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

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Since you all asked...

I had a wonderful birthday :-)

Big T and the little kids gave me the movies Ghost, Blade Runner, and To Kill a Mockingbird.

Mate took me out to dinner--and my friend Wendy gave us a gift certificate to the steak place we love the most.

Chicken gave me this amazing .gif. gave me Mate's present in time for HIS birthday tomorrow.

Dreamspinner Press gave me Truth in the Dark available on audio, narrated by Nick J. Russo, who's talent continues to blow my mind.

My bestie Mary gave me pretty pictures of pretty boys-- hello new phone screen saver.

And you all?
You all gave me a zillion greetings on FaceBook that made me feel special all day.

Thanks all!  Night!

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

An Unusual Pre-Birthday

So, this morning, the lovely, inestimable, AMAZING fantastic Rhys Ford did a terrible thing to me today.
She wished me Happy Birthday.  

Now see, a couple of years ago, Rhys took me on one of my best and most memorable birthdays to date-- she took me to an alpaca farm, and to eat with her in San Diego, and we dragged Chicken along and on the whole, one of my better birthdays. But when I was down there, my whole "time disability" clicked in-- and I mean extreme. I insisted it was my birthday for an entire day when it wasn't, and Rhys just nodded and smiled and humored the crazy person, and this whole thing would be much funnier if it wasn't for the fact that I misjudged when I was planning to come home (on Mate's B-day) and had to add $100 to my ticket to come back in time. 

So, this morning, the joke was on me-- my birthday is tomorrow. 

And thank God.

I spent this birthday in my sweats, with no makeup, probably creeping out my dentist who was giving me a filling. The filling itself was sort of a pisser-- I hadn't NEEDED a filling until the hygienist accidentally popped out the old one last week while flossing my teeth.  So, today it was the long needle, the deep deep nerves, the drill, and, when they were done? The drooling.

OH, the embarrassing drooling.  Did I mention I went to the post office, mailing Chicken's birthday package and some other envelopes while drooling? So while in the line at the post office, I complained about the damned postage machine that was full of LIES-- while drooling. 

"Da mathine-- da mathine toll me an ga' me da pothdage, thee?"

"Yes, ma'am, but this obviously isn't an envelope-- there's stuff that's not bending inside."

"Dere pothtcards-- DON'T BEND DEM!-- Dere thpothed to be thent…"

"But ma'am, it won't bend--"

"DON'T BEND DEM! Jutht nebermind. Quit i'. Leab me awone to bay a dollar thix. I don' cawe."

And of course, I didn't care by then, either. I was too busy wiping drool.  *headdesk*

Today was too much work to do, and soccer, and me cooking dinner, and jollying the kids to homework and in the background, FB was popping up "Happy Birthday" banners like wildfire. 

I was… flattered. 

It was my faux birthday and people were wishing me happy returns.  

It made me want to dress up tomorrow and do my makeup and try not to drool. (Although I assume that will stay gone now that the damned anesthetic has worn off.)  It made me want to celebrate my birthday, dammit! You know the way you do as a kid, where you wear something special and hope the whole world knows it's your day?

So, thanks Rhys. Apparently that birthday WEEKEND was the gift that keeps on giving.  Hopefully today sucked up all my bad day juju, and tomorrow can be a really nice birthday-- even if I'm the only one who knows why I'm wearing the nice clothes and has done the makeup.  

(Mate will notice-- I think we're doing our birthday date tomorrow, since his birthday is on October 1st. I have ordered his present--I'm so excited. I hope I got the right one!)

Fucking Monday

*  The @midnight episode with Jack McBrayer was the best thing about my day. Saying. Surprising minx that he was, I very much enjoyed watching the other players and Chris Hardwick tease him into relaxing and kicking ass on the show. Favorite moment? 

Chris Hardwick was just about to tell him that because it was his first time on the show, the fact that Jack was in last place still wasn't getting him kicked off of the final round.

To which Jack responded, "Please let me leave!"

I died laughing. Particularly because THAT'S how I felt about this entire fucking day.

*  First of all, I've done some math this year. ZB is going to a different school than Squish, and while Mate drops him off in the morning, I pick him and Squish up in the afternoons. I am losing between 30 and 45 minutes out of my day because of this. And because of a change in the soccer/dance schedule, I went from two nights a week doing extracurricular activities to three, plus some extras on the side (Squish wants in the GATE program, which means I pick ZB up at 2:30 and Squish up at 4:30 and THEN we all ride together to dance lessons!)  All told, I lost between 5-7 hours of time a week which I used previously to work. Given that the rest of my day is a little more fractured, It's like trying to do 40 hours worth of work in 32, and I'm scrambling. So, if I'm late with e-mails, or absent on social media (although I seem to bitch more when I'm stressed because I can't concentrate, so that's not a good measurement) or if you sent me an interview that I thought I could do or asked me a question that I was SURE I could get to--

I can't. I just flat out can't. And it's driving me crazy. I worked so hard to be reliable and I've been a fucking twatwhacking mess since… June, mostly, but I thought it would get better when things settled down. Turned out, things are settling down with 7 less hours and I don't know what to do to get them back. 

So, yes. Happy MOnday, the hamster wheel is going faster, run you little bastard run!

*  And we started out this Monday with poop in the hallway. And under Squish's bunk. And pretty much in piles everywhere. Squish was late to school because: poop.  

Good morning!

*  And I got to aqua and it turns out that the aqua classes that have been keeping me alive and mobile have all been canceled. Seriously-- I was M/W/F like clockwork, and the only ones they have left are T/Th. Which will teach me to bitch about the instructors btw-- I should have known that was coming.

*  Got home and worked past my nap time.  I napped for about 45 minutes and  when it was time to go get ZB and then Squish, I… well, I had my head up my ass, or down the editing rabbit hole or… whatever. I went to Squish's school first, which meant I was 20 minutes late picking up Zoomboy and then 5 minutes late when I came back and got Squish.  They were fine--but *headdesk*-- there goes mother of the year… 

*  Got back and worked past the postage time.  The good news is, I've submitted the damned book, and I can pull my head out of my ass for at least a couple of days. And since I've got a dentist appointment tomorrow (grrrrr….)  I should be able to get to the post office! 

*  The bad news is that I've been holding back the raging waters with my finger in the dike while I've been frantically finishing this project with my other hand. I am SO FAR BEHIND. I can't even write another list, because it will just make me cry.

*  Whatever it was I wanted to make for dinner got subverted for my need for comfort carbs and dudes… I don't want to talk about dinner. It was tasty and horrid.  Ulg.


This is sort of a pathetic whine about MOnday.  I mean, Chicken worked sick, and had to deal with $200 repair on her car-- that was a worse Monday. Mate has had soccer meetings for the last month of Mondays-- that would put a damper on ANY day of the week. 

And when I posted a whine on Twitter/FB, the general response I got was, "It HAS been a cruel and unusual Monday, hasn't it?"

So I'm going to be interactive if I can-- what basically miserable stupid shitty thing happened to make your Monday less than ideal?  No tragedies-- I mean… dudes. If somebody passed away, that's not a Monday thing, that's a big painful deal. No-- this is, you know, dogs pooping, cars breaking down, checks not making it on time, the traffic light that lasted 45 minutes with the kids screaming in the back… share your Monday story, because right now, my whine is pretty pathetic, made painful mostly because I had my head up the dragon cave and wasn't functioning on all 8 cylinders. 

What's YOUR Monday?

Sunday, September 27, 2015

What it is I finished...

Well, much of my social media heard me crowing to the stars that I'd finished something last night. I've been editing it today, to submit tomorrow, and then my pre-GRL life can start. Because right now, I'm behind on ALL THE FUCKING THINGS.


I thought I'd share a little bit of Selfie, which is the thing I finished. It's part of the Bluewater Bay Universe (from whence came Deep of the Sound) and this one deals more directly with some of the actors.

One actor in particular. On actor who spent eleven years of his life hiding a big fucking secret from the whole world, and now that the secret has been gone for a year? Connor Montgomery is having a hell of a time finding normal.

Fortunately he's got Noah Dakers to help him find normal. But Noah's vision of normal is a little more san than Con's--and Con's not as ready for it as he should be.

Are you ready? Here's and excerpt from Selfie, which will be out in April.

*  *  *

Simon?” Noah was trying to sound humble—and failing. “Uh… don’t take this the wrong way but—“
“I’m gone,” Simon said quietly. I didn’t flinch from his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll have Anna get Jillian the contract by Monday. Please stay. This show’s so good with you.”
“Thanks,” I said automatically. “Yeah. Of course I’ll stay.”
And then he was gone, and I was alone with Noah.
“You knew?” he said quietly.
“Like I said, not with who. It… I was gone a lot. Vinnie wasn’t…”
“Strong,” Noah said quietly. “I get it. So—why did you leave Warlock Tea?”
I shook my head, not wanting to do this, not now. “Noah—“ I all but begged.
“Got it. Let’s get to the car and get you on some pain meds.”
“No pain meds,” I muttered. “R.I.C.E.”
“All weekend,” he said grimly, and then he squat next to me so I could throw my arm around his shoulder.  He straightened and I pushed, and in a moment I was hopping across the trailer. We got to the steps and Noah made me hold on to the doorframe so he could walk down and steady me as I hopped some more.
God, by the time I got to the car, I was sweating and pissed.
“You know what?” I bitched as he slid me into the back seat.
“You want me to sell your mountain bike?” he asked before shutting my door and getting into the front seat.
“No,” I snarled, using my adrenaline. “I want to get better so I can ride that thing again. I’m going to ride it, and I’m going to scream down that goddamned hill, and I’m going to show it who the fuck is the fucking boss. That’s what I’m going to do. And then I’m going to go down a bigger hill. I’m going to go down hills so steep I need a fucking parachute to get on the trail in the first place. I’m tired of this shit. I’m tired of things hurting. I’m tired wanting to hide my head under a pillow and scream and cry and sleep. I’m fucking tired of pain. I’m going to make pain my bitch, and I’m going to fly down that fucking mountain with my hair on fire, screaming bloody murder all the—ouch!”
There was a cattle guard in the driveway of the property we’d leased for the outdoor sets. Going over that fucking set of pipes almost made me throw up.
“Sorry about that,” Noah said gently.
“Don’t be sorry,” I muttered. “Not your fault. I’m tired of pain. I just want to live my life without any fucking pain.”
“Yeah, sure,” he soothed. “But first, you’ve got to heal.”
Neither of us were talking about the ankle, and both of us knew it.
“Yeah, fine,” I muttered. “I’ll fucking heal. I don’t have to be gracious about it.”
Noah laughed softly, and I knew what he was going to say before it came out of his mouth. “And we have the video to prove it!”
I shut up and seethed for the rest of the trip. 
By the time we were done with the X-Rays and the bandaging and the fitting for the brace and, yes, the pain medication that I finally relented and agreed to take, I was too exhausted to seethe. I was too exhausted to talk. In fact, about the only thing I had the energy to do was to fold my arms in front of me, tuck my head in the corner of the door and the seat, and fall asleep. I woke up at the end of the forty-five minute drive as Noah was parking the car.
He got out and opened the door for me, handing me the hated and dreaded crutches.
 “Yeah, well, get used to them. When you’re not standing on the set, that’s your default for the next two weeks.”
I glared. “I can do water aerobics and weight lifting,” I reminded him and he rolled his eyes.
“Yeah. There’s a pool at the Global—if you want I’ll have Anna get you permission to go swim there in the mornings. Are we done being a diva who has to keep his body perfect now?”
“You seemed so sweet when we first met,” I muttered. “Who knew?”
“I’m a philosophy major, Connor. Sarcasm is our defense against the workforce disappointment.”
“Ha.”  I started to hobble forward, letting him open the garage door for me.  He followed me into the house, taking one of the crutches and holding my arm while I used the banister to make it up the stairs.
“Ha what?”
“You have the world’s greatest job at the moment,” I told him facetiously. “You get to watch me completely implode and shuttle me to exciting places like hotels and doctor’s offices. You have nothing to complain about.”
He took my arm over his shoulders as we cleared the landing, and held the crutches in his opposite hand.  I leaned on him until we got into the bedroom. 
“Can you pee standing up, or do you have to do number two?” he asked in all seriousness, and I…
I did not take that very well.
I collapsed on the bed, laughing my ass off.
“Number two?  Oh my God—did you just ask me if I have to take a crap? Because—“
“Yeah, I get—“
“I mean, I know the paparazzi can be intrusive sometimes—“
“Yeah, there was probably—“
“But Jesus, Noah—not even Vinnie used to ask me if I had to take a crap!”
Noah rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he didn’t. Vinnie was perfect and saintly in all things.”
“No he wasn’t.”
“Did I mention the sarcasm?  Now do you have to go sit down and have private time for a while or what?”
I thought about it.  “Naw,” I said, suddenly sober. “Just let me pee and brush my teeth." 

Friday, September 25, 2015

We Shall Never Speak of This Again

Wherever Sheriff Stilinski went with his new "friend", he didn't get back until the shadows were dripping golden through Stiles's bedroom window.

Stiles and Derek were just getting out of the shower when they heard him come through the door, calling, "Guys! Guys! I've got some pizza here!"

Derek half-laughed in the middle of pulling his freshly laundered shirt over his head. "You know, your dad is pretty awesome."

Stiles nodded and pulled his boxers on. "You've got clothes for tomorrow?" he asked. "I mean, now that I did laundry?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, but--"

"Then stay. Again. For dinner."


"Your place sucks. It's big and broody and lonely. Lots of women slept there who either tried to kill you or died. Stay here."

Oh Lord. So easy. Would be so easy just to stay here and pretend they were one happy family.

When John Stilinski called out again it was from the foot of the stairs. "Are you telling me neither of you have an appetite?"

"Be right there, Dad!" Stiles called from his door. "What kind of pizza?"

"I brought three--combination, with anchovies, and pepperoni. Derek can eat them all if he feels like it, because I had a big salad with chicken for lunch."

Stiles's grunt did not sound like he was buying it. "Why would you do that without me nagging?"

"I had lunch with another middle aged man, Stiles. Do you think we both don't check cholesterol?"

"Huh. Yeah, give us a minute."

Stiles closed his door and checked over his shoulder to see if Derek was clothed.

And Derek smacked him in the face with a T-shirt and sweats. "Stop tormenting him," he said. "And yes, I'll stay until tomorrow."

Stiles's grin was so happy/evil, Derek tried really hard to pretend he didn't know what he'd just signed on for. Stiles was going to make him ask "the question".

*  *  *

John Stilinski was still befuddled over the events of the night before.

Well, not really befuddled. Bemused. 

Well, not really bemused.  AROUSED. 

Yes, he probably should have been entering the viagra years, but every time he'd thought about what he and Jack had done in the muted quite of his bedroom the night before, his erection grew both uncomfortable and embarrassing.

Which explained how a trip to Eureka to take Jack out to lunch had gone on a lot longer than either one of them had planned.

Because last night…

They'd both taken off their shoes before they entered the kitchen, and John had listened carefully before they padded up the stairs.

Oh, thank God. Not a sound--just the unmistakeable smell that was probably werewolf sex, because Stiles had been pretty active with boys and girls before Derek, and John had never been quite that… overwhelmed with pungency until Derek.

"Oh my God…" Jack whispered behind him. "It smells like… like sweat sox and elephant semen."

John chuckled as they passed Stiles's room and dragged Jack unselfconsciously down the hall.

"The sweat sox were my son's," he admitted. "The other thing--"

"Werewolf sex?"


John stopped in his doorway and frowned. "Wait a minute-- how do you know what elephant semen smell--"

Jack kissed him again, that same assertive sweetness that he'd given in the car, and John melted against the doorframe.  Fumbling, he reached behind him and opened the door, backing up so Jack could come in and shut the door behind him. He pulled back long enough to turn on the lamp near his bed, hearing the snick of the lock just as he looked up.

Jack was walking toward him with definite intent, unbuttoning the cuffs of his blue dress shirt as he walked.

John was suddenly, acutely aware that he was forty-seven years old. Yeah, sure, he went running more mornings than he didn't, and he worked out his upper body when he could--but still. Time didn't tell kind lies. He knew his chest hair was a little gray and his ass wasn't as tight as it had been and--

Carter finished unbuttoning his shirt and drew near, close enough for John to feel his heat. His rough hands cupped John's cheeks and he made John look at him.

John was really starting to like those crinkles in the corners of his eyes.  "What?" he asked, his voice shaking a little.

"You tell me."

John looked down to the neck of Carter's tank. His chest was muscular and broad, and he only had a few blonde hairs in the center.

"You've got a really nice chest," he said, feeling pathetic.

Carter laughed softly and lowered his head, kissing him behind the jaw. "You've got really nice eyes," he said, brushing John's ear with his lips.

"Backatcha… oh…"

"And I like your laugh," Carter continued, nibbling down the side of his neck.  "And your kindness…"


Carter was unbuttoning the front of John's shirt, and John had lost track of why they were telling each other stupidly nice things--but that didn't mean he was going to drop the ball.

"You've got a really nice smile," John mumbled, as Carter kissed down his chest. They were both wearing tanks under their blue dress shirts, which was sort of funny, really, but John didn't feel like laughing.

Particularly when Carter shoved the dress shirt off his shoulders and then lifted his tank up by the hem and pulled it over his head.

"You like my smile?" Carter asked, his eyes glinting wickedly in the lamp light.

"Yeah," John said, comfortable again in his own skin. He raised a hand and rubbed Carter's abdomen under his tank. "I really like your smile."

"Do you like my teeth?" Carter teased, and John frowned.

"Sure-- they're part of a smile right--ooooh…"

Carter lowered his head to John's chest and nibbled gently on his nipple.  John's hand flailed for Carter's shoulder, and Carter licked the the nipple, and then nibbled again, and then nipped.

"Ahh…"  John's hands flailed, finally finding purchase on Carter's hard biceps. He squeezed hard, knowing he couldn't hurt, couldn't bruise, and he realized there were unexpected good things about being with a man.

Carter chuckled and licked over to his other nipple and John groaned and sat down hard on the bed.

"Lay back," Carter ordered.

So easy. Just do what this kind, funny man asked him to and touch back. Run his hands down the smooth skin of Carter's back, knead his chest, enjoy the little catches of breath he made when John hit something particularly sensitive.

And keen as Carter paid copious amounts of attention to a part of John's body he'd thought had fallen off years ago.

John's hips were arching off the bed, and Carter's hand at his groin made him ache. "Oh God!" he breathed. He reached awkwardly down between them, trying to reach Carter's groin to see if he had an erection that could pound nails.

Carter pulled back and laughed.  "YOu want to do this like gentlemen? I'll show you mine and you show me yours?"

John had never felt like a nervous virgin before--like Stiles, he'd pretty much thrown himself into sex with a sort of practical joy. You had to have it, right, or your dick would fall off? (He'd actually heard Stiles say that to his first girlfriend-- if he hadn't used that line on Stiles's mother, he would have smacked the kid in the back of the head.)  But he felt like a nervous virgin now.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to hide. "But, uhm, can we do it under the covers."

Jack's laugh and smile were enough to make John's stomach flip.  "Yeah, sure."

"God--your dimples--fucking lethal."

Carter chuckled some more as he stood and gave John a hand up. John had to turn his back to strip, he was so embarrassed. By the time he'd gotten naked and scrambled under the covers, Jack was naked too. He stood next to the bed and held his hands out before doing a little turn and presenting himself again.

His stomach was the washboard stomach John had once possessed in his youth, and his chest was just as wide and wonderful as it had felt under John's hands.  His skin was a sort of natural gold, even the pale part of his hips and thighs.  And now that John had taken that inventory, he could move down to the thing that scared him the most.


Yeah. It was big. John couldn't seem to come up with a comparison-- was it bigger than his? Longer? Wider? Or did all the bigness come because it was probably going to end up inside John's-- uh, either way, it was wide and thick and long and erect. 

Basic sex mechanics seeped into John's brain. "Uh, that's for me?" he asked, confused.

"Yeah, John. I, uh, don't normally spring one of these for someone I'm not excited to see."

John bit his lip again and whooshed the covers down, exposing his pale, middle aged glory for Carter to inspect.

Carter didn't. He slid into bed next him, and caught his mouth in another knee-melter of a kiss. John was glad he was lying down, seriously. And then Jack threw his leg over John's hips, and blew his mind.

OH God, two male naked bodies, sliding together, their chests touching, their groins… oh God. Carter's cock was touching his. It was the most amazing, wistful sort of foreplay.

John wanted to touch it!  He reached down between them, not so awkwardly this time, and grabbed him, appreciating the size and texture of him in his palm. He closed his fingers and squeezed, stroking up toward the head, and then he rubbed his thumb.

"Oooh…" he breathed. "Skin's so soft…"

Carter's pained chuckle made him flush, and then Carter's hand on John's erection, doing exactly what John was doing to Carter, made him groan.

STroke… stroke… stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke… oh God! A man's hands were on him, a man was touching him, kissing him, and his body was vibrating, swelling, aching, and climax was rolling in his thighs and his stomach--

"I'm gonna come!" he gasped.

"Come…" Jack whispered. "We've got the whole night…"

"Ahhh…"  Oh, it had been so long. His testicles tightened up between his thighs, and the edge of Jack's thumb caught on his slit, just as his fingers tightened around John's crown and…

"Ohhh…" He whimpered into Jack's mouth and Jack captured the sound.  Oh… oh God… Ohhhh…. Oh, he'd forgotten what climax at someone else's hands felt like. A hand job, naked bodies, a passionate kiss--apparently these things were the same no matter who was giving them.

Or maybe because the person giving them was giving them right.

John melted into the mattress, aware that Jack had continued stroking him through the slickness of come.  After a moment, when his dick had swelled again, and he was hard and tight and a little tender, he grunted and pulled his hips back.

"That was amazing," he breathed, smiling at Carter with a sort of innocent gratitude. "What can I do to… you know…"

"YOu ever given a blow job?" Carter asked, his hips twitching with a little bit of urgency.

"Nope."  John grinned. "But I'll try anything once." He rolled his hips and moved his body until he was eye level with Jack's chest. "But first, I'd like to try these…"

Male nipples were tiny and hard, and he liked them very much. He especially liked the throaty sounds Jack made when he nibbled on them, and he understood why the other man had spent so much time there. But John had a goal now, and he kissed his way from nipple to nipple, staying just long enough to make Carter grab his shoulders and keen with frustration.

"You know what you are," Carter mumbled and John kissed his way down a mildly furry abdomen to a perfectly shaped, bald cockhead.

"A middle aged man learning how to give head?"

"A prick tease," Carter said, then he leaned his head back and gave that appealing, throaty laugh just as John licked his crown.

The laugh turned into an "ooooh…" and John realized he was enjoying the hell out of this. His own cock still tingled, and it was already aching. And the taste of the pre dripping from Carter's cock had really flipped his switch.

He didn't even have to think, didn't have to feel, didn't have to have the big epiphany about, "Oh my God, I'm touching a guy's dick with my mouth!" because he wanted to taste that again. 

He carefully positioned his teeth and lips and tongue and sucked Carter in like he was pulling on an extra thick popsicle.

Jack's hushed grunt and his fingers scrabbling in John's hair were enough to keep John hard for hours. Oh, man, this was power. It had been power with a woman and it was just as powerful with another man. He was doing something for Carter, something important, something huge. 

He pulled up his fist and started stroking, using his lips and tongue together. He wasn't a pro or smooth or sophisticated--he was what he always had been: serviceable and competent.

He could tell by Carter's increasingly frantic tugging on his head that he was about to cum, and suddenly, he didn't want to pull away. He was lost in it, in giving someone pleasure, in doing something, something of importance, even if it was making this charming, kind man climax.

"John… coming…"

John's response was to move his hand and lower his head and bottom out as best he could.

Jack bit his own shoulder and grunted, and poured into John's mouth, the saltiness and bitterness enough to make John gag a little, and spill some out of his mouth. It puddled in a mess over Jack's balls, but John didn't have time to be embarrassed, because Jack  pulled him up by the shoulder.

"C'mere," he muttered thickly. "Here…"

John went, proud and aroused and thrilled, because… oh yes! There was Carter's mouth, and his tongue exploring, tasting again, and John answered, the shyness and hesitation gone. He'd do anything-- everything-- because doing it with this man felt so right.

The kiss went on, and on, and on, until they were both thrusting against each other's groins some more, and Jack pulled back with a gasp.

"So," he panted, a sleepy, sated, aroused smile on his face. "Round two?"

"God, yeah," John answered. "Who does what?"

Jack's smile was sin itself, and his voice made John's cock even harder…

* * *

Derek went down the stairs first, knowing Stiles would wait a scant five minutes before crashing the supposed ten minutes of talk time he'd given for Derek to answer the all important question.

God, he didn't want to do this.

"Derek!" Sheriff Stilinski said, sounding genuinely happy to see him. "Come get the pizza before it becomes, you know, tepid."

Derek smiled a little, recognizing Stiles's sense of humor and dorkiness wrapped up in the stolid, no-bullshit man he'd once been so contemptuous of.

"Tepid pizza is better, sir," he said gravely, and was rewarded by John Stilinski's quick grin.

"That should be on a T-shirt," he answered, just as gravely. "Where's Stiles?"

Derek sighed. He couldn't go through with this. "Waiting for me to ask you the most embarrassing question of all times, sir."

Sheriff Stilinski paused in the act of getting plates out from the cupboard. "Oh hell. Could we not?"

"He's relentless. You know he's relentless."

"Even if I give the answer, you know what's going to happen--"

"Squeamishness? Weirdness? Having your name dragged into my sex life for at least another month? Yes sir, I know."

"Oh God."  John shook his head and set the plates on the table, very carefully not looking at Derek. "So why are you--"

"Because if we get it out of the way now, I'll get my boyfriend back sooner. So, uhm, do you mind?"

"Jesus. I swear-- if I wasn't going to see the guy for as long as humanly possible, I'd say it wasn't worth it--"

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. "You know he'll be awful, right? He'll be asking that nice Sheriff Carter until the poor guy runs screaming from the house--"

"Yes. Yes I know."  John grabbed napkins and a glass bowl and put them both on the table, and then took the salad out of the plastic thing and put it in the glass bowl.  "Dammit. Fine."  He turned and balled the salad bag up and pitched it into the trash can by the sink. "Both of us. Happy?"

Derek thought about it.  Both. For some reason that canceled shit out. "Best answer we could hope for-- thank you sir."  Then he turned his head and shouted over the stairs. "Stiles, they both topped! Now stop being a child and get down here and eat!"

"OH my God! You told him I told you to ask!"

Derek met John's eyes and for a moment they were both in complete agreement.

"We shall never speak of this again," Jon said gravely.

Derek nodded his head. "A-fucking-men."

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Hmm… A bit salty...

So… GRL is in 20 days, and you know what? I need to frickin' plan.

Anyone want to know what's on my plate?

God-- me too.  Shall we list?

* Birthday Week-- Mate and I turn 48 next week.

*  Swag ASSEMBLE! Price tag tiny stuffed soccer balls to book cards.

* Tie book cards around the neck of Clopper stuffed dogs.

*  Buy M&M's and put them in Amy Lane mugs.

*  Buy more paper swag cause what I've got now is weak shit

* Clean the kitchen table, cause, ulgh

* Do laundry

* Finish Selfie, cause I have a frickin QUEUE.

* Start the category romance I'm writing for DSP-- fun!

* Finish edits on Bound, part 1&2.

*  Moar laundry. And some folding!

* Do I have the clothes I need?

*  Shoot! I have a game I need to map rules for! GodDAMMIT how did that sit so long?

*  Two interviews on my dashboard.

* Uhm… I'm promoting two blogs this month?

*  A character interview for Amber Kell's B-day celebration-- I'm thinking Deacon?

* PLanning a panel for GRL

* Assemble my setting workshop for GRL

* Crap-- do I have enough swag?

* Can I order it NOW since I only have 20 days?

* Clean my bathroom, cause DAYUM.

* Squish is in choir and GATE, so I need to revamp the way I pick up and drop off kids.

*  Help Squish with her student council speech and poster

* Make sure ZB gets his English grade up. Frickin' reading logs!

* Make sure the crack house moving into the abandoned place next door does not kidnap my children. I only wish I was kidding.

* Decorate for Halloween.

* Get kids costumes.

*  Oh crap, I've got another edit for Winter Ball.

* RITA awards are when?

*  I'm on a blog tomorrow, aren't I? I know I must be…

* Happy Birthday Chicken!  (She's 21.)

*  I absolutely must watch NBC's The Player. Because Phillip Winchester in his underwear, that's why. It's not negotiable, I shit you not.

*  Soccer games every weekend.

*  Dance on Wednesday.

* GATE'S on Wednesday too?

*  Feed the cats!

*  Walk the dogs.

* Aw man-- I've got another dentist appointment next week!

*  What was that about finishing the book?

* And don't forget to clean my plate, because there's veggies on the bottom.

That's not a moon, it's a space station!

Seriously-- I was NOT expecting the many and the varied quotes I got! The FB thread is truly astounding, but even here on the humble blog there are quite a few. Feel free to keep suggesting-- I've already gone back and started to change my chapter titles using ones that you all suggested. Wow--just… so much awesomeness! Can't even…



So thank you!  I wish I had something really astounding for the blog to reward you-- but I think we're going to have to stick with the Fan Fic Friday and hope I can keep it up.  For today, I'm going to yammer as usual.  Okay with everyone? Okay then.

The new aqua aerobics instructor has no actual experience in aqua. This happens sometimes because the bosses don't have quite enough instructors for coverage if the really GREAT instructors who are already there have to be gone for a reason.  This particular very young instructor has a lot of energy, which is fine, but when she tells us to do water sprints, she insists on keeping up with us on the concrete. Now, I've actually been taking aqua classes for nearly twelve years, and there are a few things that I've learned from watching instructors self-destruct and then come back after surgery--and I'm so afraid she's going to hurt herself. But that's not the only thing she doesn't know, and it's starting to make me a cranky bitch, so I'm going to share.

*  For starters? Don't run on the concrete. There are NO pads and you will destroy the cartilage in all the body parts if you do that. Oh--so taking the advice of the fat troll in the pool is too hard for you? Well then… keep doing what you'll doing and then when they have to repair the meniscus in your knee or inject cartilage n your back, you'll know why.

*  For also starters-- that awkward thing you do when you tell us we need to lift our arms out of the water and above our head before putting them back? Well, if we're  doing an actual stroke, with specified moves, we could do that and propel ourselves through the water. What you are asking us to do will damage our joints, because lifting your arms in and out of the water like that puts stresses on strange places. I know you think it looks like fun OUT of the pool, but it's not when we're IN the pool.

*  Speaking of out and in the pool-- OUT of the pool, you are twenty something and perfectly willing to screw up your own body with your own stupidity, but IN the pool, we are either elderly, overweight, or suffering from some sort of physical problem from fascaeitis to arthritis to e.d.d..  Some of us are trying to exercise safely because there have been cardiac threats in the past. (Not me, thank God, but I get very protective about the little old ladies in my pool!)  Now, me personally? When you play that catchy little guitar riff that could kill a hyperactive otter? I tone it down out of instinct-- I never trust the person on stage, you are no different. But the sweet little old women in the pool with me are killing themselves to keep up. Every instructor I've known, in or out of the pool, reminds people to go with their own pace.  You need to as well, because otherwise you're being irresponsible.

*  And speaking of irresponsible-- when several people tell you that a move-- say, thumbs down breast stroke, for example? Is bad for people, please don't blow them off and do it anyway. I watched the authority effect happen today--half the people in the pool should have known doing that could tear their shoulder muscles, but instead, they watched perky young thing on the poolside making that motion and copied her.  She did the same thing with extension exercises, and I foresee a lot of strained backs.  Plank position, sweetheart, because we can hyper extend our legs behind us really easily in the water, and hello, that would fucking hurt.

Now, I know a lot of people probably read that rant and thought, "Gees, lady, you teach the class!"  I was actually asked to-- and for a whole moment, thought about it.  It sounded like a lot of fun-- but I just don't have time right now.  But that doesn't mean I don't have some things to offer.

Or, you know, at least kvetch about.

I guess my biggest beef was that we tried to offer advice-- little things like thumbs up instead of down make such a difference in the water, because you have SO much pressure magnifying every move.  But she wasn't listening.

Of course, it was probably karma. I remember when I was a new teacher and I thought I knew SO MUCH MORE than all of the old people trying to give me advice.

Well, life is a funny old dog, innit?

In this case I'm trying not to let that old dog bite all of us oldish women on the ass as we thrash about in the water.

*whew*  So thanks for letting me get that off my chest-- tomorrow, I whine about them kids on my lawn!

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Heartbreak Blue

Oooh-- pretty, right?

Okay, so, today's blog is interactive, yeah?

I'm currently working on Selfie, about a film and media star who is silently mourning the lover that the whole world assumed was his friend.  I'm venturing back to first person, like I do every so often, and I'm sort of digging Connor--he's kind and self absorbed and a little lost--what's not to love?

Anyway-- everybody really enjoyed Beneath the Stain, in which I used song titles as chapter titles, and I had a lot of fun with that.  What I started doing with Selfie was use movie titles as chapter titles…

And it's not nearly as easy.

See, movies have so much more behind them, I think.  When you use a movie title, you're drawing a REALLY deep and wide analogy, very often one that doesn't run just between a chapter, or even a moment in the chapter, and the movie, but between the entire book!  I mean, this is about the pain of losing someone when you were both hiding the secret. Exactly which chapter of this book would be best named Brokeback Mountain, right?

So, I'm thinking maybe quotes--short and specific, no more than five words--would be better.  I'm going to have to go back and edit in.  But things like, "Wish I could quit you!" or "As you wish," or "Planet of regret" are all perfectly good chapter titles, and they're all classic moments from movies.

So, since I have to redo this entire thing-- and I'm going to have around 20 chapters-- I thought I could put out the all call. Now do remember-- this is like going shopping with your girl/boyfriend. The minute he/she puts something on and says, "Do you think I should get this?" you are pretty much fucked. If you say yes, he/she will definitely get the other one. If you say no, he/she will want to know why and something about what you say is definitely going to hurt his/her feelings. "I don't know, hon-- it has Star Wars emojis all over it, and aren't you a Trekkie?" will cause the love of your life to wail, "You don't understand my sartorial irony!" and, well, did I mention the fucked?

So I can't promise I'll actually use your suggestions--but I can promise to be highly entertained by them, and to be grateful should they spawn others that I do use, and really grateful if you leave a comment that makes the angels weep with perfection.  I mostly just want some pinballs to bounce off, and I've been doing this for a while-- I know you all have the best ideas!

So, Twitter, FB, GR or here-- leave me your "teeny movie quotes" and let's have some fun, okay?

Monday's Report Card

Getting up early this morning after getting in so late last night: F-

Meeting Mate for a quick McD's breakfast while he was getting his car serviced: C  (If we'd gone somewhere besides McD's, it would have been a B. If we'd managed a quickie, A.)

Getting to aqua late because I "lost time" in the middle of the dressing for the gym process: C-

Short nap after aqua and before picking up ZB-- C+  A LONG nap would have gotten an A.

Not having any place to put my Yaoi-Con stash-- F-, along with the house which is desperate for cleaning.

ZB's tale of his wayward English grade, D+, for obvious reasons.

Premiere Week: A  -- at last, something to look forward to!

Not having enough room on the DVR to watch At Midnight-- D-  Love that show!

Scorpion-- B+

Minority Report-- B-, until Wilmer Valderama walked in. Then it was an A.

Castle--B +

Squish making sure I got a hug and a kiss before bed--Solid A.

Mate being gone until almost 11 so we can watch Castle together--C-.

Dogs needing to sleep on me while I knit and watch television--C+.

Only getting 2K done today-- B-.

Having to wait until December for Winter Ball to come out-- C---

Being almost 90K into Selfie-- Solid B.

Twitter Snark tonight-- A-.

Getting to spend a night at home with the fam, solid A+

Monday, September 21, 2015

The Long Way Home

 Love Yaoi-Con.

LOVE Yaoi-Con!

Adore it.

People dress up--and look stunning.

People play.

Gender roles aren't a thang. At all.

And everybody's happy to be there.

So Ms. Rainbow up there was the first victim of my newly crappy camera (weak-shit, thy name is Microsoft Lumia, I'm not even playing.)  She was lovely, and I was so happy to land her!  Next up was our lady of the CROCHETED PANTS AND TIE! *shudder*  Yarn. You see? You SEE?

Ms. Keela and her lovely wonderful fantabulous family were next. You see that baby? Venona Keyes flirted SHAMELESSLY with that baby, and now they are soul mates. Seriously-- Keela got to go to Yaoi-Con with her family for her birthday--from ALASKA. How wonderful was that?

The other group up there was a Yaoi I don't recognize--but Chicken sure did. She was SO excited because they were only one person shy. I was so impressed that they got six people to dress up!  (BTW-- there was a group of ACTUAL stewardesses with a pilot from Japan Air at the con. People kept thinking they were in costume--they were very confused.)

We also have here the lovely Ms. Liz--wearing her Harry Potter corset with her lightning bolt lipstick. I adore Liz-- she's a YC staple, and her costumes are many and glorious!

Our lovely pirate here is Ms. Edie, who came to visit me last year and pick my brain. THIS year she came to tell me she finished her VERY OWN NOVEL and I could not be prouder. You GO Ms. Pirate-- you are fierce and powerful, and I adore you!

And Warboy and Max deserved a picture because… dude.

As did my beloved Ro and Andy, dressed from Nightvale and about to go to Arby's. Now, for those of you who read Bitter Taffy, Andy did lend Ro to me for a scene with Darrin. Darrin was depressed they didn't get to meet in person, however, Ro got to brag as he came by the booth. "I am too in one of her books!"  He was indeed, because that much awesomeness cannot be contained!

 Now here we have this lovely thing-- a set of ear cuffs with stars and roses on them, which I am giving to Chicken AND Squish. You heard me-- they are splitting a set of cuffs.  I have to tell you all, the cuffs are the most ingenious things-- they are lightweight, they stay on reasonably well, and they're ADORABLE! Yes, I got one of my own, why you ask?

And the inimitable Ro-- up to no good on Sunday, as he should be ;-)  Liz as well-- I guess today was a day for villains, right? Well, either way, they were both delicious.

But Yaoi-Con cannot last forever-- because if so, I'd still be there from my FIRST one back in 2010. I eventually made my way back to reality-- and there is nothing more real than the heinous backup on the stupid bridge. Dudes. Ugh.

I sent those pictures to Mate, so he would know I was alive but at a two hour standstill. Traffic eventually started moving, but I was forced to pee and drink some coffee shortly after the bridge.  Of course, an hour and a half later, when I was two miles from home, I had to get rid of that coffee, and God! When did McDonalds start putting in the toilet for customers only?

It was the SADDEST thing, because I screeched up to the McDonalds and launched myself out of the front seat. As I was running, a disabled panhandler came up to ask me for money.  Now usually I'm polite, even if I have no money, but in this case I just shrieked at the poor man, "I'M GONNA PEE MY PANTS!" and ran inside the store. Of course, when I got there, I realized I needed to buy something to use the facilities, so I made it up to the counter doing the peepee dance.

"Can I help you?"

"I'd like three cookies and a bathroom key please?"

"Sure, but they're unlocked."

I swiped my card. "Leave the cookies on the counter then, I'll be back."

I finished my business and grabbed my cookies to run outside, and the poor panhandler was still there. Now, remember, I just got back from Yaoi-Con. I have NO cash. None. I tried to give the guy cookies as I was trotting to my car but he put his hands up like I was the devil feeding him brimstone, and I broke back into my "two miles form home" sprint and apologized for having no cash, even as I was starting the car.

I wonder if all of this makes me a terrible person?

Anyway, I got home, was mobbed and mugged by Squish and Zoomboy, licked and chewed on by the dogs, and finally, Mate and I got a moment together.

Remember-- he's been on his own through a Bowling for Soup concert, soccer Saturday, and taking the two kids to a Republic game on Saturday night.

This picture was as good as it was going to get.

But I don't care.

I'm just so glad to be home.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

You Ask Him

P.S.-- I'm calling this fandom John/Jack.  Since nobody else seems to have thought about it or named it, I'm going to claim that in the name of Amy Lane!

For those of you who didn't tune in LAST Friday, this is John Carter from Eureka and John Stilinski from Teen Wolf with a side of Sterek!  Enjoy :-)

(P.S. Yaoi-Con pix tomorrow!)


That part where Stiles resolved never to think about what his father did with Jack Carter was a total lie by the way.

After breakfast, during which Jack offered Stiles a career on a plate--and one nearby, so that he wouldn't have to move away from Derek, because sex with Derek was getting to be a staple of his existence-- Stiles and Derek spent a lazy Sunday morning in the living room, reading each other funny memes from the internet.

During a lull in the conversation, Stiles decided to broach the subject.

"You ask him."

"Ask who what?"  Derek was making lazy circles with his big toe on Stiles's ass through his sweats. Stiles wiggled, hoping his Dad and Jack would be gone long enough for them to have Sunday day sex, which was probably as awesome as Saturday night sex.

"Ask my dad."  Duh. Derek couldn't possibly tell him that he didn't think about it too!

"Ask your dad what?"

Stiles rolled over and looked at him, because it was obvious he was just being dense.

"You know. Who tops."

Derek got up and left the room.

* * *

The conversation had not changed as John had driven them from the bar.  They bantered, they talked about their jobs in law enforcement, they told their funniest/weirdest cases, and even, when the silences between them grew ruminative, their wives.

But John pulled the car up next to his son's battered jeep in the driveway--and next to Derek's sports car--and killed the engine. The silence between them fell thick and heavy.  John stared straight ahead and felt the heat radiating from Jack's body.

He thinks we're going to have sex. 

In his mind's eye he saw that homely/handsome face, and his heart and stomach clenched. Would it be hard to touch that face? To feel that mouth on his? Would he reject this man who would be nothing but kind to him, out of a moment of old inhibitions that he'd never believed were valid anyway?

The thought of Jack Carter hurt, faking it like he had in the bar--that made John ache in a whole different way.

He turned to look at Carter and saw the other man studying him in the light.

"You know," Jack began, "this doesn't have to hap--"

John kissed him.

His logical Sheriff's brain kicked in.

Lips: soft as a woman's.

Heat: Hotter, all encompassing.

Texture: Stubble rough against my jaw and cheeks. 

Neck beneath my hands: Skin a little tougher, but still sensitive.


Jack took over the kiss.

John found himself shoved back against the car seat with Jack's broad chest covering his, Jack's big, rough hands holding his biceps under his sports jacket.

HIs mouth on John's demanded a blunt, no-bullshit return for the solid domination of cheeks, lips, and tongue.

John returned it, stroking Jack's cheeks with his thumbs and keeping his eyes closed against the alien thought of a man doing this to him.

Although he wasn't kidding himself at all-- Jack Carter tasted like all man.

Jack pulled away from him and John opened his eyes, gasping in surprise.  Jack's hands cupped his cheeks, and his blue eyes--colorless under John's flickering self-installed street light--bored into John's.

"How you feeling?" he asked soberly. "Do you think you can do it aga--"

John kissed him again, this time dominating, pushing Jack back against his seat rest, and upping the game. The texture fascinated him. What would Jack's stomach feel like under his shirt? The skin was silky against John's palms, the muscles hard and compact. The hair was silky too, and his pecs were hard and heavy.  Oooh… solid muscles, John loved that. He kneaded them, warming his fingers against that silky skin, and then, oh, wait, there they were, against his palms, against his fingertips…


Tiny, pointed nipples. He rubbed circles with them as he continued to drive his tongue into Jack's mouth, and then, as they grew erect under his fingers, he pinched them both.

Jack groaned, and John felt strong fingers grasping the short hair at his crown and tugging.

"I was trying to go slow!" he gritted.

John paused, saw the toughness, the vulnerability, the basic decency of this plainly pretty man. He pulled Jack's hand from his shoulder and kissed the knuckles, letting his tongue trace the scars that had come from a life lived between civility and violence, between law and insanity.

"I don't need slow," he said decisively. "I need these hands--hard hands--on my body--augh!"

Jack had let go of his hair and had started squeezing his cock through his pants--he was as hard as he could ever remember being, harder than he'd ever thought to be again after his wife died.

"You need to tell me if I need to be gentle," Jack cautioned.

John traced his lower lip with a thumb. "I will take whatever you think I need," he said, closing his eyes and ceding his body and his pleasure to this other human--at least for this night.

Jack nodded, and he sealed the bargain with short, chaste kiss.  "Not in the car," he said, grimacing. "Aren't we a little--"

"Old to be in the car," Mr. Stilinski finished. "Yeah. Just… you know."



They both separated and got out of the car, as efficient and utilitarian in their movements as they both were probably in their day to day lives.  John led the way to the side door, pausing before he unlocked it.  "You know, I really liked the kissing part," he said frankly. "Does the rest of it live up to that?"

Jack cupped one cheek and pulled him into another one.

"One way to find out."  He pulled up a corner of his mouth and John rubbed it with his dumb.

"Looking forward to it."

John preceded him through the door.

* * *

Stiles lay, naked and limp, under Derek's invading body. Derek watched, still thrusting, as orgasm rolled through Stiles's slender body, and his long, slender cock spat cum over his pale stomach.  Stiles gasped and opened his eyes, still panting.

Derek leaned forward, mindless of the mess, of his own full to bursting cock, throbbing for release in Stiles's ass.  His kiss was slow, languorous, and soulful.

When he pulled away, Stiles's eyes were still closed, and Derek's orgasm pulsed upward, from this thighs, stomach, and groin.  His erection, hard and clenched tightly, beat in time to his thundering heart as he groaned and fell forward.

Oh God, even a slow, lazy fuck, brought him to his knees.

He collapsed against Stiles, panting, hips still twitching as the climax vibrated out through his cock.

For a moment, there was nothing in the room but their hearts beating in time.

"Stiles," he said after a moment, careful because this was something they hadn't said before.


"YOu know I love you. I mean, you know that, don't you?"

He felt Stiles smile against his stubbled cheek. "Yeah, Sourwolf. Love you too."

"I mean, I really love you."

He pulled back and looked deeply into those playful, bitter gray eyes, hoping Stiles would see what he was trying to say.

"Yeah--I really love you too. What's up?"  Sudden panic almost flailed the both off the bed.  "You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

"No," Derek said decisively. "But we're not officially boyfriends, and not 'hooking up' like you told Scott the other day, so know that."

Stiles nodded.  "Yeah, yeah-- I hear you. I just didn't want to--"

"You're not jumping the gun. I love you, this is real, and you need to know that."

"Good--I"m glad I kn ow that.  Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do I need to know right now?"

Derek swallowed and touched foreheads with his beloved.  "Because. Stiles, I'm not asking your father who tops when he's with his new boyfriend."

Stiles smiled under his lips. "Yes you are."




Stiles kissed him, hard, and not playfully at all.  Derek, who had thought he was replete and done with sex for the day, began to get hard while still in Stiles's body.

"Yes," Stiles murmured, and Derek groaned and kissed him silent.

And tried really hard not to think about what he was going to have to do after Stiles fucked him into submission.

* * *

Okay folks-- We'll see what John and Jack actually did in the bedroom NEXT week!

Thursday, September 17, 2015

At the rest stop...

Here at Yaoi-Con with Mary, Poppy, Venona, and Shira-- we had drinks and dinner tonight, and it was awesome.

On my way up this afternoon, I stopped at the rest stop that overlooks Six Flags Vallejo--and spent a moment breathing deeply and wishing for rain. This landscape is not usually so bleak--but it was today.

I also saw these two guys, hanging out and enjoying Fig Newtons-- because it's what all the vegan horses are eating these days.

And then I made it to the airport, where, in spite of parking slightly west of You're Fucked and east of Egypt, I still managed to pick Mary and Poppy up.

And then I found my way back to You're Fucked and Egypt, which was the important thing.

Anyway-- I can' wait to see the costumes and the happy tomorrow -- Yaoi Con is always a really good time :-)

Wednesday, September 16, 2015


Every morning I take the dogs with me to get Squish to school.

I used to let them both trot out to the car, but then Geoffie ran across the street too many times, so we started to carry her, and call Johnny, who seemed to have more sense.

About four weeks ago, Johnny took off across the street to bark at a turkey and almost began a second career as a road waffle. Ever since, I hooked him up to a leash to take him out to the car.

This means I need my bag, my phone, my wallet, one dog under the arm, one dog on a lead, and my keys to leave the house in the morning.

After I drop Squish off, I go by McD's, because they've got my coffee and oatmeal, y'all, and I usually get a sausage patty and a hash brown for the whining, barking, drooling hairy things who have left nose prints all over the passenger window and little tiny puncture marks on the side panel.

Assholes. They whine for that sausage patty, too.


We get home, and after the first day I realized that Johnny is on a leash so they think there are walks involved, and, well, I could always stand to have more walks.  So now, we get home and I leave everything but my keys, my phone, and the dogs in the car, and we go around the block, where they crap once each, bark at everything that moves, and take turns pissing on every other house. Then they get home, consider it a great morning's work, and pass out.

Which is great.

I mean, seriously-- we've got ourselves a thang, y'all. Every morning. I get a walk around the block, and they get to crap somewheres besides our dust field of a back yard. (It used to have the prettiest, greenest grass. C'mon, El Nino, we need some fuckin' rain!)

Except Geoffie has this other habit, this weirdo habit of eating her halters. Every week or two weeks or so, she'll chew through part of it and then drag it around the house like a dead mouse.

Because? I don't know. Because she's a DAWG. Because seriously-- we've gone through around twenty halters, thick ones, thin ones, ones made of parachute cord, ones with metal rings at the juncture, ones with no metal rings-- I think the basic concept offends her.  

Because she's a dog, she doesn't see the connection between halter and walkies. She just chews the damned things.

So yesterday her halter was allasudden toast. This morning, I'm thinking, "Hey, I just stop at PetSmart (and wish Tommy and Jonah were there!), grab myself a couple of halters, and lickety splickety, we're back out the door.

Who here sees the problem with interrupting the routine at this juncture? Anyone? Quick! Everyone take a guess as to what I forgot about what my dogs NEVER forget at pretty much exactly THIS TIME in the morning.

So, we go into PetSmart and first Johnny tries to eat the 200 lb. German Shepherd named-- I shit you not--DARTH, and then, as I'm reaching for the damned halters with Geoffie in my arms, he makes a pit stop.

One half-quart pee and giant dump, right near the merchandise. He looks at me sheepishly, as if to say, "Well, you got me out of the car and walked me-- what else did you expect?"

I grabbed the supplies (bless PetSmart) and cleaned up what must have been 1/10th his body weight off the floor, then grabbed the two halters and fled to the register.

Geoffie was going batshit by this time, so the clerk helped me put the halter on so she could walk too, like Johnny.  And this is how stupid I am. I thought it was so she could actually walk like Johnny.  so when they both stopped to dig in the planter, I pulled them both out, because who needs to worry about Dogzilla pee when you're in a shitty parking lot next to a really busy street? So I pull them into the car, and Geoffie starts whining and then…

Well, she was smart about it. She has a little bed, and there's a soft side and a rough side, the non-slip side that goes on the ground, and that side was actually up, so that's where she took a dump.

Looking at me sheepishly as if to say, "Well, yoiu got me out of the car and walked me--what else did you expect?"


So, the dogs and I, we have this routine. And now I know-- you can take the walk out of the routine, and you can take the McDonalds out of the routine, and you can even add a trip to PetSmart in to the routine--

But you can never take the shit out of the routine.


No matter what you do different, the shit will still be there.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Letters to the Ether, Redux

Dear nice lady in the Drive-Thru at McDonalds--

It really was your turn to go, so waving you forward was not a hardship. However, when you paid for my morning meal, it really made my day and gave me a little faith in humanity. I'm so appreciative.

Sincerely sincerely--


*  *  *

Dear dumbass dog--

You know that walk you like so fucking much? It doesn't get to happen when you chew your halter off a week after we buy it. Every. Fucking. Time. If you're lucky I'll buy you a new one tomorrow, dumbass.

P.S. When I take you walking, you're not allowed to crap on the floor. It's the law. So there.

Sincerely, Me.

*  *  *

Dear dumbass dogs, both of you--

You've seen me pee before. Get out of the bathroom and get over it.

I'm fucking sayin'.

Me again.

*  *  *

Dear Cat--

No, I haven't cleaned the table. Yes, the food is still the same place as ever. No, you can't walk on my computer. Yes, I still love you enough to give you cat noogies.  Same time, same place tomorrow?

I thought so.

Be safe out there, boo-boo.

Cat Mom.

*  *  *

Dear family--

I"ve cooked before-- I know I have. Please stop asking me what that wonderful aroma is and making big eyes and "ooooooh" faces. If it sucks, I'll have sacrificed the ass of a pig for no apparent reason than to feed the dogs, we all know it's true.

P.S. I don't think Big T should be totally responsible for the kitchen. I think short people need to do something too.

P.P.S. And I think we can clean more of the things than this.

P.P.P. S.  But stay away from my stuff.

I love you-- have a street taco!


*  *  *

Dear Squish--

Just because you see my roots doesn't mean I've suddenly gotten older. It just means you've gotten old enough not to mention it. Besides, I'm dying my shit tomorrow, so chill.


*   *  *

Dear Zoomboy--

We're awfully proud of you for asking a girl out to a dance, hon. We're sorry she picked the other scrawny seventh grader with a big head and big feet (cause y'all look that way--I've watched your entire class walk out of school, it's scary) but I think in the future when you're something both famous and interesting, she'll regret it.


*  *  *

Dear Mate--

I'm sorry, but yes. I'm going to San Francisco to work this weekend. I shall enjoy it, but it shall not-- I repeat not be compared to your weekend in Vegas which I totally condoned even if it led me to watch the movie Pixels, because ugh. You owe me for that. I'm not even playing.

But I"ll miss you, baby.

I have total faith in you, and I k now you'll feed the children, open the doors when it's cool, feed the animals, and get everyone to soccer on time. However I do worry that you'll get enough sleep and I know you don't sleep well without me, so I'll come back early, 'kay?

Your Wife

*  *  *

Dear World--

See y'all y'all at Yaoi-Con--don't forget to stop and say hi to me and Shira Anthony and Venona Keyes and EM Lynley and of course Mary my Mary-- we'll be looking forward to it, starting Friday :-)


Monday, September 14, 2015

So, the weekend went where?

Saturday-- Mate leaves house at 7:30 in rented truck with portable goals so Squish's soccer field can have goals.

Squish, Zoomboy and I leave house at 8:30, attend son's soccer game, watch them do pretty good, gossip happily with the team moms, celebrate their loss, and drive to the next game.

Repeat for Squish's team.  Hide under shade as temperature creeps up to a muggy and smoke filled 97 degrees.

Stop for lunch, take kids home, drop Mate off back at Squish's soccer field, where he must wait until the field is done for the day to retrieve the rented truck.  Come home, blog, go to meet Mate at the truck rental place so he can drop off truck.

By the by? The truck rental place is… well… heinous does not begin to describe it. It's based in a liquor store right off the railroad tracks in Roseville. Seriously-- Ace and Sonny would class that place up, I shit you not. I waited there for fifteen minutes, and avoided people watching because my timecard is full and I didn't want to have to serve as a witness against anyone else entering the establishment.

Drove Mate home. Thought, "It's six o'clock--what the hell happened?"  Watched television, dealt with the dogs who were stressed at not having their morning ride, wrote 4K and went to bed.

Sunday--Woke up, write 1K, took dogs to to McDonalds and out for a walk, got home and picked Mate up.

At this point, the sky was apocalypse red, by the way. You couldn't see the sun, the breeze smelled like the rest of California--dust and smoke--and breathing was optional.  Into this weather we left to…

Go swap my phone out. Because it's me, it took an hour, and they were doing their best too.  I just always pick the wierdo phone with the wierdo problems that don't swap out, and I"m really particular and I have 5000 pictures, none of which can be used on the blog.

So, we left there, ate lunch, and went car shopping, squinting through the drifting smoke.

Car shopping took four hours--and we drove straight to the dealership, Mate pulled up the car he wanted on his phone (a 2004 Volvo, with his insurance money) and said, "I want that one."

They said, "It's at another dealership-- hop in, we'll take you to within a two miles of your house, you can drive back to the wilds of midtown sac, and tell us what you think!"

So we got the car, and even with cash it took way longer than we expected, because, fucking car shopping.

And we left and went, "Crap, milk and toilet paper."  "And dinner for kids!"  "And I need a goddamned cookie!"  (Okay, that last one was me, I won't lie.  I needed a cookie. I couldn't breathe, my head hurt, and I missed my nap-- I needed a frickin' cookie!)

And home, to write, to sleep, to wonder what happened to my weekend.

I'm thinking that Yaoi-Con is going to be a blessing--I will miss the kids and Mate and the stupid dogs, but at least I'll know, at the end of it, what in the hell happened to my weekend, right?

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Before Breaking Paper

"Will there be a journey?"


"From the outside or the in?"

"Both, I think--"

"Will there be flawed heroes?"


"And righteousness and sin?"

"Why not!"

"Will there be betrayal--"

"I hate that, but--"

"And fear and maybe pain?"

"Always pain."

"And will there be heroics?"

"I hope so."

"And crying in the rain?"

"That's maudlin."

"But will there be redemption?"

"I like that!"

"Will there be a little blood?"

"And fighting too!"

"Oh! Will there be some monsters?"

"That depends…"

"Bad humans count there too."

"Well definitely then!"

"Will there be… emotion?"


"And maybe a little sex?"


"Will suspense be in there?"

"I'll try!"

"Will I wonder what comes next?"

"That's suspense!"

"Will the characters surprise me?"

"I hope so."

"Will they make me cry?"

"They make me cry."

"Will they ask me how to fix it?"

"They usually ask me."

"Will they ask me why?"

"Again, that's me."

"Will the ending satisfy me?"

"If I'm good."

"Will it answer all my prayers?"

"Not all."

"Will the crisis catalyze me?"


"But will it make me care?"

"I don't know! I don't know! I can only tell you this!
I have characters and dreams for them, they have
Pain and strength and bliss.
We will journey forth together
There will be sex and fear and rest,
And fighting and redemption
And you'll love them, if I'm blessed.
When you hitch a ride along with us
You're welcome company.
But since they're living in my head now
Their story is meant for me."

"Oh, oh no I get it--
I'm living through your pen.
But since we're going on a journey…
Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Shall we begin?"


*** Okay-- so yes, I loved Teen Wolf and I really loved Sterek, but I haven't watched it this season. I have it all taped, but, you know… sometimes you just fall in a pothole and can't get out, and when Stiles saw Derek Hale's initials on the library shelf, that was where I fell. But I still have a fondness for the possibilities of the early seasons, so that's where I'm writing from. From what I can see, the fandoms have pretty much given up on the writing as a whole anyway-- the canon is shit, but the fanfic is terrific, so let's go where the writing is!

Or where it's fun to write, in this case.  This is Sterek/Eureka crossover, which means we've got two blond sheriffs with two wayward teenagers, and a whole lot of drinking to do.


Oi! Sometimes John Stilinski just had to get the fuck out of town.

"But Dad!" Stiles whined. "You were going to be here for dinner!"

He sounded patently insincere.

"You don't want me for dinner," John retorted. "You have no desire to have me here at all."

"Sure I do! You know, Scott's coming, Lydia's coming--"

"Derek's coming," John said dryly, pulling his leather jacket on over his button down shirt. He felt naked, really, without his uniform or uniform jacket, but he was leaving Parrish in charge, so he didn't need it. He hoped.

"Yeah, well, he comes… over, sometimes."

John groaned. "Yes, son, I'm sure he comes… over sometimes--"

Stiles scrubbed at his dark hair. "Well, you know, since we all graduated from college, we sort of, you know, me and him, we've got shit in common."

"Like both having broken up with your girlfriends, Stiles. I know. I'm not senile."  Neither was he stupid. He was well aware that Stiles's other friends left long before Derek Hale did.

As in, Derek Hale had snuck out of his son's window on several occasions right before dawn.

Which was yet another reason John Stilinski really needed a night out. "You guys cook popcorn or pop each other's corn hole or whatever, and I'll be home in the morning, okay?"

Stiles looked truly disgusted. "Oh my God, Dad!"

"Look, just tell him he doesn't have to sneak out, okay? If he's in my kitchen in his boxer shorts making breakfast tomorrow, I'm not going to have a coronary."

And look-- the classic Stilinski blush, right to the roots of his hair. "He's… well, he's not even supposed to be in Beacon Hills, dad. He and Scott-- they've barely reached detente with the other packs and--"

"Are there bodies I need to worry about, son?"

"No, Dad."

"Then please, for the love of God, let me go somewhere not the hell mouth where I can have a drink."

"Yeah. Sure, Dad. Drive safe. You know, don't drink and--"

"Stiles, I'll stay. I'll stay, we can watch cartoons, and I will tell Derek about the time you and Scott went running naked around the neighborhood screaming about bedbugs biting off your wieners, okay?"

"And I think you're late for that drink!" Stiles responded brightly.

"I think I am."

John ruffled his son's hair in exasperated affection and managed to escape from his own home.  God. One lousy drink-- was that too much to ask?

* * *

He saw the bar set back deep in the woods, and wondered--usually he just kept driving to Placerville, because there were a couple of places there that he enjoyed, but this one was a little closer. He had his cell phone clipped to his belt, and well… after mentioning the werewolves, he just didn't want to go too far.

He took the turnout and parked with the rest of the cars--the really high end cars, which was odd-- in the turnout.  He'd go in, have a scotch, look at the other adults drinking their scotch, and maybe talk to a pretty woman. It was all he asked for in an evening.

That and to not have to pretend he wasn't hearing his son getting banged in the room next to his. He really needed that in his evening. He needed it so bad he could hardly breathe.

He pushed through the door and looked around uneasily. Frankly, he'd be more comfortable with werewolves and ninjas or something--this clientele looked particularly swanky. He spotted the bar, though, and toward the end, a guy a lot like him. Fortyish, blond, creases from living in his eyes and around his mouth-- but turned up creases. Like he smiled.

Well, hell-- no women, but then, John hadn't been hoping for a hook-up or bust, really.  Company, that's all he wanted.

He pulled up near the guy-- not so much in his space but in his orbit-- and ordered a scotch from the big guy with the curly hair who seemed to be stressing about every detail.

"And what kind of scotch would you like? We have several oak barrel brands, some with a cinnamon under taste, the kind that's pressed from the wood itself, some--"

Oh God. "Johnny Walker?" he pleaded. "Red or black or gold or…"

"Give him what I've got," the other fortyish guy said dryly. "Don't stress-- he just wants what I do."

"Yeah," the barkeep said deferentially. "Sure thing, Jack."

The bartender disappeared--apparently the plain stuff was kept in the back, and John offered his thanks.

"I, you know, not my place," he said, shrugging sheepishly. "Strange bar customs, right?"

The guy turned and winked, his blue eyes particularly arresting in his homely/handsome face. "I get it--but this is a Eureka establishment--you've heard of us?"

"Oh hell."  Of course he had. The Feds-- Scott's father included-- kept threatening to make Beacon Hills property of the Eureka people if Stilinski couldn't keep a handle on the body count.  "John Stilinski-- Beacon Hills Sheriff."  He extended his hand only to have it engulfed and caged by the other guy's.

"Jack Carter--Eureka Sheriff. You guys send us some of the weirdest shit."

"You think so?" John asked. "Cause that shit's our every fucking day in Beacon Hills."

Carter could have gotten mad, but he let out a good-natured snort. "Yeah-- well, yesterday they reversed gravity in Eureka. Again. Man, I thought I'd come get a drink right now before I had to suck it through a straw in my nose."

At that moment the bartender returned with a bottle of Johnny Walker Gold and two shot glasses. He poured up the shots and shoved them both at the men.

John picked his up with relief. "Oh thank you thank you thank you," he breathed, smelling the alcohol just to make sure it was there. "Here's to… not having your son possessed by a Kitsune this year," he said, remembering seven years before like it was yesterday."

"Oh God-- we heard about that," Carter said, surprising him. "Here's to not having your wife's first husband come back from the dead and having her choose him over you."

"Oh no! That's not a perk!" John sympathized. "Salaud!"

They both downed the drinks quickly, and John let the liquid burn through him.  Carter signaled for another pour.

"I miss them," Carter said when the barkeep had left, and John understood that these shots were for nursing and not for pounding. Good idea.

"Yeah," John muttered. "I bet you do. I still miss my wife. Dating just hasn't--"

"Not the same."

"No. It's depressing. My son is getting more action than I am."

"My daughter just got married--to another genius. They're going to have babies who are smarter than me when they're born!"

"Oh, ouch!" Poor guy-- John thought his life was bad. Well, it did have it's downsides. "My son is getting banged by a werewolf as we speak," he confessed, and its was rewarding to have Carter wince.

"Oh that's too bad. But, you know--I've seen the jacket on that Hale kid. He's not bad looking."

John had to laugh. "I'm saying-- I've been a ladies man all my life, but I didn't bat an eyelash when I realized what they were dong. Could convert the dead."

Next to him Carter let out a wounded sound and then pounded back his drink.  "Oh," he said softly.

"What?"  John actually looked at him.

"Nothing. You know. Just… was nice, for a minute. Having an equal. Having a friend."

"But we were…"  Carter met his eyes frankly, and John flushed. "Oh," he said, getting it. He downed his drink and sat for a moment, letting the rush of the alcohol burn through his body. He reached into his wallet and threw down a couple of bills, then looked back at Carter, who was looking away in embarrassment.  "So," he said, tapping Carter's elbow to get his attention.

"Yeah?"  Carter looked back, resignation slumping his shoulders.

"You, uh, want to see a werewolf in his boxer shorts, cooking bacon?"

Carter's smile twitched, and John had a moment to hope he'd see the whole thing in the course of the night, because it had the capacity to light up that homely handsome face and make it beautiful. He leaned over and spoke in John's ear, his breath tickling the fine hairs there and shivering a surprise shot of desire right down his spine. "I'd rather see you without your boxers, eating sausage."

John smiled, but rested his hand on Carter's thigh. "That's a terrible metaphor," he said.

"But a really pretty picture."

They met eyes then, and John Stilinski knew exactly what Jack Carter wanted, and although he'd never had that for breakfast before, he was pretty sure it couldn't hurt to try.

* * *

"Stiles," Derek mumbled in his ear. "Wake up."


"Because there's someone downstairs, cooking breakfast."

Stiles yawned and stretched, making double sure his door was shut. He'd only barely managed to convince Derek he could stay around this time. "Yeah, so? Probably Dad."

"Well, yeah. But I think he's brought someone home with him."

Stiles listened, but he wasn't a werewolf, and wishing to become a werewolf or a were coyote or a were fox or a were-ever had not gotten any closer to making it so.

"Oh," he said, smiling. "That's awesome. I mean, you know--go dad!"

Derek was doing that thing with his eyebrows that indicated he could hear/smell/taste something that Stiles could not. "Stiles, do you have any idea who your dad was seeing last night?"

Stiles slid out of bed and started fishing for his boxer shorts. He bent over right in front of Derek and let out a little yelp when Derek slid his hand right down Stiles's crack to cup his balls. "Do you want round four?" he asked.

Derek tugged him backwards by the balls, and as Stiles sat down, Derek moved his arm super quick to catch him. "I always want another round," he growled in Stiles's ear. What followed was a sweet, quick fuck into the mattress, Stiles holding the pillow in front of his mouth to muffle his screams.  When they finally ventured downstairs, both of them in sweats and shirtless, the sound of cooking had been replaced by the sound of two voices-- male--talking what sounded like Sheriff shop over coffee.

Stiles and Derek rounded the corner, and there was his dad--and his Dad's long lost cousin or something--both of them with the same law-enforcement hunch over their coffee, and the same crinkles in the corners of their eyes.

"So I'm telling you," the other guy was saying, "We had to force him to reconstitute like half the town, because he was sure someone had stolen his proton mathingigig. It was infuriating, and by the time he realized that ray gun was just firing off by itself, there was like, two of us left to go around and fix everyone."

"OH my God," Stiles's father laughed.  Both of them paused and turned toward Stiles and Derek, and Stiles tried to shut his mouth.  They were both wearing white boxer shorts. And nothing else.

"Derek! Glad you could stay this time," Mr. Stilinski said, a sincere smile on his face and not the fake one that didn't reach his eyes that Stiles had been afraid of.

"Thank you for not chasing me with your shotgun," Derek said politely. "Coffee Stiles?"

"Dad!" Stiles said after a moment, "Dad! You're… you and your… your--"

"This is Jack Carter," Mr. Stilinski said, talking to him slowly, like he was still a child.

"He's in his underwear!" Stiles wailed.

"And you're banging a werewolf, now come sit down and have breakfast."

Stiles gaped like a fish, and Derek shoved coffee in his hands.  "What did you think?" he asked softly. "YOur dad would be single forever?"

Jack Carter looked at Stiles and winked.  "I've heard a lot about you," he said after a moment. "Your dad says you're looking for a job, but you've got too many physics degrees to know what to do with yourself."

"Yeah, so?"  His dad ahd gotten laid. The same way Stiles had gotten laid. That was a thing that was going to burn it's way in Stiles's brain until it fell through the gray matter and hit occipital lobe.

"Have you ever heard of a town called Eureka?" Jack Carter asked, and Stiles and Derek both sucked in a breath.

"Tell me more?" Stiles said, a little stunned.

Suddenly, Jack Carter was far more interesting than his underwear, and Stiles had a lot more on his plate than a horny werewolf.

And a dad who left the house at least once a week for companionship.

And two sheriffs in the kitchen in their boxer shorts, which Stiles would never ask about again.