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Mirrorgender: A gender that changes to fit the people you’re around.

Proud and loud. Also poly :)

I wrote a one shot for Captain Laserhawk.

Delineating lines:Read on A03 CLICK HERE

A snippet below:

I think for my book covers I'm going to try to KEEP a THEME (Which means the Fallen Angel Saga Will get new covers too), so this will keep the series in sort of a THEME, so it's no question these are MY BOOKS. All photos, Fonts, and Graphics are licensed from their Creators. All Placement, Typesetting, and formatting is by me. GROUNDS FOR:

SuperNatural Council:

I’ve been calling it Kriosarian, for more than 10 years ;.;

I swear I’m not upset, I’m just gonna have to learn to call it something else. The fandom has spoken.

I am working on the continuation of collapsed and Thranduil and Legolas needed a moment. I think I’ve given them that.

From: Threshold:

"Tell me of mother," Legolas said quietly.

Thranduil went still.

It had been a long time since Legolas had asked. A few hundred years, perhaps — since they had been close enough to this particular quality of open, the walls down, the fire low, the night holding them both, for the asking to feel possible. He had stopped asking not because he had stopped wanting to know but because grief had made his father a place where certain questions did not go, and Legolas had loved him enough to respect that.

Tonight was different.

Thranduil let himself think of her. Let himself — which was not always something he permitted — the specific face of her, the quality of her laugh, the way she had looked at him in the early years when the world had been new and full and unmarked by everything that came after.

"Your mother," he said, "was a force to be reckoned with." A soft sound escaped him — something between a breath and a laugh, surprised out of him by the warmth of the memory arriving without its usual edge of pain. "She challenged my mind and my heart both. She did not let me be comfortable when comfortable was the wrong thing to be." He paused. "She was fiercely protective of you. From the very beginning. You were everything to her." He looked at the fire. "When I lost her I thought there was simply no room for anything else. That whatever space existed in me for that kind of — for that — had been filled and spent and was gone. That whatever love remained in me was yours alone." He was quiet for a moment. "That is a lonely way to live."

Legolas said nothing. Just held his arm and listened.

The station had gone quiet in the way it only did past the second watch — a low thrum of systems, the distant rhythm of the Promenade winding down. Julian’s quarters felt smaller for it. More deliberate.

Garak sat, relaxed, across his side of the sofa, a warm cup of gelat balanced against his knee. The 3D chess set occupied the low table between them, three levels catching the amber light Julian kept lower than regulation. He’d never commented on that.

“Make your move, Doctor.”

Julian looked up from the board, tracing angles. The middle level was a disaster. The top was anyone’s.

“I’m deciding.”

“How to lose?” Garak’s smile arrived before the words did.

Julian picked up his knight. His hand hovered — not uncertainty, something else — and released the white rook to its new square with a soft click.

Garak sat forward. He moved without pause, lifting his own knight and sweeping Julian’s rook cleanly off the board. Set it aside like it had never belonged there.

“Check.”

He settled back. Crossed one leg over the other. The picture of a man with nowhere else to be.

Julian’s expression did something complicated. He reached for his bishop and took the knight — a fair trade on paper, a loss in the longer geometry.

“You’re trying to bait me.”

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Grab your copy for free here: SUPERNATURAL COUNCIL: MUMMY

A snippet:

I’m at the counter spreading jam on toast, fig, from a jar we picked up in Sicily last summer, when he comes up behind me. His arms wrap around my waist, his chest pressing against my back, his face nuzzling into the curve of my neck.

He’s cool against my still-sun-warm skin. I can feel his breath, unnecessary, but there, ghosting across my throat.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks against my skin.

“Tomorrow’s agenda,” I lie. “The vote. Whether Lucia will actually side with Marcus or if she’ll surprise us.

“Liar.” His hands tighten on my hips. “You’re thinking about this.”

He turns me around in one smooth motion, vampire strength, vampire speed, and lifts me onto the counter. The granite is cold through my thin sleep pants, a shock against my skin. I’m suddenly at eye level with him, his body between my knees, his hands gripping my thighs.

His eyes have changed. The gray-blue is nearly gone, swallowed by the pupil, and thin red veins are tracing through the whites. Not hunger for blood. Hunger for me.

“Anton—”

His mouth finds mine, cutting off whatever I was going to say. His kiss is desperate, possessive, his cool tongue sliding against mine, his fangs just slightly extended, sharp enough that I have to be careful, but I’ve had seventy years of practice.

I pull him closer, wrap my legs around his waist, fist my hands in his hair, and hold on. He makes a sound low in his throat, not a growl, vampires don’t growl, but something close. Something hungry and wanting and mine.

His hands slide under my shirt, cool palms against my ribs, my back, mapping territory he’s explored a thousand times. My skin is still warm from the sunrise, and I can feel the contrast. My heat, his cold, the way we balance each other.

I gasp, can’t help it, never could when he touches me like this, and the gasp turns into words, into prayers I don’t even know I’m saying—ancient Egyptian, the language of my first life, spilling from my lips.

My god, beautiful, my beloved.

He understands. He always understands, even though he doesn’t speak the language. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, my throat, that sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me arch into him.

You can download it to kindle for FREE until April 5th! READ HONEST GROUNDS: CLICK HERE

A snippet:

Aaron Dane awoke to the shrill protest of his alarm, the sound cutting through the fog of sleep like a knife. He groaned, rolling toward the nightstand where his phone buzzed insistently against the scarred wood. 4:45 AM glowed accusingly from the screen. He'd managed barely four hours of sleep.

Rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Aaron sat up slowly, his body protesting the early hour and the previous night's activities. The sheets beside him were rumpled but empty, still holding the faint warmth and lingering scent of expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely masculine that made his stomach flutter with memory.

Lee.

The name rolled through his mind as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor of his small bedroom. The whole evening felt surreal now in the gray pre-dawn light filtering through his curtains. He wasn't the type to bring strangers home, hell, he wasn't the type to go out on a Tuesday night at all. But Tommy had been relentless, practically dragging him to Murphy's Pub after another one of Aaron's complaints about his nonexistent love life.

"You're twenty-eight and acting like you're forty-eight," Tommy had said, not entirely wrong. "One drink. What's the worst that could happen?"

Apparently, the worst that could happen was the best sex of Aaron's life with a man he’d met at the bar, whose last name he didn't even know.