Topher Lydon

for those that would like to read it:

First book I ever had published. It's older than Army. My friend Jayson paid for it to get published in an act of stunning generosity. Earned me a solid two grand in royalties, and is still in print out there. It remains one of my favorite stories, and one of my favorite couples from my books.

Thanks Doc, have a week or so of planned shorts and one offs just to celebrate the season. Gotta have a little chaos in life.

I missed these two dorks... Happy Christmas my friends and dear readers!

Part 1: The Inciting Incident It was raining. Not the dramatic, torrential downpour that you saw in movies where the hero kisses the girl (or boy) and everyone gets soaking wet but looks fabulous. No, this was the standard British drizzle: a persistent, grey, soul-sucking dampness that had settled over Hailsham like a wet wool blanket since mid-November and showed no signs of lifting until at least April. Scott Walker stood at the bay window of Number Seventeen Meadow Road, star

A Return of the Sun Christmas Special Luke wants to hide, run, bury himself... be anywhere but near ANOTHER of his boyfriend Scott's mad schemes. This time the golden retriever turned crazed American wants to up end Christmas! Luke is giving serious thoughts to arresting him and finally having some peace and quiet!!! Ho-Ho... wait... who turned out the lights? OH!

You know when I picked out this gif for the electrician I never really... makes me wonder what's going on at the other end!

It's funny, this is the first step of the King of the North towards his throne. Looking back on it after twenty years of stories, knowing where Will goes, what he has to become, this moment feels prophetic.

It has never been done before. It is historic, and they need to convince Mike Pence, but what we saw from that (and we can love or hate him) brave man during the insurrection, we know where his loyalty, duty, and service belongs. The question becomes, is the President unstable enough to cause them to act? It is December 23rd, 2019 let's see what happens.

Has to be somewhere ... .reachable.

Death to Penguins!

Chapter 17 Monday, December 23rd, 2019 08:30 A.M. EST WORLD END: T-minus 79 Days, 2 Hours, 30 Minutes The White House, Washington D.C. The morning sun was a lie. It cast a pale, impotent light across a capital in paralysis, illuminating but not warming. The White House, that great engine of American will, was a gutted machine. The hum of servers, the soft hiss of climate control, the constant ping of secure data—all silenced for hours. In their place was a pr

Aw hell naw! Penguins are banned North of the border

I need about ten more minutes for today's chapter. Please bear with me

Those that know me, can read my relationship with Wil in this piece. I spent a great number of years in Cambodia right after my direct relationship with him came to it's conclusion, I was working at a Temple on the Tonle Sap. I met a 100 year old monk who, when he found out I was gay, merely shrugged and said that love is beautiful, before he blessed me. I've walked ancient ruins of temples, completely alone but for my little niece. I got to touch the stones, and feel at one with the Jungle and the temple. I'd like to say I learned profound wisdom, ha! What I learned is that there are different ways, beliefs, and spirits. That we can experience God (if you believe in such) Spirituality (if you prefer) in places of devotion of an empire long fallen into ruin. And that there is love there.

It's how you know you're in with him. You should only worry when he's being polite to you... then you know he's out to murder you

Frenemies... they're deadly on board game night.

There you go Doc

A sincere thanks Doc, for helping me do this one right.

**Chapter 20: Northbound** The dawn over Silver Creek did not illuminate a ghost town, but a hive of purposeful dismantling. A cool, clean wind swept down from the high peaks, scouring away the lingering scent of gunsmoke and fear, replacing it with the crisp, honest smell of pine and packed earth. The air, usually thick with the stagnancy of a dying boomtown, was alive with a new symphony: the screech of nails being drawn from timber, the solid *thump* of crates being loaded, the