#have to duct tape reader to the plot. also title is a song reference. very vibes.

[cakevaljean]

Devil's Backbone- Michael Rowan x F!Reader (CBS Elementary)

Description: After you return from Albany with Michael, a certain police consultant contacts you about the allegations against him. Michael confesses to serial murder, and instead of screaming and running in the other direction, you fuck him nasty on the kitchen floor. just under 3k words cw: choking and other violence (in a sexual context), bruises, light restraints, brat taming if you squint

No one asked for this, but I am being the change I wish to see in the world. Less “porn with plot” and more “porn with exposition.” BIG THANK YOU to @finniestoncrane who both inspired me to write my own stuff and provided much needed emotional support lol

Fifteen smiling women stare back at you from the kitchen table. The folder that held the photos has “New York Police Department: Do Not Disseminate” printed on the front. Are you even allowed to have this?

A man named Sherlock Holmes had approached you earlier in the day. He said he was a consultant with the NYPD and asked what your relationship was to a man named Michael Rowan. Michael had asked you out some time ago, you went on dates in between his work trips and meetings. His was the kitchen table you were staring at now. You didn’t have any friends or family in the area– a fact that he had deduced by your completely empty schedule. He was sweet about it. Michael invited you to spend time with him in Albany a few months ago. He said you could keep each other company. You joked about moving too fast, asked if you were going to end up on a missing persons list. He smiled wide at that, and promised to return you home in one piece. His response gave you butterflies at the time.

You let out a sharp laugh at the memory. It was a struggle to hear Sherlock explain why the NYPD and FBI were tracking Michael, but after living with him for three months you couldn’t say it wasn’t possible. There were times when the mask slipped. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes. An unidentifiable glint behind his gaze when you found him staring at you. The longer you spent together, the longer it would take for him to shake it off, to pull you into a kiss to distract you from the chill that went down your spine.

Once, you woke up in the middle of the night to him standing above you. You squirmed under his intense stare, that same look in his eye. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Fear shot through you, but there was another feeling there too– hunger, need. You were the one to move first, tangling your fingers into his shirt and tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips against his. Thinking of the noise he made against your mouth when you pulled him to bed on top of you was enough to get you off some days.

Sherlock claimed that Michael’s most recent victim– you stumbled over the word in your head– was a woman named Rachel Garner, killed three days ago. Three days ago Michael was with you in Albany, and you told Sherlock so. It wasn’t a total lie; Michael coming home before sunrise woke you up. He had a habit of leaving the apartment late at night once you fell asleep and spending hours in the makeshift darkroom across the hall when he came home. He told you not to ask him about it, so you didn’t. As long as he didn’t come home from his late night excursions smelling like heroin or perfume, you could overlook some strange behaviors. You would never say it outloud, but for a guy as nice as Michael Rowan, you would overlook a lot of things.

You turn your attention back to the table. Three of the photos are different– Rachel Garner, Ashley Jenkins, Maddie Williams. Dead women with rubber tubing tied tight around their necks. Lifeless eyes, unfocused. Was the man you loved really the last person these women had ever seen? Could you overlook this?

---

You have always had an issue with feeling the way you were supposed to. Sherlock gave you the file in hopes you would feel pity or sadness over the loss of life, or fear of your own, and choose to help their investigation. It didn’t work. You should feel these things, but there is a much different emotion creeping down your spine.

The sudden sound of a key in the front door behind you makes your stomach drop. That unexpected thrill roils in your core and your legs begin to tremble, causing you to sink into the closest chair. You know you won’t hear Michael walk up to you; his silent steps were one of the hardest adjustments moving in with him.

“Sherlock came to see you.” His voice sounded closer than you expected it to. He had bent low to peek down at the photos from behind your shoulder. You turn to him and kiss him on the cheek, surprising you both.

“He said I forgot my phone in the apartment when we left. Used it to track me down.” Michael had rushed you out the door that day after a quick phone call. You barely spoke on the three hour drive to the city, but he kissed you sweetly before dropping you off at his house.

You hesitate for a moment. “He didn’t even charge it,” you force a nonchalant smile, pointing to the phone on the other side of the table. Michael scoffs. He taps the screen to verify it’s dead, then frowns at one of the photos on the table.

“I didn’t kill Rachel Garner.”

There is a pause. He waits for your reaction. You find Rachel’s photo, and flip it facedown. You count fourteen women.

“Sherlock wanted me to tell you he’ll be back for the file,” you say quietly.

He sighs, turns your chair, kneels in front of you. He meets your gaze and there is no mask that separates you. The feeling of not-quite-fear tingles in your fingertips.

“I’ve always had these…urges. Things that I knew were wrong. Things that I knew were bad. But it hurt not to do them. That’s how I became a heroin addict.” You recognize the words. There was a handwritten transcript in the file Sherlock gave you, dated three months ago.

“Have you ever had the urge to kill me?”

“No.”

“Oh.” You would not have said that voluntarily. A blush rises to your cheeks.

He cracks a slight smile. “You sound disappointed.”

You were a little disappointed. It takes you a minute to reflect on why. Your blush deepens as you try to find the right words.

“You kill women-”

“I’ve killed men, too.” A bit defensive, but his honesty surprises you.

“You kill mostly women,” you correct. “Is it a… A-am I not…?” The absurdity of the moment hits you. Your boyfriend tells you he’s a serial killer, and you’re insecure he hasn’t killed you yet?

He rests his hand on the side of your neck, feeling your pulse quicken at his touch. His thumb strokes your throat and you forget your own name. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for a while,” he ignores your unfinished question. “But I promised Sherlock I wouldn’t hurt anyone while he was away. It’s easy to get a little too rough with you.” He tightens his grip and you can’t help the sound that escapes you. His hand relaxes.

“You’re afraid of me.”

“I should be,” you whisper. “But I’m not.” His touch had sparked something deep within you. You couldn’t call it fear– when did fear start to feel this good?

Your hands tremble as you grab his other hand and move it to your inner thigh. His cold fingers brush under your skirt, meeting the heat between your legs. You try to lean forward to kiss him, but his grip on your throat holds you in place. A frustrated sigh slips through your lips. This isn’t what you were used to; he was usually an accommodating lover, and seemingly always happy to yield to your needs. But the Michael you knew before seemed to be a different man than the one on his knees in front of you, the man who was now stroking you through your panties, a cocky smile playing on his lips as he feels how wet you are.

You meet his eyes and grab at the fingers wrapped around your neck, fighting to get some sort of slack. You need him, you need to feel his breath hot in your mouth, on your skin, teeth and tongue leaving his mark on you. There is a hunger growing behind his stare. Watching you struggle was giving him the kind of thrill he hadn’t had for months.

You were hoping for that.

He pulls you closer and for a moment you forget that the man in front of you is dangerous, that his role as “accommodating lover” has always been an act. You move in for a kiss. Instead of yielding to you, he takes a fistful of your hair and wrenches you from your chair onto the floor next to him. You try to roll onto your side, but he shoves you onto your back and straddles you, his knees on either side of your waist. He leans over you to pin your wrists above your head with one hand.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he says dryly.

“What should I be doing?” you try to sound coy, but your heavy breathing betrays you.

“Behaving yourself.” He dips his head until you are nearly nose to nose, looking deep into your eyes. “You’re not going to get what you want by going against what I want.” The bones in your wrists grind together as his grip tightens.

You try to kiss him anyway.

Maybe all that accommodation has turned you into a bit of a brat. Or maybe the tingling in your hands has made you stupid and needy. Your lips brush against his, sparking desire deep in your core. All he had to do was handle you a little rough, pull your hair, and now the only thought left in your brain is how to get him to take you, fuck you, make you–

He straightens up and backhands you with a loud crack.

Your head hits the ground. Your ears ring. A stab of fear, real fear, courses through you as he grabs your collar with both hands and lifts you up to his face.

“You really want to make this harder on yourself?” You shake your head frantically, then wince at the dull throb in your cheekbone where his knuckles made contact. His mouth crashes into yours. His tongue invades your mouth. You open yourself up to him, but when you move to touch his face he lets go of you and shoves you back to the ground.

You grunt in impatience, ball your fists, a sort of humiliating frustration wells up inside you as he moves one of your legs, parting your thighs with little resistance. If you move to touch him, he’ll keep teasing you like this. If you move to push him away, you imagine there will be more than just the swelling on your cheek to show for it. The idea makes you dizzy. Were you always like this? Michael gives you a knowing smile as he slides your panties down your legs. He had realized something about you long before you had– you want this. You have always wanted this. Pain, pleasure, danger, fear, lust.

You drive your foot into his ribs—a kick too hard to be playful, too soft to be fearful— and scramble backwards, but before you can even get your feet under you he has you pinned underneath him. His fingers curl underneath the collar of your shirt and rip it open. He bites your shoulder. Hard. It’s not meant to be sensual; it’s meant to be a punishment. But you can’t help the strangled moan that escapes you when his teeth tear into your skin. 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he says with a smile. His breath feels cool on your broken skin.

“Please…” Your brain is in a fog, you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be begging for. Michael’s weight on top of you is making it hard to breathe. The events of the day are catching up to you, the complicated emotions bundling themselves up into borderline hysteria.

“I can help you, if you’ll let me.” His voice is low, cutting through the panic. You nod dumbly, tears welling in your eyes.

He kisses the bite mark he just gave you, kisses a line up your shoulder to your collarbone to your throat. He nips at the soft flesh under your jawline and you flinch, then tilt your head up to allow him better access. He hums in approval, stroking your hair as he finishes his path up to your mouth and holds you there.

You can feel the change in him. He wanted to break you, draw this out, keep you waiting, wanting, begging for more. But watching you go against your instincts, letting him hurt you when he wanted to hurt you, was shattering his resolve.

“Help me, Michael,” you whisper against his mouth. “Please.” He melts into you, deepening the kiss. You feel his hips jerk against you, his clothed cock rutting against your bare thigh.

The tension between you snaps.

You peel his suit jacket off his shoulders as he starts to unbuckle his belt, both of you frantic. Neither of you seem to care about the discipline he had just given you for being so needy.

You loosen his tie, but he stops you before you can unbutton more than the collar of his shirt. He uses the tie to restrain you, hands behind your back. Your stomach lurches– you can’t fight back like this. He lifts your hips, tugs your skirt off your body before pulling back to free his cock from his slacks.

You don’t want to fight this.

There is no pretense between you now, no role that he has to play. One moment he is above you, admiring your trembling body beneath him, the next he is crushing his mouth against yours as he buries his cock inside you, your wet cunt accepting him with little resistance. You let out a strangled moan at the sudden fullness, but he doesn’t stop to help you adjust. He grabs your hips and starts rutting against you. The stab of pain from him fucking you open spreads and dulls into a deep, throbbing pleasure.

His breath is hot against your mouth. His fingers dig into your skin and you try to squirm away, but your hands are bound tight behind you. The soft fabric bites into your wrists as you struggle, until another hard thrust dissolves any thought of resistance. It feels like only a few moments pass before a fire starts to build within you. The mewling noises that escape you are.. new. Michael notices, laughs at you, lifts himself to watch your reaction. Your cheeks are flushed, partially from your building orgasm and partially from embarrassment. Are you panting? Your brain feels broken. He hasn’t even touched your clit, and you’re halfway ready to cum for him. Human anatomy is preventing you from spreading your legs even wider, but you try anyway. Hands grip your throat. He squeezes hard. Eyes meet.

Both of you want this.

You feel dizzy. You inhale once before his grip tightens, your pulse pounding against his fingers. He’s still fucking you. Each thrust forces air out of the meager supply in your lungs. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of him not stopping. You can’t fight, can’t tap out, can’t beg him to stop. You don’t know if you would, if you could. A frenzy seems to take hold of him. Your eyes are locked, but he seems far away. You start to shake, fight against him. Your lungs burn.

His thrusts grow wild and undisciplined, juxtaposed against the words he whispers in your ear as your vision starts to blur. You can barely hear him over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, but it’s enough to send you over the edge.

“How does it feel to have a killer inside you?”

There is a beat before the grip on your throat loosens, your climax followed by deep, gasping breaths that feel nearly as good. Your walls tighten around him and usher him into his own orgasm. He collapses on top of you, another hard bite to your shoulder as he jerks against you. You feel his cock twitch and he groans into the crook of your neck, coating your insides with cum.

An eternity passes.

The only sounds are your combined heavy breathing. The hard floor fights to keep you awake, but exhaustion eventually wins.

---

You wake to Michael’s arm curled around you. He looks down at you and smiles. The mask stays off, but there is a fondness in his eyes that you did not expect. A soft kiss brushes against your forehead, his fingers tracing the forming bruises on your body that you can’t see. He kisses the hollow of your throat and moves to whisper in your ear.

“You might have to start wearing turtlenecks,” he laughs.

Later, you will look at yourself in the mirror and take inventory of the damage to your sore and broken body. There is a tender spot on your scalp where he pulled your hair, a swelling on your cheek that hasn’t decided if it wants to bruise or not. Fingerprints on your hips, light circles around your wrists. There are two bite marks visible on your shoulder under the torn collar of your favorite shirt. Your neck is covered in a mix of purple and red, deep bruises that make your stomach drop when you look at them. Later, Michael will see these bruises and carry you to bed over and over and over again. Later, you wonder when he’ll finally kill you.

You start wearing turtlenecks.

[aledethanlast]

7 writing tips to keep in mind for science fiction and fantasy

1. We can get to the plot right after I run some errands

“We must defeat Voldemort, save the wizarding world, and finish our homework.” -The plot of every single Harry Potter book

In general, the main plot of the story will not be the sole focus of your characters’ attention. They have relationships to maintain, personal goals to achieve, and sometimes just plain rest. Most of the tension in the story will likely evolve from moments where the characters must address both plot problems and personal probblems at the same time. This is doubly important if the characters are trying to keep the facade of normalcy.

There needs to be a certain level of balance. Too much plot, and we don’t get a good sense of character. Too much routine and the plot feels forced.

When designing a character, be mindful of what their lives looked like before the story, how that life would be disrupted by the story, and what would the character do with their life after the story (assuming they live).

2. Murphy’s law of obstacles: If it’s not your enemies on purpose, then it’s your friends by accident.

Character: Frodo Baggins. Objective: Get the ring to mordor. Superficial obstacles: Sauron’s dark army, giant spiders, various douchebags he meets along the way. Actual obstacles: The ring is corrupting Frodo’s mind, gollum is trying to screw them all over at every turn, Gandalf is a cryptic piece of shit, Aragorn needs to help them raise an army to distract Sauron, which is hard enough becuase the guy isn’t even sure if he wants to be king, Saruman is acting like your cousin who took a political science course last semester and now thinks he’s fucking Machiavelli, etcetera, etcetera.

Adventures are complicated because there’s always multiple things going on at once. This quest would be simple, except this supporting character has a completely different goal and has no issue with screwing everybody over. This friendship would be awesome, except their mutual crush just died violently and each of them blames the other. This character could leave the town, if only the war he thought of as far away hadn’t come right to his doorstep.

This is how good plot twists happen. Storylines that have up until now run separate meet in the worst/best way possible. This is often combined with the infamous what could possibly go wrong.

3. Inflation of the competence economy.

“Because he’s Batman” -Fake nerds everywhere

You have your characters. They’re badasses, the best in the business, absolutely unstoppable, every single one of them. They’ve so far beaten everyone who’s tried to stand in their way. Yet somehow they’re also the underdog.

Your problem is simple: you have no frame of reference of what is within or outside of your heroes’ capabilities, and since their gains are more frequent than their losses, the reader will just assume that the protagonist is going to pull the victory out of their ass like they always seemingly do.

Coming back to the Batman example: Batman follows this rule very closely, closer than many other comic heroes, but he appears to be invincible because he’s tirelessly worked to build that reputation. Batman get the shit beaten out of him all the time, but he’s known in pop culture to be unstoppable because he does his job so well that it often seems effortless.

The solution, naturally, is to give your characters limitations. Scenes where they’re expected to preform some amazing feat but instead take one look and say “Not happening.” Scenes where they underpreform at what they’re supposedly good at. You can stretch the boundaries of what is possible, but don’t break them.

4.  Limitations > Powers

“We’ll use the force!” “That’s not how the force works!” -The Force Awakens

The title of this one is actually Brandon Sanderson’s second law of magic, and he explains it much better than I can, but I’m summarizing anyway.

This is where a lot of writers trap themselves by creating a scenario that’s meant to be dramatic or a major obstacle, but the tools at the character’s disposal make the obstacle trivial, and so there’s no tension. Some try to solve this by pretending that the tool doesn’t exist, but that only serves to make your character look like an idiot.

The formula above can be applied in multiple ways. Lets say character A is in scenario Z, and has the use of ability X. Character A may not want to use ability X becuase:

Using ability X would be a temporary measure, and scenario Z could become something even worse.

Using ability X would go against character A’s code of ethics.

Ability X has limited uses, and scenario Z is just not imporant enough to bother.

Ability X is volatile and unpredictable, and the risk of doing more harm than good is too high to be ignored.

Ability X is useless in scenario Z and using it would at best do nothing and at worst expend precious resources.

These kind of situations force your characters to come up with more creative (and more interesting) solutions to their problem.

5. The internal consistency test

Hogwarts has moving staircases, living pieces of art, and a telepathic hat that makes judgemental comments about little kids? Fine.

The Ministry has access to time machines and has no problem giving one to a 13 year old girl, but don’t use it to punch out Voldemort? The fuck.

Readers won’t care if your explanation boils down to a handwave and “It’s magic” or some sciency jargon, but they will absolutely care if you contradict yourself, or if your rules leave giant holes in them.

A good way to check yourself with this is to ask “would a knowledgeable and competent character find this decision/explanation/occurance to be reasonable or absolute bullshit.”

That said, if you leave out the context that would explain this seeming plot hole because you want it to be a big reveal later, then you need to lampshade the plot hole. You have to promise your reader that yes, I am aware this doesn’t make sense, but bear with me here.

6. Genre is a suggestion.

Lasers + spaceships + aliens + exotic planets = classic Sci Fi

Magic powers + wise old mentor + princess rescue + ancient order of mythical knights = classic fantasy

Lasers + spaceships + aliens + exotic planets + Magic powers + wise old mentor + princess rescue + ancient order of mythical knights = Star Wars

This one is the core principle of AU fanfiction and retellings. Taking a bunch of different elements from unrelated sources and letting them interact to create something new.

The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer is sci-fi fairy tales. Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo is a fantasy heist novel. This Savage Song by VE Schwab is an urban fantasy/crime noir story. The possibilities are endless.

But in terms of actively writing, remember this one when you feel pressured to add or remove a certain element from the story because of the genre. Not every space story needs laser guns. Not every high fanstasy needs a monarchy. Elements can be played with as you wish.

7. Originality = fun > logic

"Why?” “Becuase that would be fucking awesome.”

This is primarily a world building tip, but it can easily work for plot too. As a writer, you’re looking for something that is unique and entertaining. Creating something unique is pretty challenging, but something entertaining? So much easier.

Forest scene feels bland? The trees can now scream in pain. Which they do. Constantly. Let’s see your characters have a boring old conversation when their chairs are begging for death.

Another example: Stabby the space roomba. It’s literally just a vacuum cleaner with a knife duct taped onto it that goes around stabbing people. Why is so popular? Becuase it’s ridiculous.

Logic is still important, naturally. These awesome things need to make sense. But that’s dependant on context. That screaming forest? Just establish beforehand that it’s a thing that exists. Stabby the roomba? I mean people are posting pictures of their actual real-life roombas to which they taped knives, so yeah, context allows for Stabby. 

From a plot standpoint, the trick lies in creating context for a moment of pure awesome which would make zero sense otherwise. Example: this page of Ms Marvel. How in hell does any character land themselves in a situation like that? Well if you read the comic you’d know.

It’s good to keep in mind that while this is a good way to generate ideas, the “awesome” things that you start out with won’t necessarily stick around as the world and story evolves. You may realize that your “awesome” doesn’t gel in with the rest of the story, or it can be improved upon, or that you only needed it as inspiration for a different awesome moent that you do use. But don’t ride or die for all of these ideas, it will only hold you back.