#I've found some really interesting things through this search engine and it didn't even take long

[eitherlyingorstupid]

I've been having like. Zero energy in my body this past week and couldn't finish kinktober, but I got this, instead.

TFA Tracks/Beachcomber, public sex, voyeurism.

Tracks strolled through the bustling market of Hedonia's capital, his optics scanning the vibrant array of stalls. The planet's two suns cast a warm, amber glow across the landscape.

Hedonia, as the name suggested, was a place filled with luxuries and pleasures beyond measure. The stalls were filled with exotic treats, dubiously legal drugs, and all sorts of sensual stimulants.

It was paradise for Beachcomber, who was forever chasing novel sensations.

"Hey, look at that. That's one of those public interfacing booths." Beachcomber pointed to a square structure with reflective walls. "It's made of one-way mirrors, so whoever is in there can see out but nobody can see in."

"You're not going to go in there, are you?"

"Nah. I wanna see if I can find a reverse booth. The mirrors are set up the opposite way, so everybody can see in but whoever's inside can't see out."

Tracks grimaced. The reverse booth sounded even more perverted than the standard one. "Why would anyone want that?"

"Some mechs like to watch. As for the inside… I hear it's pretty hot to watch yourself and your partner reflected infinitely in every direction." He gave a lopsided smirk. "We should try it."

Tracks' engine nearly stalled. "What makes you think I would ever touch you?" he sneered, his voice meaner than he intended.

Beachcomber's smile didn't waver. "You're just jealous that I've got the guts to live a little, Tracks. To let go of all that high-class nonsense and hang loose." He punched Tracks lightly on the arm, a gesture that seemed more intimate than usual.

"You have no sense of self-preservation."

Beachcomber just chuckled at Tracks's remark. "You say that like it's a bad thing. But hey, I've got an idea. How about we make a little bet?" He leaned in closer. "If you find an empty reverse booth, I'll give you a free wash and detail. With wax. But if I find one first, you've gotta join me in it."

Tracks grimaced. "Why do you think I would ever agree to that?"

"Because you're vain, but also, like, really broke."

Tracks's optics narrowed at Beachcomber's smug grin. He had a point; keeping up with the latest fashion trends put a hefty strain on Tracks' wallet. His alt-mode was also much faster than Beachcomber's, so he was bound to win. "Fine. But if I win, you stop with all this… this lewdness for the rest of the trip."

Beachcomber's visor lit up. "Deal! Time limit's two megacycles, comm me if you find one. Ready, and… go!"

Moving faster than Tracks had ever seen him, Beachcomber transformed and zipped through the crowded marketplace.

Tracks sighed. "I'm only doing this for the wash," he said to himself.

It wasn't really the truth. He'd always been… somewhat interested in Beachcomber. He was cute, in a kind of "opposites attract" way. On the slim chance he did lose, he would take be angry at having to interface with him.

But as the nanokliks ticked away, the market grew more crowded, and the search grew more futile. Tracks managed to find one or two booths, but they were always occupied. He didn't stay to watch — the thrill of the chase was starting to wear off, and the reality of the bet was sinking in.

Finally, his comm beeped. "Got one!" Beachcomber's voice was filled with triumph. "Meet me at the northwest corner, under the giant neon yellow octahedron."

Tracks rolled his optics but headed in the direction Beachcomber had specified. The northwest corner was a maze of alleyways lined with the seedier side of Hedonian entertainment. He found the yellow octahedron, a garish beacon in the dimly lit area, and saw Beachcomber waving at him from the entrance of a narrow alley.

"I've never seen you this excited," Tracks said. He transformed and walked up to the smaller Autobot, who was practically vibrating in place.

Beachcomber waved his hand dismissively. "It's not every day you get to see the high and mighty Tracks in a situation like this. Now, let's go. I've already paid for the booth." He grabbed Tracks' servo and pulled him into the alley.

The reverse booth was a simple, fairly small structure. There was a cushioned stool inside, just large enough to sit on, or to bend a bot over. Several bystanders hovered nearby, eager to see the show. The thought of what they were about to do in there made Tracks' circuits buzz.

"Don't look so down, Tracks. Just think — everybody will be looking at you. And you'll be looking at yourself. Isn't that like, why you spend all that time and money on looking good?" Beachcomber chuckled as they approached the booth.

"I'm not doing this for your sick enjoyment," Tracks grumbled. "What do you get now that you've won, anyway? Besides interface with me?"

"Nothing. This is enough of a reward." Beachcomber opened the door and stepped inside.

The interior was covered with reflective surfaces, creating an infinite series of reflections that stretched into oblivion. The booth was cleaner than Tracks had expected, the cushions on the stool plush and new. Beachcomber's grin grew wider as he turned to face Tracks.

"Close the door." Beachcomber said.

Tracks did so with a hiss of hydraulics. The outside noises muffled, the alley's chatter replaced by their own echoes. He watched his own reflections, admiring his sleek form and trying to ignore Beachcomber.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Tracks said, his voice tight.

"Man, don't act like that." Beachcomber looped his arms around Tracks' neck. "This is for fun. Besides, it's not like we're strangers." His grip was surprisingly firm for a bot his size, and his touch sent a shiver down Tracks' spinal column.

Tracks' panels felt hot as he considered Beachcomber's words. They weren't strangers, not really — they'd been roommates for stellar cycles. They were opposites, sure, but they had their moments. The way Beachcomber looked at him now, though, was uncharted territory.

The smaller mech's hips pressed against his frame, and he slowly started to rub against Tracks' thigh. "Relax, I won't break you," Beachcomber murmured.

Tracks swallowed hard, his systems racing. He didn't know if it was the thrill of the bet, the novelty of the situation, or Beachcomber's unusual energy that was getting to him. He felt the beginnings of a response from his spike. The crowd outside grew louder, the whispers and giggles growing more intense.

"You want to spike me?" Beachcomber said.

"You don't mind?" Tracks asked.

Beachcomber gave him a knowing smile. "Why would I? It's what we're here for, right?" He sat down on the stool, spreading his legs wide. His valve was exposed already, soft and powder blue.

Tracks took a deep intake of air, placing one hand on Beachcomber's cheek. "Your visor is the type that comes off, isn't it? I want to see your optics."

Beachcomber complied, his visor popping off with a click. His eyes were a deep blue, with tiny patches of static dancing across them. "Better?"

"Much." Tracks leaned down, his spike already at half mast. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of Beachcomber's eager face and exposed valve. "You look more…"

Beachcomber interrupted with a smirk. "Don't say 'vulnerable', say 'hot'."

"I was going to say 'expressive'."

Beachcomber blinked lazily. "Sure you were." He leaned back on the stool, his arms folded behind his head. "But you can think I'm hot if you want. Just remember to tell me later."

Tracks couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. Despite his initial reluctance, he found Beachcomber's confidence alluring. He stepped closer, his spike now fully erect. "Turn over."

Without missing a beat, Beachcomber flipped around. The sight was surprisingly tantalizing, and Tracks felt his circuits pulse with anticipation. He gripped Beachcomber's hips, the smooth metal warm under his fingers.

Tracks got to his knees, pressing his hips against Beachcomber's. He glanced at their reflections in the walls, and felt a pulse of satisfaction at the image of dominance.

He leaned in, his spike nudging Beachcomber's valve. The smaller mech hummed, his optics closing in pleasure. Tracks watched him closely, taking in every little reaction.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," Beachcomber answered.

Tracks took a deep vent and pushed in, feeling Beachcomber's valve part around his spike.

He was tight and wet and so soft inside, and Tracks had to fight the urge to just pound away. He took it slow, watching Beachcomber's reactions in the mirrored walls.

"Ah… ah, Tracks… that feels so good…"

Tracks couldn't tear his optics away from the reflection — the sight of his own powerful form, copied over and over in every direction, was oddly mesmerizing.

Beachcomber's moans grew louder as Tracks picked up the pace. His hand slid down Beachcomber's body to grip his spike, which was now hard and glistening with lubricant.

He squirmed underneath Tracks, his legs shaking slightly as the pleasure built up. "Faster," Beachcomber panted, his voice echoing around the booth.

Tracks obliged, his engine rumbling softly.

"Oh, Primus, Tracks…" Beachcomber whined. His spike was throbbing in Tracks' hand, leaking pre-fluid.

The crowd outside was cheering and whistling, and Tracks found it thrilling. He did love to be looked at, after all. Even if he was sharing the metaphorical spotlight with Beachcomber.

He flared his doorwings, watching his reflection as he arched his back.

Tracks' thrusts grew more intense, the booth's walls echoing with the sound of metal on metal. His hand tightened around Beachcomber's spike, stroking in time with his movements.

Beachcomber's vents grew ragged. "Please, Tracks, I'm so close…"

Tracks' circuits were firing at maximum capacity, the sensations from Beachcomber's tight embrace overwhelming him. He could feel the smaller bot's walls fluttering around his spike.

Beachcomber twisted 180 degrees at the waist to face Tracks. "Kiss me," he said.

Tracks leaned down, pressing their mouths together. It was a bizarre sensation to be kissing someone while also fragging them cyberdoggy-sryle, but it was novel.

Beachcomber wrapped an arm around his neck, purring contentedly. "Dude, you're good… really good." His words were muffled against Tracks' lips.

"Scratch my paint and I'll kill you," Tracks murmured against Beachcomber's lips, his own pleasure building to a crescendo. He could feel Beachcomber's spike pulse in his hand.

Beachcomber chuckled into the kiss, his hips pushing back to meet every thrust.

The crowd outside was getting louder, with laughs and cheers coming from the onlookers. Tracks' fans, in other words.

"I told you you'd be into this," Beachcomber said. "You're practically glowing."

Tracks pulled away from the kiss, his optics bright. "I'm glowing because I'm about to overheat." He pushed Beachcomber down onto the stool, his spike still buried deep within him. "Don't think I find you irresistible," he said, though his voice was thick with arousal.

Beachcomber swiveled his lower half, partially transforming so he could wrap his legs around Tracks' waist. "You don't have to," he panted, "but I wouldn't mind if you did."

Tracks' engine were revving at full throttle now. He didn't know how Beachcomber could keep his cool, especially with the audience they'd drawn.

He ex-vented harshly as he overloaded into him, making a rather undignified noise. The crowd outside was going wild, and Tracks couldn't help but feel a thrill at that. He released Beachcomber's spike.

"Don't stop," Beachcomber begged, his voice strained.

"Or what?" Tracks said.

"Or I'll tell everyone about this," Beachcomber said with a smug smile. "How you couldn't resist the chance to spike me in a public booth, and how much you enjoyed it."

Tracks imagined what Sunstreaker would think, and suddenly the thrill of the bet was nothing compared to the potential damage to his social image. "You wouldn't," he breathed, his spike still lodged deep within Beachcomber.

Beachcomber's smile grew wider. "I might," he said playfully, his voice strained with pleasure. "But only if you don't make me overload."

"Fine, fine," Tracks said. He pulled out, his spike glistening with Beachcomber's lubricant. He grabbed Beachcomber's spike again, stroking it with renewed vigor.

He sighed in contentment, letting his legs splay open. "Yeah, that's it. Like that."

Tracks watched Beachcomber's face, enjoying how his optics squeezed shut and his lips parted with each stroke. The smaller bot's vents were shallow and quick, interrupted by a choked noise.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Beachcomber's body tensed and quivered as he overloaded, transfluid spurting over Tracks' servo.

The crowd outside went wild. Tracks felt a mix of embarrassment and triumph. He had spiked Beachcomber, then stroked him off. In public.

"Never speak of this again," he said.

"Yeah, yeah. Like the old saying… 'what happens on Hedonia, stays on Hendonia'."

Tracks stepped back, his spike now at ease. Beachcomber slid off the stool and put his visor back on, a lazy smile adorning his face. "What now?"

"We leave," Tracks said firmly. He was eager to get out of there before anyone he knew saw them.

But Beachcomber just chuckled, not moving. "You're worried about your reputation, aren't you?"

"Of course. You wouldn't understand it if you had one," Tracks said. He turned to leave, but Beachcomber's hand on his doorwing stopped him.

"Look, I'm not going to tell anyone if you don't want me to. But you know what? Maybe we could… I don't know… play around some more."

Tracks scoffed. "In your dreams."

Despite his words, Tracks wasn't entirely averse to the idea.

[kaija-rayne-author]

Finished the main game with my qunari. (Again, 3rd time, this series has me so hard.) I'm very ready for this run to be done.

The 'make Solas hate me' thing wasn't even remotely easy for me. Though, I gotta admit antagonizing him was fun for a while. 😅 I'm only playing Trespasser with this character, (not the other DLCs) because I'm having painful dysphoria issues with the curvier female qunari form.

There's a reason I usually play male elves. Skinny little twinks are pretty androgynous and don't bother my dysphoria so much. Even female elves don't bother me. They're all pretty androgynous. If only I were.

Plus pointed ears. My entire family has slightly pointed ears so it's just fun.

I actually only gave Sera a Romance chance because of a tumblr post I saw. I'm glad I did. It was the hardest Romance of all for me, but it’s actually really sweet and happy. Good brain chemicals.

As soon as I finish Trespasser to get angry Solas end lines, I'm going to take another run at modding Frostbite. (Seeing bitchy Solas in game was way more powerful for me than a YouTube watch would be.)

I've been modding games since modding became a thing, so it wasn't fun to realize how bloody difficult Frostbite is to mod.

But because I really want to play DA:I with some of the mods, and because DA:DW is built on Frostbite too, I gotta figure it out. It was mostly an ADHD patience/frustration thing, I think. I expected reasonable levels of difficulty in modding Frostbite and it is an absolute monster.

I'm actually tempted to play the whole series again since I'm almost done with reading the books and comics. They added so much depth to the games and characters that I'm curious about how it'll change my perception of them.

And I've heard there's art and references to 'The Dread Wolf' in all games. Curiousity absolutely gets me into trouble, frequently. 😅

It's how I ended up on the Solavellan Hell train. I knew who Solas was 'cause I'd already played DA:I, but I still did a Solavellan playthrough out of curiousity.

Being a writer/editor/literary analyst, I didn't truly think that Weekes would snag me, much less snag me so fucking hard!

So, yeah. A day or two, depending on how much time I have to game, to finish Trespasser, and then I'll be trying again to mod this beast of a game engine.

Once you're an insider in publishing, it becomes more and more difficult throughout the years for stories to capture you. I know all the tropes and can see where things are going so easily because I've been working professionally in this field for close to a decade.

Even with that, Weekes grabbed me by the heart then proceeded to rip my heart out. (He did it in Masked Empire too, great book.) Gotta love star crossed lovers. It's one of my very favourite tropes and I'm actually grateful that Weekes reached me. So little does anymore. And to think I got into this field after leaving STEM because I love to read 🤣, oh... sweet summer child.

Once I get it successfully modded, I'll decide on a full series replay (it would give me more to write about) or not.

Right now, I'm so stressed out by my job search that I'm clinging to DA as my only real stress relief. Usually special interests aren't this chronologically long lasting for me. I tend to cycle through them more quickly.

But with the job search being what it is, and my stress levels being through the roof, I'm just grateful this one hasn't abandoned me yet.

You really wouldn't think finding a decent job (something I'm good at, salary with good benefits, ideally remote because I'm more productive from my home office) would be so difficult, would you?

Anyway, enough of me jawing about DA for now. I need to make an online portfolio for my graphic design stuff. I've been doing it as long as I've been doing editing & literary critique (24 years), and writing for 33 years, but having an online portfolio hasn't ever been a priority because my clients have always found me by word of mouth.

Sigh. I'd rather be doing many other things. I just want a job I can be good at that I'm paid a living wage for that actually uses my skills and maybe pushes me a little to increase my abilities. One that doesn't require my autistic/ADHD ass to do social things because that's probably around the 7th layer of hell for me. Why is that so hard to find?

[stanbillyhargrove]

Ghosts chp 11

Billy x Katrina

A/N: this is a multi chapter series that will contain smut, angst, fluff, substance abuse

February

Katrina's POV

Billy pulled the Camaro up to our rental place and let it idle as we sat there, staring at the old house. A small, gothic style house that sat sandwiched in a street of similar places.

"Is this it?" Steve asked from the back seat.

"Yep, purple door. Just like the site said."

Billy cut the engine and we all stepped out into the streets of Salem.

It's been a couple months since telling everyone that I can see ghosts and they've taken it surprisingly well. Steve can't get enough of it, he always wants to be touching me so he can talk to them too which made Billy jealous. He wanted to talk to them so badly. That and the fact that we'd had more than one instance of an unwanted guest during sex was what brought us here. To try to find someone to help me control my power. And in Steve's words 'worst case, we get a cool vacation.'

We took a while to settle into our rental before setting out into the town. We ducked into every shop we passed, searching for someone to help me. Unfortunately, nobody was able to. Nobody dealt that intimately with the dead. We met a few mediums, whose advice was to try meditation. Imagining a protective barrier around myself to keep the spirits at bay. But that wasn't good enough for me.

We stopped by a little apothecary for Steve to look around while Billy and I went across the street to a coffee shop to wait for him. We ended up sitting at a table for much longer than we expected when Steve came running into the shop.

"Guys! I met someone!"

I perked up and looked at him, "you did?"

"Her name's Riley, she works at the apothecary. She makes a lot of the stuff in there, soaps and stuff, and everything in there smells so good! I could spend all day in there," he rambled.

"Steve," Billy interrupted.

"Oh! And hair products too," he held up a paper bag, "she helped me pick out a bunch of stuff."

"Steve."

He shook his head, snapping out of his rambles, "yeah?"

"Is she able to help me?"

"Oh, I don't know. But we're going out for dinner tonight, I can ask her then."

"We lost him," I groaned, playfully knocking my head against Billy's shoulder.

"No, no, I promise! I won't forget."

--

Billy and I were curled up on the couch watching Evil Dead when we heard Steve come back from his date.

"In here!" I called, "movie night!"

Steve poked his head into the door a moment later, "oh good, you're decent. I want to introduce you guys to someone."

I cocked an eyebrow at him and sat up. He walked the rest of the way into the living room, leading a girl by the hand. She had long, wavy brown hair and a sweet face, was wearing a black tank top and tight blue jeans.

"Guys, this is Riley. Riley, this is Katrina and Billy."

Riley lifted a hand and waved a little, her cheeks a little pink, "nice to meet you."

"You too," I replied.

Billy nodded at her and smirked a little at Steve, who also started to blush.

"A-anyway..we're going upstairs, night guys!" He stammered before they fled upstairs.

I looked back at Billy, who had the biggest grin on his face and was biting back a laugh, "do you think he remembered to ask her?"

His composure slipped and he barked out a laugh as he pulled me to lean back against him, "I think that's the last thing on his mind right now."

I laughed a little, "Billy! They just met, he's more of a gentleman than that! We came here looking for someone though so he better ask."

"I'll bet you twenty bucks he is not that much of a gentleman and he totally forgets."

I smirked, "you're on."

--

Billy and I padded downstairs in the morning, following the sound of voices and found Steve and Riley sitting at the kitchen table. Half full mugs of coffee sat between them with their hands wrapped around them, fingers just barely brushing against each other.

Billy tapped his fingers against my back, a smug smirk on his face when I looked back at him.

"Morning you two," I smiled when they jolted to look up at us.

"Morning," they answered.

"So, I see you spent the night," Billy smirked.

Steve glared at him from across the table, his cheeks turning bright red.

"I hope you don't mind, Steve and I saw there was a Scream marathon on TV and we stayed up all night watching it."

"Don't mind at all," I answered, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

There was a moment of silence before Riley downed the last of her drink and stood up, "anyway, I should be going. Have to go home and get ready for work. It really was nice to meet you."

Steve stood and followed her to the door, returning a minute later with a huge smile on his face.

He stopped when he saw mine and Billy's smirks, "what?"

Billy reached forward and clapped him on the shoulder, "nice one, buddy! Finally got a girl in bed, I was starting to think after Nancy-"

"Oh my god!" Steve interrupted, "first of all, you know I've slept with people since her and second, we didn't sleep together. Not that it's any of your business."

I elbowed Billy's side and laughed, "pay up, loser!"

Billy groaned, tipping his head back, "Steve...you disappoint me."

"Wait, you guys bet on me getting laid? Rude!"

"Doesn't matter," I smirked, "is she able to help me?"

"I don't think I should tell you now," he pouted.

Billy snorted, "he forgot."

"I did not, actually. She thinks her and her sisters can help, she's gunna text me a time to meet them."

--

We met Riley and her sisters the next evening at the coffee shop across from the apothecary Riley worked at. Audrey, Brook and Riley. Triplets.

Riley was the youngest. She described herself as a green witch, using what she grows to create products for the apothecary and specializing in love and protection charms.

Brooke was the middle child. She had grey hair cropped above her shoulders and wore a ton of jewelry. Bracelets and rings adorned her hands, clicking and jangling when she moved. She worked at one of the psychic shops doing all sorts of readings. Tarot, runes, tea leaves, palms, you name it, Brook can read it.

Audrey was the oldest and had bright red hair shaved on one side and a lot of tattoos. She was a tattoo artist by day but her specialty was talking to spirits. A different type of medium, could summon all sorts of spirits to talk to.

Together, they wanted to try to help me.

"Alright, the plan is set!" Riley piped up, "we'll work with Katrina in the evenings and you guys use the rest of your time as vacation. Now, I promised to show Steve around and get some ice cream. So, we'll see you later," she explained as she got up and lead Steve out of the coffee shop.

-- Thursday Night

"I found something interesting last night."

I looked past the stack of books covering their kitchen table at Brook and cocked an eyebrow at her, "how interesting?"

"Very. I found a spell that could let ghosts into you. Rather than you having to repeat what they say, they could say it themselves."

I hummed, thinking about Billy, how jealous he was that he couldn't talk to Olivia directly. How quiet him and Max got if Susan or Olivia were talking to me. How they barely hid their anger behind clenched jaws when Steve would grab me so he could talk to whoever was around.

"I want to try it."

"It could be dangerous," Audrey warned.

"How dangerous?"

"Like, something bad could come through. Take over your body and not give it back."

"Oh," I mumbled.

"Just something to think about," Brook explained, "but we think you're powerful enough to try and with the three of us doing the spell, the chances are low."

"But still there," Audrey added, her eyes steely as she stared at me.

"I want to do it."

-- Friday Night

We'd left our rental this morning to spend the weekend at Audrey, Brook and Riley's house. Safer that way, they said, easier to make sure nothing goes wrong. I hadn't told the boys about our plan to try this spell, I just told them the triplets wanted us to stay with them.

So when they found out our plan for tonight, they weren't exactly on board.

"You want to what?" Billy asked.

"It's a spell, I'd be like a human ouija board. They'd be able to talk through me. Susan and Olivia could talk through me. You could actually talk to them."

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan, "and if something goes wrong?"

"The chance of anything bad happening is low," Brook explained.

"We're not going to throw her to the wolves," Audrey chided, "Riley and Brook have set up every kind of protection we can think of and Brook and I have the Latin down perfectly."

"No," Steve piped up, "no way. I'm drawing a line in the fucking sand here. Do not say anything in Latin. Haven't any of you seen a horror movie? Latin is always bad."

Riley laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Steve, it's just a language. Audrey and Brook know the language, they know what they're doing. Everything will be fine."

He clenched his jaw shut and looked back at me, one final attempt to stop this.

I looked from him to Billy, who was equally tense, "Billy, I want to do this. Everything's gunna be fine."

@charmed-asylum @champagnesugamama