#there's a fourth character budding in my head

[drchucktingle]

It’s Carly Tingle’s big day, the release of her first traditionally published horror novel, Camp Damascus. Unfortunately, Carly’s having trouble enjoying this moment as fear and chaos begin to swirl around her. She wants the book to do well, of course, but it slowly becomes apparent there’s more to Carly’s ambition than meets the eye.

Things get clearer when Carly revisits an old erotica short she’d written, titled Eaten Right By The Physical Manifestation Of My Pride And Excitement That The Lead Character Of My First Traditionally Published Horror Novel Is On The Autism Spectrum Just Like Me. This sets off a chain of fourth-wall breaking events that will send Carly on an adventure unlike any other.

Now at the book shop, Carly will come face-to-face with the beautiful physical manifestation of her pride and excitement as an autistic artist, culminating in an erotic lesbian encounter that could inspire generations to come.

This erotic tale is 4,300 words of sizzling human on sentient physically manifested excitement in the form of a punctuation mark action and lesbian autistic pride love.

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please enjoy EATEN RIGHT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY PRIDE AND EXCITEMENT THAT THE LEAD CHARACTER OF MY FIRST TRADITIONALLY PUBLISHED HORROR NOVEL IS ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM JUST LIKE ME out now for free but asking for donation to AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

MORE ABOUT THIS TINGLER:

hey there buckaroos i would like to use today to talk on something that is very important to me. i have talked a lot about my journey as a bud on the autism spectrum, and about how I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC.

my story on the spectrum is not a struggle. my way was diagnosed in early twenties, but because of way of masking VERY FEW BUCKAROOS WOULD EVEN NOTICE. it has given me ability to hyper focus and get large amounts of writing done, to find creative ideas neurotypical buds might miss, and to have a unique perspective on life on this timeline.

HOWEVER as man name of chuck my pride in this way used to make me uncomfortable, thinkin i should not share my story. there are many buds on this spectrum who have a MUCH harder time than chuck, and i want to respect the VERY IMPORTANT AND VERY REAL struggles of my fellow autistic buckaroos. for long time i did not feel like it was my place to share and say ‘personally, i wouldnt change my autistic trot for anything. i think being autistic is very cool’

but as tingleverse got more fans and buckaroos started listening to my words more i started thinking: THIS is an opportunity to prove love. part of the reason i am PROUD of my spectrum way is because FIRST INTERACTION with idea of this trot (was called aspergers way back then) was to realize that ALL MY HEROS were on this spectrum: david byrne of band TALKING HEADS being number one.

my FIRST INTERACTION with this idea was not ‘whoa this is tragic’ it was ‘whoa the coolest buckaroo on the PLANET is the same as me’

POINT IS i have been on this timeline a while now and now i am in this position myself. i can be the one buckaroos see when they learn this about themselves and think: WOW LOOK AT THIS WILD ARTIST I ADMIRE BREAKING THE NORMS AND CHARTING A NEW TROT THROUGH THIS TIMELINE WE ARE BOTH AUTISTIC THIS IS THE HECKIN COOLEST

most of the characters i write are probably a little on the spectrum because they are comin from inside chucks head. i look back and notice this and laugh, but other than a single tingler i rare actually OUTRIGHT SAY this character is autistic. i decided that FIRST BIG HORROR NOVEL WITH A TRADITIONAL PUBLISHER was a good time to change this. while i write erotica most of the time which means NO YOUNG BUCKAROOS ALLOWED, horror is a little different. buckaroos young and old can read CAMP DAMASCUS and think ‘i see myself in this autistic hero and I FEEL COOL’

EVEN WRITING THIS NOW makes me get teary eyed and emotional, because these feelings of belonging and positive representation were SO IMPORTANT to me. i would not be trotting here without these autistic heroes, and now i have been given the chance to create one of my own with CAMP DAMASCUS and WITH MYSELF just by being chuck and talking openly about my joyful, exciting, artistic trot on the spectrum.

WITH ALL OF THIS IN MIND i am releasing a brand new tingler called EATEN RIGHT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY PRIDE AND EXCITEMENT THAT THE LEAD CHARACTER OF MY FIRST TRADITIONALLY PUBLISHED HORROR NOVEL IS ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM JUST LIKE ME for free. HOWEVER i am requesting that if you choose to read you send your three dollars (or whatever donation you would like) to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK. this way 100 percent of all profits will go to them. (WARNING this is actual erotica so no young buckaroos allowed for this one).

all ages (who are old enough to read horror) can preorder CAMP DAMASCUS at any bookstore. i also have a tingler name of NOT POUNDED BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF SOMEONE ELSE'S DOUBT IN MY PLACE ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM BECAUSE DENYING SOMEONE'S PERSONAL JOURNEY AND IDENTITY LIKE THAT IS INCREDIBLY RUDE SO NO THANKS that is pound free so all ages can read so check that out if you would like.

thank you for blessing me with a space to explore these ideas. i am so thankful to be here with you and you have treated me so well. i am eternally grateful for our tort together and look forward to the future we craft on this timeline.

LOVE IS REAL - chuck

[idliketobeatree]

nobody asked, so here's my take on Nina and Maggie's storyline.

in general, i can grumble about how I'd wish their personalities outside the budding relationship arc were handled better; yet I have to admit the ending's impressive. Neil wrote an entire wlw sideplot to showcase the problems of the main couple through their respective counterparts. it sits well with how Aziraphale and Crowley treat humans sometimes. there's a bonus of haha, gotcha, you fell for the character's façade that was meant to be dismantled by the viewer, in the way you automatically assume Nina equals Crowley and Maggie = Aziraphale. it's also fun to figure out why they are the opposite. maybe not enough to sustain the need for watching fully fleshed-out people on the screen, but still a bonus.

the thing is— you're ready to leave, a bit disappointed when Neil takes your head, turns it gently around and says "watch now". at the last possible minute, he invites the precious cardboard cutouts of our ineffable duo to sit on the couch — the special therapy lesbian friend couch — and he lets the toxic relationship survivor say, out loud, "actually, we didn't enjoy being the narrative mirror to your forbidden gay romance :/". you don't even get a second to wheeze what before the soft one chimes in with, "right, especially since it didn't work, because you still haven't confessed your feelings :// get loved idiot."

it doesn't fix the lack of substance, but I'm just saying. show me a TV show writer so self-aware his script choices aren't too fair to the L and B in the LGBTQ community, who decides to apologize by... making out sloppy style with the fourth wall??? i'll wait.

[lacrimaomnis]

BRF Reading, 4/2/2024

As written, this is merely a speculation and therefore must be taken with a grain of salt. This speculation is not true until proven otherwise. 

My question is, I am asking for a clarification. What is the Seven of Swords in my reading regarding if BRF will take Harry back about?

Comments/Remarks: This reading uses reversals. Reversed cards are denoted with (Rx) at the end of their names.

Cards drawn: Ace of Pentacles, Two of Pentacles (Rx), The Magician (Rx), Two of Cups (Rx) Underlying energy: The World, Three of Swords

Summary: Something about the reproduction and fertility, money, and relationship. Mostly about money.

First card: Ace of Pentacles. Aces are cards about a budding opportunity, and Ace of Pentacles is the card about a budding opportunity in the realm of material concerns. As a person card, this is the card of an Earth-sign (Taurus, Capricorn, Virgo) child or toddler. In my deck, this card is illustrated as a fat rabbit with a necklace of a pentacle (Ace) on its neck, and in ancient cultures rabbits are a symbol of fertility and reproduction, and an omen of a new life.

Does the BRF know something about Harry and Meghan's children that we don't know? Aces tend to be vague, but Ace of Pentacles is usually the most pronounced of all Aces. There is a strong energy about reproduction and fertility around this card. Are the rumours Harry infertile (shooting blanks) true? Are the rumours that the children are born of a surrogate is true? Or worse, are the suspicions that the children do not exist true? I don't know. There is just the message that the BRF knows something relating to the reproduction aspect of Harry and Meghan's lives, which makes me think of the children.

Second card: Two of Pentacles, reversed. Two of Pentacles is the card about balancing your earthly resources and concerns, depicted as a juggler skilfully juggling two coins (pentacles) while the wave laps at his feet. This is usually the more literal cards of the deck, and because it is reversed, I think the message here is also literal: Harry can no longer balance his resources, he is not skilled at utilising his resources (i.e., money) and this card makes me think that he's in debt. The news that Harry is ordered to pay by the court for his court case comes to mind. Does this mean that Harry doesn't have the money to pay for his court case and the BRF knows it?

Third card: The Magician, reversed. The Magician is the first archetype we encounter in the Fool's journey, and it is ruled by the planet Mercury, and the sign Aries. Mercury is the planet of logic, skill, and intellect, and this card usually speaks about manifestation. In my deck, The Magician is illustrated as a simian character with a lemniscate symbol over its head, wielding a staff raised to the sky, and with a pentacle tied to a string on its finger, pointing towards the earth:

If reversed, the pentacle is now above and the staff is now below. Has Harry been asking for money from above (i.e., the BRF)? Has he been trying to manifest wealth (i.e., making more money) with no luck? He also seems to reinforce the message of Two of Pentacles; that Harry is unskilful in handling his money and now that he has to ask for money or manifesting that money.

Fourth card: Two of Cups, reversed. This is generally the card of lovers, of having a good partnership or relationship with others and mutual understanding. This card is illustrated as a pair of male and female tigers (jaguar? Panther? I think?) touching foreheads with a cup underneath their gaze, and above them is a pair of lovebirds. The lovers aspect of this card speaks to me, so I think this is about Harry and Meghan's relationship. Reversed, this card means the absence of that relationship and the lack of happiness or mutual understanding. I think what this card is saying is that the BRF knows there is no more relationship between Harry and Meghan, or the fact that no one wants to be related to Harry and Meghan anymore -- that they have become the Hollywood's laughingstock. Or does the BRF know something about Harry and Meghan's relationship as it currently stands? Are the suspicions saying that they are heading for a divorce true?

Underlying energy 1: The World. This is the final archetype the Fool encounters on its journey, and it is the card of completion, the end of a cycle. She is depicted in my deck as the emissary of the four fixed signs: Aquarius, Taurus, Leo, and Scorpio.

The energy of this card is that of "the end is near, and soon someone will be victorious, all that we need to do is to wait for the pieces to fall into their place".

Underlying energy 2: Three of Swords. This is the card of betrayal and heartache, depicted in my deck as two birds with two swords driven through their chest, and a third sword behind the birds. This is a bloody card, and this card seems to tell me that the knowledge BRF holds will either cause them heartache, or cause Harry and Meghan pain, or both. I am not getting anything else from this card.

Repeating numbers: 1 and 2. The spread, when looked at numerically, has the sequence of 1 (Ace of Pentacles) 2 (Two of Pentacles) 1 (The Magician) 2 (Two of Cups). Some school of thoughts believe that if the sequential numbers are lower ones (like in this reading), the situation is still open-ended, as the situation has just starting to unfold. I can't tell you what this means, as I don't know either, but the repeating numbers do get my attention.

Conclusion: Whatever the BRF knows about the 'duplicitous' or 'sneaky' things Harry and Meghan have done, there will be an end to things, and there will be a fallout, and a quite painful one at that.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Rating: T Characters: Carlos Reyes and T.K. Strand Summary: In the early days of their budding relationship, T.K. and Carlos discover some of each other's more adorable characteristics. Or, five times T.K. learns adorable things about Carlos and one time Carlos learns something adorable about T.K. A/N: Thanks to @bluenet13 for the title help on this one. It's been on the back burner for a while and it was time for it to fly free. Also working on a reverse 5+1 companion for it, so keep your eyes open for that...someday... Tagging: This is more than seven sentences, but please accept it anyway. Thanks to @strandnreyes, @bonheur-cafe, @carlos-in-glasses, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @ladytessa74, and @lemonlyman-dotcom. Tagging @liminalmemories21, @welcometololaland, @carlos-tk, @louis-ii-reyes-strand, @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad, and anyone else who would like to share your Seven Sentence Sunday! Read on AO3

Glasses

T.K. is brushing his teeth in Carlos’ bathroom. Usually his daily oral hygiene wouldn’t be a notable event, but today it feels monumental. Because it’s Carlos’ bathroom. And T.K. is brushing his teeth. Because he’s staying over. Because they’re together. Like really together. Officially. 

He smiles goofily at his reflection in the mirror, his mouth still full of white paste and toothbrush. He’s happy. Really, truly, deeply happy.

He opens up Carlos’ medicine cabinet one handed as he continues brushing away and realizes that while he remembered to bring a razor he did not remember to bring shaving cream. “Hey babe,” he calls around his mouthful as he turns around and pokes his head back into the bedroom, “can I borrow—“

His eyes find Carlos on the bed and he immediately chokes on his toothpaste and has to rush back to the sink to spit it out. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before turning and marching back through the open doorway. 

Carlos looks at him, amusement on his face. “You okay over there?”

“Since when do you wear glasses?”

Because he is. Carlos is sitting in his bed, shirtless, hair soft and wildly curly after his shower, a paperback in his hands, and a pair of glasses on his face. Glasses that T.K. has definitely never seen before in his life. Glasses that are kind of knocking the wind out of him.

“Since the fourth grade?” Carlos says. 

“But I’ve never…you’ve never worn them when I’ve been here.”

“I haven’t?” Carlos scrunches up his nose in thought and it makes him even more freaking adorable. “Are you sure?”

“I think I would remember my boyfriend morphing into Clark fucking Kent,” T.K. retorts.

Carlos chuckles. “I only wear them at night when my contacts start bothering me.”

“You should wear them more often.” The words are out of T.K.’s mouth before he even realizes it. He feels wildly out of control of himself right now and who could blame him? His already incredibly fucking hot boyfriend now looks like an incredibly fucking hot librarian and it is making T.K. think some very, VERY dirty thoughts.

Carlos raises his eyebrows. “Why?” A slow, lazy, self-satisfied smile spreads across his  face. “You think they’re sexy?”

“God yes.”

T.K. is across the room in two seconds flat, scrambling onto the bed and pulling Carlos’ face to his for a bruising kiss. Carlos immediately drops his book and responds in kind, mouth open and inviting as his hands grip T.K.’s hips and pull him close. “You called me your boyfriend,” he says when they finally break apart for air.

“I did,” T.K. says, diving back in for another taste of Carlos in glasses. It’s completely different than regular Carlos. It’s nerdy. And hot. He loves it.

“You’ve never called me your boyfriend before,” Carlos says breathlessly, grinning so wide it’s like the sun has come out. “I like it.”

T.K. grins back at him. “Me too.”

Socks

“Oh my god,” Carlos says as T.K. collapses onto his chest and presses kisses into his sweat sticky skin. “How does it just keep getting better?”

“Because we’re amazing,” T.K. mumbles against his pecs, his eyes already heavy with sleep. “So. Freaking. Amazing.”

He takes a few breaths and feels his body relaxing as sleep pulls him down. He snuggles deeper into Carlos’ chest, eyes drifting shut. He’s nearly out when he feels Carlos shift beneath him.

“Where are you going?” he asks, tightening his hold on Carlos’ torso to keep him from moving.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to put some socks on,” Carlos says, pressing a kiss to his hair. 

T.K.’s eyes pop back open and he props himself up to look at Carlos’ face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m going to put some socks on,” Carlos repeats.

Things still aren’t computing in T.K.’s brain. “…why?” he finally asks slowly.

“Because if we’re going to sleep I need to wear socks.”

He was looking for clarity, but now he’s even more confused. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? I’m putting socks on to go to bed,” Carlos says, looking equally as confused.

“But…why?”

“Because otherwise I might catch a cold,” Carlos says with a laugh, gently pushing T.K. off so he can get to his feet.

T.K. blinks a couple times trying to get his bearings and then rolls over, sitting up with the sheet wrapped around his waist. “That is not how colds work. Like not even close.”

Carlos returns and sits on the bed to pull his socks on. “I know that,” he says.

“And yet you’re still putting the socks on,” T.K. says.

“My mom always made us wear socks to bed when we were kids.”

“Is she coming over?” T.K. asks incredulously.

“No.”

“Then why are you wearing them?!”

“Because she always made us!”

T.K. takes a breath. “Let me get this straight. You are going to get into this bed with me, fully naked, except for socks that you’re going to wear because your mom made you do it when you were seven?”

Carlos pauses. “Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“I just like it okay? I’ve done it forever. I can’t sleep without them,” Carlos says defensively as he slides back into bed beside T.K. “Is this some kind of a dealbreaker for you?”

“Nope,” T.K. says. “Just trying to understand. If wearing socks to bed is what does it for you, then by all means wear the socks.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, giving him a peck on the lips and turning out the light before pulling T.K. close and snuggling in to go to sleep.

T.K. gets comfortable and closes his eyes, but he can’t stop the thoughts running through his mind in the dark and quiet of the room. He sits up and turns the light back on. “I really need you to tell me that you understand that you can’t catch a cold from not wearing socks though.”

Romance

T.K. loves being in Carlos’ condo without him. He likes it better when Carlos is around obviously. But he feels so special that Carlos has given him a key and invited him to share his space. It means he trusts T.K. enough to let him be here alone where it’s peaceful and calm, unlike his dad’s house which somehow feels crowded even though there are only two of them there most of the time.

Carlos’ place feels more like home than anywhere else has in a long time.

He takes his shoes off when he arrives and dutifully puts them away, then grabs a mineral water and a yogurt out of the fridge before collapsing onto Carlos’ couch. “Ouch,” he says with a frown as something pokes into his back from behind the throw pillow.

He reaches behind him and pulls out a book. It’s not unusual to find books around the condo, Carlos is a big reader, but the brightly colored cover on this one makes T.K. pause and raise his eyebrows. The Spanish Love Deception is the title and when he flips it over to read the back he learns that Catalina Martín is in desperate need of a date for her sister’s wedding and her mortal enemy at work seems to be her only option.

He’s rifling through the pages when the door opens and Carlos walks in. “Hey,” he says, smiling as his eyes meet T.K.’s. “When did you get in?”

“Like fifteen minutes ago,” T.K. tells him as Carlos slips off his shoes and then comes over to press a kiss to his lips. “I found this behind the throw pillow.”

He holds up the romance novel and Carlos takes it from him. “Francesca must have left it here,” he says, referring to his sister. “Looks like her kind of book. I’ll text her and let her know you found it it.”

T.K. doesn’t think about it again for a couple of weeks until one night when his dad cancels their dinner plans and he spontaneously heads to Carlos’ instead. “Hey, it’s me!” he calls as he pushes the door open.

“T.K.?” Carlos appears at the top of the stairs, one hand behind his back, looking a little frazzled. “I thought you were going to dinner with your dad.”

“He bailed,” T.K. says, adjusting his overnight bag on his shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time, giving Carlos a peck on his lips when he reaches him. “You okay?” he asks, taking in the weird expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Carlos says, even as a minor amount of panic is flickering through his eyes. “I just didn’t know you were coming.”

T.K. looks him up and down. “Do you have some other guy in your bedroom?”

“What?! No!” Carlos says quickly.

“Were you watching porn?”

“Of course not!” Carlos says, but there’s a deep blush rising up in his cheeks. 

“What’s behind your back?” T.K. reaches for him, but Carlos steps away out of his reach.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

T.K. raises his eyebrows in amusement. “You know you are so freaking bad at lying, right?”

“Can we just drop it?” Carlos asks, desperation creeping into his voice.

T.K. takes a step forward so that Carlos is forced to back into the wall and then reaches around him and plucks the hidden object from his fingers. It’s another book, the cover bright blue with the title The American Roommate Experiment on the front. T.K. recognizes the name of the author as the same one from the book he found behind the couch cushions and his eyebrows rise. “Oh. You were reading porn.”

“It’s not porn,” Carlos says. “It’s a book.”

“Are you telling me there’s no sex in this book?”

“I…don’t know yet,” Carlos says, dropping his eyes. “I haven’t gotten that far.”

Delight is spiraling through T.K. as he fully realizes what’s going on. “That was your book a couple weeks ago. Not your sister’s.” He can feel his eyes start to sparkle with mischief. “You like smutty romance novels.”

“I don’t like them because they’re smutty,” Carlos says quickly. “I like them because…I like them.”

“You like them because you’re a big old softy romantic,” T.K. says, poking him gently in the chest. “Do you watch Hallmark Christmas movies too?”

The silence that follows tells him all he needs to know. “You do,” T.K. says happily. He could not be more thrilled about this new discovery.

“I grew up with four sisters,” Carlos defends himself.

“Please tell me you read Fifty Shades.”

“I would never,” Carlos scoffs. “Those books are not an accurate depiction of the BDSM community.”

“Oh my god you’re adorable,” T.K. tells him. 

“No, I’m, no don’t call me that,” Carlos says, clearly embarrassed.

“You are,” T.K. tells him, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ waist. “You are the most adorable boyfriend the world has ever seen.”

“Are you going to let this go, or is this something you’re going to talk about forever?” Carlos asks.

“Mmm definitely the second thing,” T.K. says as Carlos sighs with long suffering. “Now how about you take me to your bedroom and teach me some of the things you’ve learned from these books?”

Scaredy Cat

Sharing new things with each other has become a complete delight for T.K. So when he finds out that Carlos has never seen a single one of the Halloween movies, he declares the need for a marathon during the month of October and immediately goes over to his dad’s to dig out his DVD’s. No way is he dealing with ads breaking up the masterpiece that is Michael Myers. 

He’s popped popcorn, pulled out all the throw blankets, and even gone so far as to make up a bloody looking mocktail to really get them in the spirit of the movies. Now he’s just eagerly awaiting Carlos who has gone out to fetch their pizza.

He’s pulling down plates from the cupboard (Carlos refuses to eat pizza straight out of the box like they’re “college frat bros”) when the door opens and his boyfriend returns, pizza in hand. 

“Perfect timing!” T.K. says, eagerly taking the box from him and handing him the gory looking cocktail in return. 

“Oh, wow,” Carlos says. “This is…something.”

“I found a recipe online,” T.K. tells him excitedly as he dishes out pizza slices onto plates. “I thought they would be fun!”

“So creative,” Carlos says, poking at the gummy eyeballs that T.K. ordered online and added for extra pizzazz.

“Okay,” T.K. says as they settle onto the couch, his excitement at an eleven. “So, John Carpenter and Debra Hill wrote this in like ten days, which is crazy, and Carpenter got paid ten thousand dollars to write, direct, and score it. They built a cinematic masterpiece, the go-to film for horror, and they did it in ten days for ten thousand dollars. Can you even believe that?”

“Sure can’t,” Carlos says with a shake of his head. 

“We’re starting with the original Halloween,” T.K. tells him as he flicks on the television. “1963, Michael Myers versus a bunch of teenage girls. We’ll skip a few in the middle, Halloween: Resurrection isn’t worth anybody’s time, and while Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers does feature a young, fresh faced Paul Rudd, it has too many flaws to be worth watching.”

“So we’re skipping two out of…”

“Thirteen,” T.K. tells him.

“I guess I should have taken the month off of work,” Carlos tells him, sending him an odd, tense sort of smile.

Come to think of it, Carlos’ whole body feels a little tense too. If T.K. didn’t know any better, he’d think Carlos was nervous. But he chalks it up to worry over getting pizza grease on the couch and hits play as he snuggles into his boyfriend’s side.

They’re still snuggled together as Michael takes a knife to his teenage sister and T.K. doesn’t miss the way Carlos stiffens even further over the bloody scene. Or the way he seems to get more and more tense as the movie progresses. “You want another drink?” T.K. asks after Michael murders the Wallace’s dog.

Carlos shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a firm line, eyes a little wider than normal as he stares at the screen. He gasps audibly when Michael appears in Annie’s car and when T.K. looks down he finds that Carlos is gripping the edge of the couch cushions so hard that his knuckles are going white. 

By the time Michael starts going after Laurie, Carlos’ breathing has gone rapid and T.K. carefully slips his fingers under the edge of his sleeve to find his pulse racing. Not a surprise given the contents of the movie, but Carlos’ face has gone almost white and and he’s sitting so rigidly T.K. is afraid all of his muscles are going to lock up. 

“Carlos,” he says quietly, but Carlos doesn’t respond, eyes glued to the screen, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows hard.

“Carlos, are you okay?” T.K. asks again, reaching for the remote.

He’s too late. Michael appears out of nowhere and Carlos jumps to his feet with a shout, hands going to his hips as he paces a couple agitated steps back and forth. 

T.K. finally gets his finger on the button to pause the movie. “Carlos, hey, look at me,” T.K. says, feeling legitimately concerned.

“No I—it’s fine. I’m fine,” Carlos says, hand making chopping motions as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as T.K. “Go ahead, turn it back on. I’ll just um, I’m just going to—“

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” T.K. says.

“No I’m—it’s good,” Carlos says even as a car honks outside and he flinches violently.

“It’s not fine,” T.K. says. “You hate it. Let’s watch something else.”

“We can finish—“

“Carlos, you look like you think Michael is coming after you personally. We’re not watching anymore,” T.K. says with a chuckle, using the remote to flip over to live TV, Bobby Flay declaring loudly that he will not be beaten at his own culinary game this time.

“Thank you,” Carlos sighs, collapsing back into the couch.

“When were you going to tell me you hate horror movies?” T.K. asks.

“Never,” Carlos says, running a hand through his hair. “You were so excited and I thought maybe it would be okay.”

“But?”

“I begged my parents to let me watch It with my sisters when I was ten. I didn’t sleep for like a month after that and ever since…” he shivers, “I just don’t get why people like them.”

“It’s pretty cute you know,” T.K. says with a fond smile. “My big tough police officer being scared of horror movies.”

“Cute or pathetic?” Carlos says with a roll of his eyes, finally starting to look like himself again now that it’s vegetables being chopped up instead of people.

“Cute,” T.K. tells him definitively, pulling him close. “Now come here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Paparazzi

The radio is blaring when T.K. walks in from his shift, so loud that for a second he thinks he’s walked into the wrong condo. A quick glance around reveals that no, this is indeed Carlos’ place, although there’s no sign of Carlos anywhere, and it takes him another moment to realize the music is actually coming from upstairs.

He climbs the staircase, the music getting louder with each step and by the time he’s reached the top it’s changed from something in Spanish to Lady Gaga and is blasting so loudly that it feels like he’s at a live performance rather than in his boyfriend’s bedroom.

That’s when he finally hears the singing. Not Gaga herself, although she’s hard to ignore. No. Someone is belting out the lyrics from behind the bathroom door, slightly out of tune, but with the most passion T.K. has ever heard.

He opens the door quietly, the sound intensifying as the spray of the shower joins the fray. 

“I’M YOUR BIGGEST FAN, I’LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME! PAPA-PAPARAZZI!” Carlos bellows from behind the semi-frosted glass of the shower door.

T.K. crosses his arms and leans against the wall, a grin on his face as he watches the blurry silhouette of his naked boyfriend scrubbing away at his hair while he sings along. He makes it through the rest of the chorus and another verse before he turns around and lets out a yell. “Jesus Christ!”

The water turns off immediately followed quickly by the music as T.K. laughs. Carlos opens the shower door, poking his sopping wet head out. “What the hell? How long have you been standing there?” he says, clearly torn between fury and embarrassment.

“Long enough,” T.K. says, handing him a towel before returning to his position against the wall, watching appreciatively as Carlos pulls it around his waist and steps out, water glistening on his skin.

“You realize that’s really fucking creepy, right?” Carlos asks as he double checks that his towel is secure.

“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to the concert,” T.K. says fully aware that he is smirking and enjoying every second of watching Carlos squirm.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that,” Carlos says, looking down at the floor, his cheeks flushed from more than the heat of his shower.

“Do you always sing in the shower?”

“No.” But he doesn’t meet T.K.’s gaze when he says it.

“Yes,” T.K. says gleefully. “Why don’t you ever sing when I’m here?”

“Because some things are better left in private,” Carlos tells him with a glower.

“Babe, come on,” T.K. says, taking a step forward and putting his hands on Carlos’ hips just above where the towel is sitting. “I love knowing stuff like this about you. It makes me feel like you’re mine. I get to see these little parts of Carlos Reyes that other people don’t.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you also put on performances in the precinct showers.”

“Definitely not,” Carlos scoffs. His hands come up to rest on T.K.’s biceps. “You really don’t think it’s weird? I know I’m not a good singer.”

T.K. kisses the tip of his nose. “It doesn’t matter. It makes you happy. And that’s all I care about.”

+ 1: Ticklish

Waking up with T.K. had been his dream for months, but he wasn’t completely surprised when it turned out not to be a reality. It turns out T.K. doesn’t wake up with anyone. In fact he barely wakes up at all. He has to be dragged out of bed and plied with coffee and a shower before he’s even remotely functional. 

When questioned about how he can wake up and immediately go to work when the alarm bells go off at the fire station, T.K. looks at him like he’s crazy and says, “That’s different.”

So Carlos contents himself with waking up beside T.K., pressing a kiss to whatever part of him is poking out from under the blankets, and then greeting him more officially when he finally stumbles out of bed usually an hour or two after Carlos.

He’s just finished his workout when he hears T.K.’s alarm going off followed quickly by a muffled thud as T.K. predictably sends his phone flying to floor in his attempts to turn it off.

Carlos smiles and wipes a towel across his forehead before stowing away his weights and jogging back upstairs. T.K. is buried under the blankets, only the top of his head poking out. “Morning,” Carlos says softly, bending over to kiss his forehead.

T.K. reaches up and catches his arm, tugging him downward. “Come back to bed,” he mumbles. 

“I’m all sweaty,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I need to go take a shower.”

“No staaay,” T.K. groans, tugging more insistently.

Carlos rolls his eyes but he concedes, sitting down on the mattress and pulling the blanket down enough to reveal T.K.’s face. “Are you going to get up?”

“It’s our day off,” T.K. tells him, eyes still tightly shut.

“It is.” Carlos leans closer, a fond smile on his face. “And if you don’t get up soon it will be over.”

He pokes T.K. in the ribs good-naturedly and immediately receives a sharp backhand across the face. “Ow!” he yells, rearing back and clutching his nose. “T.K. what the fuck?!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” T.K. yelps, and Carlos can feel him scrambling to get upright in the tangle of their sheets. “Oh my god! Are you okay? Let me see!”

He reaches for Carlos’ face, but Carlos pulls back. His nose feels like it’s been smashed into a thousand pieces, but he rubs at it experimentally and it seems to be intact. Another check shows no blood on his fingers, so he’s probably all right, but damn. It hurts. “What the hell was that for?” he asks grouchily, sending T.K. a glare.

T.K. looks sheepishly down at the sheets. “Um, well, I might be just a little bit ticklish?”

Carlos blinks at him. “No you’re not.”

T.K.’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Yes I am?”

“T.K. we’ve been together for like four months. I would know if you were ticklish.” He knows T.K.’s body intimately. Where he can touch to make him moan, to make him gasp, to make him arch his back. If T.K. were ticklish, it would have been revealed long before now. 

“It’s just that one spot on the left side of my ribs,” T.K. tells him. “If your hands start to go there I just take them and move them somewhere else. You’ve never noticed?”

Huh. Carlos sits with that for a second replaying as many of their sexual encounters as he can remember. “I guess…I guess not. Why did you hit me though?” he asks with a frown.

“Ah.” T.K. blushes. “I always move your hands because I can get a little…violent when I get tickled. It’s kind of a panic response.”

“And instead of telling me this you just waited for me to discover it by accident and nearly broke my nose in the process?”

“I kind of forgot honestly. It’s just become a habit to move your hands,” T.K. tells him.

Carlos snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god what?” T.K. asks warily.

“Oh my god…that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Carlos says, full on laughing now. 

T.K.’s face breaks into a smile and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “It is kind of dumb.”

Carlos leans forward and cups his chin, pulling him in for a real kiss. “You’re cute,” he says. “You and your ridiculous ticklish spot.”

“You’re cute too,” T.K. says, then wrinkles his nose. “But you kind of stink.”

“Oh I do?”

“Yeah you do.”

Carlos wraps his arms around T.K. while he yells in protest, holding him tightly as they fall onto the mattress together. It’s disgustingly adorable. And Carlos wouldn’t trade it for the world.  

[vinnoa-articles]

Understanding

[Image by Eiichiro Oda]

Rating: Everyone

Word count: 1,968

Type: Angst, but mainly fluff

Characters: reader (Calls you Princess), Sanji

Trigger warnings/content: Blood, trauma, jealousy, arguing, minimal swearing

“And this…is how you peel apples perfectly.”

Sanji proclaimed as he held your hands to help you peel your fourth apple. It wasn’t perfect like he said but, you were definitely getting there. It was crazy how much a chef could teach you something new with being so hands on. He chuckled as he took a quick puff from his cigarette, before setting it down in the ashtray behind him.

“Wow Sanji!” You proclaimed as you wielded the knife, almost swinging it around. His blue eye widened, as he moved around a little.

“Oi oi, you cannot be swinging a knife like that princess,” the young chef stated as he grabbed your wrist softly to make sure you wouldn’t cut yourself nor him. You noticed his pale hands were unscathed, even despite how often he fights with the pirate crew. His hands were used when he used his table-manner-course kick, even though his hands have been gloved now, you still wondered how he was able to do it. “You need to start learning to put down the knife if you will be cooking here.” It was true, you couldn’t be swinging around a cooking instrument and potentially hurting people.

“Sorry Mr.Prince, please forgive me,” your soft words melting him like butter. Eyes budding into hearts, he took the knife and gently tossed it into the sink. He pouted a little, then leaned in for a kiss. 

“Well…maybe if my princess gave me a quick kiss-...” Placing your left index finger on his lips, he could taste the sweet apples that left some juice on your fingers.Thinking that was going to stop him, but instead he kissed and licked your fingers. “Ah, so sweet. I hope I could have tasted your lips instead though love.” You laughed at his playfulness, he is such a sweetheart. His love language was always some form of touch, but words of affirmation worked just as well.

“You are so cute like a boy, yet a master with food. Is your tongue just as amazing, or…?” Winking at him, you could see a little bit of blood dripping from his nose. “Oh cutie, you have a nose bleed,” trying to wipe his nose with your sleeve, he abruptly stopped you. His hand firmly gripping your wrist so it wouldn’t move any closer to his face. You were perplexed and you didn’t want to have him bleeding all over the apples.

“No lady should wipe blood with her clothes. It is honorable madam, however, I can just grab a handkerchief just like…” he gestured from his pocket as he pulled out a black square towel, “this!” He was definitely prepared, at least for when he cooked. The way he treated you like a lady was always nice, but sometimes you wished for something more. You looked down away from his face, even though he was trying to show his gentleman side. “What’s wrong?” He asked, placing his hands on your waist. You shook your head from the thoughts of him being more of a playboy. Flaunting his thirst over women was always funny, but annoying sometimes to you. Yet, when it came down to getting intimacy, it has always been gentle, soft, like the puffs of smoke he exhales from his cig. “It seems you have something on your mind, unless…” he chuckled, hugging your waist tight and spinning you around. Knocking some stuff on the table over. “Come on now, you can tell me y/n-swan~” Sanji cooed in your ear. You could feel yourself needing to balance yourself, so you place your hand on the table and-

“Ouch!” You yelp out. Sanji froze the second he heard your voice. It was a distress, it was a painful cry. Gently setting you on your tiptoes, he could see red drops drip-dropping onto the floor. Both pairs of eyes look at your right hand, both your index finger and palm quite deep. Stinging and feeling your heart beating through your hand, all you could do was stare.

“H-hold on. I’ll..I’ll get you some bandaids!” Sanji quickly runs out of the kitchen to snatch some bandaids from Doctor Chopper. You weren’t sure if you should clean the floor, the wound or just watch the blood slowly drip onto the floor. The last time you hurt yourself, you tried to lick your cut, Sanji and Chopper stopped you. Telling you about bacteria and how it could scar. Instead, you sigh and run the sink with warm water. Washing your hands with soap, it was burning pretty badly. Hissing at the mere pain that soap and water was doing to your hand. “Princess!” You heard Sanji yelling from the hallway, his shoes clicking at every step he took running to you. “Please don’t-” he ran in, seeing your hand under warm water and he sighed. Sanji wanted to be the one to put your hand under the water and take care of you, like the baby you were to him. “Baby, why didn’t you wait?” His blond hair sticking everywhere, while he pouted his lips at you. You shrug nonchalantly while washing the wound still.

“I just couldn’t wait for you,” blandly stating how you felt without realizing it. Sanji was shocked. There was no way he just heard you speak like him so dull.

“Are you okay?” He questioned as he got closer. You plucked the bandaids from his pale hands, and started to bandage your own hand. He had never seen you act this cold before. Leaving the kitchen, you start to focus on going to the main deck of the Sunny-Go. You could only hear your man’s steps following you from behind. It was out of rhythm, and it seemed to echo in your right ear, then left ear, then back again. You went out on the deck, to see Zoro working out, with Ussop, Franky and Chopper messing around. Sometimes, you would see Zoro rolling his eyes while Franky super posed around the deck, with his little posse behind him.

“You guys can be super loud and annoying goddamnit!” Zoro yelled at the three being loud. “Man, I’d choke them out,” he said then he saw you staring at him. “Yo, what’s up? Need somethin’?” As he still pumped the iron, while trying to listen to your response. That was it, you craved a rough touch. A change of pace as you will.

“Hey, could you explain to me what is wrong?” Sanji said finally catching up behind you, and grabbing your left hand, making sure not to grab the injured one. You turned around slightly, but then tugged him away from the others towards the lower deck quickly. Everyone looked confused as to what was happening? There was no arguing though, so it was not their concern. Finally, after dragging Sanji to the deepest part of the ship, you brought him into the sleeping quarters. “Just what is happening to you my love?”

“I sometimes wish for... Sanji,” you said, trying to avoid his ocean eyes. They could persuade you to not say words. Especially something about Germa 66, or even- “I wish you were more rough”. He blinked a few times, then took out a new cigarette. He tilted his head and was unsure what he meant.

“You understand that I could never be rough with you, my lady. There is no way I could do that to you,” Sanji desperately trying to calm his nerves. Nearly disintegrating half his cig in one breath. “There is nothing I could do to rough you up. You are a pearl to me y/n-chan. Understand that,” trying to get close to embracing you again. That is when you let a few words slip your lips.

“I wish you were rough like Zoro”.

You could hear his breathing stop for a second. Oh no, he wasn’t supposed to hear that. His cig dropped to the floor almost as if his heart dropped with it. “What did you say?” Sanji’s face looked so hurt. “How could you even say that when you aren’t even with him.” Shoot, shoot, shoot.

“No baby, I meant-”

“Then explain. I already told you why I can’t be rough with you. Why would you say that?” You could hear the hurt in his voice. You tried to soothe yourself by rubbing your sleeve. The only thing hugging your body at that moment. You wish you could run from this situation, but despite wearing skinny jeans, you knew he would catch up insanely fast.

“I love your soft delicate side Sanji. I really do…but-”

“But what, y/n?” His voice was snippy. The only thing you could do was be honest at least. Your honesty got you here, and now you can’t lie to him. It would only make it worse. Stepping forward, you grabbed his hands. The chef couldn’t meet your eyes, as he could only stare at the floorboards beneath his feet.

“I love it, and I appreciate your prince-side. I just wish sometimes that you treat me like a woman. One that can handle a little bit more you know?” It didn’t seem like your words were reaching him. He looked like a ragdoll as you brought up his hand to your face. “Sanji, when you fight in battle, you play hard to get what you want. Sometimes I want that too. Its attractive to see you bossing people on what to do.” There was still radio silence. Uncertain if he was just too deep in shock to comprehend what went wrong. “We can use a safe word. You will never hurt me. This is what I want Sanji.” He finally looked up. Curly brow now showing how sad he truly was.

“You don’t understand. My powers from Germa, if they are truly awakened, I could hurt you on accident without knowing. If I ever were to do that, then I could…I could never forgive myself,” Sanji almost crying as he pulled his hand away from you. “I would rather die than potentially harm you.” You got so close to his face, that he flinched and nearly fell backwards into one of the hammocks. He didn’t want to look at your face, the kissable cheeks that he loves to wipe tears away from. Red sweet lips that he could tug and nip at for hours.

“Have you ever harmed a woman?” He shook his head. His hair moving back and forth to clearly show he heard you. “Have you damaged your cooking tools or your ingredients for cooking?” Shaking his head again, he was slowly looking straight into your eyes. “Then please don’t worry. Love me like you have been. Heck, we can even have a safe word. Just please Sanji. I trust you. You have to trust yourself,” you begged. You were right. Not once has he harmed a woman, nor damage the finest ingredients in his pantry. “I mean, I won’t force you to do it. That I would never do. Please forget it.”

“Thank you” you heard it oh, so quietly. “Thank you, for being honest and trusting me.” It was louder now. You breathed a sigh of relief. This was the Sanji you loved and knew. He was a gentleman, though a pervert sometimes; he was a man of his word. He pulled you in close to his chest, stroking your cranium, planting a kiss when he inhaled your scent.

“No no, thank you, for listening. Don't change who you are Sanji. I love you.” This argument was healthy. It may not change who he is, and what your desires are; but at least you two understood each other. Loving the flaws and perks of each other, more than ever.

[h0neybane]

ZVA worldbuilding

just some world building for my ghibli-inspired-twst school, zephyr valley academy! this'll all be in a similar order to the one of the wiki page for night raven college

enrollment:

you can definitely apply to get in but i do think some students are handpicked for different reasons!

i think one of the best parts of ghibli films are the walking shots. moments in which characters are just walking to their next destination and you get to see the environment and detailing in the background... i think hayao miyazaki called them something, but i cant remember what it is.

the reason i bring this up is because i think when students are enrolled in ZVA, since the academy is in such a remote and rural area, they're dropped off at a certain point and then have to travel on foot to the building for the entrance ceremony. i dont think it's a long walk by any means: maybe like 30 minutes max and that's pushing it.

but i do think there are a lot of sights the students get to see while walking there. mountainsides, fields, lakes, undisturbed by society.. it's a very peaceful place. i also think maybe the walk should be timed with the sunrise? just cus its cool

during the entrance ceremony each student will receive a broach with their magestone, in which the color matches their dorm (link in next point!)

i mentioned this in my original uniform post, but also during the entrance ceremony, incoming first years recieve an enchanted leaf laurel and boa (shown here) that doesn't have any flowers. throughout their time at the academy, flowers representing them will sprout from the leaves. here's a timeline of the progression of the flowers:

first year: pretty much empty at the start of the year. little sprouts may begin to grow throughout their first year, and most have 2-5 small flowers. especially exceptional students may already have one or two bigger flower buds

second year: more sprouts start to grow, lots of wild variants; i think the second year is where students begin to experiment a little. by the end of the year, most have bigger flowers waiting to bloom. some exceptional students will have fully bloomed flowers already

third year: big flower buds begin to bloom throughout the year. many have grown a lot as mages over their time. by the end of the year, third year students will have rows of flowers around their shoulders and head.

fourth year: fully bloomed. students enter internships and graduate :]

ALSO the boa and laurel change colors with the seasons until it goes into full bloom where its enchanted to always be healthy and bloomed

i think itd make sense for ZVA to have a large (at least larger than usual) fae population considering how nature-connected it is...

ZVA is a co-ed school!!! both girls and boys attend!!!

history:

i feel like ZVA is younger than NRC and RSA but not by very much! where NRC and RSA are 500 years old (i'm saying 500 for simplicity sake; according to the wiki, it's AT LEAST 500), ZVA would probably be 400-300 years old.

here are the figures each dorm is based on, in no particular order (some of these are undecided and will be added later!)

the wizard of ingary (howl from howl's moving castle)

totoro

i cant decided between kaonashi (no face) or haku for spirited away... maybe i'll do a special case where the dorm itself is split into two?

undecided (ponyo)

undecided but im considering doing an offshoot dorm/group based around that boar thing from the start of the movie.. (princess mononoke)

castle in the sky (undecided)

undecided (kiki's delivery service... it might just be kiki but i need to watch the movie before i decide)

i dont have any values for them for now (like how heartslabyul is based on queen of hearts and her severity, savanaclaw is based on king of beasts and tenacity, etc) but i think ill come up with them after some watching...

i also want to add traces of other movies that arent dorms! maybe in events or classes? speaking of events...

traditions and events:

VDC/SDC is definitely one of them! i think they get pretty far in the competition for the cute peaceful vibes but then i think they get beat out by nrc and rsa LOL

interdorm magift/spelldrive: i dont think theyre like SUPER GOOD but also i do think they've won a couple of times

i mentioned this as a serencor (howl dorm) tradition but wouldnt it be so cute if there was a hat-making event honoring sophie... LIKE IMAGINING HOWL MAKING IT A THING JUST FOR HER... AUGUHGJHGJ

halloween: i think itd be interesting if some of the creepier stuff from ghibli films popped up here (say, no face/kaonashi and the boar worm god thing from princess mononoke)

something spirited away related. i DONT KNOW WHAT but its spirited away related.

reputation:

ZVA is known for its nature and being super duper peaceful!! it has a really good reputation among the public and its up there with RSA and NRC!

but at the same time i think itd be so funny if some of the other magic schools made fun of them for being hippies or something LMFAO

uniforms: (i WILL draw all these ideas i PROMISE)

i already did the normal school uniform (here) but i do think there are variations to it for summer and winter! like NRC, ZVA provides a winter coat and has an alternate summer uniform (it's pretty much just the same but short silk socks instead of stockings or kneesocks and short sleeved shirts)

ceremonial robes: i have no idea yet but im so excited to design them... im thinking going in the direction of a kimono or yukata as a homage to ghibli being based in japan

pe uniform: im sorry but nrc's PE uniforms are so. ugly. i think maybe a t-shirt and some shorts + socks? classic

labwear: pretty much the same as nrc's tbh. lab safety is important chat (IM LOOKING AT YOU 90% OF TWST CAST. PUT YOUR FUCKIN HAIR UP)

that's all i have for now! but i will make another one continuing on this tomorrow probably! as always, feel free to give me input!

[witchofthesouls]

if the resident giant human were to (per se) be a professional cuddler, i imagine it would help the crew leaps and bounds (or those willing to put aside their skepticism and get a snug when they’re feeling down or just need a hug from a bud). how do you think this dynamic would go down? i’ve had this idea in my head for a bit since ive always wondered how cuddling would go down with frame differences and kibble and such

(Heads up, I took this more as a Reader doesn't mind physical affection or direct contact and the crew ran away with it.) 

It’s Rodimus that started it. Really. The captain is very much a flirtatious sort. Very physically affectionate, this captain is. Quite loud and absolutely bombastic. You’re genuinely surprised that neither you nor him ended up in each other’s habsuites earlier. Not surprised that alcohol was involved, though.

You and he are your newly acquired couch that’s suited for your size and comfort, complete with soft cushions and blankets, trying to sober up with varying levels of success. Rodimus is sprawled all over your lap as you surf something to binge on the current galaxy’s version of Netflix. Rodimus, under a haze of comfortable softness that’s your thighs and brain-mouth filter rendered nonexistent after pounding it hard, asks if you could rub his helm. Too amused that his very frame is hiccuping, you did just to see the results. 

Somewhere after the fourth episode and your hand wandering down to his spoiler for its own pets, Roddy sprawled across your lap and knocked out, engine rumbling idling in a low purr, armor relaxed enough to fully fit your hand underneath to touch protoform. This guy is a heavy son-of-a-bitch, so you’re pinned there until morning.

You find out that mechs can drool and Rodimus is one of them. You also find out that his spoiler can flex on its own and seems to droop whenever you stop petting.

Even before the Incident that led to your acquired giant status, Tailgate is delighted over the fact you're a willing participant in social exchanges of direct contact. He's very affectionate and friendly on the physical scale compared to the rest of the Lost Light crew.

Tailgate hailed from a bygone era where a nuzzle could be a sincere gesture of appreciation. He doesn’t mind close physical contact. The mini was one of the very few mechs that allowed you to hitch a ride on his shoulders or boost you to a counter if there wasn’t a platform available. Something tells you he either has prior experience with smaller lifeforms or he’s that considerate.

Your couch seems to get far more action after the giantification process. Much less sex than you thought, but no less fun.

Tailgate absolutely is doooooown for movie nights. He has snacks, drinks, pillows, and blankets. He even managed to convince Rewind (didn’t take much) and Swerve (took less effort than Rewind) to join.

The couch is crowded. Tailgate is confused by the plot but having a blast by your side. You’re glued to the screen. Swerve is trying to play it cool but failing on your other side. Rewind is on the arm and is completely fascinated by the entire byplay.

Despite his embarrassment, Rodimus does come back to “Netflix and chill” on the couch. You pop in a marathon or a director’s cut of an already long-ass film and pat your thighs for him to lie down on them.

Humans do have an electromagnetic field. They don’t have the capabilities like Cybertronians to expand or shrink or the emotional filter. It has a chaotic rhythm and strangely pings as “honest” to them.

Rodimus manages to convince Drift to join and somehow you’re the one that’s sprawled across their frames. The captain has your legs and the TIC has a pillow on his thighs with you resting on it. 

Rodimus has a thing for action comedies and isekai anime. Drift, on the other hand, enjoys horror. Rodimus is grasping your knees and calves as you and Drift casually make light-hearted bets on the characters’ deaths. The swordsmech has a tendency to absentmindedly play with your hair and is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen the mech.

Drift isn’t unaware. He’s surprised that you allow them a lot of leeway. Doubly so since Rodimus is fond of you. The neck is one of the few areas that’s exposed in some way or some form; there’s a reason why medical berths do have ways to brute force into a Cybertronian’s frame to immobilize and access their innards. No one likes being put in a vulnerable position.

Human bodies are confusing. And so are Cybertronian frames. Intellectually, you know certain appendages can be sensitive. Hell, even considered a major erogenous zone. But sometimes you goddamn wonder how the hell it works whenever Ratchet applied “blunt force therapy” to his finicky medic hands that mecha swear to their jaded sparks that sucking on those fingers could blow a medic’s processor out, or side-eye Bluestreak’s ability to bump his doorwings into objects and surfaces without screaming.

So far, you notice forged medics enjoy being the big spoon, and really, really enjoy having their servos on your belly or tucked into your side.

They can pick up your biochemistry and it's filtered as pleasant white noise rather than activating diagnostic routines. In addition to your natural warmth and softer flesh, it’s quite relaxing to simply wind down and drift away.

You find out that kibble and wings can take damage. Sensors and pressure sites and nervecircuits are dispersed in a certain way across those appendages to factor environmental variables; plus, mecha are able to control their sensitivity and sensation input.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak teach you how to massage them. Where to knead, how much force to apply, what kinds of polish and oils to use, and so on. 

Bluestreak prefers a deep-tissue equivalent. While the base looks complicated (because it is) with hinges and pulleys and interconnected cable systems attached to not only plating but to their protoform as well, it’s a tricky, yet simple thing to navigate. You need the powersuit for his massage since your bare hands, even at their roughest, can’t get the right amount of force and friction. Long and strong strokes across his back. Short and sharp strokes to get out the rougher tension. Hands flat as you harshly knead or carefully punch the base to “reset” it, and carefully work your way up the panels and edges and seams to get the connected suites and sensors. Your field leaves a pleasant buzz on his doorwings as they reconfigure.

Smokescreen prefers the joints in his wings getting worked over and over by your bare hands. Skin feels like a very supple, flexible protoform. The repetitive movement and “gentle servos” make it easy for him to relax and unwind.

Trailcutter finds out you make a really great teddy bear. His insides is about 80% engex and his processor is floating away, but you’re also marinating in an equivalent amount of alien liquor as you cuddle into his lap.

You and him are so gone that Neocybex and English have no communication misunderstandings. You’re very comfortable, he says, slurring the glyphs. Yeah, you’re comfy, too, big guy, you say in a very understanding manner.

Everyone else around is flipping their shit because Trailcutter simply tucks your head under his chin and passes another shot into your hands as he takes a moment to enjoy said cuddle.

He does hold your hands because the small, yet very persistent part of his processor that’s valiantly holding all his common sense is howling that it’s a Very Bad Thing to let the wandering hands of a drunk Liaison that’s now fascinated by the “pretty lights” of his chassis biolights near said body parts.

[camaro-and-smokes]

Cat in Heat

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con Category: M/M Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Relationship: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Tags: Smut, Shameless Smut, Porn With Plot, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Exhibitionism, Gay Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Boys Kissing, Non-Consensual Turns Consensual, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, Harringrove

Summary: Steve tries to find a way to ease Billy's neverending lust, but it comes with a price. A juicy one.

Author notes: This is my fourth entry to @harringroveson-bingo 2022, Round 1, A2: Oral sex. Note that the work includes non-consentual sex and non-concentual exhibitionism. Please move on if this kind of content disturbs you.

::::::::::

Another basketball practice, another day being teased by Billy throughout it. Steve liked it - and hated it. Because Billy just wouldn’t stop.

Steve definitely hadn’t known what he had gotten himself into when he started dating Billy. He was annoying at best at school, but whenever they were together alone, he was like a cat in heat at first. Sure, he was nice and gentle if Steve so wanted, but getting him to chill without having sex was just not gonna happen. Billy had so much energy, created by all kinds of negative feelings and experiences old and new built up inside, that when he could let his guard down, it all poured on Steve, and sex was Billy’s preferred choice of releasing it.

Steve had suggested that they’d taken a run in the woods, or gone swimming - though it was getting a bit chilly for that - or done any physical activities other than sex. They’d tried but it had just made Billy crave sex more.

Now, Steve liked to have sex with Billy. A lot. They had a perfect dynamic for it, him wanting to be on top and Billy wanting to submit when he felt safe, and Billy’s willingness to do anything Steve wanted - aaand Billy being the right size to give extra kicks for Steve.

And Steve really liked Billy. He was abrasive when they were at school or around other people, but in private the sharp angles settled, and he was molten wax in Steve's hands. And Steve got to be his caring and protective self with Billy, because it made him feel safe.

But at some point Steve started to feel like he was a sex toy. He had the stamina and eagerness, sure, but slowly he had started to understand why Nancy hadn’t been so eager to have sex on every date. Having it too much took something away from their budding relationship.

“Billy?” Steve asked when they were laying on his bed after having yet another session of very satisfying sex. “Steve?” “Have you ever thought of having sex in a way that might double the release of energy for you at once?” “What do you mean?” “I don’t know, something that might give you even more kicks out of it?” “More? You want more?” Billy asked chuckling incredulously. “No. I don’t want more, I want less. No. That’s not correct. I want the same amount - less often. Sometimes I just would like to talk with you instead of having sex.” “But we do talk.” “We do. After having sex.” “Doesn’t that count?”

Steve sighed, and turned on his side, leaning to his elbow, to look at Billy. “I liked the date at the fair. I know we can’t go on dates like that often, even though the kids agreed to come as a disguise whenever we want to have a date like that again, but we had fun without having sex - and I really liked it. I like having sex with you, but it’s not all I want from you. In addition to the lower head, I want the insides of this upper head of yours, too,” he said, tapping Billy’s forehead with his index finger. “I’d like to have just that sometimes.”

Billy frowned. “I haven’t ever had to think about that. Everyone’s always been very happy with my wantings.” “I’m not everyone, remember?” Steve murmured. “To get some, you have to give some.” Billy thought for a moment. He bit his lower lip, and turned on his side to face Steve. “I do have something I’d like to try. But I don’t know if you’re up for it.” “I assure you, I’m up for pretty much anything if it keeps your sex drive at bay little better.” “Uh...It might not be so if you’d know what it was.” “Ok...Does it involve other bodily fluids than cum?” “No!” “Ok, then I’m cool with it.” “Without me telling you what it is?” “Uh...Ok, why not. Just hit me with it when you feel like it.” Billy looked at Steve now with a serious expression. “Are you absolutely and positively sure?” “Yeah. Absolutely.” Billy chuckled. “Ok then.”

So - they were at the basketball practice. Steve was once again starting to get very frustrated and antsy with Billy, who was on his skin whenever Steve had the ball. The frustration broke out for Steve him being more physical towards everyone else in the game, and he didn’t like it. When there was a break in the game, Steve walked to Billy, and hit him on his arm with his fist, quite hard too. “Cut it, Hargrove! I’m this full of your bullshit,” Steve hissed keeping his hand way above his head to demonstrate the level of his frustration. Billy grinned the wide shit eating grin Steve had gotten so used to over the months in practices. Billy didn’t waste time on saying anything, instead he pushed Steve, who fell on the floor from the force of it. “Alright you two! Out, now!” the coach exasperated. “I won’t tolerate that here. We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re both calmed down a little.”

Steve walked out of the court, Billy close in tow. Steve could feel Billy’s eyes on his back, getting ready to unleash insults once they got into the locker rooms. “What the actual fuck was that?” Steve asked when he opened his locker door to get rid of his sweaty clothes and get his towel. Billy didn’t answer, he grabbed his towel from his locker, and just had a smug grin on his face when he walked by Steve towards the showers. Steve shook his head taking a deep sigh, and followed Billy.

Steve was so annoyed with Billy that he went into a single shower stall. He didn’t even want to see the fucker right now. Suddenly Billy barged in, took Steve’s head in his hands, and kissed him. Not in a nice, gentle and subtle way, but hard and messy, full of tongue and moans. Steve wasn’t ready for it, and in fact, couldn’t have wanted it less at the moment. So he tried to push Billy away. But Billy was determined, and pushed Steve against the tiled wall, pinning him against it, and kept kissing him despite Steve’s tries, albeit pretty weak, to push him away. Steve felt his cock totally betraying his wants to refuse Billy’s determination, and after a while of Billy's eager persuasion he gave in. Which in turn made Billy push himself against him even harder and moaning louder.

Then Steve remembered where they were. “Billy, stop!” he managed to gasp in between kisses. “Not here!”

“You wanted me to have the kind of sex with you that would drain me better of my drive, remember?” Billy whispered. “This is me doing exactly that.” Steve’s eyes widened and he looked at Billy in horror. “You want to get caught doing it in here?” “Well, I don’t want to get caught, but there’s a chance of it. That’s the point.” Billy put his finger on Steve’s mouth to silence him and grinned. “So, you have to be very quiet boy now.”

Steve tried to lean to the tile wall even harder as Billy kneeled down in front of him, keeping his eyes on Steve’s the whole time. When he was on his knees, he looked at Steve’s very hard cock, and licked his lips. Steve closed his eyes, his heartbeats thundering in his ears, scared shitless - but also aroused like he’d never been before.

When Steve felt Billy cup his balls in his hand squeezing them gently, and then licking the length of his cock from bottom to the slit and tip, that was already dripping with precum, he couldn’t help a whimper escape his mouth. “Shhh, quiet!” Billy whispered, squeezing Steve’s balls a bit tighter. Having his family jewels held so tightly made Steve submit without further noise.

Billy licked the slit again, teasing the rim of the hole, and ran his tongue around the whole tip, slowly. Steve let out gasp, and deep breaths came out of him in the rhythm Billy teased him. Finally he glanced down, and his gaze was met with Billy looking up at him with a wicked smile. Billy chuckled quietly with the eye contact as if he’d been waiting for it before proceeding to take the whole tip into his mouth. Steve melted at the gentle way Billy pushed his tongue against his cock as he took it into his mouth, slowly working its way in deeper, relaxing his throat more on each down move of his head to accommodate it in full. Steve put his hand on Billy’s head, and tucked his hair. Billy let out a muffled whimper, and Steve guided his up and down moves gently with his hand on the back of Billy’s head, feeling the glorious pressure starting to build up in his groin.

That’s when Steve heard voices from the locker room, and froze his hand, making Billy stop too.

Billy had Steve almost in full in his mouth, and of all things, he let out a muffled laugh. Steve let go of Billy's hair and glared down at him. “Get off me,” he pleaded quietly. But Billy shook his head slightly, and returned to work, and Steve couldn’t do anything else but to give in into the bliss that was Billy’s mouth on him. Now Billy was faster, tightening his grip on Steve’s balls, pushing his tongue tighter against the cock, and putting his other hand on Steve’s ass to pull him closer.

Steve realized, that Billy was going to make him come while their teammates were in the locker room. Or worse – in the showers just a few feet away. And him coming wouldn’t take long anymore. “I’m...” Steve whispered as quietly as he could, knowing Billy would get his drift. Billy let go of Steve’s ass, and took his own cock in his hand, and started jacking it at a furious pace.

Steve heard the showers being turned on, and almost instantly with them, he came. He'd never come so hard so quietly. Billy’s load flew on his shin a moment later with Billy letting out a small muffled groan.

Billy let go, and Steve looked down, gasping of pleasure when he saw his own cum dripping from the corner of Billy’s mouth on his chin. “Swallow it,” Steve whispered, and Billy licked what he could of the cum from his chin, and did just that.

Billy got up and leaned on Steve, both of them listening for any voices that would tell them where the others were. More voices came closer, and more showers were turned on. After a time that had felt like eternity, last voices vanished from the shower room and into the locker room.

Some time later Billy stepped out of the shower as if he’d been in there alone, leaving Steve to hide in the corner that wasn’t visible straight from the shower space. “It’s clear,” Billy shouted to Steve once everyone else was gone.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve exasperated as he walked to his locker. “That’s the last time we did that!” “You liked it, don’t deny it! I could feel it!” Billy laughed. “Well, can we at least now talk tonight and not have sex as the first thing?” Steve asked. Billy glanced at him and grinned. “Maybe. We’ll see.” “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Steve sighed, but then shook his head with a laughter. ”The things I do for you...”

[thelibrarylesstrektraveled]

Nightingale Chapter Sixteen - The Fourth Wall

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Sixteen: The Fourth Wall

Word Count: 4176

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing!

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

     Both your phone and Jensen’s buzzed at the same time.  You knew who it was before you even looked.

     “Solomon,” he said, scrolling through the details of the text.  “Jesus.  This itinerary reads like a weekend convention circuit.  Seriously, who goes out this much?”

     “Breakfast and strolling at the Ester Short Park farmer’s market.  Tour of the Van Dusen Botanical Gardens.  Coffee at Shaughnessy’s.  Window shopping downtown.  Couples’ yoga.  Oohh!  Tickets to Hamilton on Friday night!”

     Jensen’s brow crinkled and those little disapproving brackets appeared at the corners of his mouth.  “Yoga?  Seriously?  I don’t have that…”

     You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, “Couples Tantric Yoga at Good Vibrations Studios.  Wow… the room is heated to 105 degrees to sweat in tandem with your partner.  Open your chakras and your bodies to this intimate practice first discovered in the unpublished Kama Sutra.  Wow, I didn’t know they bent that way…”

     That had him grabbing your phone.  “Seriously?!  Fucking Solomon signed us up for sweaty sex yoga?!” 

     The indignant bluster blew out of his sails a moment later and you broke into laughter. 

     “You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned.

     Your mischievous grin only grew, “You seem disappointed!  Why don’t we call and see if they can squeeze us in to the class on Sunday?”

     You made a grab for the phone, and he held it over his head, out of reach.  Dodging your hands and tickling you at the same time.  Your attempts to tickle him back had no effect and only made him double his efforts.  Torturing you until you were practically crying with giggles.  Suddenly, he hoisted you over his shoulder, bouncing you a bit as he walked through the apartment. 

     “Jensen!  That’s cheating!”  You laughed as you squirmed in his grasp.

     He tossed you down on the bed in a giggling mess then threw himself down beside you.  “There’s no cheating when there’s no rules, Sweetheart.”

     You tried to catch your breath as he moved strands of blonde hair away from your face.  “You aren’t even ticklish.”

     “Used to be, my older brother would sit on me and torture tickle me until I peed my pants.”

     “How’d you get over it?”

     “I found ways to distract myself,” he murmured, his eyes flickering over your face. 

     “Mind over matter?”

     “Something like that.”

     The two of you had shared countless kisses, but you never grew tired of them.  Your heartrate kicked up the moment his lips touched yours, excitement heating your blood the same today as it did the first time.  His strong hands roamed your body, seeking out the secret places that responded so readily.  You yielded to his touch and surrendered on a sigh. 

     He ended the kiss before he could get too carried away.  The FBI had the whole place bugged and the two of you agreed early on that there would be no sex until this mess was behind you.   He pulled you up against him and placed a kiss to your hairline.

     “Better?”

     You nodded, relaxing into his embrace.  Your eyes closed as he threaded his fingers through your hair and gently massaged the nape of your neck.  He always did that when your migraines were bad.  Once your concussion healed, they were practically gone but with all the stress of the investigation, they were back with a vengeance. 

     “I’m sorry,” you murmured into his chest.  “About earlier.”

     “It was an understandable reaction, that guy came up out of nowhere.  I didn’t even see him come up behind us.”

     “I nearly had a panic attack in the middle of the street.  I probably traumatized your poor fans.”

     “Yeah, well I traumatize them every Thursday night so, they’re used to it by now,” Jensen joked, moving his hand to stroke your back.  “How can I help, baby?  Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

     “I don’t know if it can get much better.  I mean, Solomon sends us pictures of the under-cover agents every day.  Both of us are wearing tracking devices.  This place is completely wired and under surveillance.  Everything we do is planned out to the last detail.  I know we are as safe as we can be I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.”  Your chest immediately grew tight, and you fought to keep your breathing under control.

     “Every time we leave this apartment, I’m looking for him.  I’m searching the faces of everyone we pass, wondering if the next one I see will be his.  I feel like a little kid, scared of the boogey man is hiding in the closet!”

     “Is that why you’ve been leaving the bathroom light on at night?”

     “Maybe,” you muttered.  “I know it’s stupid.”

     “It’s justified.”

     “Maybe,” you said again.  “I wish I could be as calm as you are in crowds.  It never seems to rattle you.”

     “Oh, I’m rattled, believe me.  But I’ve got a job to do, and I just focus on it.  Nothing is more important than that, everything else falls away.”

     “You mean acting?”

     “I mean taking care of you,” he curled a finger under your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet his.  “We’re in it together.  Every day, it’s you and me, Sweetheart.”

     “Stronger together.”  You said it at the same time he did.  It had become your mantra over the past two weeks. 

     It was your prayer to each other.  You said every time you set foot outside of the safety bubble of your apartment.  Every time the two of you stopped for pictures with fans.  Every time the paparazzi followed the two of you through a public park or into a restaurant.  Every time you needed reassurance, Jensen would squeeze your hand and whisper it in your ear. 

     It worked well to calm your nerves.  At first.  But as time dragged on with no sign of Arthur Green, the pressure and anxiety built.  You were jumpy, bordering on paranoid.  When that aggressive fan popped up as you were crossing the boulevard, it triggered a reaction so severe that Jensen’s magic phrase didn’t work.  You were so shaken up that the two of you went directly home, despite not completing the daily agenda.

     “I just wish I could do a better job in all this.  I know I’m supposed to look happy and carefree… Green’s never going to show himself if he thinks this is a trap.”  You sighed and fiddled with the buttons on Jensen’s shirt.  “I’ve never had much of a poker face.”

     “Everyone has a poker face; you just have to find your focus.  That’s all acting is, really.  Keeping your focus.”

     “I guess that’s why you’re the actor and I’m the doctor.”

     A thoughtful look crossed his face, as if he’d just realized the answer to a difficult crossword.  His clear, green eyes lit with enthusiasm, and he sat up, tugging you with him.

     “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

     “What are we doing in your closet?” You asked from your cross-legged position on the carpeted floor.

     Jensen closed the door and stuffed a rolled-up towel against the threshold so that not even a sliver of light could peek through.  “We’re creating the fourth wall.”

     “What?”

     He walked to the bank of drawers along the back wall and searched through the contents.  “It’s an old actor’s trick, you’ll see.”

     He returned with one of his silk ties in his hand.  It was a subtle blue on blue paisley pattern that he wore on one of your dates ages ago.

     He handed it to you and sat on the floor across from you, folding his bowed legs up with a grunt. 

     “I love this tie.”

     “I know you do,” he smiled softly at you.  “Do you remember that night?  That little Italian place around the corner from your hospital?”

     “Of course, I do.”

     It had been a week since you and Jensen reconciled.  You held strong to your decision not to move back in with him.  You were determined to take things slow and not fall back into old patterns.  You wanted this to last, you both did and that meant rebuilding trust.  The man didn’t make it easy though! 

     For his part, Jensen was the perfect gentleman.  Sweet, attentive, respectful, funny, charming.  Good morning texts and calls during his down time on set.  He invited you over for dinner midweek, made your favorite spaghetti and even sent you home with leftovers for lunch.  There were bone melting kisses and hand holding, but he never initiated anything more.  He wanted you to set the pace. 

     On Friday, you arrived at work and found a shallow planter the size of a hubcap overflowing with an array of tiny, blue flowers waiting for you.  Along with a card.

     Have a great day, gorgeous! – Love, J

     Val came up beside you, her eyes wide, “Wow!  Who sent you those?”

     You grinned and ran your fingers over the bright, bell-shaped blossoms.  “They’re from Jensen.”

     “Really?  Anniversary or apology?”

     You slipped the small card into the pocket of your lab coat, “Neither.”

     “Come on, he must have done something.  No guy sends…. What kind of flowers are they?”

     “Bluebonnets.  Texas Bluebonnets.”

     “Right.  Anyway, there’s a reason for them.  You just don’t know what it is yet.”

     You floated through your whole shift.  Not even Val’s cynicism could dampen your mood.  You didn’t have time to send Jensen anything more than a thank you text, but you were determined to show your appreciation.  Maybe you’d invite him over for dinner at your place.  Best to order in, given your abysmal cooking skills.  Or maybe just dessert…

     You were just about to clock out when you were paged over the intercom.  You picked up line four holding for you.

     “This is Doctor Baines.”

     “Gabs?”

     “Tony, what’s up?”

     “I need you for a consult, do you have a few minutes?”

     “Sure.”

     “Great.  Cardiology, Room 202.”

     A few short minutes later you opened the door to 202, instead of a cardiac patient, you found Jensen.  Looking like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ.  His dark blue suit was tailored, pressed and perfect.  Crisp shirt, matching blue tie and a trio of bluebonnets in his lapel.

     He smiled in that way that made his eyes crinkle and made you melt.  “Hiya Sweetheart.”

     You leaned against the door so that it clicked behind you.  “Mr. Ackles.  You are looking remarkably well for a man in the cardiac ward.”

     “Oh, I’m in rough shape, doc.”  He placed a dramatic hand over his heart.  “My ticker’s going crazy!”

     You bit your bottom lip; he really was too cute!  “Is that so?”

     “Yeah!  Every time I see this girl, it’s like my heart’s going to beat right out of my chest.”

     “Sound serious.”

     “You think so?”

     “Heart palpitations are nothing to dismiss out of hand.”  You pulled your stethoscope from around your neck, “I think I better check you over.”

     “I was thinking the same thing,” he drawled.

     You placed a hand in the center of his chest and firmly walked him backwards, your gaze holding his until the back of his legs bumped the exam table.  Wordlessly, you patted the table.  He lifted himself up with ease, the sterile paper crinkled under his weight. 

     “I hope you won’t mind if I get a little… close,” you said, gently urging his knees apart so you could stand in the vacant space between his legs. 

     His voice dipped deep.  “I’m in your hands.”

     You started with his tie, reaching up to loosen the perfectly executed knot.  A tug and the fine fabric came free easily.  It sounded like a hushed whisper as it moved against the starched shirt to pool in your hand.  His Adam’s apple bobbed as you moved on to the tiny button holding the collar closed.  You knew if you looked at him, your resolve would evaporate, so you concentrated on your task.  Button by button.  Inch by inch.  You stopped halfway to put the earpieces in place and warm the bell of the stethoscope with your breath. 

     You slid the bell against the taut, tanned skin of his pectoral and let it rest over his heart.  A smile curved your lips as you heard his heart thumping, strong and steady.  No better sound in the world.  Although, the longer you kept your hand there, the faster that rhythm got.

     “Your heartrate is elevated.”

     “What do I do, doc?”

     “A little test, see how you respond to stimuli.”

     “Sounds intense.”

     This time you risked looking up, those green eyes of his had turned a shade darker and you felt your own heart leap in response. 

     “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

     Keeping the bell anchored over his heart, you leaned up and captured his lips with your own.  Kissing Jensen was as much a revelation today as it was the first time.  He expressed so many things in those moments of intense connection.  Passion and joy.  Exuberant love, romance… sharp desire.  Solace and devotion.  It was the language spoken by souls that met and matched. 

     The kiss deepened, his arms went around you and the staccato beat faster through the earpieces as his heart picked up pace.  Urgency grew.

     You nipped his bottom lip slightly as you pulled away, earning a groan from him.  “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

     “Not today.  I can confirm, your heart is in perfect working order.”

     “Good thing, I kinda need it.”  He snagged the stethoscope from you with a smirk, “My turn.”

     Not one to shrink from a challenge, you hopped up beside him, “Do your worst, Doctor Ackles.”

     Somehow, he made the mundane tools of your profession look incredibly sexy.  You didn’t exactly have a doctor kink, but you’d develop one in a hurry if he kept it up.  A serious look swept over his features, and you knew you were in trouble.  In measured movements, he slipped his hand holding the bell under the scoop neckline of your shirt. 

     You knew the moment he found his mark because his face transformed to reflect wonder.  It was an incredibly intimate act to hear the life thrumming in another human being.  He simply listened, as if he was trying to memorize it, hear the music of it.  You were so mesmerized by his experience that you failed to notice his other hand until it found your breast.

     You gasped. 

     His eyebrows rose a fraction, but did not move his hand, “Everything okay?”

     At your nod, he smiled and continued.  Monitoring your heartrate as he explored the curves and concaves he knew so well.  Noting how the rhythm increased when he ran his thumb over the nipple straining under the layers of cotton.  How the beat skipped when his tongue found that secret place just below your earlobe.  Hot kisses down the column of your neck to the hollow where your clavicles met brought your hands up to rake through his hair.  He sucked the skin slightly while his hand traced the inner line of your leg.  Your heart galloped along wildly and when he palmed you through your scrubs, you breathed his name.

     Your head fell back, “Jensen…”

      An annoying beep from his jacket pocket that broke the spell.  He stopped ravishing you long enough to check his phone, “Ooh!  We gotta go!”

     You sat up dazed and trying to catch your breath, “Go?  Now?”

     He hopped off the table and straightened his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles caused by your make-out session.

     “Reservations at Marco’s.”

     You eyed him suspiciously, “You… did you deliberately get me all excited just to tease me?”

     His shrug was innocent, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.  He held a hand to you, “I just wanted to make sure you had a good appetite worked up.”

     You took his hand and narrowed your blue eyes at him, “Okay.  But we’re getting dessert to go!”

     “Only if you bring your stethoscope, doc,” he replied while brushing a kiss across your knuckles with a wink.

     “When I was twenty-eight, I was in a live production of A Few Good Men.  I hadn’t performed on stage like that since high school.  And I was really nervous, like shaking in my boots, throwing up backstage terrified!  My parents were there, Danneel was there…  a ton of Supernatural fans showed up too.”

     “You had stage fright?  But you’d been an actor for… what, a decade at that point?”

     “Television is different.  If I screw up, we can just do another take.  A live performance takes a different level of concentration.  People in the audience whisper or forget to turn off their phones.  Someone drops something backstage, or your co-star forgets their lines.  Anything can happen.  That’s where the fourth wall comes in, imagine there is an invisible wall between you and the audience.  That the stage is a completely enclosed.  It’s your world, nothing else exists.  Its just you and whoever you are sharing that stage with.”

     You looked down at the blue tie in your hands, “That sounds like something that comes with practice.  It took you years to perfect your craft, I can’t get to that level in an afternoon.”

     “It’s simpler than you think.  Acting is really just reacting,” he said with a smile, “Besides, you had plenty of cram sessions in med school.”

     “I suppose so.”

     “Good.  Now, I want you to look around this space.  Commit the details of it to memory.  Wall color, carpet color, shelves, racks, shoes… all of it.  Everything you can see.”

     You tried to give him back the tie, thinking it wasn’t part of the exercise and he shook his head, “Nuh uh.  You keep that, you’ll need it.”

     Your brow furrowed slightly, wrapping the tie around your left hand nervously.  You felt like you were failing, and you hadn’t even started.

     Jensen reached out and stilled your hands with his own, “Hey, deep breath.  There’s nothing to worry about.  It’s just you and me here, this is our own little world.  Everything outside that door, that’s them.  No one else can come in here, ever.  We’re safe here.  Just you and me.”

     “Stronger together,” you murmured.

     “Stronger together,” he repeated back.  “Close your eyes.”

     You did as instructed.  He released your hands and sat back, “Deep breath, in and out.  Again.  Good girl, relax.  Let the tension melt from your muscles and drain away.  Deep breath… good.  Very good.”

     You loved his voice; it was warm and had a deep resonance that put you at ease.  The cadence of his instructions had an almost hypnotic quality and you felt yourself sinking into it. 

     “How do you feel?”

     “Good,” you said with a sigh, “Kind of floaty.”

     “The tie in your hands.  How does it feel?”

     You rubbed the material between your fingers, “Smooth.  Cool, like a mountain lake.”

     “Good,” he praised again.  “Now, I want you to picture the closet in your mind.  Put it together with the details you saw only moments ago.”

     You frowned slightly, rubbing the silk in your hands like a worry stone.

     “It’s just you and me here, Y/N.  It’s our world, our safe place.  Tell me what you see.”

     “Clothes.”

     He waited a beat, “Anything else?”

     “Um… the door?”

     “Dig a little deeper, Harvard.”

     “My annoying boyfriend.”

     Jensen held back a sigh, determined not to break the spell.  “Try scent, how does it smell?”

     “Good,” you huffed out in frustration.  The tension was building back up in your shoulders and your ass was starting to fall asleep from sitting on the floor.  You found yourself wondering if it was too late to run away to Bermuda.  You took another deep breath and caught something you hadn’t noticed before.

     “Cedar.  You keep those little cedar balls in the sock drawer.”

     “Yeah, I do.”

     “Tom Ford… um… that vanilla one I like.”

     He grinned, you told him it was your favorite and he bought three bottles just to make sure he always had some on hand.  “Vanilla Tobacco.”

     “Fabric softener, there are dryer sheets in the vents… and there is an air vent somewhere behind me, its blowing on my shirt.  The woodwork in here is light, the rest of the apartment is dark, in here it’s not.  Your clothes are arranged by type and then by color.  Same for the shoes, which you have an insane amount of.  Everything is on those expensive hangers you love so much.  Oh!  And you have two whole drawers devoted to watches.”

     “Good job, open your eyes, Sweetheart.”

     As you did, he took the tie from your hands and cut it neatly in half with his pocketknife.

     “Jay!”

     He took your left arm and tied the narrow end around your wrist, “This tie is your tether to this space.  Every time you feel anxious or scared, I want you to feel that silk against your skin and remember how it felt to be here.  Come back to this safe place where it’s just you and me.”

     He held the other half of the tie out to you along with his left arm.  You followed his example and fastened it around his wrist to match yours.  When you were done, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tight, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

     “Thank you,” you whispered.

     Jensen pulled you down to sit on his lap and held you close.

     “I’ve got you,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “Always.”

     Three days later, you and Jensen were at yet another public outing.  This time it was Shakespeare in the park.  At this point you were so sick of concerts, romantic dinners, and date nights that you were ready to tear your hair out.  At least it was your favorite play, Much Ado About Nothing.  Comedy always beats tragedy. 

     The place was packed, no surprise given the beautiful weather.  There were vendors selling everything from Italian Ice to Chicken and Waffles on a stick.  Street musicians busked, kids played in the fountain, couples necked under shade trees, dogs trotted along happily with their owners.  It was idyllic.

     Maybe it was the sunshine or the actor’s trick Jensen taught you, either way, you felt good.  Relaxed.  Even when a group of fans gathered around for pictures and autographs, you felt centered and calm. 

     “Oh my gosh!  You two are so cute together!”  A younger girl gushed.

     “Can we get your picture too?” another asked you, “Are you really a doctor?”

     Jensen pulled you to his side and slung an arm around your shoulders, while you smiled up at him. It was your typical couple in love pose.  He kissed your temple and every girl in eyesight sighed. 

     “I am a doctor.  As a matter of fact, you should get your friend there some water and shade,” you replied motioning to a swaying, giggling girl heading for the margarita truck.  “Maybe no more alcohol for today?”

     “Check out my girl,” Jensen said as the group wandered happily away, “Signing autographs, saving lives.”

     “Saving her from a hangover maybe,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his as you strolled.  “People tend to underestimate the effects of drinking on days like this.”

     “We’ve got about ten more minutes before the intermission is over, want to head back?”

     “Yeah, um maybe hit the bathroom first?”

     You entered the surprisingly empty ladies’ room while Jensen waited for you just outside the door.  You couldn’t wait for this FBI business to be over so you could go to the bathroom alone, like a normal person. 

     You were just washing your hands when the door swung open and a couple of the girls from the earlier group stumbled in, including the drunk one.  You gave a polite nod and stepped out of their way, but it wasn’t quick enough to avoid a collision.  The three of you ended up in a tangle on the floor, two of them giggling and you, definitely not.   

     “Are you two alright,” you asked, trying to keep your composure.

     The tipsy girl threw her head back and laughed, rolling back on the floor.  The other one shook her head in disgust.

     “Ugh, Jesus Suzie!  Bitch never could hold her booze.”

     You felt dizzy.  And unbearably hot!  You tried to get up, but your muscles didn’t respond.  Something wasn’t right. 

     You called for Jensen, but your tongue was heavy in your mouth.  All that came out was a garbled mess.  You felt your heart begin to race as you panicked and your vision blurred.

     “Gee, you seem a little green around the gills, Doctor West.”

     The sober girl was standing at one of the sinks, studying her face in the mirror as she spoke.  Her clothes hung loose on her long, wiry frame.  Choppy black hair framed a thin face with severe features.  Dark eyes, nearly black.  Eyes that were normally behind glasses. 

     Arthur.  “Oh… God.”

     Green dropped to the balls of his feet, a lethal grin twisted his face as he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back. 

      “Hello again, Y/N.”

[shanaraharlyah]

Hey, so great to see you take part! I look forward to learning more about your writing! I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about the following (sorry, I'm greedy lol)

A Life Together (Hogwarts Legacy)

DAI Trespasser for Kartaelin Lavellan/Dorian Pavus

An Elven Tale from your original fic

Thank you!!

Thank you for asking, Cat! 😘 Let me just say I really only started writing more than a couple sentences for artwork descriptions just before and during the pandemic and my first of these was the Dorian/Kartaelin Trespasser fic. I sent it to a friend who told me she thought it was really good and very in character so I continued and have a whole docs folder full of WIPs now. So I'll start with that one.

DAI Trespasser

(Kartaelin Lavellen/Dorian Pavus)

I got really attached to these two on my fourth playthrough of Inquisition. Kartaelin is one of my OCs from the Elven Tale brought over to Dragon Age and had a similar rough go regarding his attraction to men, so I really just wanted both of them to be happy. And Trespasser is rough. I really wanted to do something with the in between scenes. Things we don't see in the game. So this part takes place directly after meeting Solas, Dorian finding him passed out and missing an arm. I have actually posted most of this one along with the artworks I wrote it for here if you'd like to read it - Never Gonna Be Alone. The incomplete/unposted portion involves the trek back, being seen by a healer and the council being postponed again for him to begin to heal.

A Life Together

(Hellendil/Sebastian Sallow)

This one is partially in response to some gorgeous artwork and headcanons I've seen in the Hogwarts Legacy fandom of Sebastian growing up and growing a beard or not because of trauma triggers. It takes place 10 years after the events of the game. Their friendship and budding relationship survived everything they went through during 5th year. The two have grown up, have jobs at the ministry and are living together. The wizarding world is more accepting of same sex relationships than the Victorian muggle world so they've settled in Hogsmeade. It's softness, a little spice and a lot of hurt/comfort around a shared traumatic experience. I'll share the first two paragraphs below the cut.

The early morning sun shone into the second floor bedroom through partially closed curtains.  Dust motes danced in the air as it crept across the room to light the forms of the entangled pair sleeping there.  As it traversed the warm tan skin of Hellendil, he began to stir, cuddling up closer to Sebastian to enjoy their shared warmth and deny his wakefulness for just a moment longer.  It was a rare day that he awoke before his partner, so he decided to take advantage of it.  He let out a soft sigh and raised his head, pushing his long hair back from his face in order to watch the sleeping brunet.   Sebastian's skin was fair but slightly flushed around his nose and cheeks and he was covered from head to toe with freckles.  Every now and then his breath caught in a snore and he seemed on the verge of waking.  He'd thinned out somewhat since their school days, more in the face than elsewhere.  Hellendil appreciated the extra softness of his lover's body.  A marked contrast to his own lithe frame, he found it great for cuddling and had taken to sleeping with his head resting on his chest, in spite of being the taller of the two.  An admiring smile appeared on his face as he observed him.  "Beautiful,"  he whispered.

An Elven Tale

There's really very little of this written yet just a couple of scenes in this document and the other so far. The rest is scattered thoughts, sketches and the beginnings of an outline. It follows Sarovanya and Tarwen as they begin to find their place in the world. Saro has always loved Tarwen, but his love is unrequited. She's known him since they were both very young and his exhibitionist ways and desire to be the center of attention are big turn offs, even if he's doing some of it for her. When they leave their home land to grow their skills, Tarwen meets a quiet and kind dark elf with whom she grows close. But there's a secret darkness lurking under the surface that he hides and tries to keep at bay.

Here is a little snippet from one of the scenes and the link to the render that goes with it.

“What’s wrong!?” she gasped as she began to move toward him.

“Leave, Tarwen,” the dark elf replied, cringing in pain.

“But…!”

“Get away from me!” he snapped, lashing out and upsetting the table in the room they had restored together.

Torn between worry for Morcundu’s ailment and fear for her own life, Tarwen stepped back with tears welling in her eyes. A flash of his… inhuman eyes set her fleeing into the forest. Her thoughts and surroundings were a blur as she ran, the rain stinging her face and mixing with tears. From somewhere nearby, she heard a familiar and welcome voice calling her name. Instinctively she turned toward the voice and within a few moments had crashed into the open arms of Sarovanya. She clung to his vest, tears streaming down her face, as he enveloped her in his protective arms.

Sarovanya relished the intimate moment, but worry soon washed over his handsome face. Taking her by the shoulders, he queried, “Are you okay? …Did he hurt you?” Tarwen shook her head in reply. Realizing his previous questions were a bit agitated, he took a deep breath and asked more gently, “What happened, Tarwen?”

Thank you again for asking about these! I haven't shared much about them before. ☺️

Throwing the link to the ask game in case anyone wants to send more!

[cyrille-leclair-de-fontaine]

The two of them were on one of Fontaine’s many beaches, Scaramouche wearing a look of skepticism. He picks at some type of sleeve on his arm, turning to Cyrille for what was probably the fourth time.

“You’re sure these things are gonna keep out the sand and water?” Scaramouche asks, and Cyrille raises an eyebrow in response. 

“Doubting my work now, are you? And here I thought you were getting nicer.” Cyrille responds, looking amused. Scaramouche puts on an exaggerated look of offense, dropping his jaw. 

“How rude of you to say that. Now, as revenge, I’m going to throw sand at you. ...Later.” He says, which causes Cyrille to chuckle. 

After a bit more bickering about the sleeves and their abilities, Cyrille finally gets Scaramouche to get closer to the water. The indigo haired boy still had that resigned look of annoyance, but Cyrille didn’t pay much mind to it. He knew the other would get over it quickly.

The time on the beach seemed to pass as if in some kind of rush, but it was still enjoyable nonetheless. Scaramouche even spotted a group of otters in the sea, and one of them brought the duo a shell. Scara had handed the shell to Cyrille, saying “he had no use for it,” which was really stupid but it didn’t matter.

The sun had been at a midpoint in the sky when they first arrived, but now it was just beginning to set. Again, that’s weird, but again, it didn’t matter. Right?

Cyrille was now sitting in the sand with Scaramouche (who surprisingly lacked protest to more contact with the sand), head resting on his... “friend's” shoulder. Scaramouche was fiddling with the shell from earlier, eyes distant.

“This is nice,” Cyrille says, sighing in content. There was a small feeling of déjà vu, but that was ignored when Scara gave a curt nod in agreement. “We should come to the beach more often. It looked like you enjoyed yourself more than you thought—and my sleeves worked.”

Scaramouche scoffs. “I never directly said they wouldn’t. You think too lowly of me.”

“Uh huh. Keep lying. It’ll get you so far.” 

Scaramouche laughs a bit, but then he pauses and sighs. “You do know you can’t pretend like this for much longer, right? It’ll drain you out.” 

Cyrille’s breath hitches. What was that supposed to mean? “What are you talking about?”

Scaramouche doesn’t respond for a good minute. “You can’t keep pretending that I’m not actually passed out right now.” He says carefully.

Cyrille furrows his brow. “Did you get sand in your head somehow? You’re right here, idiot.” Cyrille says, which causes Scaramouche’s eyes to cloud with some concerned emotion.

He is right here, right? He’s here, and he isn’t going anywhere. He’s probably just a bit shaken up from the sand. Yeah. The sands the problem. He’s right here.

“Okay, first of all, there’d be a lot more complaining coming from me if I had sand in my HEAD. Do not butcher my character within these weird dreams.” Scaramouche says, rolling his eyes. “Secondly, I’m going to put this in the nicest way I can: no. No, I am not here, you pineapple.”

Cyrille quickly sits up, staring at Scaramouche while his internal panic grew. Scaramouche raises an eyebrow.

What is he talking about? He’s right here. He has to be right here. Why wouldn’t he be here? 

“Okay, judging by the look on your face, maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. My fault, my fault.” Scara raises his hands briefly. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this! You don’t really get any beforehand practice with this type of magic bullshit.”

“‘Magic bullshit’?” Cyrille echoes, still very, very panicked. Scaramouche crosses his arm over his torso—wait. Arm? As in singular? 

“Okay, snap out of it, bud. My arm does that sometimes.” Scara says, his other arm literally not existing for a good minute before reappearing. “Just listen to me. This is a dream, you need to wake the fuck up and tell Wanderer that Chero’s behind this. He’s... that bastard has fucking grabbed my soul out of my body or something, so now I’m stuck hovering the house as a stupid ghost-thing!”

...Nope. Nope, nope, nope, infinite no, nuh uh, no. This is just like last time. This isn’t the real Scara. This is just his brain conjuring up excuses and random stuff again.

But why isn’t he actually here? Where’s the real him?

I need to find him. Where is he?

“Cyrille-“

Before Scaramouche can get another word out, Cyrille snaps awake, breathing heavily.

He buries his face in his knees, covering his head with his arms, and falls still. Scaramouche still lays unmoved beside him...

[blackaquokat]

Nobody asked me, but now that I've finished the main story of both Danganronpa games (Let's Plays, anyway, I'm going to play myself now), here are the thoughts running through my head. This post will be for the first game, I'll make another post for the second one.

(spoilers under the cut: I know the games have been out for a while but still):

1. It took me a LONG time to finish the first game after the first execution. I really liked Leon and not just because his design reminded me of Kirishima from MHA. I felt really bad about the situation he was in, even if, you know, he still killed Sayaka, his death was Brutal. I stopped watching for a few months because it haunted me, until my sister encouraged me to keep going because she wanted to talk to someone about it.

2. On that note, WHY, of all the available classmates, did Sayaka pick Leon as her potential victim? Why, if your goal was to kill, would you pick one of the Ultimate athletes? I feel like she would have had far more success if she'd chosen Hifumi or even Chihiro (sorry bb, I love you). Is there a lore reason behind it?

3. All that said, I am unfortunately interested in Leosaya content for the dramatic irony and tragedy of it, so if anyone has suggestions, let me know, and I also want to see Leon and Ibuki being best buds because she left her music group to pursue her actual creative dreams and Leon hated baseball and wanted to pursue dreams of being a musician and I can see them teaming up to be in a weird-ass band together. Someone direct me to any Leon and Ibuki platonic (or romantic, I'm down) content.

4. I think Leon is gaining blorbo status for me, but not as much as some other characters from the second game, but this is in no coherent order so bear with me, and also keep in mind, I have yet to play through all his possible dialogue in the School Mode version of the game so this is liable to change.

5. I went from waiting eagerly for Byakuya to die to being devastated that he died in the second game to REALLY HAPPY that that apparently wasn't even him (though I do like the Imposter & would like to know more about them). AND THEN to being so excited that he's apparently in a power throuple with Kyoko and Makoto, OT3s FOR THE WIN!!!!

6. Hina and Sakura were really sweet, and I Loooooove how protective Hina was, because yeah, the whole point of the fourth case was she underestimated Sakura's strength, but I also think Sakura deserved to be protected. Just because she's strong doesn't mean she didn't deserve people defending her.

7. On that note, ya'll, when I didn't know what to expect from this game, I legit thought somehow Mondo and Taka were going to die in that sauna. My stomach was in knots over it. Then they just. Were bros. And I was confused but on board with them (platonically AND romantically) and then the second case devastated me and not just because I had to watch Taka be Sad for so long.

5. I feel...so bad about the whole case with Mondo and Chihiro. They were BUDDIES. I know the whole point of the story is that people betray each other but God, imagine the "motive" you were given wasn't so much a motive as it was a fucking PTSD break and it lead to you killing someone that you were not only cool with, but who admired you for qualities you didn't feel worthy of, just FUCK--

6. If you let yourself stop and think of the Everything about these games and the stories, it really fucks you up, let me live in No Despair Land where everyone's friends with each other and there's no murder--

7. Also, the whole thing with Junko. I remember, before I took a break after Leon's execution, vaguely wondering about her last words? But it was a fleeting thought that didn't lead to anything, AND THEN IT CAME BACK AROUND??? So holy shit, that was cool.

8. Gotta say, as frustrating as a lot of repetitive stuff in the game got, I understood why it was needed for the case solving portion. As some of you can tell from my Clone Wars series with sweetiepie08, I LOVE mystery solving stuff when it's done right, and even if some of them are So SO convoluted, it's satisfying to see how they fall together.

9. The VAs in these games are fucking awesome. Even if some of the shit they had to say was ridiculous (which is par the course if that's your job), they did so damn good.

10. YA'LL, I legit thought Makoto was about to be executed, so when Alter Ego suddenly showed up and saved him, I shrieked, and then KYOKO found him, and I know a lot didn't happen after that except a shit ton of exposition, but I was so psyched.

11. *sigh* I don't know what the public opinion is of Toko, but she drove me insane with the debilitating inferiority complex. And then the Genocide Jack/Jill thing happened and I mean, at least she was...slightly more interesting with that, but still, I think Toko was somehow my least favorite out of the whole gang, next to Hifumi. I also would not have predicted that she'd be one of the final survivors.

12. I legit thought Hiro was going to snap at one point after his long period of denial at the beginning. I thought he'd snap and kill someone or get killed, so when he survived until the end, I was very surprised.

13. Tbh, I did not predict the endgame survivors for either Danganronpa. I think literally all I would have gotten right was Makoto, Kyoko, and Hajime. Everyone else was quite a surprise to me.

14. Not to compare another Danganronpa character to MHA, but I was super fond of Taka right off the bat because he's so Tenya coded, those two are definitely cousins or something.

15. Someone add onto my agenda of doing a Danganronpa x MHA fusion somehow, I'll make thoughts on another post.

16. I really loved Kyoko's dynamic with Makoto, idk why, and I just fucking love Kyoko in general, she's so cool. Sherlock Holmes, step aside.

That's about it! I'll make a post about the second game later.

[dearestones]

Oh HECK YEAH i love when you do these!!! :D ❄️☂️🌪 please! :) (also, is it okay if we respond to them? Lol? It's such a joy to hear your thoughts :) and that upcoming oc fic of yours has me like 👀👀👀👀 but i dont wanna spam lmao) hope you're having a great day!!!

Hey, Devin here!

Also, feel free to interact in any way you like! You can write in the tags, through the main reblog, asks, dms, etc! I love getting feedback from my readers!

(This is a cue for you to spam!)

^^^PLEASE

Anywhoozles!!!

❄️ Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

Since you seemed interested in my oc fic, I’ll give you a snippet from there!

☂️ Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

I really want to write a polyam fic with either octatrio and an oc or AceDeuceYuu. It would be really cute and explore how their dynamics changes from their fourth year at internship to the very beginning of their adult lives.

For AceDeuceYuu, Ace and Deuce would be the main ship before they realize that they’re both head over heels for their favorite magicless prefect. The romance for Ace and Deuce starts in third year when they begin to have more respect and regard for one another while their budding romantic/sexual feelings for Yuu starts manifesting when they’re all roommates after graduation and they need to look for work together.

It’s gonna be a trial for all three of the characters where Deuce realizes that he doesn’t have to stick to monogamy, Ace has to make sure to be open when communicating, and Yuu has to open their heart that maybe, even when they can’t go back to their home world, they still have two idiots to go back home to.

(By the by, Grim is also there, but he wants to open up a Beast Taming course back in NRC and spends most of the story interning at another academy that specializes in the subject).

As for the octatrio and their oc fic… I can’t give it all away because it relate to another wip, but basically, it’s about forgiveness, acceptance, and openness between landfolk and sea folk dwellers. There’s going to be angst, anger, and a whole lot of shenanigans and dinglehoppers and whatsitcalleds for the vast majority of it.

The first wip is contingent on creativity while the second depends on the fact that I need to complete another wip before getting to the polyam.

🌪 Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

For my twst oc WIP:

* Crowley’s A+ Headmaging/Parenting

* Isekai

* Angst

* Drama

* Bullying

* Alternate Universe

* Hurt/Comfort

* Found Family

* Deviates from Canon

* Everybody is Bad at Feelings

* Original Characters (seriously, there’s a lot of them)

* Worldbuilding and Lore

Thank you so much for the questions and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Feel free to ask more questions spam me and message me if you like! :D

[iamprchung]

The Spider and the FBI: Finale Part 9 "One of These Days"

A small-town's idyllic Fourth of July celebration explodes into gunfire as a ruthless hitman targets Scully and Skinner's prisoner. In the ensuing chaos, Skinner is thrust into the crosshairs. This heart-stopping finale leaves lives, and a budding romance between Scully and Skinner, teetering on the brink. Will they survive the night, or will the chilling silence of loss overshadow the festive fireworks?

Notes:

The title of this final part is drawn from a Neil Young song, ‘One of These Days,’ which I’ve always enjoyed, but it really set a tone for the final scene with Skinner here. I do use a lot of music in my work; however, this is implied, background music for the scene. If you, the reader, is interested, check out the song and maybe you’ll get the vibe.

This is my first, and probably, my last writing of a gun battle. It might be terrible; it might be great. I feel that I got the point across, but I’m one to read anything with gun battles and really just know what I’ve seen in movies and television, so there it is. I apologize in advance.

I really wanted to rewrite the epilogue, and always felt I was really mean to an otherwise innocuous character, portraying them in a terribly unfavorable light throughout the story. But the damage was already done, and I left it as is.

I so enjoyed the editing and essentially the re-read of this work, being so far out from it after the time it was originally written, it felt fresh. And also ended up inspiring some new ideas; missing scenes, and the “in-between” part of Skinner and Scully’s story that I never explored between this and the following part of the series ‘Incognito.’ And that is the next whopper on the list to be edited and reposted.

I hope this was enjoyable.

“One of These Days”

Part 9 of ‘The Spider and the FBI’

By PR Chung

Intermittent muzzle flashes blazed through the glass double doors of the Sheriff’s station with alarming suddenness.

Skinner cautiously approached the station, weaving through abandoned vehicles and scattered items. Taking cover behind a parked car, he peered through the glass doors. Inside, he spotted Greenbow lying on the ground in the entryway, her hand resting on a fallen shotgun amidst a pool of blood, her vacant eyes fixed on the front door.

Recalling Greenbow's earlier mention of two other deputies inside, Skinner wondered how many were now lying dead throughout the building. The sound of gunfire reassured him that someone was still fighting back.

Meanwhile, Scully hesitated to follow Skinner without her weapon, feeling vulnerable. She remained across the street, watching him approach the double doors. Suddenly, movement caught her eye: Durokoff and two deputies were approaching from the opposite direction.

Another burst of gunfire erupted from inside, but it didn't deter Durokoff and his deputies, who rushed towards the double doors. Skinner joined them, disappearing from Scully's view as they entered the building.

**************************

Without warning, Mulder turned onto Main Street in Elmo and into the middle of a frantic mob. People were scattering, rushing past his car with faces drawn in terror and panic, screaming and shouting, crying.

He slammed on the brakes just in time to stop before running several people down. Getting out, he immediately heard the gunfire. Drawing his gun, he started in the direction of shots. “Where?” he asked passing people.

“The Sheriff’s station,” one man choked and kept going the opposite direction.

Approaching the edge of a deserted park he saw Scully huddled behind a parked car, where she was intensely focused on the building across the street. Across the street, Mulder saw Skinner and several men, local deputies, filing into the building.

Before he could get to her, before he called her name, she started across the pavement, heading for the building, the resonate blasts issuing through the still open double doors.

"Scully!" He called, running toward her. “Scully, wait!”

She never turned, never stopped, either deafened to the sound of his voice by the shots fired or too focused.

*************************

Gerald Bernstein cringed against the back wall of this tiny cell. The elderly man he the cell with was crying against the bars of the next cell, where the man he'd been brought in with had crumpled to the floor and was clutching at his chest, wheezing. They were friends, arrested for some drunken battle that afternoon, but they wouldn't be friends or enemies much longer, Bernstein figured looking at the man in the next cell, who believed was having a heart attack.

Another blast of gunshots ricocheted off the cell walls around Bernstein and the other two men. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to make himself smaller, pressing into the corner, feeling as though he was about to have a heart attack.

Heavy footfalls were approaching the cell block now. There was scuffling, then shouting, more gunfire— Bernstein opened his eyes just in time to see a man's body land on the floor and slide in front of his cell. The deputy lay there, his uniform shirt soaking with blood from the gaping wound in his chest, a deathly ugly gurgling escaping his throat as his half-lit eyes rolled around their sockets.

Bernstein’s cell mate’s crying turned to frantic screams as he desperately snatched through the bars for the other man, gathering him up close, trying to move him deeper into the cells and away from whatever was coming next.

Bernstein saw the deputy roll his head side to side, saw him lose his grip on this side arm. The gun made a hollow clicking sound as the metal contacted the tile in front of the cell. He looked at it, his chest constricting with anxious breaths, seeing how close it was— maybe only arm’s length...

Panting, he dove from the safety of his corner and struck his arm through the bars, pressing his face hard against the cold metal as he wriggled his fingers closer to the gun...

****************************

Skinner and Durokoff were already out of sight when Scully entered the station foyer. The deputies that came with Durokoff were flanking either side of the offices, moving toward the entrance to the inner processing area of the cellblock.

She knelt beside the female deputy, instinctually checking for a pulse and finding none before she took the woman's service weapon from the holster, wondering for a moment, when she glanced at the shotgun lying on the floor, why the deputy had not drawn her side arm instead of the clumsier weapon. It was only second nature to do so.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her name.

"Scully?" She turned to see Mulder ducking in the entrance. "What's happened—?"

"Gryzwac," she explained and started into the office area, heading to join the deputies covering Skinner and Durokoff.

"Call Laramie for care flight," Scully heard Durokoff shout from the hall just before one of the deputies bolted into the office to a radio setup across the room.

"Drop the gun!" Skinner's voice suddenly bellowed from in the hallway.

*******************************

"Howdy, pardner!"

Bernstein jerked back from the bars, hiding the deputy’s gun behind his back. His breath coming in shuddered gasps he turned his eyes up to see a man grinning back at him from behind the barrel of a silencer.

He was standing causally in the walkway outside the cell, his bushy brows arched with manic delight.

"I have to ask myself why I even bothered," he said motioning a gun at him. In his other hand he held up the silencer.

Bernstein wordlessly edged away, scooting along the floor on his butt, his palm sweating around the handle of the gun. He’d never handled a gun in his life until now. He knew there were safety latches on them, but had no idea how to release it, how to know if it was on. He didn’t even know if he could fire the thing.

"The best laid plans, I'll tell you," Gryzwac cocked his head, eyeing Bernstein with a mirthful twinkle in his eyes. "I guess I don't need to tell you that, now, do I, Spider?"

"No." Bernstein managed to pass through his dry throat.

"No," Gryzwac repeated and stepped closer to the cell, all the dangerous playfulness washed from his features. "I didn't think so."

He raised the gun from a casual aim, pointing it at Bernstein.

"Drop the gun!"

*****************************

Spent shells and casings littered the hallway leading into the cell block, blood was spattered on one wall above a deputy who had slumped into a sitting position, his chin resting on his chest. Skinner saw his breathing but before he could say so his cousin knelt to feel for a pulse, calling to the man by name.

Gunfire sounded the narrow hallway, rounds pelted the wall at the end of the hall, burrowing into the dry wall with a brief and unthinkably simple pop.

Skinner fell back and pressed against the facing wall, scrutinizing the jag the hall took around the corner, leading back to cells, studying the forms in the convex mirror tucked in the upper corner. A man down, spread eagle before the first cell, another man dressed in jeans and heavy jacket stood over him back facing the mirror. He was stocky and dark haired as far as Skinner could see. It had to be Gryzwac...

Skinner heard talking, an insane casualness to the voice. He gave Lawrence a quick glance before he moved, signaling him to cover him. With another quick check of the mirror, seeing the man raise his gun toward the cell, Skinner stepped past the cover of the wall, aimed, and called to the man. "Drop the gun!"

What happened next came an instant as Gryzwac half tuned, and Skinner saw a flash of movement in Bernstein's cell, he had a gun. The thought was ripped from his mind as Gryzwac squeezed off two rounds before Skinner fired back.

Lawrence was there suddenly firing alongside Skinner, who managed to get off one true shot before the second went wild when he was hit in the shoulder. Crying out miserably, Bernstein fell out of sight, the deputy’s gun fell to the floor discharging when it hit. Gryzwac, sucking air in great whoops, down on one knee trying to pass his gun from one hand to the other, froze suddenly, and then, like a cut tree, keeled over, smacking the tiles.

The only sound in the cellblock were sobs and wheezing, and the sound of someone moaning. Lawrence gave a single nod, a signal that brought his men into the cellblock at once, followed by Scully and Mulder.

Deputies split between Gryzwac and their fallen colleague, both were dead. Bernstein was shot in his arm, likely by Skinner's wild shot, and the old man in the next cell was having breathing difficulties.

"Sir?" Skinner saw Scully pushing past the deputies hurrying to him, Mulder at her elbow.

"Walter, you need to sit down," Lawrence was suddenly in his face, "can you sit down, do you need help?"

Skinner shook his head, grimacing and licking his lips. "No," he murmured again and again.

"Sir, you need to be off your feet," Mulder re-enforced.

"I’m fine, just take this, Mulder." He grunted handing his gun over to the agent, irritated and just wanting to free himself from it.

"Where were you hit?" Scully questioned him.

"It's just my shoulder—" before he could say more she was there, checking and searching.

"Below the clavicle..." she muttered hurriedly to no one it seemed but herself as she moved to feel his back, "sub-clavicle exit- it went through, there's little blood..."

"I'm shot, hello," Bernstein called as she passed his cell. "I am bleeding here, hello?"

"Shut up!" The deputy knelling beside his dead comrade stood and shouted at him.

"Yeats." Durokoff called the man, equally upset but unwilling to let everything to hell. He motioned toward Bernstein. "Help him if you can."

"EMS is on its way," a third deputy announced coming down the hall from the offices. His face was beat red, his forehead drench in sweat. He looked at Durokoff for a second after his announcement, his chest heaving. "She's dead, Larry." he said, his voice cracking. He glanced over his shoulder down the hall, past one deputy crouched and applying pressure to another's wounds. "Sky's dead."

"Darrell," Durokoff told the man, putting a hand on his shoulder, "why don't you take a blanket out to her. All right?"

Jesus Christ, Skinner thought looking around, had this town ever seen so much in a single night? Maybe a hundred years ago, when it was... The transient thought swam off into the white foam of nausea and pain washing over him.

His concentration was beginning to reach a desperate level to control the wave of super heat radiating through his shoulder and down his back into his stomach. It felt like someone was trying to disembowel him with a white-hot knife...

A groan escaped him in spite of his efforts.

The sound drew Mulder and Durokoff's attention.

"Walter, sit down?"

"No damn it, I'll be fine." He refused again but as if to spite him his legs began to collapse under him.

Durokoff and Mulder caught him, Mulder drew his hand back from the man's stomach, surprised.

"Shit," Skinner hissed looking at the blood on Mulder's hand.

"Get him to a cot," Durokoff said taking on his cousin’s weight.

"Scully!" Mulder called out to her in a raspy voice.

Skinner saw the look on her face when she came to check on him. Lying back on the cot he saw Bernstein opposite him holding a makeshift compress over his bicep, nursing his arm like a bird with a broken wing. If it weren't for the full-blown nausea Skinner thought he might have been able to take some delight in knowing it was possibly his shot that had done that, but in all honesty, right now, he wouldn't have wished a gunshot wound on even the likes of Gerald Bernstein.

Scully was wordless as she worked to do what she could. Disconnected he looked down at her. She was pulling at his shirt aside, seeking the wound... Their eye contact was brief, affected glances filled with apprehension.

She said something about the upper right flank and began giving instructions, making requests, but the sound of her voice washing away in the pounding in his ears. He watched her mouth moving, saw Mulder go from the cell, even Bernstein stood and took a step closer, genuine concern passing over his features.

Lawrence looked down from over Scully's shoulder, his eyes fast with tension.

Skinner wanted to tell him... His mouth felt numb suddenly as if he were sinking into the bile he could feel raising in the back of his throat. His world began spiraling into darkness. "Dana..."

"Hold on...” he heard her. “Just hold on..."

***************************

St. Vincent's Hospital Laramie, Wyoming July 6th

"Hey, sleepy head..."

Scully brought her head up off her arm, her mouth dry, her neck aching. The next thing she was aware of was someone lightly touching her shoulder, and a Styrofoam cup appeared before her bleary eyes.

She lifted her chin to look at Mulder, her eyes stung and felt swollen.

"I couldn't tell if it was decaf or regular," he said and smiled, sitting down in the chair diagonal to the sofa she was lying on. "Want to test it out?"

She sat up slowly, bringing her legs off the sofa and looked around the lounge seeing a man watching a game show across the room with the television on mute. Good thing it was Jeopardy, she thought, taking the coffee from Mulder. "Thank you," her voice was frayed.

He watched her take a few sips, then blink as if it hurt to do so.

"I thought you had left to go back with Bernstein?" she finally asked him, swiping her hair back from her forehead roughly.

"I decided to stay," he turned his eyes down, picking at an invisible thread on the fabric of the chair arm. "At least until he's moved."

Scully nodded, unmindfully fingering the tiny cross around her neck. "That could be a while..."

"Maybe not as long as you think."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"

Mulder stood, offering his hand for her to take. "Come with me..."

At the door to Skinner's room Mulder released her, giving her a kind and mindful look before he started to go. Scully caught his arm, stopping him. "Where are you going?"

A thin grin broke across his mouth, an excuse eluding him. "I need to get something," he said finally, not a complete lie but it felt like one. She studied him and he assured her, "I'll be back soon."

He gave her a last nod of promise before continuing down the hall, leaving her to go in alone. He hesitated at the end of the hall, watching her stand back to let a nurse pass from the room, then step through the door.

Mulder’s heart sank a little as he watched her go through the door. He wouldn't question what he'd witnessed over the past two and a half days— the past few months for that matter. Scully was mature and capable, in control of her life, her destiny. He was partner, friend and even soul mate, perhaps, but not her keeper.

Pensive, Mulder turned to go, nearly knocking shoulders with Sheriff Durokoff.

"Agent Mulder," he said, surprised. Mulder could not help but stare at the man, still not comfortable with the eerie resemblance between him and Skinner. "I thought you were going back to Washington?"

"I wasn't ready to spend any more time confined with Bernstein."

Durokoff nodded, and asked, "How's Walter?"

"He's alert, stable. The doctor's mentioned transporting him back to Washington in another day or two possibly."

Durokoff perked up, a broad grin spreading across his mouth, "That’s great news, I'll go say..."

Mulder clasp a chummy hand over the man's shoulder before he could finish, before he could take a first step toward the room. "I was on my way to get something in the gift shop," he said and shrugged again to himself, "why don't you come with me."

Durokoff frowned, puzzled for a moment before he interpreted Mulder's motives.

************************

"He's in and out," the nurse had told Scully as she left the room. “Pain meds.”

Scully expected as much; his medications for pain would keep him feeling out of sorts for some time. Soon enough he’d be taking less, she thought as she quietly sat down in the chair between the window and his bed.

Five hours of surgery for arterial grafting and the repair of a lacerated liver as well as the suctioning of four-hundred milliliters of blood from the stomach was nothing to take lightly. Neither was the hemorrhagic shock he'd gone in to before reaching the emergency room here in Laramie.

Overcome again by what a close call this had been for him, she took a breath to calm herself, and perhaps too loudly, too shaky a sound. He shifted, turning his head toward the dull daylight, opening his eyes directly on her.

A small smile passed over her mouth. "Hey," she said just above a whisper, leaning forward in the chair, resting her arms on her thighs.

"Hi,” he said, his voice rough. “How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Not long."

He nodded. "How long have you been here in the hospital?" he asked, suspicion coming through.

She tilted her head, her smile turning labored. "A while," she lied.

He nodded slowly. "What's happened while I was out?"

A loaded question. How should she condense it all? "It’s been determined that Gryzwac was utilizing a police band scanner to track us. But how he tracked Mulder and me prior to your contact with the Albany County Sheriff's department hasn't been resolved."

"Has Bernstein been taken back to Washington?"

"He's already there by now."

"Did Mulder go with him?"

"No. He’s stayed here. Overseeing the local investigation."

Skinner exhaled, turning to look at the ceiling, letting a sudden pang dull, and then he said, "I need to stop doing this."

Scully frowned, not understanding. "What?" she asked.

"Getting shot," he grumbled, adding dryly, "trying to get your attention."

She looked at him, taken aback by what he’d said. He offered a thin smile, emphasizing his teasing. She quietly laughed, tears edging her eyes. "Yes, please stop, you have my… attention."

He arched a brow, amusement touching the corners of his mouth. "I wish you had let me know sooner."

They were silent before he lifted his hand from the bed, offering it to her. She took his fingers into her hand, careful of the IV in his wrist. He curled his fingers, and she mirrored the motion until their fingers were locked together. Nothing said, enough communication passed between their gaze, their touch, to fill a tome.

He squeezed her hand lightly. “You kissed my cousin.”

She looked at him, mildly surprised. He was on a potent dose of pain medication after all. “No. He kissed me.”

Skinner shook his head languidly. “Still... that’s gross.”

Scully laughed, near tears. “It was.”

"Don’t do it again." he said, his voice slurring as he drifted a bit, the medication sneaking up on him.

“Never.” She promised, standing, and placing a kiss on his forehead. “You’re a lucky man.”

At the feel of her touch, he opened his eyes, looking up at her, “there’s a reason, right?”

“Of course,” she agreed, and she wanted to believe she could be that reason. Was it fate? Or had they always been moving along this path? She squeezed his fingers gently. “I know there is.”

The sound of voices in the hall prompted her to draw back to the chair, and Skinner released her hand. Even while under the effects of the medication, his sense of decorum was intact. Whatever this may be between them, it was private.

The door came open, and Mulder poked his head in, smiling broadly. "Look who I found wandering in the hall," he announced, coming in with Durokoff following.

"You're becoming a real pro at this," Mulder attempted levity that seemed as forced as he seemed uncomfortable.

"There’s better things to be a pro at," Skinner countered.

"How you doing, Walter?" Durokoff asked from the foot of the bed, looking penitent. "I hear you're being transferred to a hospital in Washington DC soon."

"I don't think I'm going anywhere soon." Skinner grumbled.

"It'll be at least a couple more days," Scully offered.

"Good thing I found this, then," Mulder declared holding up a videotape in Skinner's view, the gesture jogging Scully's memory. "Cops: Too hot for TV." He grinned.

Skinner scowled. But Scully grinned, the time-honored gesture was not lost on her.

"We had to cross the street for that," Durokoff added. "It's a very busy street."

Mulder shrugged, throwing a defensive hand out palm up. "It was either this or Marthe Stewart's Secrets of Basket Making Revealed."

Scully stood. "No Super Stars of the Super Bowls?"

"Fresh out."

"And I'm fresh out of patients, Agent Mulder," Skinner attempted his best stern voice. "Why didn't you return to Washington with Bernstein?"

"Giving serious consideration to the history of mob retaliation as a result of one of their own being killed..." Scully quietly excused herself before Skinner could adversely react to the direction Mulder was taking this flimsy self-explanation.

She left without looking back, pausing outside the door, listening to the sound of their voices. After a time, she walked away, giving them time to visit. She did wish there had been more time alone with Skinner. As simple as it was, holding each other’s hand, tender and compassionate, there was a graveness to their touch, precognition equaled in their gaze, a communicated acceptance of the consequences that lay ahead of them.

She didn't puzzle over how it began, nor did she care to predict how it would end, all she wanted to think about now was the time in between.

A content smile passed over her lips, knowing there was going to be time enough.

******************************************

Epilogue

Utter exasperation consumed Kim Cook when she looked up to see who had just barged into the outer office— Agent Dana Queen of the World Scully. Well, this was going to stop...

"Agent Scully, he's not here. Really—"

Scully stopped before Cook's desk, promptly slapping a sheaf of papers down in front of her, the motion throwing off a breeze that ruffled Cook's hair.

Cook's mouth dropped open, shocked.

"Miss Cook," Scully began to address the woman sharply, "do you know what this is?"

She looked at the papers in front of her for a long second. "No," she huffed.

"This is a communications log," Scully jabbed at the long lines of numbers across the page. "These are numbers and times of calls both incoming and outgoing from this office." She flipped to a specific page. "This is a log of calls made and received by a known felon, a hit man, if you will..." Again, she flipped to the next page. "And these are calls going to and from your home."

"My home?"

"I suggest you pay closer attention to the men you choose to take up with. Your last fling nearly cost the Assistant Director his life."

Cook's mouth sagged. "What?" The question seemed to fall out of her mouth like a rock.

"James Mercer?" Scully tilted her head when Cook had no response, she hadn't expected one. But she knew what name would hit home for Miss Cook. "Or perhaps Jess Marcel sounds more familiar to you?"

"I've already reported my suspicions about Mr. Marcel to the proper people, thank you—"

Scully thumped the desk with her hand. "If it wasn't for AD Skinner's insistence, you'd be under arrest right now."

Cook stared back at Scully, venom in her eyes.

"Do you understand how lucky you are?"

"Yes." The answer was short, bitten off.

"Good."

Scully snatched up the papers and marched out as briskly as she had arrived.

After a moment, rancid with anger and indignation, Cook sat back in her chair hard, threw her pen on the desk and pouted.

"Bitch."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

conclusion of The Spider and The FBI

[marjaystuff]

Laura Griffin Interview

Deep Tide by Laura Griffin is the fourth book in the “Texas Murder Files” series.  As with the other three, readers will not be disappointed.  The stories have likeable characters and intense action.

The heroine Leyla Breda is the sister of two local police officers, Joel, and Owen.  She meets the hero, FBI Special Agent Sean Moran, at the wedding of her brother Joel.  But Sean is also there as an undercover agent to investigate a tech billionaire believed to be associated with multiple crime syndicates. 

Leyla runs both a popular coffee shop and a pastry shop. After finding that one of her employees was brutally murdered, Leyla and Sean team up to find the killer.  She puts herself in dangerous situations which increase exponentially when she tries to help Sean with the undercover mission.

Readers are awarded a bonus because there is not just one strong heroine in the story, but two.  Nicole Lawson is assigned as the lead detective on the case.  She is young, the only woman on the police force, and has great instincts.  At first, she and Sean butt heads, but over time they realize they can trust each other and begin to work together. Nicole and her partner Emmett discover that the murder could be linked to a case Sean is working on. 

Along with the budding romance between Sean and Leyla, there is intense action, suspense, and chemistry between characters that are off the charts. Readers will have to hold on to their hats as Griffin takes them on a thrilling roller coaster ride.

Elise Cooper: The idea for the story?

Laura Griffin: The main character has been in previous books in the series.  Readers wanted to know when Leyla would get a book. This is her story, but also pulls together all the other characters from previous books.  Thus, a wedding between Joel and Miranda where Leyla is the chef who caters the wedding.  It was a lot of fun to write.

EC:  You made Leyla a chef, are you a cook?

LG:  My mother-in-law used to be a caterer.  I did some research about working in an industrial kitchen and took some cooking classes as well. I learned how to decorate a cake.  This was one of my most favorite forms of research.  One of the things I learned to make was a puffy French sandwich cookie called Macaron. They are tricky to make.  I am a cook but not a gourmet cook like Leyla. 

EC:  How would you describe Leyla?

LG:  She is guarded and does not wear her emotions on her sleeve.  She is cynical when it comes to relationships.  Sometimes she is prickly, competitive, and controlling. Leyla uses food to express her love for people. 

EC:  How would you describe Sean?

LG: Very determined and smart.

EC:  What about the relationship between her and Sean?

LG:  She is immediately attracted to him.  Sean can chip away her hard exterior. He is protective of her but not in the same way as her brothers. They want to shield her from everything. He was tenacious while she was evasive. She does not have a lot of trust in men. At first, she writes Sean off, but he is persistent. 

EC:  There was a scene in the book where she jumps forty feet into water -is that realistic?

LG:  I did some research, and it is possible without getting severely injured. It depends on the circumstances and how someone falls. 

EC:  Inner law enforcement rivalry?

LG:  I had the rivalry with my characters Nicole, who is on the police force, and Sean, who is FBI.  She thought he was territorial, pushy, possessive, and petty.  She has worked with the FBI in the past and found them to be very controlling, but Sean shows her he will share information. The investigation moved forward because of their partnership. He dispelled the stereotypic FBI agent.

EC:  Encrypted phone apps?

LG: It is based on something that really happened.  There are encrypted phone apps used by criminal organizations to shield themselves. It is a double edged sword.  It can also shield journalists who are investigating these criminal organizations.  The reporter in the story shows how he uses these apps that protects him, where he is invisible.  This is how a lot of technology is used: either for good or nefarious reasons. This is a moral gray area.

EC:  The next books?

LG:  It is titled, The Last Close Call, a stand-alone suspense novel. It takes place in central Texas with the topic of genetic genealogy. The heroine uses DNA to trace people. It comes out in October.

The next book in “The Texas Murder File Series” is Nicole and Emmett’s story, out in the spring. 

THANK YOU!!

[gardenvarietyheroics]

between the moodboards and some random blurbs/half-requests i’m feeling a little #scattered so this post is me getting shit all in one place, more for my own sake than anyone else’s.

my three kids so far (links to mary and evelyn’s moodboards included):

mary macallister / 24 / stray (undergrad) / hurricane child

evelyn carrow / early 30s / fangs alum (currently a liaison of some kind) / ice queen

kaz takigawa / 26 / faction tbd (undergrad) / sugar-and-ice 

more deets on each of them and wanted plots are behind a cut bc i don’t want my wall-of-text to make the tag ugly, whoops.

mary is my baby and is basically an adaptation of a character i play on hp sites (i did not do much to change her name so if you’re at all familiar w marauders era stuff you should be able to figure out who she is lmao). 

personality stuff: istp / sagg-scorpio cusp sun, scorpio moon, sagg rising / a mess of gryffindor and slytherin / 7w8 

trajectory: since lore details aren’t all out yet, this isn’t Quite nailed down yet (is she promised to the military/intelligence community? just trying to get through excelsior and then do her own thing? dunno yet), but my intention is to have her be one of the subjects of Shadier experiments. her powers are definitely engineered rather than innate, so there’s maybe some ongoing “how far can her powers go” thing there. 

currently torn between weather manipulation, enhanced senses, and adaptive intellect for her so, uh, stay tuned?? mary herself has mixed feelings about her powers; part of her is like “these is all more trouble than its worth” but the other part Loves having these abilities. she’s def a stray and i’ll probably be keeping her that way, at least to start. 

plots i’d love for her: see here! tl;dr: slow build found family dynamics

evelyn is also a rough adaptation of a character i’ve played on hp sites bc i’m a character recycler, oops. she’s the eldest of three sisters, the children of the esteemed carrow family. she and her sisters were born with their powers, and evelyn is exactly the type that thinks that fact elevates her. she is the result of being the eldest child, of being born into a successful family, of having parents that have high expectations, and as a result she has insecurities and anxieties as big as the mountains excelsior is nestled in. not that you’ll ever know—she’s not the type to show vulnerability. like ever.

personality stuff:  intj or entj / some mess of scorpio and capricorn and maybe virgo? / slytherin oh my god such a slytherin / 3w4 

trajectory: after she graduated from exelsior she probably moved into some position in the u.s. intelligence community (i’m leaning towards cia but may stick her in military intelligence, tbd), and then at some point became a sort of liaison between them and excelsior. she is, in some ways, a dressed-up headhunter, but ultimately: she’s looking to make sure she has her finger in as many pies as possible. she’s out to improve the lot of herself and her family and everything else is... completely secondary, ngl.

i’m still figuring out her ability; it may be related to emotional/mental manipulation of some kind, or intellect-focused, or it might be something unrelated and she’s just a natural at manipulating folks—tbd.

plots i’d love for her: a jaded/bitter ex (i imagine it did not End Well, lingering sexual tension optional but not required—i’d be down to explore either dynamic), the baby carrow sister (see here for more info), some budding “talent” she’s trying to recruit, faculty dynamics (i’m sure plenty don’t like/trust her, which i would love to play out), someone that gets under her skin and pushes her button, a rival of some kind?? idk what that last one would look which means i’m basically Open (probably someone she went to excelsior with, lbr)

kaz is a new character for me in some ways and familiar in others—he’s loosely based on a character i used to (and still do on the rare occasion) write a lot of fic for. 

personality stuff: intj or istj, tbd / scorpio sun w gemini and taurus somewhere in there? tbd / slytherin w dashes of puff / type 8 (yeah just the 8)

trajectory: he’s just kind of starting to figure out that people are maybe starting to look up to him within his faction? he’s really into war games stuff bc it’s his outlet to proving he’s Worth Something (he’s, uh, got some family baggage he pointedly refuses to work through), and it’s kind of become central to his identity at excelsior. he’s a late entry to excelsior bc he was trying for a degree at a “normal” uni like his dad wanted (dad doesn’t have powers, mom did, mom is also currently... absent) but ultimately he made the switch, blah blah blah—beyond this i don’t have a whole lot of Specifics nailed down for him (which works bc he won’t have it all figured out either bc he’s also ignoring questions of “what comes after this” bc, uh... the future is scary, guys).

“em do you not have his power nailed down yet either?? really??” listen,,,,,,

plots i’d love for him: see here!