
Around the walls were dozens of closed doors, all private rooms. On the far end of the room, left-hand kitty corner to the nurses’ station, was an open door that seemed to lead into a large, airy arts and crafts room. That was probably where most of the real mental health work took place.
For a mental ward, the place was actually pretty nice looking. All brown and goldenrod color, comfortable couches, and the illusion of freedom to move around.
There were other patients. He glanced at them out of the corner of his eyes, not wanting to be caught creep-staring. A brown haired lady quietly sat on one of the couches gazing blankly into space. A dark haired man jerkily strode around the room with manic energy, his hands fisting and punching at his sides. A gray haired man with baggy eyes slumped on the floor in a corner, every line of him proclaiming his physical misery.
Franz had to be the youngest person in the room, but no one seemed too terribly surprised to see him. So either they were all in on his abduction, or something more was going on here.
“Ah, Franzy, I’m glad to see you’re finally awake.”
Franz turned to face the woman in the pink blouse with the name tag that read ‘DR. WERTH.’ “Hello doctor,” he said, trying to make his voice sound close to normal. He really didn’t want to give away the fact that he had no clue who she was.
“Are you feeling better today?” she asked gently. “Do you feel up to making the meeting?”
Rightfully guessing she meant a group session, he really wanted to say no. But he needed information, and interaction with the people here was the only way he could get a clue about what was going on.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
She smiled brightly, then moving slowly as though he were a wild animal, she gently touched his shoulder. Just a single pat, but the expression on her face made it into some gravity defining breakthrough. “You’ve come so far,” she said. “I’m very proud of you and I’ll be happy seeing you at the meeting.” So obviously she thought she knew him, though that may have been part of an act.
He didn’t understand why he was in this place with these people, but he was going to figure it out. And then he was going to kick the ass of whoever had ripped him out of his bed to bring him here.
So group therapy was a bust. Not just because he didn’t know what he was supposed to say to this bunch of strangers, but because there was no big dramatic reveal about how he’d ended up in this place.
He got to sit on a hard plastic chair in a circle with a bunch of people he didn’t know while trying to figure out what had happened. And it was only a little eerie that they were all acting like he’d been to their meetings before, every single day for nearly a year. It was creeping him out.
What the hell is going on? he thought, shuffling out of the room after the other scrubs wearing patients.
This seemed like a real mental hospital with real mental patients and he was here. This was not some nightmare or drug induced delusion. He was Franz Caulder, and he was really here.
Not for long, he promised himself.
He made his way into the dining area with the others and took the chair next to the man that had seemed so angry earlier. The guy had calmed down, but the corner of his mouth still twitched and there was something dangerous in his eyes that Franz recognized and refused to relax around.
A recovering alcoholic suffering withdrawal symptoms could be unpredictable.
As he ate his chocolate pudding and nibbled on the breaded fish fillet he’d been given, Franz kept himself ready in case the guy blew up or something. He figured one hard jab to the throat and an arm bar and he’d have the guy controlled if he started to rampage.
“You’re being very weird today. What’s wrong with you?”
Franz looked at the woman sitting across from him in surprise. “Excuse me?”
She cocked her head, her stringy blond hair falling over her face. She looked as though she hadn’t showered in several days and her eyes were dark circled and tired. She was probably in her mid-twenties and spoke to him familiarly, but he’d never seen her before in his life.
“‘Excuse me,’” she mocked, her mouth forming a pout around the words. “Seriously, dude, you’re freaking me out. What’s wrong with you? Did you suddenly realize that you’re in the nuthouse or something?”
“Well, I took one look at the outfit and I didn’t have to look much further,” Franz said. He’d always had a gift for rolling with whatever situation. It was one of the things that had always made him a great crime fighter.
Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.
May 17th is the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia. The link is: http://dayagainsthomophobia.org/.
The post Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 9, 2013
I need to buy new clothes. Like everything.
I need to buy new clothes. Like everything.
When I was working for the casino, I would buy a lot of clothes and books and movies and things. I spent so much money, but I stockpiled all the things I never had before and that I have now.
Seriously, when you start out with virtually nothing–just one suitcase to your name–you spend the first year just trying to bring yourself to a liveable standard. And of course, right in the middle of all that, I had my nephew living with me and he needed *everything.* He literally only had the clothes he was wearing.
Now though, I find myself needing a shopping spree once again. I’ve been rotating through my giant box of clothes, but eveything has writing on it. My terrible sense of humor is on full display and I feel like I’m to the point of wanting Grown Up clothes.
I wish that when I was blowing all that money I’d thought ahead and gotten a few responsible outfits. But if I’m wishing for impossible things, I wish I would have married a millionaire or won the lottery.
I just have to deal with the reality in front of me. Please excuse me as I grab my rose-colored glasses.
The post I need to buy new clothes. Like everything. appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 7, 2013
I am in a writing mood today and I love it
I am in a writing mood today and I love it.
There are just some days when you wake up thinking, “I am going to finish some stuff.” And that was me today.
-I’ve wrapped up a few chapters of Paradigm Shift. I write them on my Kindle using ColorNote, putting each piece on the day it will be posted. I write at least four mini-screens for each post, giving me a minimum of 500 words per. (We’re already past the 30k mark, and that’s not talking the bonus Park POVs.)
I started with the 500 chunklet method with Paradigm Shift, but I’ve also started using it for other projects. I have proof that I’ve got my daily minimums when I can see it right there on a calendar view. So that’s really helped keep me focused and on task.
-I’ve been editing A&E. Reading through it I am kind of boggling at the amount of detail. My mindmust secretly be a steel trap because everything ties to everything else.
I’ll be truthful. I don’t know how it is for other writers, but for me a lot of the time it feels like a story moves through me. I retain a general outline of events in my head, but for the most part I’m already to the next section. So when I come back and read the complete manuscript all the way through for the first time, I’m experiencing it as a reader.
That first read through is awesome. The fiftieth read through … not as awesome. So, fresh off the first complete read, I am kind of shocked by how perfectly it fits to Heroes & Villains. Yes, it’s the sequel, but I didn’t think I’d put so much set up in H&V until there it was being used.
I feel like Hannibal Smith does all the time. Lighting up a
self-satisfied cigar: “I love it when a plan comes together.”
-I’ve been working on some genhet sci-fi stories. Non-romance working sci-fi with like robots and lasers and dinosaurs. All the serious stuff.
There’s something kind of thrilling about trying to fit a whole world into a small packet of words. There’s no room for extraneous babble.
-Ugh. I need about $50k to pay off all my debts and help my dad out. It’s weird when all of a family’s problems can be solved with a winning lottery ticket. I mean, I’m not selfish enough to be pushing to get 1% rich, but I would at least like to go back to $0.
It just seems that whenever my game gets reset, instead of being put back at the beginning, I find myself more and more in the negative. And being -$50k … That’s actually kind of terrifying.
-Also, I finally watched Cabin In the Woods (it’s on Netflix now), and REALLY? I was with it all the way through to the end, and now I’m wondering if there might be an alternate ending where someone has a little more selflessness in them. Too bad Chris Evans’ character from Sunshine wasn’t there, though Chris Hemsworth … mm … I missed the waving Thor locks, but I was right there with it.
-Oh, and I saw that there’s an Ender’s Game movie coming out. Am I the only one that’s scared they’re going to ruin it? I mean, if they turn it into an empty sci-fi action movie I’m going to be *so* angry.
Ender’s Game and Dune are two books that had a big effect on me as a kid and that have helped to shape my interest in science fiction. Other major influences: Andre Norton (author), CJ Cherryh (author), David Drake (author), L.E. Modesitt Jr (author), Star Trek (TV show), Star Wars (movie), and Enchantress From the Stars (book).
-I’ve gotta talk someone into getting me a Hulu gift certificate as a present. I had to drop it months ago, but I really miss it. Plus I need research material for my Big Bang story. Yes, I said no more, but this one is super cool and I just couldn’t resist. We’re talking Poison Ivy and Inque levels of awesome ^_^
Also, after all the Community gifsets I’ve seen around, I kind of want to watch the show. I hate coming into something really late in the series (like I wish I’d known about Rules of Engagement before they were into their fifth season. That was some *great* advertising there.) So I would love to have some Hulu back in my life. Plus, because of the lack-of-buffering problem we’ve got going with Netflix, my dad would probably appreciate being able to watch *something* on the days with no good programming. Because that’s always when the Netflix decides not to work.
The post I am in a writing mood today and I love it appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
May 3, 2013
Attack of the Self-Entitled Woman
My brother is pretty heated right now. Like to the point that if that woman shows up again he’s probably going to chuck a rock through her car window.
I know that sounds pretty bad, but here’s the story:
Yesterday I was sitting on the porch minding my own business with my dog at my side. A red car drives down the hill and stops next to the lilac bush next to our driveway. I thought the driver was just making a phone call or something, until I started hearing the click-click of clippers.
I yelled at her to “Hey, stop! That’s our bush!” But she just clipped faster. Then I got to her car and I start yelling at her, and she pulls out the “I didn’t know anyone lived here. I just thought it was a vacant lot. I was just picking some of these for my sick daughter and blah blah blah.”
I was so pissed off, but there wasn’t anything I could do short of pulling her out of her car and beating her up. Which if you know me, would never happen. Damn my passive-aggressive tendencies.
I’m more the kind of person that will avoid personal confrontration, then lay out a bunch of caltrops and metal spikes to mess up her car if she thinks she’s going to do that again. Already we’re planning to put some heavy rocks there so no one will have room to park. It was already annoying enough that people thought it was cool to use our driveway as their phone break stop.
Anyways, my brother got back today and went to look at the bush and he’s really mad. He says people have cut off all the flowers on the side facing the street, just big chunks cut off.
I know someone out there is like “Well, it’s just a bush. The flowers will grow back next year.” Unfortunately, there’s a good chance that because of the damage our bush won’t be rounded and nice to look at anymore, but all spiky and ugly.
So thanks lady. I’m sure you won’t be upset when I come to your house and just take whatever I want. I’ll use the lame excuse that my dog is sick and needs some flowers/garden hoses/hubcaps/planters and I’m sure you’ll be all cool with that.
And by the way, she was driving a brand new expensive car. Like expensive enough that she could have totally afforded buying some flowers. She just thought she could help herself.
And she brought her own clippers to do it.
So be on the lookout for a fake redhead woman, about 50-65, slender build, fake attitude, dresses like she thinks she’s going boating. And just to let you know, she is going to be dying a series of gruesome deaths for the next several years, and if I do a good enough job, she might even recognize herself.
The post Attack of the Self-Entitled Woman appeared first on Harper Kingsley.
All content copyright HarperKingsley.net unless otherwise stated.
Please do not steal my words. In a hundred years they are all that will be left of me.
April 30, 2013
NOVEL: The Panic Pure, by Harper Kingsley [mm suspense] – Chapter Fourteen
Title: The Panic Pure
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: mm suspense thriller
Rating: mature
Summary: Daniel Worth, billionaire and CEO of Worth Enterprises is questioned by FBI agent Marshal Newman about the disappearance of one of his employees. They strike up a conversation and soon are regularly meeting and begin dating. However neither realizes just how close danger is lurking.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Some part of him had insisted that having Marshal move in would be a disaster. There would be fighting and despair and he would run away to join Arthur in the guesthouse. Everything would degenerate into something from a soap opera and he would get the crazy idea of wanting someone in his life out of his system once and for all. He would settle into the idea of being a lonely hermit and it would be fine.
Danny was happy to be proven wrong. He couldn’t help feeling a touch grateful that he’d met Marshal. He didn’t think there was anyone else that could have fit so perfectly into his world as Marshal had.
It almost made him start believing in predestination. He and Marshal had always been meant to meet and fall for each other. They slotted into each other’s lives so easily that Danny barely even noticed the changes that appeared in his routine. It was strangely natural.
The first week passed with admirable smoothness as everything clicked together. And he was happy.
“What’s with that smile?”
Danny twitched and sat up straight, trying to school his face into blankness. Arthur didn’t seem to buy it from his raised eyebrows in the rearview mirror.
“Seriously, you’ve been acting strange. Should I be concerned?” The car wasn’t moving, but Arthur was keeping his attention on the road ahead. He was a quick, but careful driver; never letting his attention waver.
“Everything’s fine,” Danny said. “I was just thinking how strangely easy it was to fit Marshal into my life.”
Arthur’s lips in the mirror curved at the corners and his eyes scrunched up slightly. “That’s the way it always is. People fit themselves around each other all the time. We’re puzzle pieces all trying to find our other halves. And you’ve found your match. Too bad he’s a cop.”
“Hey, haven’t you ever seen Men In Tights? ‘I always wanted to marry a cop.’”
“So wait, you’re already talking about marrying this guy? Man, you’re quick,” Arthur teased.
“Shut up!” Danny couldn’t help laughing. It felt good to have a relationship to talk about. Always before he had been the one listening to Arthur wax poetic or watching events from a distance.
It was actually rather startling how romantic Arthur could be. He always had women falling over themselves around him, and he was polite to every single one. Danny didn’t think there was anyone that honestly could say anything bad about Arthur, not even those he sharked on as a lawyer.
“So he’s making you happy? I don’t have to beat him up?” Arthur asked.
Danny shook his head. “Not this week. He’s fit into my life surprisingly seamlessly. I think this is going to work.”
The car moved forward a few lengths. “Do you know why having Marshal in your life is going so well? It’s because you’re actually willing to let someone in. You’re open to the idea of letting yourself be happy. I’m really proud of you.”
Danny felt his cheeks going hot and ducked his head. A pleased smile tugged at his lips. “Thank you.”
Arthur turned his head to give him a quick smile. “You don’t know, but you’re seriously my hero.”
“That’s funny,” Danny said, “because you’ve always been the one I look up to.”
“See, I’m going to have to give Marshal a giant thank you. He’s turned your feelings on and revealed that secretly you’re a marshmallow inside.”
Danny snorted. “Thank you, I guess.”
Arthur laughed and changed the subject. Danny let him.
There was definitely something going on. Both Arthur and Sophia were acting very out of character. It made him wonder if they’d finally realized the chemistry between them and gotten together.
If they ever paused for a moment, he was sure they would realize how great they would be together. They would be such a perfect couple: powerful, a little scary, and stunning in photographs. The kind of couple that other people couldn’t help admiring.
He watched them covertly and didn’t say anything. They would let him know if whatever they were whispering about in corners was something he needed to be involved in. Until then, he was happy dreaming about Marshal and their improbably happy home together. He had never felt so domestic before, and he really liked it.
Danny paused his happy humming when he flipped open a red folder that had appeared on his stack of paperwork. Columns of numbers looked back at him, four pages worth, then at least a dozen more pages of tiny block script that had been badly Xeroxed.
He pressed the intercom button. “Sophia, what is this?”
The door opened and Sophia stuck her head in. “What is what, sir?” she asked. Her hair was in a no-nonsense up-do today and there was something startlingly militaristic about the cut of her plum colored jacket.
Danny lifted the folder and waved it lazily in the air. “This. What exactly is this and who did it come from?”
A faint frown tugged at her lips. “That’s strange. I went over everything addressed to you, and I don’t remember seeing that.”
“Hm.” Danny looked at the folder, half-tempted to see what it was about. Yet some quiet inner voice was squealing a warning and he had so much else to get through before he could go home. There was no point borrowing a headache.
He held out the file. “Find out what this is and handle it.”
“Yes, sir.” He noticed she was wearing dark green nail polish tipped with plum when she took the folder. “I don’t know how this could have gotten on your desk,” she sounded puzzled and a little indignant. Someone had breached the security of her office to reach the inner sanctum.
Danny smiled. “Don’t worry about it so much.”
“It won’t happen again,” she promised. Her heels made no sound on the carpet, but in his mind he imagined an authoritative click-clack following her across the room.
Danny shook his head and went back to his paperwork. The sooner he was done, the better.
* * *
= THE SPACES IN-BETWEEN =
Worry churned in her belly, but Sophia didn’t let anything show on her face. She maintained her cool facade until after she’d delivered Mr. Worth’s lunch and had been released for her break.
Arthur looked momentarily surprised to see her waiting in his office when he came back from an errand, but he rarely let anything throw him.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Wordlessly she held out the file folder.
He quirked a brow, but flipped through it. His mouth pulled tight. “What the hell is this? Where did it come from?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It was on his desk this morning. It definitely didn’t pass through my office.”
“Are you thinking some kind of mole?”
“I have no idea, though this could be real trouble,” she said.
“Real trouble. This is more than real trouble. It could be a disaster. Get the security tape and find out everyone that’s been in and out of his office,” he said. “I’ll do the questioning.”
There was something vicious in his tone. Sophia gave him a sharp glance. “Please don’t do anything too extreme until you’re certain you have the right person. I don’t think Mr. Worth will be too enthused about visiting you in prison.”
Arthur barked a laugh. “Could you just imagine?”
“He would come visit you,” Sophia said. There was history between Arthur and Mr. Worth, years and years of it. More than she would ever consider getting in the way of.
“I’ll speak to security,” she said, rising from the improbably comfortable visitor chair. He used it to lull people into a false sense of safety before springing the trap closed.
Arthur Conway had a reputation for ruthlessness. To the world at large he was Daniel Worth’s pet attack dog.
More than one would-be corporate raider had found himself skewered by Arthur. There had been no pity or remorse as Arthur had done the dirty work and completely ruined Mr. Worth’s enemies.
Sophia had even helped on occasion.
“We’ll handle this,” she said.
Arthur smiled. “Of course we will. This and any other attack anyone wants to make on Danny or Worth Enterprises. We’ll handle it all. That’s what we’re here for.”
* * *
They were eating their breakfast before heading off to their respective jobs. It was like something out of a storybook, or a memory of something he’d lost a long time ago with his parents.
“So, tomorrow’s Saturday and the weather’s supposed to be great,” Marshal said. “What do you think about barbecuing?”
“There’s a grill. Arthur likes to break it out during the summer.”
Marshal smiled. “Cool. I’ll pick up some steaks on the way home from work today. I’ll make my special marinade. It will make you weep from the deliciousness.”
Danny raised his eyebrows. “The deliciousness?”
“Deliciousness,” Marshal emphasized, waggling his eyebrows. “Your mind will be completely blown by the awesome of my marinade.”
“Can you pick up enough for Arthur too?” Danny asked.
“Of course.” Marshal speared a chunk of honeydew melon and popped it in his mouth, chewing quickly. “Do you mind if I invite my buddy Hamilton? You can say no if the idea makes you uncomfortable.”
It was obvious that Marshal was worried about doing something to make Danny freak out. On one hand it was sweet that he cared that much, but on the other it made Danny wish that he could do better. It wasn’t fair that Marshal had to put up with all of his mental hangups and was afraid of making a mistake that would send Danny over the edge.
“You don’t have to be worried about bringing your friend around,” Danny said. “It will be nice to meet him.” Terrifying. “We can share stories about you.”
“Uh oh, maybe I should be worried?” Marshal teased. He cocked his head and the curve of his lips made Danny feel as though he’d done the right thing.
“Did you do anything that you have to worry about?”
Marshal shrugged. “I spent a lot of my college years partying. How am I supposed to know what I might have blacked out about?”
“So what you’re saying is that there are tons of interesting stories about you out there waiting to be dug up on the Internet?”
“Maybe.” Marshal filled his mouth with melon.
Danny smiled to himself. The idea of a stranger being in his house was still disturbing, but he was willing to put up with it as long as it made Marshal happy.
He stuck a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth and made a mental note to ask Arthur to make sure the grill was ready to be used. They were going to be barbecuing.
* * *
It was ridiculous to be so grateful about such a little thing, but he knew that it had been a hard decision for Danny. To allow a guest–a stranger–into his house he’d had to go far outside of his comfort zone, yet he’d done it.
Marshal took it as proof that Danny loved him and ended up wearing a smile all day. He didn’t even have it in him to care when Joanna brought out the mockery. Instead he tried to appear as smug as possible to rub her nose in his newfound domestic bliss.
From the pink eraser she bounced off his forehead, he figured he’d won. And his smile just got bigger and more ridiculous until by the time he barged into Hamilton’s office his cheeks felt stretched.
“Well hello, Mr. Joker. If you’re looking for the Batman he’s currently in a comic book.” Hamilton only took a single look at him before going back to his computer screen. “What can I do for you this time?”
“Come to our barbecue tomorrow,” Marshal said.
“At the billionaire’s house?”
“Don’t make him sound like he’s going to get marooned on an island, but yes.” Marshal smiled as winsomely as possible. “It will be at Danny’s house and I’m totally proud of him for saying you could come over. So you have to come or I’ll end up looking like a complete tool.”
Hamilton propped his chin on his clasped hands. “Well, we can’t have you look like a tool. I’ll be there.”
“Awesome.”
Marshal went back to his day with an even bigger grin. He really wanted to show Danny off to Hamilton, and then to everyone else in the world because Danny was awesome.
“Awesome to the max!” he crowed to a startled Joanna before he left for the night.
* * *
It was oddly beautiful to be able to fall so deeply, instantly in love. From the time he was little it was his most cherished skill and one he was never going to relinquish.
Because it let him find his perfect match over and over and over again. That burning star he wanted to swallow whole and digest into himself, like fireflies dancing against the drum pressed skin of a frog’s belly, sputtering and gasping for air. And it was always new and special to him. Every. Single. Time.
He’d kept track of the updates about his obsession, but for all he knew it could be weeks or even months before he had his new precious in his possession. So until that happened, he had to settle for other loves, other tastes, other joys. The little pleasures he gave only to himself.
Like his beautiful dancing girl, who screamed so pretty and let a never-ending trickle of tears escape her china blue eyes.
He saved them in a jar. Just to look at for a little while. He wasn’t stupid; he knew there were some trophies it wouldn’t be smart to keep.
It was just that the eyes reminded him of Daniel. Shiny and improbably blue, all promises of things to come.
* * *
The sun was shining and it was warm enough for short sleeves. There were platters of meat waiting to be added to the grill and Olivia had gone all out with different salads. It was a great day for a barbecue.
“There no way we can eat all this.” Marshal was standing with his hands on his hips like a confused superhero.
“It’s okay,” Danny said. “You’re just cooking it. I thought the staff might enjoy eating too.”
Marshal looked around their private patio. “Well, where are they then?”
“They’re having their own party in the carriage house.” Which was really just an old fashioned name for the building the staff used to hang out and relax in between taking care of him. He’d had it added just so they had a place to escape on their breaks. “I think they’re watching some kind of sports thing on pay-per-view. Venezuelan MMA or something.”
Marshal raised his eyebrows. “Wow, I wouldn’t think a bunch of women would be into that.”
“What, a bunch of sweaty shirtless men pounding each other into the mat? Why wouldn’t they watch it?” Arthur was ridiculously cheery and was wearing a floppy blue driving hat on his head. He looked like he should be in a British romantic comedy, driving up some winding driveway.
“Ah, Wooster, there you are.” Danny grinned.
“I would think I’d be Jeeves at least.”
“Not in that hat.” Danny ducked away from the look Arthur leveled at him and couldn’t stop grinning.
The sun was shining and he was happy. It was like a miracle.
Then the French doors opened and Beatrice led out a man Danny didn’t know. He could feel himself trying to shut up tight, but he fought it. This was Marshal’s friend and more than anything Danny wanted to make a good impression.
“Hamilton!” Marshal slapped the man on the back. “Danny, this is Hamilton Assanti. Hammy, this is Daniel Worth. My boyfriend.”
Danny couldn’t help the way his breath caught. He’d never been described as someone’s boyfriend before. He didn’t even care that it made them sound juvenile.
Marshal had publicly claimed him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Danny got out, and was actually a little impressed with himself. He was starting to think that he could do this. Everything was going to be all right.
He caught Marshal’s smile and it made him feel as if he could do no wrong.
The world was a beautiful place at the moment.
* * *
= THE SPACES IN-BETWEEN =
It was strange and a little awkward to watch Danny meet someone new, but Arthur was pleased by how well it was going. To see Danny actually trying to socialize, it was a good sign.
Marshal was good for Danny, good for them all. It gave Arthur hope that someday the shadows would leave Danny’s eyes and he would be able to live a life worth living.
Marshal was running the grill and drinking a canned soda. He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a black apron over the top that had ties that trailed long behind his back. As Arthur watched, Danny tugged Marshal to the side and retied the apron after looping the strings around Marshal’s waist once to cut down the length. There was a smile on Danny’s face, secret and small but painfully real.
“You really care about him.”
Arthur jerked in surprise and turned to find Hamilton standing next to him. “He’s my best friend. It’s my job to make sure he’s happy and no one’s using him for nefarious purposes.”
There was an amused quirk to Hamilton’s lips. “That’s how I feel about Marshal. He’s been my friend for a long time. I’ve never seen him fall for anyone so fast.”
“Danny has that effect,” Arthur said, and it was true. There was something in Danny that evoked strong feelings in people, both positive and negative. He wasn’t someone to be ignored.
“So, you’re a chauffeur?”
Arthur decided to take pity on Hamilton’s search for a topic of conversation. “Yes I am. I’m also a lawyer or anything else Danny needs. My job is to run his life.”
“So basically you’re the Alfred to his Batman.” One side of Hamilton’s mouth quirked up as he joked.
“Exactly.” Arthur could appreciate a good comic book reference, especially coming from someone in a sweater vest and tie.
He straightened his back and put on his most correct manners. The accent when he spoke tried to be British, but sounded more Scottish. “I’ve been taking care of Master Worth since he was a boy.”
“Well, it looks like you’ve done a good job with him. At least, that’s what Marshal seems to think,” Hamilton said.
Arthur grunted agreement, his thoughts drifting. It was only after he’d said it that he’d realized he really had been taking care of Danny since they were boys. Because Danny’s parents had been brutally murdered and there was no one else to take care of him. Certainly not Lauren.
“I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.” Hamilton was regretful.
Arthur shook his head. “It’s not your fault. I did it to myself just thinking.”
“Thinking what?”
For a second Arthur considered being irritated at Hamilton for being nosy, but he couldn’t blame him when he’d started the train of thought. There must have been some part of Arthur that was desperate to speak to someone, especially with the reappearance of Lauren Green.
“Have you ever met someone completely evil?” Arthur asked.
Hamilton looked surprised at the question, then he turned thoughtful. “I do believe that some people are evil. They’re the ones we can’t leave walking around because they’re a danger to themselves and especially to others.”
Arthur checked to make sure Danny was far out of hearing range. “There was this horrible woman that was supposed to leave the state forever, but it looks like she decided to return on her own.”
Hamilton looked intrigued. “Let’s talk over here,” he said.
Wondering if he was betraying Danny’s trust, Arthur followed the man.
He’d done all he could. It was time to bring in law enforcement.
* * *
When Danny had thought about a stranger in his house, his mind had created all these negative images. Terrible things were going to happen and it would be a nightmare experience and he would have a panic attack and it would be awful.
Instead it had been very nice. Arthur was there and Marshal was a calming presence at his side. Danny hadn’t been left alone with a stranger and he hadn’t humiliated himself and it had been fine. It actually made him wonder if he would be able to do other social things as long as Marshal was there.
By the time everyone was gone and he had changed into his pajamas, he couldn’t resist a pleased smile. “That was actually fun.”
Marshal had already climbed into bed. He’d folded the blanket back and waved Danny over. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. The food was amazing. Remind me to get Olivia a nice gift. She’s spoiled me with her cooking.”
Danny slipped under the covers and somewhat shyly slid close against Marshal’s side. He wasn’t anywhere ready for anything more intimate, but he was beginning to think that someday he would be.
There was something about Marshal that made him feel brave. He no longer walked through life with shoulders slumped; he looked at vast possibilities.
“And that’s all thanks to you,” he murmured.
“What?” Marshal asked.
“Nothing,” Danny said. “I’m tired. Today was a good day.”
There was the press of lips against the top of his head. “It really was.”
/CHAPTER
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