comma_chameleon: (Default)
Welcome to the madness. 

This journal is solely for Original Fiction, which means everything written here is my intellectual property.  Occasionally I use characters that belong to [personal profile] telltale_commas, but it's always with her permission. 

We also really really like AUs.  So... that explains a lot of the craziness.

Thank you for reading, feedback is always welcome, and enjoy your visit!

comma_chameleon: (Default)
Oh my goood. I'm a failure. :[ I spent so much time cleaning and getting ready for [personal profile] telltale_commas arrival and then she was HERE that I forgot to write this completely.

Which means she wins April by default and I suck. XD

Sadly she is back in her home and I am sad and alone--and half to return to work tomorrow, boooooo. Though at least we had a good time.



Featuring: Tavish Kerr III, Aaron Evans
Word Count: 577



It was pointless to look at his watch yet again, but AJ couldn’t seem to help himself. Already thirty-two minutes late and he was still half an hour away from his agent’s office. The one time he drove himself and the car got a flat.


He wasn't stupid, he was pretty sure he could change the tire himself, but there was no manual in the glovebox and for the life of him he couldn’t find where the manufacturers had hidden the car’s tire jack.

“Why don’t they label the damn compartment? Because that would make sense. And be helpful.”

“Are you talking to your car?”

The sudden voice had AJ jumping in surprise, hitting his head off the underside of the steering wheel and leaving him cursing.

“Ah… sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

It was a very nice voice, and when the spots finally cleared from his vision AJ was treated to the view of an equally nice looking man. He’d never been a fan of random hair colours, but somehow long rainbow-coloured hair seemed to suit this man. It seemed to move with a life of its own in the strong afternoon wind and AJ had to force his attention away from soft looking strands and back onto the throbbing in the back of his head.

“I’m fine. I think. Well, I’m really late and I’ll definitely have a bruise, but I think I’ll survive.”

That earned him a smile and AJ had a very brief moment where he seriously considered skipping his meeting and doing his best to get this man into the backseat of his car. He wouldn’t need to change the tire for that.

“Do you need help? I’m not a mechanic or anything, but I think between the two of us we could probably manage to change a flat. I’m Tav by the way.”

“Aaron. AJ. Either is fine. And yes, help would be great. I’m rather uselessly trying to find the damn jack.”

“Ah. That would be where I came in. With you talking to your car.” Dark eyes crinkled at the corners as Tav smiled. “It’s usually with the spare, isn’t it?”

AJ liked to think that the embarrassed flush that overtook him could be blamed on the summer heat, and he was grateful when the other man said nothing as he got to his feet. Opening the door to the boot and lifting the cover that hid the spare from view, AJ spotted the jack nestled next to it.

“Well… that’s embarrassing.”

“I’m sure everyone’s done something similar,” Tav said from behind him. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand and you’ll be done in no time.”

There was something in his inflection that made AJ cast a glance towards him as he lifted the jack and tire free, but Tav had already moved to the depressingly flat tire. He wanted to say something, but propositioning strangers wasn’t exactly something he was in the habit of doing.

Until dark eyes looked up from beneath a rainbow fringe and the look Tav was giving him was unmistakable and hot.

He looked away, but only to look down at his watch.


Pulling his phone from his pocket he dialed his agent’s number with nimble taps of his finger.

“Hey, Josh… I’m really sorry, but can we reschedule? I’ve got a flat and I’ll probably be a while. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve got someone giving me a hand…”


Back to September
comma_chameleon: (Jin is usually invalid.)
So I have been absolute shit at doing ANYTHING outside of work this month (which has been a mess of spreadsheets, meetings, emotional vampirism, negativity, and me having the growing urge to play dumb so that I stop getting put in charge of things...).

Which is why it's four days to the end of the month and I only have ONE headcanon finished and [personal profile] telltale_commas gets here in THREE DAYS AHHHHHH and I am still cleaning my apartment because I keep getting distracted by shiny objects (and naps).

Whoops. >.>

Also yes, I used to suck at naming, but then I got attached to the character with that name and couldn't rename him. I'M SORRY. Sort of.



Featuring: Cillian Catherwood, Makoto Nanami
Word Count: 357


It’s nearly a ritual by now.

Blood runs pink down the drain as the shower falls hot over their skin, but that’s not what Makoto’s focused on. He’s used to the blood, and when he knows that Cillian’s not bearing anything more than surface scrapes and heavy bruising, it’s easy to push from his mind.

Instead his focus is on dark ink and the contrast it creates against pale skin. He can faintly taste the salt of Cillian’s skin through hot water as his tongue traces the delicate black lines that decorate Cillian’s freckled back.

Yggdrasil. The tree of life.

He tastes each line like he can feel Cillian’s pulse running through them. Their life is dangerous, but that’s why he knows the tattoo means so much to the other man. It’s a reminder. It’s a caution. And it’s hope.

A shudder ripples through Cillian as the coarseness of his goatee rubs against skin made sensitive by a combination of adrenalin and the heat of the shower. The involuntary motion has Makoto smiling and repeating the press of his chin against Cillian’s back.

It’s always cute how such a small thing can be a turn on. Maybe it’s sensory overload from their recent firefight, but Makoto doesn’t mind. Not when he knows it’s not the only time Cillian is eager for his touch.

Licking a lazy path downwards, Makoto smiles a little wider at the tension he can feel where his hands rest on Cillian’s waist. It’s the best kind of tension. A quiver of muscles. A show of restraint. It’s easy enough to tell that Cillian wants to move, but knows that it will be much more enjoyable if he doesn’t. The fight between want and instinct would have him whining—or maybe even begging—if he could make any sound at all.

Makoto doesn't need the sounds. He can read Cillian’s body like it’s talking to him directly and he doesn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees onto the slick tile floor, mouth never leaving Cillian’s skin.

They have their own kind of after care.

It’s not like anyone else’s, but it’s right for them.


Back to March
comma_chameleon: (Innocent Ariel)
August has been terribly unproductive for me. I don't know what it is. I've pretty much done nothing but go to work, go to the gym, and watch The Mentalist and Teen Wolf.

But, happy birthday to my other half [personal profile] telltale_commas! Slowly creeping up there in age, though always younger than me as some people like to remind me...



Featuring: Christopher Larkin, Matthew Nanami
Word Count: 603


Chris was still getting used to it all, even after all this time. He knew what he was—had since he was four and he’d accidentally made his mother’s vines grow so fast and so large that they’d nearly encompassed the entire house.

Knowing there was more than just him out there though… that was a whole different story. Matt and his family were like them, but not. Fae blood was dominant, but most people with it were only part. Mongrels to real fae. Which meant any ‘gifts’ usually manifested in ways that the person wasn’t even fully cognizant about.

An affinity for animals.

A mildly healing touch.

Weather prediction.

Matt’s family was the purest in London. Probably in all of England.

Matt himself could control the weather.

Chris couldn’t even begin to know what that must be like to have that much power. And yet somehow he wasn’t afraid of the Nanamis. Despite their powers. Despite what they could do… they were nice people. Good people.

Nicer than most people were to Chris and it was comforting. Not just to be with someone who understood, but also to be with someone who cared and understood. Sometimes it had felt like he’d had to choose one or the other, and now here was Matt.

“What are you thinking so deeply about? I could make it hail and you’d probably still be sitting there staring at your lunch.”

Chris smiled at Matt’s playful words. “You wouldn’t make it hail. Not when we’re sitting out in the middle of a field. It’d ruin your clothes.”

“And my hair,” Matt agreed as he reached into the picnic basket for another sandwich, taking a bite before speaking again. “But you’re evading.”

Biting into his own half eaten sandwich to avoid answering right away, Chris could feel his cheeks heating up. Matt remained silent as he chewed slowly, but Chris knew he’d have to answer eventually.

“I was just thinking about your family.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but Chris already felt more than a little embarrassed to be waxing on so emotionally about Matt’s family, even if it was just inside his own head. The idea of saying it out loud seemed a million times worse.

Matt said nothing, just watched him with a calm expression. Chris knew it was a tactic—probably learned from his father—and huffed. “Stop trying to mind control me into embarrassing myself.”

“It’s not mind control. I control weather, not minds.”

“Fine. Stop using psychological warfare on me, then,” Chris said, rolling his eyes at the same time. He smiled though, because he knew deep down that Matt wouldn’t force him to say anything he didn’t really want to say. “I was just thinking… that it must have been really nice to grow up around people who understood you. Who loved you for who you were.”

“Your parents love you,” Matt frowned, setting down his sandwich to reach for Chris’ hand. “How could they not?”

Chris immediately felt a wave of shame. “Of course they did—do, I never meant that. But I was—am different and that had to have been hard on them.”

“Everyone’s different, Chris… and people should still love them despite those differences.”

It sounded so simple, but Chris knew how hard it was for some people to accept differences in others. It made him even more grateful for how his parents had stood by him, and for the fact that he’d met Matt and his family.

Being alone was one thing. Being alone and different was another thing entirely.

Suddenly he didn’t feel so alone anymore.


Back to August
comma_chameleon: (Default)
What theeeee... so, somehow we managed to have almost identical alternate universes for our headcanons this month.

Though considering how often our thoughts align, I suppose I should be surprised it hadn't happened sooner.



Featuring: Katsu Chou, Aiya Nakahara
Word Count: 342


“… am I dead?”

“Would you like to be?”

Brown eyes close and Katsu sighs. There’s no answer and now he’s left staring down at the samurai who’s been bleeding profusely all over his lovely white snow. Quite rude, really. Pretty, while it’s fresh, but soon it will darken and change and Katsu hates that.

Crouching down, the folds of his kimono shush softly on the hard surface of compacted and crisp snow. He can save the man. He’s capable of it. Does he want to though? A part of him does. A part of him knows that he’s more attached than he should be. Demons don’t do attachments, and yet here he is. Attached.

Why else would he have followed the man’s encampment for months as they made their way through the valleys and peaks of his mountain range? Protected him—them—from harsh storms and even an avalanche. It’s not what he does; he knows the stories about his type. But he did. He couldn’t even seem to help it.

The man’s skin is only barely warm as he brushes cool fingers across his brow. He knows doesn’t have much time to decide. If he waits too long the man will die from the cold long before he bleeds out.

“What have you done to me?” he murmurs softly, even as he places his palm flat on the man’s bleeding belly. The blood is only slightly warm under his skin. The surrounding air has cooled it almost as soon as it spilled from sword split skin. “I’m not the healing type… and yet here I am, doing just that.”

It’s a strange feeling, healing something. He can feel the rush of his magic leaving his body and working it’s way into the other man’s. He’s never done this before and now he knows why. It’s changing the man, not just healing him.

He can’t regret it, but he wonders if the man will. His life won’t ever be the same and that can be a hard thing to live with.


Back to February
comma_chameleon: (Default)
AH! So, it didn't really feel real until now. I'm kind of glad I've been in a meeting all week or I'm sure I would have been freaking out about it.

You can find it here: Less Than Three Press * All Romance eBooks * * * Kobo!

Also, thanks again to Charlie Cochet, Kim Fielding, and Raine O'Tierney for hosting me on my mini blog tour!

Purple Rose Teahouse - July 2nd

K. Fielding Writes - July 9th

Raine O'Tierney's Hat Party - July 22nd

In other AWESOME news, my better half [personal profile] telltale_commas and I got tickets to see ONE OK ROCK on October 1st, AND I am going to see Welcome to Night Vale live on October 26th! (ノ´ヮ´)ノ*:・゚✧ What better way to celebrate my birthday?
comma_chameleon: (Default)
LATE. And hopefully not stupid. But it's not my fault that we managed make an AU pairing canon. >.>



Featuring: Christopher Larkin, Shizuka Inoue
Word Count: 585


I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

It’s all Chris is thinking right then. A repeated litany of those three words over and over again as he makes his way gingerly to the bar counter.

The strip club isn’t really sleazy. As far as strip clubs go in fact, it’s pretty decent—not that he’s been in a lot. But it’s dimly lit, the seats too close together, and full of strangers. All things that Chris really isn’t a fan of.

The nudity certainly doesn’t help. He’s not quite sure where to keep his gaze.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

It’s like an echo now, even though he’s reached the bar. He can almost see the words looping in his brain. He can’t shut them down, and he’s not sure he wants to. It’s Brian’s fault they’re here and it’s Brian’s fault he’s now alone.

If he’d just wanted to score, Chris is sure he could have done that on campus, a thought that helps fuel his anger a little.


The voice is unexpected and Chris flinches. He really should be more aware of his surroundings right now. Not lost in his own useless thoughts.

Full lips are smiling at him when he manages to rein in his buzzing brain, and dark eyes are glittering with something he can’t quite read. Maybe he’s thinking too much. After all, the man is just a bartender, he’s probably just exasperated because Chris is staring at him like a slack-jawed carp.

“Um… do… do you have s-something non-alchoholic?”

That smile widens just a fraction. Chris blushes. A smile shouldn’t make him blush, but well… he’s never really been normal.

“Water or soda? Or I can make some coffee or tea.”

“Water’s fine.” He forces the words out in a rush. Doing his best not to stutter or mess them up. He doesn’t have a lot of cash on him or he would have walked out and taken a cab home as soon as Brian had abandoned him for one of the strippers.

The I hate you’s are starting to fade away. Just a tiny bit. That smile is still directed at him, and Chris looks away. It’s too kind for a place like this and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

A bottle of water is set in front of him and Chris is surprised by how relieved he feels that it’s sealed.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

Chris laughs, but it’s high and nervous. He’s not sure what to say that won’t be insulting to someone who works here, so he remains silent and reaches for the water instead.

“You want me to call someone for you?”

The words are unexpected and it forces Chris to look back into dark eyes. The smile is gone now and he isn’t sure if he should feel bad for making it disappear.

“Y… you w-wouldn’t mind?”

“Gorgeous, I’d do just about anything you asked me to.”

“A ph-phone c-call is f-fine,” Chris manages to say, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. Obviously flirting is part of the man’s job, but it still feels strange to have it directed at him.


He’s handed a cordless phone though, and Chris doesn’t think twice before dialing Ryo’s number.

That litany of hate is gone now, and as the phone rings, he can’t help but look over at the man who’s now pouring a beer for someone else. He’s definitely cute.


Back to January
comma_chameleon: (Default)
Apparently it's my fault that we're doing June/January, July/February etc. I don't recall making this decision, but that's not unusual.



Featuring: Jacob Knight, Carter Valentine
Word Count: 381


“Knight to A3.”

Carter moved the piece obligingly before speaking. “What’s your weekend looking like?”

Jake didn’t miss the heavy implication behind that simple sentence. He paused in the middle of lining amber eyes with dramatic dark liner to look at Carter’s reflection in the massive mirror.

“I have Sunday afternoon off. So far, anyway.”

“Rook to H5,” Carter said, moving his own piece before lifting his gaze from the board to meet Jake’s in the mirror. “So far?”

Jake looked away. Being in demand meant more money, but it also meant less free time. He missed spending that free time with Carter.

“So far. You know how it is. There’s always someone that shows up without an appointment.”

“If you’re not here, she can’t give them to you.”

“I’m sure that would go over fantastically,” Jake said wryly, capping the eyeliner and putting it back in its home. “Remember that time we went to the zoo for the day and what happened when we got back?”

Carter frowned. It was obvious just from his dark expression that he remembered.

Jake sighed and turned away from the mirror, leaning back against the dresser to watch Carter silently. He hadn’t meant to put that look on his friend’s face. It was just hard to forget a punishment when it had been for something as benign as spending a rare day off outside of the house.

“We could still do something here. Have a picnic out back, maybe? It’s supposed to be nice out.”

Carter was still glowering at the chessboard and Jake wished he could take back his earlier words and erase that expression. Crossing the plushly carpeted floor, he climbed onto the bed and pushed the half finished chess game aside to occupy the space it had been in instead.

“This is what our life is, Carter. We live with these rules every day. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Have a picnic with me on Sunday then?” Jake asked, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together even as he tangled their fingers loosely. “We can have sandwiches, and maybe cake, and don't forget the ants trying to eat everything…”

“Well, when you make it sound so enticing,” Carter replied, but Jake could see a faint smile curving his lips.

“I’ll be there. Isn’t that enticing enough?”



[Back to June]
comma_chameleon: (Default)
So because I am a classic shit disturber (seriously, I have a degree in it: Saru R.Ph.T., P.I.T.A., C.S.D.) I somehow challenged my better half [personal profile] telltale_commas to a headcanon duel based off the calendar she made us this year featuring AU pairings of our characters. :3

See, shit disturber. But hey, it keeps our writing fingers limber!

The only rules? It has to be between 200 and 850 words and can only be a single scene.

So BRING. IT. ON. *cracks knuckles* (Yes bitch, I stole your formatting style. Choo gonna do about it, huh?)



Featuring: Ford Wentham, Eddie Valentine
Word Count: 469


“You’re an idiot.”

“I love you too,” Ford replied, though it was difficult to smile from the pain he was in. He was sure the strain showed in the tightness around his mouth and eyes.

Eddie’s lips thinned and his dark eyes narrowed. Ford had the feeling that if the other man could blush then he’d be doing it, despite his obvious annoyance. Even after all this time, Eddie still had trouble with blatant affection. Especially when it was verbal.

“What did you do anyway? Swan dive off a roof?”

Clawed hands were gentle despite Eddie’s caustic words, which Ford appreciated when the man was in the middle of stitching up the side of his calf. The wound looked even uglier in the bright light of the bathroom and Ford had to look away. He never stopped being surprised how the sight of his own blood bothered him even after all that had been shed.

“Something like that,” Ford said.

Eddie’s hands stilled. The faint trembling in them was hard to miss now, and Ford wanted nothing more than to take his flippant response back.

Reaching out, he covered one of Eddie’s hands with his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It was just a stupid accident. I slipped on the wet fire escape while chasing some idiot.”

Bringing Eddie’s hand to his lips, Ford kissed cool skin softly even as he watched Eddie’s face. He didn’t like worrying Eddie, even if they both knew the risks that their job came with. When he could feel the faint tremble in Eddie’s hand fade, he exhaled in relief.

He truly never meant to make the other man worry—though he knew it wasn’t something he could ever control.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked, wishing his leg wasn’t propped up on Eddie’s lap so he could reach it easily while stitching. It made it impossible to pull him into a hug and more than anything right now he wanted to hold Eddie close and reassure him that he was okay.

Eddie nodded. He didn’t look up or meet Ford’s blue eyes. It looked like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. If Ford were to guess at his unspoken words, they probably would have been words he’d kept to himself many times.

Stay safe. Don’t get hurt anymore.

They remained in the air between them almost constantly. Unable to be spoken when neither of them wanted to make promises they couldn’t guarantee they’d be able to keep.

“I love you,” Ford said once more, pressing one last kiss to Eddie’s palm before relinquishing his hand. “Always.”

Eddie huffed a little as he picked the stitching needle back up and Ford knew he’d been forgiven even before he mumbled, “Me too.”



2015-Apr-17, Friday 09:51 pm
comma_chameleon: (Default)
And not the J-Pop variety, though I am loving their new album. :3

Playing the Lines finally has a release date of July 22, 2015!

It can be found here!

Photographer Elliot is near the top of his field and loves his work, even if it means putting up with models like Cory: beautiful, egotistical, and aggravating. Then a photoshoot in Norway shows there's more to Cory than Elliot thought, and he agrees to dinner despite himself.

But even if he's not completely a brat, it's well known Cory prefers to play rather than settle. And Elliot isn't interested in being anyone's toy—no matter how persuasive and persistent Cory proves to be.


2014-Oct-23, Thursday 06:35 pm
comma_chameleon: (Default)
Okay so I'm done flailing enough to actually write a coherent post.

Four very long (to me) weeks ago, I submitted a short story to Less Than Three Press. AND THEY ACCEPTED IT! My very first contract~. I'm so excited that I even made a ~professional~ twitter!

It's @JColbyJack. :3

On top of all that, it's my birthday this weekend and I'll get to stuff myself with cake and food at my parents' place. Plus the Vera Bradley bag I bought as a gift to myself came today as well!

So much awesome all around!

What up!

2014-Aug-28, Thursday 12:00 am
comma_chameleon: (Innocent Ariel)
So, exciting times, yes? Eleven days until vacation, I started yoga and didn't die (at least not that I'm aware of), and it's my wonderful [personal profile] telltale_commas' birthday today! Just don't remind her that she's getting old. Because then she'll remind me that I'll always be older. And it's terrible when a grown woman cries.

In the vein of birthday givings, I'm not only hosting a lovely interview from A. about how to tell if you've contracted the deadly disease of writitis, but I'm also a stop on her scavenger hunt! Woo~! And with no further ado (and not yet an adieu), here we go!

5 Signs You Might Be A Writer

  • You are a procrastinator

    Not just a run of the mill "I'll do it tomorrow" kind of procrastinator. The kind that has a final project that makes up 50% of your grade for that class you need to graduate, or that important report you need to keep your job, and you start it two days before it's due and finish it with twenty minutes to spare.

  • People compliment you on your vocabulary

    You constantly help others explain themselves more eloquently. It's not something you can help, you're just trying to understand them better. Bonus points if you still find yourself frequenting

  • You can name at least three words you absolutely hate seeing in print off the top of your head

    The word "quintessential" still sends me into a frothing rage...

  • You come across an interesting or funny name and write it down for future reference

    Let's be honest, you're not saving it for your future children. "Lionsworthe" should belong to a stuffy professor or an old lawyer, anyway. Or a butler.

  • You can think up way better endings to movies or TV series

    You also often do. Hello, fanfiction!

  • If you suffer from three or more of these chronic symptoms, seek immediate literary attention. There is currently no known cure--however, some experts have observed that criticism, constructive or otherwise, can slow its processes. Left untreated, it may lead to long and arduous editorial reviews.

    Sponsor an author today through one of our accredited foundations:


    James is at the end of a long crusade for vengeance against the vampire clan that destroyed everything he held dear. He has Ren, the final and most dangerous of them all, cornered at last in London. But victory remains just out of reach when Ren sets a feral vampire on James and makes his escape. With no other leads, James is forced to take in the feral until he can use its connection to its sire to track down Ren. But in caring for the vampire, James sees they might not all be the monsters he thought them to be. Faced with an ugly truth, his quest for revenge becomes a war for retribution, and the discovery of what it truly means to be human.

    For an exclusive sneak peek at my new release and a chance to win your own copy, join the scavenger hunt at the Birthday Bash down below.

    Twitter | Blog | Dreamspinner | Birthday Bash

    comma_chameleon: (Default)
    Oh my god. It's been nearly ten months since I drabbled. What the hell, Sarah? On the upside I have still been writing. I submitted something for Goodread's M/M Community's Love's Landscapes short story prompt claim which will be posted soon, so I'll definitely link that as soon as it goes up.

    I also submitted something for a short story anthology, so... fingers crossed there too.

    Until then, hopefully I get back into the swing of drabbling!

    Back into the swing of things... hopefully. )


    comma_chameleon: (Default)

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