Green's Hill-Amy Lane's Home - News

Sunday, April 23, 2017

I think I've hit that point...

So, I leave for RT in a week, and I think I've hit that point...

You guys know that point?

Where the avalanche of stuff on your desk is so big, and your list of deadlines so huge, that you can't focus?

Like before you can do laundry and pack, you need to curl up in a little ball and go comatose and plan shit in your head.


Just as I sat down here to write about the stuff I had to do I remembered that I'd FORGOTTEN to take ZoomBoy to dance practice today.

But I remember lying down to nap and trying to pinpoint exactly what it was I was missing to do today, and getting "Blog tour...Did I set up the sale for the LG?... finish story... add extras... can I submit that thing before I leave?... you have two edits... you need to do laundry... did you get your swag in order?... what about that dress, DO YOU HAVE THE DRESS?... what about your hair?... makeup--all your makeup is crap... HOLY GOD DO THE ANIMALS HAVE FOOD?'  And that ran around my head until I literally fell asleep to escape it.

So that point.

It's this really surreal calm point as you try to plan all the chaos.

And it's distinctly uncomfortable.


So we went to a Republic game last night, and, as I always am, I was struck by the sheer gorgeousness of athletes in their prime. Maybe it's because I was never an athlete--and now a mile with the dogs a day feels like a booyah moment. But I watch the young people on the field, and they're SO fast, and they're SO strong--I'm just grateful I can try to capture them in fiction, is all.

But also, funny thing happened there--

Mate and I had premium seats, but we moved at halftime to sit with his friends, one of whom has been known to coach soccer herself. So Mate and Lauren are chatting about soccer--completely absorbed--and Lauren's husband, Derrick, looks at me and says, "Are they still at it?"

"Oh yeah--I'm glad he's got someone to talk to about it."

Derrick was like, "Yeah, sometimes I just have to call halt--I can't hear it anymore."

"I don't mind so much," I said, shrugging. "Besides, I talk about my job sometimes, and he's really nice about letting me bounce my ideas off him. 'A guy would really say that, right?' can be a really important question sometimes!"

Derrick definitely agreed.


And this is a Chicken story.

She came with me to buy some swag bags and some T-shirts (the T-shirts were hers) and Squish came with me and generally we chatted and had fun.  Then, at the end, I was putting together "s'mores kits" for the baskets I'm giving out, and Chicken was loading bags at the grocery store.

In our travels she'd gotten a lollipop--one of the really big kinds--and she had that thing in her mouth and was just sort of doing her thing, oblivious to the 25-ish, attractive clerk tapping her on the shoulder.

"Uh, Miss? Miss? I can help with that. Would you like some help with that?"

We all knew the moment she realized he was addressing her-- she practically choked on her lollipop and her face exploded.

Her sister and I looked in horror as she started coughing, eyes and nose watering, and the clerk had to help her out while she tried not to choke and die.

"Smooth," I said, when she could finally breathe.

"I know," she wailed.

"Haven't seen moves like that since your father."

"Thank God there's precedent."

I comforted her on the way home--"I bet that happens to that guy a LOT--he was really cute."

"I hate you."

"I"m sorry--it's all I got."

"Still hating."

Well, she had reason.

And Squish had an awesome moment-- I put it on Twitter.

I ordered Geoffrey Symon's new book on Crime Scenes, and Squish saw it.

"Oh that's great! Are you going to share that with Karen (Rose)?  That way she'll know how many bodies will fit in the refrigerator!"

Mate heard her as he was walking by. "I thought we agreed, it depends on how well you chop them up!"

"Yes, but this book gives you TIPS!"

I mentioned this to Geoffrey and Karen on Twitter-- they adore Karen, and are big fans of Geoffrey's last book--and Karen thought that they would be the most popular kids in school if they knew good criminal procedure.

They seemed to think they would be too!

It's a good thing they love me, or I'd be a little worried...

And that's it!

Oh-- if you have any Kermit Flail to share, don't forget to e-mail me, okay? I want that post ready to go next  Sunday morning--I'm going to be in the airport and crotch of a slutty dawn o'clock.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Lots of Different Stuff

So, I fell asleep last night appallingly early. I think it was the last of the cold kicking my ass, and a little bit of stress, and fear of the avalanche of stuff I might not be able to get to in the next week.

But mostly being sick and actually tired.


Some kid things to laugh about...

The "Easter bunny" got chicken a pretty little summer top--that Chicken eyed like some sort of skanky 80's tube top that came with hoop earrings, lipstick, a pack of cigarettes and three rubbers.

"Really? You want me to wear this?"

"It's adorable."


"If you don't like it, give it to your sister."

"I want it!" Squish said excitedly.

I really should have gotten a picture because it was adorable. Had a flirty peasanty little collar, flowers--it looked springy and cute, and Squish with her braid and her jeans was just too cute for words. Now this is the third new thing squish has gotten in the last couple of weeks, and she was sitting in the car today on the way to school.

"I am experiencing a style transition," she said sagely. "From, you know, mostly T-shirts and yoga pants, all casual, to jeans and blouses--you know. More structured."

"A style transition," I said blankly.


"Well, good luck with that, Today's outfit is smashing."

Bless her. A style transition. When I experience a style transition I go from pajama pants to loose yoga shorts. She's actually growing up.

Now, this other thing I posted on FaceBook, and a few people looked at it and went, "Huh?"

But I think it deserves a little more attention than that, because it was ZoomBoy being AMAZINGLY clever.

Okay-- if you haven't heard this comedy bit, the rest of the story won't make sense--

Now, because I know most of you won't go listen to the comedy bit, I'll recap. (You should listen to it--it's HILARIOUS.)  It features two guys going into a diner and one of them dumping all his coins into the jukebox and playing Tom Jones's "What's New, Pussycat" seven times.   

Seven times.

Which is an eternity--especially if you listen to the song, because it's REALLY repetitive. 

Now the other song--and this one shows up in the middle of the lineup--is "It's Not Unusual"--and the point in the bit is that having it show up in the middle of the umpteenth rendition of "Whoa-a-whoa-whoa-" is like a breath of air before going back to being waterboarded again. 

So you need to keep that in mind before the rest of the story makes sense.


When we drive to dance, I am usually in zombie mode-- tired and just up from a nap that's too short.
ZoomBoy usually mans my phone as the DJ and Dropkick Murphys usually rule.

But today, he picked "What's New Pussycat."

Now is when you have to refer to the video--or just take my word for it.

Cause there I am, zombie mode, the driving dead, and suddenly Squish goes, "Hey-- did you repeat that song?"

"No," ZoomBoy said--COMPLETELY deadpan, mind you. "It's just a dip in the middle."

Suddenly my brain switched on.

"You little shit!" I laughed. "I'd better hear Rocky Road to Dublin RIGHT NOW or you're off DJ duty for LIFE!"

He could not stop cackling.

The next song was "It's Not Unusual"

Squish danced and snapped in the backseat, and I couldn't stop laughing.  

So, I got to dance and went in to watch the rehearsal. This is where (those of you who follow me on  Twitter may remember) the dance teacher shouted, "Hey! The Lane kids are lost again!" and I responded, "Stunned. STUNNED I am that my kids are lost on the dance floor." The fact is, my kids aren't bad--but they get into the mode of watching someone's feet and all their hard work falls to shit. We know it. It's a problem. They're working on it.

But in the meantime, I'm texting Mate about "What's New, Pussycat!"

He laughed, and then told me, Yeah--I got Rick-Rolled this morning. 

Oh my God. He looks so quiet. Little shit indeed.          

And on the Mate front--

Tonight I came out from folding clothes and he was watching MST3K. (Mystery Science Theater 3000) The premise is much like Cinema Craptastique, where the comedians watch the movie and rip it apart. Anyway, we're watching something in it with  Doug McClure, and Mate goes, "Oh yeah. I remember this movie!"

And I remember that when I met Mate, he was a kid barely out of high school and still living with his mom. Nobody had any money and it was the 80's-- sometimes watching shitty movies on network television was all a boy could afford, and he LOVED those movies with all his soul. 

So we had a good laugh over that, and then the next episode of the show started (one episode per crappy movie) and Mate goes, "Oh my God! I've seen this one TOO!"  

No movie is bad enough for my Mate.  (I am actually beaming with pride. It's such an adorkable quality. I could watch those shitty movies with him for the rest of our lives.)

And there you go! 

Hopefully I made up for falling asleep yesterday--but I may try to slip some fanfic in this weekend anyway.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Erranded to death...

Kid to school

Walk the dogs

Service the car

Shopping with Mom

The fabric store!

Home again

Daughter drives now

But first the pet store

Then there's Safeway

Lunch now please?

Parking lot hopping

Til Del Taco

Cause Mom's got a headache

Cause it's almost two.

Thank grown daughter

Get in the car

Get the kids
A stop at Starbucks

Unicorn Frappe--

Not until tomorrow?

Well unicorn poop!

Make some promises

Get them home

Shit, I've got work!

If I don't nap I'll die

Mate to the rescue!

Dishes done when I wake up!

Leftovers for dinner

Then it's time

To make some swag

Last night I was up

Until almost two

Tonight it's much shorter

Cause Mate's doing it too

A whole half hour

To watch TV

While working on sweater

For the kid who helped me.

And now I'm writing.

Post office tomorrow

And Thursday too

God I've got a lot to do.

On a plane in a week?

Or just a little bit more.

Seems I've sung

This song before.

But it's not getting old

And it's not getting twee

Cause I'm busy as hell

Right before RT.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Ham ham ham ham...

So, VERY tired tonight--shall share a short dissertation on ham and what it apparently means to my family.

On Saturday night, I made a ham for the family. We were going to my parents for Easter potluck, but my kids REALLY love ham, and it was on sale for obvious reasons. I bought two.

Anyway, it was enjoyed on Saturday, and then we went to my parents' house and ate ALL THE THINGS Sunday, and then this morning...

I checked to make sure Squish was eating breakfast...

"So, uh, Squish. Whatcha eatin' there?"

She smiled around a mouthful.  "Something I found in the refrigerator."

"You know, there's also lobster mac and cheese leftover from yesterday."

"Mm... good dinner."

I thought this was cute--and gratifying, and then, as I was walking the dogs, I got a text from Chicken...

"I'm coming over."

"Do you want me to bring coffee after I'm done walking dogs?"

"Sure. Thanks. But I'm coming over to eat ham."

I got home and she was already comfortably ensconced on the chair, eating ham and mac and cheese. I made her a care package and said, "Now, remember to share this with your brother."

"Fine," she said. "But I swear to God if he comes into the living room after having cooked ALL the leftovers for himself and then gets all puzzled that I ask him for some, I'm going to beat him to death with my shoe."

"Uh, that's fair."

"Mom, you have no idea."

"Hello--I lived with him. I get it. Maybe explain that to him when you get home so we don't get any calls from the police."


Now, me, being me, found these two exchanges to be fairly funny, so tonight when Mate get home I said, "Oh my God! I have things to tell you about ham!"

"What about it?" he said. "I took some to work for lunch. It was great! I'm so glad you got two!"

So, uh, there you go.

My family and ham.

It's apparently a thing.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Happy Easter!

Lots of fun stuff today--but I'm a little tired, so I'll stick to the big stuff.

First of all, I chatted with a reader today, one who was, like all of us, worried about the state of the world. She shared with me this quote from Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor, author, and human rights activist--and the words were good.

I told her I'd share them with you: (Paragraph divisions are mine, because auto formatting is a tricky beast.)

We must always take sides. 

Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.

 There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest. No human race is superior; no religious faith is inferior. 

All collective judgments are wrong. Only racists make them.

 Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession, friendship is never anything but sharing.

 There are victories of the soul and spirit. Sometimes, even if you lose, you win. Peace is our gift to each other. Hope is like peace. It is not a gift from God. It is a gift only we can give one another. 

I have not lost faith in God. I have moments of anger and protest. Sometimes I've been closer to him for that reason. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe.

So we must struggle to make kindness and equality a real thing, wherever our universe. This is a true thing.

And on the family front...

*  I did an Easter treasure hunt with clues in the eggs and the kids loved it. *happy sigh*  I'm never going back to just eggs again.

*  Also-- my parents' driveway is sort of infamous--it's wiggly, and it's guarded by a gate with posts and rocks and a tricky thread the needle thing to back out--and the only way to go in is forward so you ALWAYS have to back out.  

Anyway--my folks give me shit every time I back out of it.

But today, Chicken came to visit after work--but she was SO SICK she didn't stay long. So she was backing out of the driveway and the car was squiggling all around and trying not to hit rocks and posts and I realized something.

Like my ADHD, my squirrelly temperament, my thing with words and my freckles, bad driving is something else that gets passed down the ages. *sigh*  Sorry Chicken.

*  My mom poured me a "whipped lemonade" today-- whipped cream vodka and lemonade. Nom.

*  And I'm still a little sick-- but then, so is ZoomBoy. Let's just say we both got back from grandmas and had to sleep for two hours before we could wake up to go to bed. 

*  A few years ago I published a cute little short with Wilde City Press in an anthology called Foolish Encounters. Sadly, Wilde City is no more, but since they gave me the rights to the story, I posted it on my website. Click here for The Fenestra Penetration-- and be prepared: VERY NSFW. 

On that note, I'm going to bed--I really am too sleepy to remember the other stuff that happened today, so that's my sign :-)

Thursday, April 13, 2017


I know politics are scary out there--we're watching a greedy evil petty tyrant hurt our neighbors and take away our rights, while the men who are supposed to hold him back are picking their noses and calling themselves holy because they've never had to make a hard choice in their lives.

I'm angry too.

But I know a lot of you are frightened and are watching your Twitter feeds and news feeds and having a hard time breathing for the fear.

Think about what you did today--I know you, so many of you who read my blog.

Did you do something to make somebody happy?

Were you kind?

Did you gather with your family? Text a friend? Forgive someone for a small slight without even letting it fester?

Did you give to charity today, sign a petition, look at a protest march and think about how it could fit into your schedule? Did you buy a gift with a whole heart? Did you dye eggs with children, whether it's your religion or not?  (And Easter American style-- who actually knows or gives a shit where the traditions come from.  Chocolate. That's all we care about. And deviled eggs but only if someone in your family has a really rockin' recipe.) Did you hug someone with your entire body, until you couldn't hold the stretch anymore?

Did you write something you were proud of, or read something that touched your soul?

The Dunning-Kruger effect holds that the least competent people are the ones who jump into a difficult situation because they're really too stupid to know they can't do the job--witness the entire GOP and the traitor-in-chief at the moment. Dumbest motherfuckers on the planet, so busy destroying shit they can't even get the puppet hands out of their asses while they do it.

But the people who read my blog--I've met you. I've shaken your hands or hugged you at conventions and conferences, and you've given me joy just by telling me stories of your own lives.

You're smart.  You know what's important. You know what kind of world you want to live in. You take steps EVERY DAY--both the ordinary days and the frightening extraordinary ones--to make that happen.

You read romance because it gives you hope and faith and because you believe in love and kindness and giving back to the world more than you take from it.

No matter what tomorrow-- and the idiot-fuckhead-traitors jacking off to their own bombs-- brings, we know we have lived today with the most kindness, the most productivity, the most love we could possibly give to the world.  

And we will do so tomorrow.

And the next day.

And all the days we are blessed with to keep doing just that.

It's who we are. It's all we can do. It's the best we can do.

And knowing that lets me breathe through the day, when I am afraid (and sick--I admit it--ZoomBoy and I have had fevers all day) and tired.  Knowing that someone right now is reading a book I wrote because it gave them hope--that's why I'll keep writing tonight.

So breathe, if you can. Take a breath, and the next one, and the next one--and all the ones you're blessed with after that. You are loved. You have loved. You have worked for the best possible world you could without self-aggrandizement or hypocrisy.

Many of you have given all your talents to something that will make the world better.

Your talents, your effort, aren't in vain. Not even on scary days. You HAVE made the world better. Your kindness ALREADY matters. Nothing can change that.

Breathe. Hold your family. Keep doing good in the world.


Have faith.

Work for change.

Hope some more.

It matters.

See you all Sunday-- we're doing a new thing for Easter this year. Let's see if it works :-)


Okay so ZoomBoy is sick with a super sore throat and a fever, and I'm just sort of tired and cranky. Gonna be a blessedly short blogpost tonight, folks!

The few points of interest...

When you're feeling sort of punk, nothing beats vegging out on Berry Jello's couch and shotgunning a series.

In this case, I was shotgunning Walking Dead, and it's (as everyone has been saying for YEARS) amazing.

Knowing that I tend to proselytize things like television shows, writers, and musicians, I wonder how long it's going to be before my nearest and dearest are going to be saying things like, "Jesus Christ on a cracker, Amy, did you HAVE to show us the motherfuckin' zombies?"

Sweetie Baby Honeyface the cat cuddles with ZoomBoy when he's sick. Because that's just Sweetie Baby Honeyface's frickin' WAY.

Now that I've fallen in love with the cast of Walking Dead, I'm going to hate to see most of these poor fuckers die. (And seriously, anybody who doesn't know that was coming hasn't been paying attention to anything in the last five years. The same could be said for our current political clusterfuck as well, but, well, I'm cranky enough as it is.)

My characters had surprise sex last night, and when you're a writer and suddenly your characters are doing it without your permission, well, that could be the only time that's a good thing.

Last night as I sat and wrote, there was a giant THUD at the front door, and the dogs started barking their nuts off. I got up to check (because I AM the dead person in a horror movie, apparently) and when I opened the door, I realized that something had displaced it--shoved it back about an inch when it hadn't been completely shut. And the cat was there, glaring at me like I was a complete and total bitch for not letting her in sooner.  Yup. The cat almost opened the front door, and it's a shame she didn't do it completely because either way, I had to go change my drawers.

And tonight's going to be rough, cause ZB's throat hurts him a LOT, but we have a doc's appointment in the morning. Since it's raining outside, I'm not too keen on throwing him in the car and dragging him to a place o-germs, but dude... my baby HURTS and that's not cool.

And that's about it--hope you all are having a peaceful, healthy night.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017


Predictably, we're late...

Mate:  Sum of Us?

Me: Politics. Or charity. Or sort of both.

Mate: Got it.

Mate: Avaaz?

Me: Politics. Or charity. Or sort of both.

Mate: Right.

Mate: Vistaprint.

Me: Work.

Mate (to self): Advertising...

Me: Sure.


Me: Self-medication.

Mate: Lots of those when your books come out.

Me: Do I SEEM less neurotic?

Mate: I could make a case, but no. Not declaring it.  T-Fury, Tee-Spring, Zazzle...

Me: I was seduced by the internet.

Mate: I can't declare that.  Project Trevor?

Me: Charity.

Mate: Mod-Lily, Roaman's, Women Within...

Me: Uh, clothes?

Mate: Work related...

Me: Just not the pajamas.

Mate: That's a uniform.

Me: Fine. Work related.

Mate: Loopy Ewe?

Me: Self-medication.

Mate: Ah.

Me: Wait! No! I made things! Work related things! We can declare those! I have pictures! There were blog posts! It's... uh... public relations!

Mate: Yarn. As advertising.

Me: Sure.

Mate: $280 in Kansas City?

Me: Uh... oh! The thing!  The thing! I went to the thing!

Mate: *.*

Me: Uh, the uh, panels and people and cosplay and Robert Silverberg and...

Mate (to self): Conference...

Me: Yes! The thing!

Mate: Sure.  This guy here? Who's name I've never heard of?

Me: You've heard me talk about him all the time-- that's Andrew Gordon.

Mate: Sure. This guy here?

Me: We know him too. That's work.

Mate: And this?

Me: Yeah, we know him too. That's advertising.

Mate: I don't know any of these people.

Me: You've met them all!

Mate: Under different names. It's not my fault.

Me: Of course not. What else?

Mate: One more T-shirt company.

Me: That was after the election--self-medication.

Mate: I'm not declaring that. Corbin Fisher?

Me (without batting an eyelash): It's research.

Mate: Is Adam and Eve research?

Me (blushing): Uh, no. That's an, uh, personal expense.

Mate: Unbelievable.

Me: It's cheaper than Xanax.

Mate: Word. I'll leave you alone now. Go do your job with a computer and a blank page.

Me: Sure.

So, see? Taxes.

Falling from the sky.

Okay-- so I've got a SuperBat bug up my keister. Heh heh heh...

So anyway... enjoy.

* * *


The plan was diabolical--and simple.

The helicopter S.O.S.ed over Metropolis, and continued toward Gotham.

"Got this one," Superman said, and Bruce had a vision of him changing in a bathroom stall or a broom closet or something and then zooming out a window. One of the best things of working at night when everyone assumed you were getting drunk and getting laid was that you didn't have to do the costume switch thing.   You just had to not get drunk and not get laid.

Or not get drunk and be all but married to a guy who barely needed to sleep and who would bend over for you on a dime.

God, Bruce Wayne loved Clark Kent in a "I"m so stupid for you" kind of way.

So Bruce had to give his guy props for pulling off the double life on a moment by moment basis--Bruce had enough time being Bruce Wayne in the day and Batman at night.  But having Superman to come home to? That was something special right there. That was almost enough to make him feel human.

"Oh no!" Clark's choirboy voice over the intercom cracked and Bruce tried not to smile. Then Clark said "There's a child, falling from the helicopter--he doesn't appear to be moving!"

"Superman, that's negative on approaching."  Bruce's stomach was suddenly in a roil. "Diana, can you get closer? Can you see what's falling? Somebody get a six on this!"

"It's a child!" Clark insisted. "I'm going in!"

"I do not like this!" Bruce hissed over the intercom. He worked the satellite feed as quickly as he could from his console at work. "Barry! Hal! Somebody besides Clark! That thing looks green!"

"It's a child!" Diana confirmed, but her voice was cracking too. "And I won't get there in time. But he's got something around his neck, like a collar, and it's--Clark! Negative! Give someone else--"


One word, but Clark's voice, strained and fading, was enough to make Bruce want to throw up. He had the visual, close up now. The child--a little boy, was limp and breathing--probably drugged. Around his neck was a bright glowing green kryptonite collar, and Superman was clutching the child and falling sluggishly from the sky.

Slow--it was a slow fall--almost a land.


"Goddammit somebody get there and catch that kid before he stops breathing!"

Because Superman was sickly green, bleeding from the nose, mouth, and ears, skin cracking, like any human would be in the presence of plutonium.

"Got him! Clark, let go! Let me take the kid, you land!"

"Kid..."  Constrained by pain, Clark's normally fine mind was wandering.  "Gotta--"

"I've got him!" Hal snarled. "Let go or we'll all go down!"

Twenty years of being a masked vigilante. He'd gone through four Robins--one of them had been killed in action. And he'd gone to face the damage, doctor the hurts, deal with the fallout with eyes wide open, even when what he saw ripped out his soul.

But he almost couldn't watch his monitors.


"Let go," he whispered. "Come on Clark. Let Hal... let Hal take him. Land yourself. Let go..."

Superman dropped suddenly, as though passing out, and Hal took the advantage, tugging the baby away from him and encasing them both in a bubble shield before taking the kid up to the Eye in the Sky.

And still, Superman fell, slowly, struggling, from the sky.

"Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up WHY ISN'T ANYBODY GETTING HIM!"

The whole operation had taken maybe ten seconds, and was over two-hundred miles away. Bruce's only option was to stare as Superman's limp form fell...fell...fell... wait, did he just move?


The concrete shattered under his weight.

Bruce watched that still form on the ground while his breath stopped and his heart stopped and everything in his life stopped and breathe move get up breathe move get up breathe move get up...


To onlookers, it was like he'd been jerked up into the air by strings.

Bruce scrubbed his hands across his face and discovered it was wet, and he could no longer stare at the monitor.

"Bruce, he appears to be fine."  Diana's voice was a little trembly. "Clark? Clark? Can you say something to us so we know your brains didn't run out your ears?"

"Barry?" Clark said creaky. "You out there?"

"Barry?" Bruce asked, stricken to the core.

"Yes boss--what do you need from me?"

"Could you go stop Bruce from running?"

"I beg your pardon?" Bruce asked, when he could catch his breath again. To his shame, his voice came out croaky and broken.

"Shouldn't we maybe take down the helicopter, boss?"

"I'll get the helicopter," Diana said grimly. "Hal's got the kid. Barry, do what he says--if Bruce isn't halfway to the BatCave by now in an effort to find something that will get him off planet, I haven't worked with the guy for ten years."

"Fuck you all," Bruce snarled--from the elevator, actually, because he didn't have his suit with him, he was at Wayne Industries for sweet fuck's sake!

"Ten-four," Barry said, like he got it now. "What would you like me to do?"

"Just keep track of him until I get there," Clark said grimly.  "Diana, you sure you got--"

"Kryptonite, Clark. It was obviously aimed at you. Let Hal and I handle this one, and you know. Calm him the hell down."

"I am very calm," Bruce told them.  His brain burned hot and bright, a red ball of fear and pain.

"Uh, yeah." Barry didn't sound convinced. "I'll be there before you can leave Wayne Industries."

Not possible. Mostly because Bruce had a back way. He pulled out his intercom and stepped on it, then pushed the three button sequence that would send the elevator plunging down to subterranean levels and rocket it toward  the outskirts of Gotham.

The trip took about half an hour.

By the time the car shuddered to a halt in the outer circle of the cave, Bruce was still curled up in a corner, shuddering, trying not to lose his shit.  Oh God. Oh hell. He'd thought it was okay, he really had. But Clark had kept falling, and falling, and falling and... Bruce had watched him on the monitor helpless, and he had...

A pounding at the door got his attention.

He hit the manual intercom from the inside of the car. "Alfred, I just haven't opened the doors yet, okay?"

"Obviously, sir. I'm not the one banging on them."

"Well tell whoever it is to stop, I'm in the middle of--"

He did not expect the elevator to crack in half like a walnut, leaving him, huddled in the corner of the car, exposed.

"Falling apart," Clark Kent said, voice rough. "You're in the middle of falling apart."

Bruce blinked at him, balefully. "Wash your face," he demanded roughly. God, he was bloody. Ears, eyes, mouth--every orifice. He was pretty sure if Clark turned around his pants would be soaked in gore too.


The man of steel who never bled was bleeding all over Bruce's BatCave. He clutched his hand to his chest to make it easier to breathe.

"I'm fine now," Clark told him evenly. "You on the other hand--"

"I've got somewhere to go," Bruce said, like it was obvious. The voice of reason--that was Bruce Wayne. "I have an appointment in Bavaria--I need the BatWing, that's all."

"Bruce," Clark said, voice all gentleness.  He hunkered down like Bruce was a child. "I've seen your blood before, remember?"

"I'm... I have to go. Chechnya. There's something... there's something urgent there. I've got to--"

"Look at me."

Bruce shook his head, wrapping his arms around his knees, resting his forehead on them too. "No," he begged. "No. You're invincible. I'll die first. Those are the rules. That's... that's the rule. I die first. You know it's coming. I'm... I'm expendable. There's a pool at the Gotham police station--everyone's got money on next year."

"I'm not taking any of that action," Clark said grimly. "Now look at me, Bruce. You need to see I'm mortal sometimes. And you need to see I'm okay."

"YOu're okay," Bruce whispered. "You're okay. You're okay you're okay you're okay--"

He felt the long fingers on his chin, gentle but insistent. He raised his eyes and looked.

His face under the blood was no longer green--that was important.

But the blood again.

But Clark's eyes, piercing blue, those were open and boring into Bruce's soul.

"You'd better last longer than next year," Clark told him, scowling. "Now come on. We're going to the infirmary."

"You said you were okay," Bruce snarled, jerking away.

"But you're not."  Clark let out a sigh and seemed to give up. He paused right there and wrapped his arms around Bruce's shoulders. "You're not."

"I'm never okay," Bruce told him truthfully before he broke again. "I'm functional. You make me functional. But oh my God, I'll never be okay again--"

He began to lose it, completely, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

Clark stayed there, as bloodied and worn as Batman most days, and held him.

Being mortal sucked on the best of days, but Batman would never--ever--recover from seeing Clark Kent falling from the sky.

"What are you doing?" he demanded when he could breathe again. "Why are you--" He scowled. "Please tell me you're not miked."

"Took the com out when I made Barry leave the BatCave," Clark told him as he slid off his rumpled suit coat. "Just you and me here."  He looked over Bruce's shoulder. "Please tell me there aren't people falling down the giant gaping hole where your elevator used to be?"

Bruce didn't even look at the wreckage. "It was a private car," he growled. "Why are you undressing me?"

"Because we're getting in the shower."

"I'm not the one who needs a shower!" Blood! Oh God!

"So you can see it wash off, Bruce. You can see I'm okay."

Bruce just shook his head--but for once he let himself be led from the cave to the infirmary, to the giant white tiled shower.  He'd been in here a lot--and sometimes, it looked like a butcher's block when he was done. He remembered cleaning off Jason Todd's body, the late adolescent fragility destroying his heart to powder as he prepared his ward, his protege... his son, for burial.

He watched numbly as Clark turned on the water and then ripped off his suit.  The threads of the specially designed elastic cotton split and turned to powder as it fell.  Kryptonite--so deadly to Superman that the clothing on his body was destroyed.

It wasn't until Clark reached for him, backed into a corner and rubbing his hand across his mouth that he realized he was chanting, "No. No no no. No..."

He took a deep breath and tried to see what was real.

Clark Kent, farm boy, altruistic alien, Superman, was standing naked in the shower, inviting Bruce to check out his body with trembling fingers to make sure he was okay.

Bruce took the few steps toward the shower head, wrapped his arms around Clark's waist and squeezed.

No ribs broke, no breath stopped. Clark palmed the back of his head and forced his face into the hollow of his shoulder and neck, and Bruce stayed there, letting the hot water pounding them both, breathing hard until the water ran clear beneath their feet.

"What's it going to take?" Clark asked softly.  "How do we get you back from this?"

"Take me," Bruce whispered.


"TAKE ME!" He shouted, face still muffled in Clark's shoulder. Clark picked him up and flew them, without ceremony or pause, into the bedroom.  Bruce tried to do it on his hands and knees, body pulled into the fetal position while Clark pounding inside him reminded him that they were both alive.  But Clark wrestled him to his back and shoved lube roughly up his ass before he could even relax enough to take it well.

"You want this?" Clark asked, voice cracking. "Cause I want to know I'm alive too. Try to run out on me? You know what I was thinking, the whole time I was falling?"

"What?" Bruce growled, arching up, trying to thrust against his cock, trying to take it all the way inside. "What were you thinking as you fell from the fucking sky?"

"I was thinking," Clark breathed, carefully thrusting into Bruce's vulnerable human body, "that I didn't want to," slide, slide, slide, "leave you!" Bottom!

Bruce gasped, unaccustomed to bottoming, but needing that feeling, his lover inside him, so much he'd endure any pain to have it.

He wasn't expecting the pleasure.

Wasn't expecting Clark, exquisitely gentle Clark, thrusting inside him, rocking harder and harder, until Bruce felt the man-of-steel's thighs smacking up against the bones in his ass, leaving bruises, but taking hm, dominating him, filling him completely, until there was no room for fear or doubt, no room for pain, no room even for that awful image, Superman bloody and senseless, falling from the sky.

Bruce cried out too soon, it felt like, far too soon. He needed Clark inside him for longer, for more, forever.

But Bruce's orgasm triggered Clark's, and soon he was spasming, coming--not, like the lore suggested, shooting holes through Batman's ass--but coming hard, like a human man inside his lover. Bruce climaxed again, almost willfully, in an effort to keep Clark inside as long as possible.

"Don't leave me," he whispered against his will, forgetting conveniently that he was the one who'd been leaving in his secret escape hatch.

"Not if I can help it."  Clark shuddered one more time and collapsed on top of him. "But you need to stay too. As long as possible. Please, Bruce. Please. Don't try to leave again."

This time the tears were cleansing, not devastating. And when they were shed, the two of them stayed in bed, drying under the fan and touching each other, just touching.

Pretending that forever was a thing, and that never again might either one of them spend a day falling from the sky.  

Monday, April 10, 2017

Writing with the Ego and the Monstrous Id

Super Ego: This would be a Christmas story and it shall have a length of approximately 40 K and the central premise is a young man who is trying to believe in goodness and an older man who thinks he doesn't have any optimism left, and they--


SuperEgo: NO! Jesus, they just met, and one is recovering from a car accident and--


SuperEgo: We have a plot arc, you irritating sex-addled toddler, now shut up while I--

Id: You can say "cock" in this one.

SuperEgo: We enjoyed the challenge of the category romance.

Id: You can say it more than once. Cock cock cock cock cock cock--

SuperEgo: Only using one word shows lack of imagination.

Id: Penis erection dick!

SuperEgo: If we're quite done, I can have a civil romance depicting the healing force of two men in a Florida condo--

Ego: Can one of them be terminal with something that hurts a lot?

SuperEgo: NO!

Ego: Please? Like, three year ebola or something.

SuperEgo: There's no such thing. And even if there was, it's so rare we'd be crucified. Now just let me indulge in some banter--

Ego: The other one needs to be damaged.  Multiple personality disorder. A PARENT ABOUT TO KICK THE BUCKET!

SuperEgo: NO! For sweet fuck's sake, this is just two guys working shit out!




Id: Yessssss?

SuperEgo: If--and only if-- you shut the hell up while I write some goddamned plot, I'll let you watch some porn later.

Id: Can it be THREE guys fucking?

SuperEgo: It can be whatever you find on pornhub. My treat.

Id: Okay. I'm just gonna go thumb through your best sex scenes from the last fifteen years while you try to work but I'll shut up until then.

SuperEgo: Thank you.


SuperEgo: *mouth full* Dank boo.

Id: Mmm... fingering is my FAVORITE. And then some sucking... and some fucking... and then some coming... EAT MORE CHOCOLATE!

SuperEgo: Go away until I'm done!

Ego: What about me? Did you see this Google search on diseases that still kill people like they did in Brian's Song?

SuperEgo: Look. You're not the Id. I can bargain with you a little. I know you want to cry--

Ego: Happy, you bitch. You haven't ripped anyone's spleen out for three books!

SuperEgo: But I've got Bobby Green coming. You're leafed through my brain cells. You've read the docket. You know what's coming.

Ego: You'd better not pull your punches.

SuperEgo: Bitch, I've got plans.

Ego: Fine. I'm going to be looking up statistics on child abuse-- you enjoy your chocolate and your porn, because you and me have a date.

SuperEgo: Okay, so we've got the two guys, they're being snarky, it's a rain storm--

Id: *whispers* two guys fucking

SuperEgo: And we're not going for the easy fuck here and they're dealing and it's real life--

Ego: *whispers*  pregnant ex wife

SuperEgo: And they're doing the amicable divorce thing and she looks a little more human and the guys are snuggling and they're hot and--

Oh. Fuck it all.

It's time to blog, isn't it.

Id: Let's go to sleep and dream of two guys fucking!

Ego: Let's go obsess about all the bad stuff that can happen to people you love!

SuperEgo: Godammit. A Christmas novella. One simple Christmas novella. *yawn* God knows that those two assholes will write when I"m asleep.