Synaesthesia

Although Molly loves Mrs. Suresh, and India is a new, strange, and fascinating place in which to explore and live, sometimes she misses her old life.

Not the life she lived in Los Angeles, not the one with her first parents. That, she tries not to overthink, dismissing it as an old, happy dream. It is a dream of soft warmth and ( Read more... )

I went to Watchmen (or is it The Watchmen?) at about 10:30 Friday night, and - well, that was it.  I need fic.  Good fic, to be precise.  The damn thing is rife with potential.  You could do Rorschach/Dan in a heartbeat, especially of the unrequited variety.  That'd be especially fun since I have deep love for Patrick Wilson and have had ever since ( Read more... )

I need to post this, just as counteraction of today's other post.

When Shawn was sixteen, he decided he hated his father.

It wasn't a decision he came to lightly. For years, he'd sat comfortably in the knowledge that his father was his hero - was just a hero, period. He was a cop, a person and profession Shawn had always known was the best, the ( Read more... )

When Jamie is in the prison:

"I'd ask a favor, John."

Lord John suppressed a flinch, dreading not what Jamie would ask of him but the very real possibility that he wouldn't be able to deny it.

The large hands were lax, dangling loosely between the man's knees, a tanned and scarred complement to the rough woolen breeches. "Don't tell Willy who ( Read more... )

Wow, you guys probably thought you'd never see this again, huh? And, to be honest, I wouldn't blame you if you weren't reading anymore. I've abandoned you guys, and the poor baby story, in favor of Psych. This may have something to do with the fact that Final Fantasy VIII came out like ten years ago, and Psych is still running strong. Plus. ( Read more... )

September 13, 1959

Carlton Lassiter cruised down the streets of Santa Barbara at the wheel of his 1948 Pontiac Coupe, newly restored to its former glory. He'd fixed himself up for the occasion: put on a clean white shirt, tossing the dirty one he'd used in shop class that day into the passenger seat. His leather jacket shone.

He was ( Read more... )

Then, though, a firm hand caught his elbow, and he turned his head to see Spencer leaning toward him. In the light from the lamp on the tiny bedside table, his skin fairly glowed. He'd put on a tiny smile, tugging at Lassiter's arm. He looked… perfect, Lassiter thought with an odd sense of vertigo - warm and healthy and inviting, as though there ( Read more... )

"I'll do it," he said. He felt almost detached as he watched Spencer's expression morph from its cool bitterness to shock.

"What?"

"If you need to - I mean, if you still want to…" He couldn't actually bring himself to say it, not with all of Spencer's shocking attention suddenly focused on him. "I'll do it."

Spencer shook his head. "I don't ( Read more... )

Lassiter remained at the station for two more hours. The Chief had to call the district attorney and present the bizarre circumstances of McKinney's confession. They argued back and forth for a solid hour and a half before the DA would concede that a kiss couldn't count as coercion, so the confession would likely hold up in court. Upon Chief ( Read more... )

Previous Part

The following afternoon found Lassiter sitting bolt upright at his desk, in stubborn defiance of the overwhelming exhaustion which had overtaken him during the case. He glared at his computer screen, wishing the cool blue background of the Word document could somehow wipe the angry, blackened thoughts from his mind.

Against his ( Read more... )