#(there is also a rook that comes now and then and he pries open that block feeder like it's nothing. he's so big and strong)

[magistralucis]

@absolut--kurant!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Arrow through the Heart

If TWST won’t give me Cupid Rook, then I will make my OWN Cupid Rook. Make the content you want to see in the world.

... Also I wanted an excuse to write Octatrio being capitalists--

***Warning: Mild Chapter 3 and Floyd Dorm Uniform SSR spoilers!***

Imagine this...

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

Trey nearly dropped his pastry bag as the doors to the Heartslabyul kitchen slammed open, revealing a familiar huntsman. Rook had forgone his usual school uniform and Pomefiore robes in favor of something... somehow even more showy.

He paraded in wearing strappy sandals, and a violet tunic with a golden hem, a flowy, pure white toga draped over the tunic. A crown of laurels rested on his blonde bob, and he sported a pair of fake wings. Strapped to his back was a quiver loaded with arrows, and in his hands was his trusty bow, gilded with gold today. His face, too, was aglow--due in part to his blushing pink makeup, and the small hearts he had peppered along his cheekbones.

“What the... What are you wearing?” Trey asked, his eyebrows furrowing. “I thought Halloween was already over.”

“Non, non! This ensemble, you see, is meant to celebrate the spirit of Valentine’s Day!” Rook clarified, wagging a finger at his peer. “I am dressed as Cupid, the Messager de L’amour himself!!”

“I... I see.”

No, I don’t.

“In any case, you can’t be in the kitchen looking like that,” Trey scolded him, eyeing how Rook’s toga hung precariously off an exposed shoulder. “It’s a huge health and safety violation to be in places where food is prepared if you’re not fully covered.”

“Not to worry, Trey-kun!” Rook reassured him with a boisterous laugh. “We need not dawdle for much longer here!”

“Wait, we?”

“Of course!! Even a God of Love such as Cupid is in need of an assistant!” Rook declared, seizing Trey by the wrist. He waved excitedly at the exit and began tugging him toward it. “Come!! Your presence is needed elsewhere!!”

“Wait, wait, wait...!!” Trey protested, clawing to latch onto the kitchen counter--but Rook was stronger, and pried him away. The Heartslabyul vice-dorm leader looked helplessly at his pastries as he was hauled off. “My cupcakes just finished cooling, they need to be iced and refrigerated--”

“Désolé, Chevalier des Roses, but love is blind and waits for no one--it comes when you least expect it! And right now, love is in desperate need of a herald,” Rook chirped back.

“... So, uh. What’s this all about?” Trey inquired, glancing anxiously between Rook (who was still dressed up in that silly Cupid costume) and Azul.

He and the huntsman sat across from the Octavinelle dorm leader, a low coffee table separating them. Flanking either side of Azul were the infamous Leech twins, Floyd leaning casually against the sofa upon which Azul sat, and Jade standing astute, hands folded behind his back.

From the moment Rook had shoved him through the mirror portal and into a consultation room, Trey had sensed a certain tenseness in the air. That tenseness became an oppressive animosity the instant Rook and Azul locked eyes. Neither had spoken a word to one another since they had been led into the meeting.

“Rook-san here is encroaching on our territory,” Azul finally began, his tone icy.

“Your territory? This is a school campus. The only person this ‘territory’ belongs to is the headmaster,” Trey pointed out, earning an amused chuckle from Jade. “What’s so funny? Don’t tell me Rook caused a scene in the middle of the Mostro Lounge or something.”

“The fact that you even brought that up as a possibility is worrisome,” Azul sighed, pushing his glasses up. “But no, that is not the cause for concern--not today, at least.”

“What Azul means to say,” Jade piped up, “is that Rook-san is posing as competition for our Valentine’s Day business venture.”

“You... You are?” Trey raised an eyebrow at his Science Club companion. “I didn’t take you to be a secret business tycoon, Rook.”

“I am not,” the huntsman replied. His glare intensified. “It is these three that seek to tarnish the celebration of love by commercializing it.”

“Octavinelle is offering a number of Valentine’s Day adjacent services, including the option to purchase stuffed animals, candies, cards, balloons, and flowers... as well as a delivery service for said gifts,” Azul explained, frowning. “All for a slight fee, of course, to ensure that we make a healthy profit from bulk buying.”

“Okay. I’m following so far.”

“The issue is that Rook-san is attempting to do the very same--delivering heartfelt messages and letters--for free,” Azul continued. He spat out the word free as though it were diseased and maggot-infested. “This will significantly cut into our profit margins--”

“Roi de Fort, I cannot, in good faith, allow you to have a monopoly on Valentine’s Day,” Rook cut him off, abruptly standing up. “Love is something that cannot be bought and sold. You cannot put a price on love and manipulate who can access it and who cannot.”

“I beg to differ,” Azul snorted. He jerked his chin to Floyd. “Show him the data.”

“Rogerrr~” Floyd yanked out a fat folder from a bookshelf and chucked it onto the coffee table. Charts, graphs, and tables spilled out, denoting several sales figures.

“There are many who are willing to pay for a quality service,” Azul bragged, a smug smile briefly returning to his lips. “So I have called Rook-san here to request that he kindly quit playing pretend and leave the role of playing ‘messenger of love’ to the real professionals. That being said... I do not understand why you are here, Trey-san. I only recall asking for Rook-san’s presence.”

“I actually don’t know why I’m here either,” Trey confessed, shaking his head. “Rook just kind of dragged me along for the ride.” As he usually does.

“Chevalier des Roses is here today as my assistant! We did not come to yield to your demands, Roi de Fort--We have come... to challenge you!!”

“Th-There you go again using we...!!” Trey sputtered, his stomach sinking. “I never agreed to any of this, you know?”

“A challenge?” Azul’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You have my attention. What exactly do you propose?”

“Chevalier des Roses and myself, verses any two of your choosing,” Rook countered smoothly. “One day for both teams to deliver as many love messages as possible. Whichever side has the highest count at the end of the day will be the one that gets to claim the territory. The other side is to back down quietly.”

“Oh? That sounds rather... enticing. Quite enticing, indeed.” The octopus glanced to his two henchmen. “Jade. Floyd. I will leave this task in your capable hands. Our pride is on the line--don’t fail me now, boys.”

“As you wish.”

“Gotcha~”

“We shall reconvene at this time, tomorrow, to present our own records. There is to be no foul play,” Rook clarified, “I know of the tricks up your many sleeves, Roi de Fort.”

“No foul play. We shall increase our numbers through just means and legitimate sales--and I trust you two to keep an accurate count of your free deliveries,” Azul agreed, holding up his hands in an act of mock defeat. “Then...”

“The game is afoot!”

“It’s a deal.”

“Wait, wait--don’t I get a say in this?” Trey protested, rising from his seat. “You guys can’t just make a decision without...”

“It appears not,” Jade laughed lightly. “Why not relax and go along for the ride, Trey-san? You may just find it that much more entertaining.”

“Here you go! Thanks a ton for running Leona-san’s lunch to him for me, nishishishishi~” Ruggie forked over a post-it note with his scribbles and a few sandwiches in a plastic bag. “Gotta snag whatever free deals I can, right?”

“Our pleasure, Monsieur Dandelion!” Rook bowed with a flourish before accepting the items. (He was quick to turn around and hand the sandwiches to Trey, while securing the post-it note to one of his arrows with a crimson ribbon.) “We shall ensure these are delivered to Roi du Léon posthaste!”

“Glad to hear you’re doin’ something good for once, weirdo,” Ruggie giggled into his hand. “Alright, I’m off on another errand. See ya around.”

With a wave, the hyena vanished down the path.

“We’re making great progress, Trey-kun!” Rook slapped his companion on the back, causing the sandwiches to nearly spill out of Trey’s hands.

“Yeah... I guess? It does make people happy to save some money,” he shrugged, thinking back to Ruggie’s wide grin. “Price markups for the holidays are no joke.”

“Precisely why we mustn’t lose to Monsieur Mastermind and Monsieur Kills-for-Thrills. Come...!! To locate Roi du Léon!” With a flourish, Rook bounded away, leading the duo in the direction of the Botanical Garden.

“You’re really passionate about this, huh?” Trey tried at a smile. (He had given up resisting around 3 deliveries into the day.)

“Oui.” The huntsman’s green eyes glimmered like jewels. “Roi du Fort’s ambition is admirable, but... to hoard away love, that which is beautiful, for himself, and to charge a price to share it... It cannot be done.”

“I can’t say I agree with that.”

“Chevalier des Roses...!!” A hand flew to Rook’s chest, accompanying his gasp of horror. “A herald of love such as yourself should not spout such severe words!”

“First of all, I’m no herald. I’m just here because of an unfortunate series of events. Second of all, Azul’s right.” Trey held up the bag of sandwiches. “Lots of people make money from selling seasonal goods. My family’s bakery does the same--and then the day after, everything’s 50% off to get rid of the extra stock. You can put a price on love--or however you define ‘love’.”

Rook stopped, making a complete turn to face his peer. It’s true--he looked ridiculous in his winged getup--but with the sunshine streaming at him, the huntsman almost seemed like Cupid himself, cast in a golden glow.

“How do you define love, Trey-kun?”

“Intense affection,” he said, almost immediately. The dictionary definition. “Whether platonic or romantic. Why? Do you think of it as something different?”

“To me, love is simply... love!! It needs no further explanation,” Rook insisted with a laugh. He grasped Trey’s hands in his and tugged him along, beaming broadly--as though made of sunshine himself.

“That’s not a real definition.”

“Ah, but...” His eyes creased with delight. “Each person has their own way of defining ‘love’. Who is to say that another person can tell you your definition is valid or not? Who is to judge the value, the ‘price’, of your ‘love’, if not yourself?”

“That’s...” Trey’s voice trailed off. “Is that why you’re so into this?”

“Perhaps!” Rook chirped, looking to the blue sky overhead. “I believe that love is something worth sharing. It has no limits, no bounds. Love is all-powerful, and it has the ability to make this world of ours that much more beautiful.”

He led Trey down the path in a meandering pattern, with whimsical turns and twirls. Stopping to smell the roses--the flowers along the way. His laughter, like the tinkling of bells and birdsong upon the spring breeze.

This man.

He loved life--he loved love, and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

“... Rook, wait,” Trey called, tugging his partner to a stop.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not saying I suddenly buy your whole love spiel--I definitely don’t, but... maybe, just maybe, I understand your mindset a little more.” At last, a small smile blossomed on Trey’s face. “So, from me to you, here’s a free love message of my own: thanks for being you.”

“Chevalier des Roses...!!”

Rook spread his arms, on the verge of an embrace--but Trey held up a hand, blocking him.

“Come on. We’ve got mail to deliver--and time is working against us.”

Tick, tock.

A race against the clock.

“Oya, Rook-san, Trey-san... The both of you look to be quite exhausted. Are you, perhaps, still worn out from running about campus all of yesterday?” Azul’s expression was polite enough, but his tone was slightly mocking.

“We’re fine, thanks for asking,” Trey said, cutting in before Rook could respond. “You don’t need to worry about us, though. I’d say we’re both pretty fit--and it makes sense for you to not be tired, seeing as it was Jade and Floyd that did the deliveries for you.”

“I can see that even Heartslabyul’s vice-dorm leader has some bark of his own.” The octopus tilted his head toward Floyd, who passed along a sheet of paper with a number written on it. “Let’s get right to the point.”

“Let’s,” Rook agreed, producing his own sheet of paper from a pocket.

“On the count of three, we will each reveal our total count.”

“Oui. I trust that you have not manipulated the numbers?”

“I trust that you haven’t as well.”

“There is no need for us to! Love will lead us to victory!”

“Hmph. Enough chatter.”

“One!”

“Two...”

“THREE!!”

Silence fell upon the room as both teams stared at the other’s count.

“Mon dieu... It appears we have achieved the same number,” Rook gasped.

“What? How is this possible?!” Azul’s eyes rapidly shifted from his number to Rook’s, then to the twins. Something burned intensely in his gaze--rage? But he would not fully commit to acting on it, instead choosing to stew in the more subdued flavor of annoyance.

“My, what are the chances of such a thing happening? Fufufu. It seems the Fates are quite the fickle creatures.”

“Eeeeh? So what happens now? Cuz if there’s a tie, that means there’s no winner...”

“I think it’s pretty clear what this means. Azul can keep making his sales, and Rook can keep... well, doing Rook things. Neither will have complete control of the market, but it’s up to the sender who they want to use.” Trey adjusted his glasses, eyes flickering from the Octavinelle trio to the huntsman. “That’s fair, right?”

Azul made a face that implied he was dissatisfied--but despite that, he sighed and extended a hand.

“Fair enough. A truce, then, Rook-san?”

“C’est une trêve!” Rook clapped his hand against Azul’s and shook vigorously. The poor octopus was yanked this way and that--and both eels made no effort to save him.

“All’s well that ends well, ahaha... Now that that’s settled, maybe we can have some cupcakes to celebrate--though they may be a little stale since they’ve been out overnight.”

“Cupcakes sound delicious, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook slung an arm around his friend and pulled him close. “Allow me to pitch in to this feast! I shall provide a selection of fine game...!!”

“You really don’t need to contribute anything.”

“Oh, but I do! After all...” The huntsman threw Trey a wink. “It was your love message that pulled us into that tie.”

“It was? Somehow, I doubt that...”

“I told you before, did I not, Trey-kun? Love is all-powerful!!”

“Now you’re just saying strange things again!”

As the members of the Science Club continued to bicker with one another, the Octavinelle trio looked on--Azul quietly seething.

“... Jade. Floyd. Why was our total count not higher? I believe I had instructed you to buy gifts for one another to make a safety net for us.”

“Oya, did you say that?”

“Wipe that smug smile off your face. You know very well what you were told. So tell me--why did we not win by a landslide?”

“Fufufu. Well, if you must know, Floyd was short on pocket money. There were only so many purchases I could make by my lonesome, you see.”

“What? Floyd... What happened to all of your Madol?!”

“Mm? I was hungry, so I spend it on some peppermint candies from Umiuma-kun’s store~”

“Are you... Are you joking?”

“Ehehe, nope!”

“... I feel faint.”

“Would you like for me to brew you a revitalizing tea blend to drown your sorrows in?”

“Eeeeh, I don’t see what the big deal is. If I share some candy with you, will you cheer up, Azul?”

“To think we lost out on such high profit margins because of your sugar cravings, Floyd...!! Mmm... Mmmmmm... MOUUUUUUU YADAAAAAAAA!!!”

[twstoric]

all to blame

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: I was wondering for a request a continuation of the No One To Catch request that the anon sent you in how S/o and Jamil, Leona, and Vil relationship, interactions, or thoughts or feelings such like that after they rejected the s/o

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: jamil viper x gn!reader, leona kingscholar x gn!reader, vil schoenheit x gn!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: what’s the correct way to think when everything falls apart..?

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): none!

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: [Headcanon]

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: alshdakdfh you’re all thirsty for angst and i’m here to serve 💞(i suppose this can be read before “missed connections”)

𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙

Jamil Viper

Your relationship falls into.. a rather difficult situation. You’re not avoiding him per se—you just find it tricky to interact with him. As though how you normally are with him crumbled along with the rejection 

Jamil doesn’t seek out for you. He doesn’t try to and he doesn’t allow himself to think of trying to. He drowns himself in so much work Kalim had to force him to go to sleep at times

The two of you don’t go pass the occasional head nods when passing by each other in the halls—as if your trusted relationship dwindled down to mere acquaintances; nothing else to be salvaged from a broken piece

You find yourself filled with guilt everytime you spot Jamil alone. Habits are so difficult to kill—it takes everything in you to just turn away and walk the other direction

Jami’s face is carefully sculpted to ensure no emotion flickers in his eyes. He looks like he normally does on a daily basis but Kalim can tell how unfocused he is during work when Jamil spaces out too much and forgets things too often

Jamil wonders how things would be if he just did things correctly. Would he still be able to feel your comfort by his side or would your relationship also crumble whenever you fight? He can’t think of a scenario where you’re together with him; the canvas already ripped to shreds before it can become a picture

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is so difficult to deal with at times but not like this. He even skips meals at times that Ruggie had to resort to threats just to get three spoonfuls in him

The nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he’s done something wrong again—that he made the bad choice again plagues his mind that Leona’s sleep becomes restless; and you’re not there to comfort him

You’ve tried so many times to just.. go with it and act like nothing’s wrong but it’s hard when Leona looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out—you walk on too many eggshells around him that it's become too suffocating and you just.. stopped looking for him

You just need time, you always think when looking at him. Despite the conflict in your chest, you can’t help but worry for him. Does he.. blame himself for this..? That thought feels much worse than your rejection—you made him feel like that

Leona is good at avoiding things so when he sees you troubled just by his presence, he takes it upon himself to avoid you like the plague. Each time hiding away in a corner you won’t look in and further builds a guard around himself; the door you’ve pried open closes too tightly

Leona detaches from reality too often. He’s distracted by too many things and it all revolves around you. It feels difficult somehow to remember how you used to be when around him. Were you always so guarded as he is now? Despite the small desire to seek out for you, Leona doesn’t fall into such urges; he’ll do everything alone, like he always does

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is a person who sticks to habits through and through so he still seeks out for you and makes sure you receive new products for your routine. Back in Pomefiore, Rook has to remind him he’s mixing up his beauty steps

You try to come to terms with your feelings, smiling and thanking Vil whenever he gives you anything but seeing him so up close overwhelms you at times, you run the opposite direction when spotting him

You try so hard to kill the lingering feelings you have for him but emotions don’t work like that. It’s frustrating how the two of you still wish to stay by each other’s side but a rift as wide as this doesn’t close so simply. This fairytale you live in doesn’t have a happy ending 

Eventually, Vil’s doting drops until he doesn’t see you anymore. You don’t have to find the reason why—he’s busy with his schedule and you don’t understand why you feel both relieved and empty

Behind the scenes, Vil comes to terms that he’s the one taking on more jobs than necessary—anything to busy himself from the thoughts of you and how you’re doing. He stresses himself out more whenever he thinks of how he should’ve still been by your side; joking and chatting with you

It’s not obvious to the world, Vil makes sure every detail isn’t overlooked, but it’s so painfully obvious to you how he applied so much foundation under his eyes; indication of his sleepless nights. Like everyone else, all you can do is watch from a distance—unable to reach the distance Vil placed between you

[alma-berry]

Timeless Horizons

A sweet little Kitty fic, with a special surprise! This is a collaboration with the amazing @toka-sketch​, who made two beautiful illustrations for this story. 

Here’s a little sneak peek of Dru and Ty! You can see the full illustrations of them and Kit down at the bottom, as they are filled with spoilers!

Enjoy ❤

Dru is hiding.

Yes, it’s practically comical by now. She’d spent far too much time trying to avoid closing herself from her family and be more present, but today… she can’t help herself. The institute is just swamped with people, with preparations, with the shadow of old ghosts. The only ghost she actually wished to see was Livvy, who by all means should have been present for her brother’s engagement party. Instead, she dreads of meeting the more corporal ghosts of her past… plenty of whom was invited.

Hens, the hiding. Dru wasn’t stupid enough to do it inside the institute, where early guests and the battalion of her siblings were probably itching to make her fold napkins or whatever if any of them laid eyes on her. She was hiding outside the sanctuary, running her bare toes over the sandy concrete stairs that lead to a road connecting the highway.

In a mundane scenario, this wouldn’t have been the brightest choice for a hiding spot, but everyone uses portals these days anyway… it’s not like Magnus Bane would make a road trip out of it and drive all the way from New York to Los Angeles. Dru was sure he doesn’t even drive to the grocery store, not that he even needed to when he could just snap his fingers and voila!

Dru sighed in frustration, she would have loved to be able to summon up some Carmel corn right about now… hiding is dull work.

A loud sound of something like crackling grew closer to where she sat.

Dru sprang to her feet, not intending to be caught in a welcoming party of any sort. But when she started to head back into the institute, a single dark figure became visible right in front of her.

It was a man, climbing down off his motorcycle. There was something familiar about the fluid movement of his body that made her stop in her place and stare.

Long, strong thighs wrapped in tight dark gear stretched as they lifted themselves off the massive bike. Dru arched her eyebrows and let her gaze linger over the soft leather of the rider’s jacket with quiet appreciation, and latched onto the strands of fair hair that peaked out of the helmet that still lay on his head.

A ring of recognition went through her, and it wasn’t long before she connected the dots. This was Jace Herondale.

She ran towards him, avoiding the questions that his abrupt appearance brought up - where was Clary? How did he bring his motorcycle from New York? And most importantly, was it the one that could fly?

Before she could call for him, the man lifted his helmet and a curtain of long, golden curls fell on his neck. Dru’s breath caught in her throat as long, elegant fingers pushed back the tangle of hair and made way for two lucid blue eyes.  

This was not Jace Herondale. This, Dru realized with a sharp pang in her chest, was Kit.

“What,” her voice pitched, “the hell are you doing here?”

The shock made her words sharp and shrill. She blushed with sudden guilt, and it was a moment until she remembered she was more than entitled to be upset to see Kit Herondale.

Dru wasn’t supposed to be so surprised to see him. Jem, Tessa, and their cute little peanut, Mina, were already there, but when they said Kit would probably be joining them later, Dru assumed it was just an excuse for Kit to bail on them. Again. She was angry with him, for leaving them, for lying to her. And above all, for leaving Ty.

She cleared her throat and sharpened her gaze on his eye, but the look she found in them silenced her. Kit looked at her like he was afraid she’ll put a blade between his teeth. He also looked like he would have let her. Maybe that look, of a convicted criminal, was what made her soften her expression… and when she did, Kit visibly relaxed, but kept his distance from her all the same.

“I was invited,” Kit said. His voice was husky, hard, but his body was all discomfort. He looked at his boots, his hands twisting down his front like a complicated pretzel.

“I didn’t want to come, I know you probably don’t want to see me,” Dru could feel the acid, eating away the iron of his voice. “But Emma threatened to shave my head while I sleep if I missed this, so… yeah. I didn’t have much choice.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Said Dru.

Kit’s brows rose alarmingly high, his body closing in on itself. Dru knew animals from years of watching her older brother bringing all sorts of creatures inside the institute, so she had seen her fair share of cornered animals. Kit looked like one, so Dru schooled her face into a soft, neutral expression.

“Listen I’m, I’m sorry about-“ He was panting, fighting so hard to get the words out. From his expression, every syllable was a knife to the chest.

Dru silently took back every bad thought she had about Kit. If even after all of this time he reacted like this to the mere sight of her, he couldn’t have been so cold and indifferent like she convinced herself he must be. She hated the times when she caught herself doing the things she criticized most in others, like twisting the truth into an opinion. Like ignoring facts, knowledge, experience, and boxing them into a mold born of hurt.

Searching Kit’s half-shut eyes, Dru let herself remember the boy who lied to her only to keep her brother’s secret safe. The boy who lied only because he had to, not because he wanted to.  

“I’m sorry I ditched you and-“, Kit’s voice was small and his face was a patchwork of pale and blotchy. Dru couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s okay, Kit. I know why you left, it’s…” Dru swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“You do?” Kit paled. He looked honestly startled before his face settled into a frozen non-reaction.

“Yeah… I know about Livvy, and how it, umm, didn’t work out.”

Kit’s blank expression didn’t change, it was as empty as the desert’s sky. Something pulled up Dru’s stomach. She opened her mouth, but between one blink of an eye to another, Kit’s stone face washed under by a strange reservation, and he mumbled “Yeah, okay. Umm, thank you.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was scanning the institute behind them so intensely she wondered for a minute if someone was approaching, and then she realized - he must be thinking about Ty.

Kit radiated with coiled-up energy, tense and unforgiving. Dru wasn’t sure if he was afraid, expectant, or both.

“He’s not here.” She said in a small, soothing voice.

Kit stayed still, but Dru detected a slight tightness in his jaw. Was he disappointed? It must be confusing for him, being here after so long, in his hometown, in the first place he learned about being a Shadowhunter. He must be completely overwhelmed. She remembered how pained Kit seemed to be when he tried to apologize to her just a minute ago, and it was just her. He probably would’ve had a fit if it was Ty here in her place.

“He’s still at the Scholomance.” She said into the silence. “They have this super-secret, highly sensitive, just for elected few stupid mission.” Dru let out the exasperated mixture of pride and annoyance her brother’s stories usually made her feel, and although Kit has just nodded once, she was sure his lips had twitched upwards a tiny bit.

“So... a motorcycle, huh?” She smiled at him. “Very Herondale of you.”

Kit let out a full-fledged smirk at her comment, and Dru felt a familiar tap on her heart. This was the Kit she remembered, and the feeling made her push a little more. “I knew they called it Grand Theft Auto for a reason. I can’t wait to hear what else you managed to steal from the head of the New York institute.”

Her taunt was a downright success. Kit barked a laugh so genuine, Dru felt thirteen all over again. She would poke him some more if it made him this cheerful. “It’s not considered theft if it was given you freely... just don’t tell that to anyone. I don’t want people to think I lost my touch.”

Dru felt her eyes widen in surprise. “So it is Jace’s motorcycle? I knew it!”

“Yeah…” Kit rocked on his heels and glanced over at his bike lovingly. ”He gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”

That is one legendary gift, Dru concluded. She wouldn’t mind a cousin that gifts sexy automobiles, but the thought of Julian approving to let her near a thing like that was less likely than her becoming the youngest consul in Shadowhunters history.

“So... how did you get it here?” Dru asked. “It’s not exactly a short ride from New York or Devon.”

“Magnus,” Kit answered with a shrug. “He portaled us and then just... did that thing he does where he poofs things out of thin air, like chocolate-chip cookies or... tents. Magic is so...”

“Yeah.” Dru sighed in agreement, thinking about that caramel corn.

“So where were you?” They began to trail back towards the institute. She could feel Kit tensing up with every step. She didn’t know if it was just because it brought up memories, or if it was something else. She still debated herself whether to pry into that subject, while she pried into others.

“Umm... I just,” Kit’s fingers roamed through his long curls in a somewhat nervous gesture. “I thought I’d check out my dad’s old place. See if there was anything left.” His sky blue eyes seemed clouded with memories, and from the little she knew or remembered, they weren’t all good. “I didn’t really get a chance last time, after, umm,” Kit cleared his voice. “After he died.”

He sounded stiff, and a bit drained. She almost forgot he was an orphan, like her. Of course, she had Julian, which was an amazing brother-father, and Kit has Jem and Tessa. She didn’t know Johnny Rook at all, but from what she heard, the Carstairs were definitely an improvement.

“And did you find anything?” She asked, carefully.

Kit took a long moment to answer her. They were already at the sanctuary’s doors when he finally answered.

“No. There was nothing left.”

*

Kit’s appearance didn’t make her want to join the herd of party planners all of a sudden, and by the looks of him, Kit wasn’t up to a large reunion yet. So she offered him to go practice in the training room and was pleasantly surprised when he agreed.

Kit wasn’t a regular Shadowhunter, in the way that he didn’t have to endure rigorous training for his entire life the way Dru was. So when she picked up her favorite misericord and gotten into a fighting stance, she felt rather confident that she could give Kit a run for his money, even with all of his bulging muscles and chiseled arms.

She was absolutely, painfully, wrong.

Kit might not have been raised as a Shadowhunter, but whatever it was they were feeding him in Devon, it made him a beast in a fight. Well, maybe not so savage as it sounded, but he whooped her ass in a matter of seconds, flipping her on her back without breaking a sweat.

“Damn it, Herondale.” She gasped. “Aren’t you supposed to be inexperienced? Why are you so good at this?”

Kit’s face lit up like a campfire. “Am I?”

Dru blew out a whine. “Don’t get all modest on me, you’re ruining your brand.”

There was nothing modest in the grin Kit shot her back. He flashed his teeth wide, like a Cheshire cat, and ran up to climb the training room’s pitched roof until he balanced himself lightly on the highest of the rafters. He didn’t pause to look at her and just jumped gracefully, somersaulting in the air like he was a goddamned acrobat.

Right before he straightened up, his black shirt, which had a Deadpool logo, a fact that made her enormously happy, having it being another thing that looked like the Kit she knew, rose up a little and flashed the tip of a black pattern that was inked into his lower back. Dru wondered which rune it was, and who put it on him. It was such a strange location for a rune, not somewhere you can mark yourself. It must have been Jace, but that left the question of which rune Kit needed Jace to mark him with, that he couldn’t do himself?

“Was that sufficiently Herondale?���

She stared at him, completely dumbfounded until she caught herself and shut her gaping mouth. “I’d say so… yeah. You caught in quickly, haven’t you?”

Kit brushed the dust off his gear pants and shrugged.

“Jace. That man is… relentless.” Kit flopped on one of the training mats, making a loud poof when he did. “You know, he almost threw me off a tree once, when I refused to jump? Twisted my ankle three times. He said if I won’t make it, he’d disown me. Still not sure what I was supposed to be disowned off, his rusty collection in the armoire?”

He had a British lilt to his voice. The way he pronounced certain words, round and elongated, was something he didn’t used to do back then. It was charming, Dru thought. He was charming. A bit self-conscious, still, with the way he occasionally tugged down his shirt or bite his lower lip, scrunching it to one side.

Dru always thought that if she ever met Kit again, she’d let him have a piece of her mind. But he was so… Kit. Quiet, sarcastic, familiar. The things about him that felt foreign to her weren’t really foreign, but more of an enhancement of what he used to be. There was something bright about him, almost luminous. He wasn’t particularly happy at the moment, so she couldn’t blame it on his mood. But there was something in his features… they were fine, delicate. He was all muscle, but the way his hair fell on his skin, gold on gold, felt fragile, almost monochromatic.

Kit must have sensed her staring, and his eyes narrowed at her in a silent question.

She put the misericord back on its hanging and placed her hands over her hips.

“So, wanna sneak down to the beach?”

*

The infinite stretch of water in front of her was shining bright like there was a blanket of diamonds spread all across it. The sun was low, and every ray hugged the waves with bright whispers.

They weren’t so sneaky as she hoped. Giving Kit a sideways glance, she hid a smile, remembering how Emma crushed him in a tight embrace.

“You are so big, Kit! I haven’t seen you in a year and you became Godzilla. I do not approve, Jem. He’s not allowed to be stronger than me.”

Kit choked out a bruised laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that, Em. Just… lay off with the hugging, you’ll crack a rib if you won’t let go of me.”

Mina’s answering giggle was more than enough to break the two apart. She reached her arms for Kit and he tugged her to him without a second’s hesitation.

He reminded her of Jules so much, of how he used to hold Tavvy when he was her age, nuzzling his baby hair and murmuring soft words to his ear.

There was something so vulnerable about this Kit, but when he was with his baby sister, she could see how he simply glowed. The love that he felt for that little girl was so evident, so undeniable, it made Dru’s heart play a low, painful beat.

He seemed troubled now, his brows screwed together, as he stared into the sunbathed horizon.

“How is he?”

It was almost a whisper, but Dru heard.

“Alright.” She answered. “Tall. Taller than Julian.”

Kit’s shoulders hunched inwards, and the grip on his arms was so tight, she could see his knuckles whitening.

“But, how is he? With Livvy, and,” he choked on the last word. “With everything.”

Of course he wanted to know about that. She almost forgot he knew at all. Dru was so accustomed to having to keep the slight shifts of Ty’s attention to herself, knowing he must interact with Livvy in a way that was reserved to them alone, even after death.

“He’s okay, she’s… okay.” She said. “Not that I could really say for myself. He doesn’t say much about her. He’s better now, with me.”

Dru loved her brother fiercely. All of her siblings, but Ty… Ty was something else. She didn’t love him more, but she loved him differently. In him, she could sometimes see her Livvy, and wondered whether it’s a twin thing, or was it just her presence, revealed and kept only by him. They were better, now. There were things he only said to Dru, like the story of how they found his Lynx.

“Oh, he has a cat! Well, she’s not really a cat. She’s a Carpathian lynx. Scary as hell, doesn’t like anyone other than Ty.” Dru said with her nose screwed. She liked cats and didn’t appreciate Irene’s snobby attitude, even if she gave her the creeps.

Kit muffled a laugh. “Sounds like Church. That cat gives all other cats bad reputation, devil creature.”

Dru’s hands flew to her mouth. “Church! Awww I miss that furball!”

Kit snorted. “You can have him.”

Dru let herself look at Kit’s eyes. The smirk on his lips didn’t reach them.

“And you? How are you, Kit?”

Kit seemed startled by the question. For a second, the guard he kept up slid off him, and an endless sorrow spilled away from him like ink, staining his face with shadows. It didn’t linger, but it didn’t really keep away.

“I’m okay, Drusilla.” He put a calloused hand on her arm and squeezed. “So are you, it seems. I’m happy to see you again.”

The smile Dru gave him was wide, silently trying to convey that so was she.

She patted his arm and rose to her feet, dusting sand off her black velvet overalls, which were an unfortunate choice for the beach.

“I’ll head up to see if they need some last-minute help. Can’t pull the hostess trick for much longer, I suppose.”

Kit only nodded and fixed his gaze back onto the sinking sun.

*

When Dru was halfway to the institute’s doors, she noticed a tall, dark figure headed her way. Her breath caught in her chest, and she ran towards him, blessing the sand for muffling the sound of her feet.

It wasn’t long until she reached him, her eyes tingling with excitement and apprehension. Ty reached for her shoulder, grabbing hard. He didn’t even look at her, her face set ahead, on the black and gold figure sitting a breath from the water.

“Ty! When did you get here? I thought you weren’t coming, Jules and Em almost called this thing off!” She was jabbering, she knew it, but she wanted to distract Ty so she could wage his mood, see if he could handle Kit’s presence.

“The mission was over,” Ty answered. “I texted Julian a few hours ago. When did he get here?”

Dru stared at her brother until she realized he was talking about Kit.  “Oh! Umm, a few hours ago? We trained together a bit and then we just… hung out here. I was just heading back, do you…” she hesitated, “do you wanna come with me?”

Ty averted his gaze to his left hand, which was when Dru noticed the agitated movement.

“No.” He said. “Did he, umm,” Dru wasn’t used to seeing her brother so hesitant, one of his hands fluttering, one clutching her shoulder in an iron grip. “How is he?”

His tone, his words, the exact mirror to what Kit had asked her moments ago. Ty didn’t try to mask his feelings, Dru guessed he wasn’t aware enough of her presence to try.

So she weighed her words carefully, before answering. “Sad. I think he’s sad.”

Ty’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she thought it was a reaction to her words. But when she looked into his stormy eyes, she saw that he was looking down at the waters again. At Kit.

Dru turned to see Kit has risen to his feet. He was chucking his jacket away, unbuckling his pants. She’d never seen him swim when he was staying with them, but the salty smell of the ocean and the light breeze was intoxicating enough for her to understand the urge to plunge inside the ocean.

Kit reached for the hem of his shirt and started to lift his shirt up. Dru tensed, suddenly remembering the rune she glimpsed back at the training room. She straightened her back, readying her eyes to catch the mark from the large distance. But when Kit’s shirt rose up over his neck and his fair hair slid sideways, she could hear the air escaping her lungs, echoed in the stunned gasp that came from Ty’s direction.

Kit’s entire back was inked with an intricate pattern, looping from the nape of his neck, down his shoulder blades, and all the way to his lower back. A beautiful arrangement of vines, tracing the dips and ridges of his muscled back, the black, thin shapes draping his skin like skeleton feathers. It wasn’t a rune at all, it was a tattoo.

“Thorns.” She whispered, disbelief marking every syllable.

“Blackthorns.”

She turned back to look at her older brother and was startled to find a fierce smile blazing through his lips.

His hand left her shoulder, and he was walking slowly towards Kit, who had already lost his gear pants and was paddling through shallow waters.

Dru just stood there, her thoughts an incoherent tangle inside her head. She watched Ty making his way towards Kit, and found that her heart understood before her mind did. It was unexpected, to say the least, but it also wasn’t.

Memories washed over Dru as she watched Ty closing the distance between them, three years worth of distance, and felt the past washing over her at once. It was the way it was always supposed to be, the two of them together.

With one last glance towards the strange painting of past and future, Dru turned her back to the sunset and headed back home.

[zebrabaker]

Choosing Destiny; Part 2

Here ya go!!

“Um, hi” Raven said, “My name is Raven um- Queen, it’s nice to meet you.” holding out her hand.  

“My name is Epel, oh- Felmier, it’s nice to meet you too,” He shook her hand “Sorry if I’m awkward, this would normally be Vil’s job. He’s our dorm leader.”  

“Ah, I understand. I’m pretty awkward myself. So, any tips on how to survive here at Night’s Raven? I’m pretty new around here”  

“Well um- always avoid Azul. He’s the dorm head of Octavinelle, he loves to make these “deals” with people,” The boy spoke, leading Raven down the halls, “Oh, Also! steer clear of Riddle, he’s the dorm leader of Heartslaybul. There, the students have to follow a bunch of made up rules and if you don’t, Riddle gets mad!” and through twisting corridors, passing a cafe of sorts. They reached the dormitory, tall brick walls surrounded by thin pathways and evergreen trees. 

“This is the Pomefiore dorms. You and I are going to be on the top floor, since we’re first years. We share the two bathrooms with every other first year” Raising his hand, he swiped a key card against the keypad, opening the door “The bathroom cleaning is handled by students, but magic is used, so we don’t have to scrub anything, lazy pricks.”

Raven didn’t seem to hear Epel’s afterthought; her attention was on the lavish lounge they walked into, polished chandeliers hung from the ceiling, white rugs with floral embroidery. 

The chairs and tables filled to the brim with boys scattered about, studying, playing, talking, strangling each other wait what- 

“There you are Epel! Today is your day to help repair the- who is this?” A boy with long icy blonde hair had come storming over, beginning to berate Epel before he noticed her. 

He had flawless eyeliner. 

“Hello! I’m- Raven Queen. It’s nice to meet you!” The boy stopped and stared at her for a moment. “I was placed here in Pomefiore, the mirror thingy said that it was because I was the Evil Queen’s daughter” 

“Deep apologies, did you just say, ‘Evil Queen’s daughter’?” He asked. 

“Er, yup.” Raven awkwardly rubbed her neck, heat crawling. “Apparently you guys call her the ‘beautiful queen’ here? Sorry, I’m new to Twisted Wonderland, I’m from Ever After” looking over her shoulder, she could see the students staring at her. The boy stood, gaping at her before being interrupted by Rook Hunt, who had bounded to them. 

“Mademoiselle! It’s wonderful to see you again! How is your ankle?” 

“I’m fine now, thanks for asking. I’m actually gonna be a new student, I start classes tomorrow... I think so anyway. The headmaster didn’t make it clear, he’s strange. Not as bad as Giles, but still pretty hard to understand.” Raven giggled, and the three boys couldn’t help but blush, she sounded like bells. 

“Come on now, there should be an empty dorm on our floor.” Epel said, gently grabbing Raven’s hand, tugging her towards the staircase. 

“Tch! Fool.” Vil scoffed. “This girl is the descendant of the Beautiful Queen; she can not just stay in a common dorm!” 

“That is true, but where else should she stay, Vil? Pomefiore is quite packed.” Rook pointed out. 

“There are two rooms for dorm leaders, I use the second as a staging room for my photos, Princess Raven-” 

“Just Raven is fine” 

“can stay there, I would never put the daughter of the Beautiful Queen in some commoners dorm!” Epel swallowed a scowl.

“If you could follow me, Princess, I can show you where you shall be staying” He turned on his heel at the other boys, he clapped getting everyone’s attention “Louis, Benard, Trachov-” they snapped off their seats and quickly came to Vil’s side. 

“-Rook and Epel, you all will help move my equipment.” Raven was frozen for a moment, as the three boys from the lounge stood before her and bowed. Her greetings evaporated in her mouth.  

“It is a delight to be in your presence” The first boy said.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” 

“Sorry to be blunt, but you’re beautiful.” The second smiled in a charming way. 

“Oh! Uh- thank you.”  

“It’s an honor to have you in our dorm.” The third boy pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. 

“It’s great to be here.” Raven quickly nodded back before following the group of boys up the stairs. She shied away from the curious stares of the other boys in the common room, how they had all perked when Vil had snapped at Epel, hungry for drama.  

The room was much larger than expected, with a giant four-poster bed in the center left, while the far wall held a desk, a massive vanity, and a small dresser. On the right was a walk-in closet, and what looked like a private bathroom. Next to the door was a large marble fireplace, with a loveseat in front of it. It was a room that screamed ‘Vil was here!’. 

Scattered around the room was photography equipment and make-up brushes, and many, many make-up palettes. Raven gasped a bit, in awe of the view through the windows. She could see over the woods for miles, all the way to the horizon.

“I apologize if it isn’t up to your standards, Princess Queen.” Vil spoke, bowing low at the waist 

“Please, just, call me Raven. Where I’m from I’m not exactly considered noble.” 

Raven laughed a little at the self-deprecating joke, leaving the boys stunned. 

“Still, you are a direct descendant of the Beautiful Queen! You ought to be admired, revered even!” Vil was walking around, tidying up the room as he went, piling make-up palettes and brushes and styling tools into Rook’s arms who quickly shoved it to one of the other boys. 

“Tell that to the kids at Ever After.” Raven scoffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, it was comfy, too much lace though. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here? Is there, like, a village square or a mall or something?”  

“Could you sit up Miss Raven?” The first boy from earlier said.

“We’re trying to remove the sheets.” The second explained. Raven turned to the two students. 

“Oh really, no it’s fine!” 

“I asked them to,” Vil responded, noticing her dislike for lace. “continue as you were, please” he muttered something to the boy next to him. 

“So anyways... if I was at home, I would be getting ready for Thronecoming, decorating my float for the parade, getting my dress tailored for the party Briar would be throwing…I really hope Maddie is okay.” she said, sitting back down on the newly changed covers. 

“Pri- Raven, what’s a ‘Thronecoming’?” Epel asked, placing a light outside for someone else. 

“Thronecoming is a huge parade held every year a week after Legacy Day. Each student gets to decorate a float for a parade, and that night we have a huge party. It’s the kick-off of the school year.” 

“And ‘Legacy Day’?” Rook asked, still holding a teetering pile of beauty supplies, as the third boy struggled with the same task. 

“That’s…complicated.” Raven sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “See, Ever After High is a school hex-clusively for the children of fairy tale beings, from prince charmings to wicked witches.” Everyone in the room was now listening, a few passer-by's stopping to investigate. “Every student, in their second year, signs what we call ‘The Storybook of Legends’. Once you sign, you’re magically fated to follow the path of your ancestors in life, be it eating a poison apple or sleeping a hundred years” 

‘how dreadful’ 

‘eating a poisoned apple doesn’t sound bad, I’ve had quite a few’ 

“Louis, mind sharing your thoughts? You look distracted” 

“Oh no, not at all. Deepest apologies for my offence, Princess” 

“Really- it’s fine,” Raven sighed, I'm never gonna get used to this “Princess” spiel. 

“My mother’s line is that of the Evil Queen from Snow White’s tale. A lot of people think that since it’s my supposed to be my destiny to poison my best friend and marry this- guy! He's so- old. But…I didn’t sign. The complicated part is, the Headmaster of Ever After High, Headmaster Grimm, told me that if I didn’t sign the book, everyone involved in the Snow White story would disappear from existence.” 

She stood up, furious. 

“And, well, I obviously didn’t!” Raven puffed out her cheeks, before hissing out air like a leaking tire. 

“That’s…a lot to put on a sixteen-year-old.” Epel muttered. 

“Fourteen.” 

“What was that, Raven?” Rook asked. 

“I’m fourteen. My birthday was a few days before school started. I was castle-schooled for most of my life, so I got to skip two grades. All the make-up and heels makes me look older.” Rook shot Epel a bewildered look. This girl was fourteen, and had almost been married to a man in his- what? fifties? That was…repulsive! 

“Well, you’re safe here with us, Raven!” Rook chirped, everyone followed. 

“You can expect nothing less from us!” 

“Trachov, the boxes.” Vil snapped. 

“Apologies, Vil.” So, he was Trachov, the last one is Benard then.

���Indeed. One so lovely as you are, deserves only gold! After all, beauty holds power.” Vil sniffed, checking his eye makeup in the vanity (it was flawless, as always). 

“Thanks, but I’m really nothing special” Raven blustered, cheeks painted red. 

“Nonsense!” Vil snapped. “You have a fair complexion, a flawless facial structure, full lips that look to be naturally red, unique coloured, large eyes, and you’re petite enough to be considered cute.” Raven looked at the other students, they seemed to agree “Add all that together and you truly look like a doll, Raven dear. Now, we need to introduce you to the rest of Pomefiore, and let them ask their questions so that they keep their hands off you tomorrow, you would not want them intruding in your studies”. 

Benard- she thinks that’s right-  arrived back in the room with a plate of cookies, he handed them over to Vil before leaning against the wall with Louis and Trachov. 

“Remember to restrain yourself, usually I only allow confection sparingly but, I can make an exception for you” 

Raven nodded and munched into them, it was simple but very tasty. 

“Thank you, Benard- Oh they left” 

“Vil asked them to get the Pomefiore students,” Raven jumped at the presence of Epel next to her, then she noticed him eyeing her plate of cookies. 

“You can have them.” 

“Really?!” 

“Epel, the noise” Epel turned to Rook with a look, accepting Raven’s plate. 

“And just so you know, Benard’s his last name, same with the other two” 

Just when it seemed to get quiet, Raven saw the three who left sprint past the door screaming all sorts of profanity and laughing their lungs out. 

“Quiet down out there!” Vil snatched up his jacket and chased after the boys. 

Then, it dawned on Raven. they treated her differently, was going to be Ever After High all over again? small tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. 

“Oh mademoiselle,” Rook saddled to her side, cupping her cheeks, “There is no need for tears.” Epel sat down by her side. 

“Pomefiore can sometimes be hectic, so don’t worry.” The shorter boy reassured her.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just-” She sniffled a little, trying to stay calm. “I just want to be normal, treated normally.” 

“If that is what you want,” They gasped, Vil was already back. “then tell them. You are a part of us too” He joined Raven, Epel moving out of the way, “You have what it takes, and you will do what it takes” They stood up, Raven’s eyes glinted. 

“Why else are you here?” a small hug, among the four of them. 

“Rook, Epel, go down with everyone else. I need to touch up Raven’s makeup. Your mascara is smeared, dear.” Rook and Epel left, and Vil guided Raven to sit in front of the vanity. From his pockets he withdrew a small pack of makeup wipes and gently stripped off her old mascara, before having her close her eyes and applying a new coat. 

“There we are. Now, if you’ll follow me, Raven. Our audience awaits!” Vil clapped with a dramatic flourish, and Raven couldn’t help but giggle. Maybe being stuck here wouldn’t be so bad after all… in fact, it was going to be great. 

@sayuricorner @keiwahikari

[lots-of-little-pink-clouds]

Julian’s Erotic Fanfiction

Summary: A oneshot featuring Julian's erotic fanfic about him and the courier that he almost published. With commentary. And smut.

Pairings: Malkavian Courier / Julian Sim

Characters: Lark (Courier), Julian Sim, Lark’s sire “The Rook”

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28687191

January 10th 2001

Tucson by Night (Working Title)

Written by: Julian Sim {JS}.

Comments by: Lark [L].

As stars appear on the skyline, the people of Tucson, Arizona return to their homes after a long day of work. Taking their place are the creatures of the night, the vampires who hide in sewers and crypts to escape the burning rays of the sun. Together, they flock towards their sacred Elysium to pay tribute to their Prince. [A guillotine awaits Martin Luther and his 95 Theses] {Lmao he's welcome to try}

This year marked the Prince's 200th anniversary ruling over the city of Tucson. [Has he ruled for 200 years?] {Idk, I just needed a number} [Lies are lies] {And here I thought you didn't want anything to do with this :>} [Lights are better when they're brighter, and dawn is the brightest light] {Ah, go big or go home? I can respect that} In his honor, his childer organized a masquerade ball [Cliché] {Everyone loves a bit of mystery ;)}, a mockery of the very Masquerade that vampires implement to interact with their day walking prey.

Amidst the rabble, the beautiful, and the monstrous stands the unassumingly handsome [Mirrors encourage vanity] Child of Haqim, Julian Sim. [The truth brings vultures to roost] {It's the first draft, I'll change it later!} Dressed in a dapper suit, a mask of ivory adorns his face. He scans the ballroom crowd of other masked partygoers in search of one particular woman.

It's not too long before he spots her. She wears a mask decorated with golden feathers [A golden crown?] {Only the best for my deuteragonist!}. More feathers are braided into her long dark hair. Her blue dress brushes the floor as she flutters throughout the ballroom by her sire's side. Julian follows discreetly after them, desperate to catch her gaze. [You? Desperate?] {Gotta have some drama somewhere ^^} She glances back and sees him, and a small grin appears on her lips. She turns away before her sire can see, as if he was never there. [I am the dragon, not Aurora] {Oh I know ;) But I need to keep it PG for "the children"}

Julian pauses by the punch bowl filled with blood and watches as his lover's sire is called away by a business partner. His beautiful bird [Really?] {What? You really are beautiful :)} [That's not the point] drifts across the room to him.

"You're looking radiant tonight," Julian greets.

"And who might you be, good sir?" she asks, lips curling into a secretive smile. [What is this dialogue?] {It's a "period appropriate piece!" I wanted to be authentic!} [You shot classy at dawn and it turned to dust]

"A Child of Haqim stands before you, fair maiden! Never have I seen a sight as lovely as you. [Dawn awaits you, son of Haqim] {Fine, fine, I'll change it :/} Might I have your name?"

"What is a name but a song whispered out of tune?"

"But an enchanting song even so. Might I have your name?"

"I am a singer of songs, a messenger of the dawn," she replies.

"A name for a name then?" Julian steps closer and grasps her hand in his. "You may call me Julian."

"And I am but a lark." She curtsies.

Julian presses a kiss to the back of her hand. "Would you share a dance with me, lovely Lark?"

"Will you teach me to fly, Julian, Child of Haqim?" [Maggot-inducing] {I resent that}

Julian smiles and pulls her onto the dance floor.

"Flying is one of my specialties." [You are no bird] {I resent that too}

The two twirl across the ballroom. The music swells and Julian grabs his lark by the waist, lifting her high into the air. She giggles as she comes back down. He holds her close and presses his lips to her ear.

"Shall we adjourn, my fair lady?"

"How would you have me?"

"Under the moonlight." His nose brushes her ear. "By the light of the stars." He kisses the side of her neck. "Away from prying eyes." He opens his mouth and lets his fangs lightly drag against her throat. [Spicy] {Lol} She pries away from him until only their hands touch and guides him out of the ballroom.

The couple abscond to the deepest depths of the Prince's Elysium, away from the guests who might interrupt. [Wait, what ever happened to PG?] {Everyone's a critic, you especially :P} Hand-in-hand, mouth-to-mouth, they kiss to the sound of scurrying rats and the muffled music above. Julian pushes her against the wall, tugging her head back. He lays kisses on her smooth skin. He is the conductor of her orchestra. Her moans form a symphony, the sweetest of melodies to ever reach his ears, and he longs to hear what other sounds she can make.

He slides a hand down her body to pull up the skirt of her dress. She gasps, hands clutching his suit. She tugs on it, silently begging him to take it off. Julian shrugs the jacket off and lets it fall to the floor, returning to mouthing at her throat. Her hands entangle themselves in his hair as he reaches under her skirt. And pauses.

"No underwear?" He asks.

She presses herself against his hand. He feels her wicked grin as she pecks his cheek. "A little bird told me you would come, wayward son of Haqim. In more ways than one."

He chuckles and kisses her again. Pressing a finger into her warm heat, she moans loud and unabashed.

"Such a beautiful song you sing, pretty bird," Julian croons. He crooks his finger and watches her revel in the pleasure he's providing. He pulls the front of her dress down and mouths at her exposed breasts. She shudders and shakes and gasps. He could listen to her forever.

If he could free her from her sire, eternity with her would be possible.

She grasps his cheeks and turns his face to look at her.

"I want you," she whispers, and her voice is tinkling bells and windchimes in an autumn breeze and how could he ever say no to that?

Julian kisses her without restraint. They work together to divest him of his pants and then they're one, moving in tandem. Two desperate lovers, divided by loyalty and circumstance, driving each other towards a future where they can be together. They hold tight as they race towards completion, over the edge and into bliss. And they hold each other ever after, dreaming of nights ever lasting.

…

…

…

[Do you mean it?]

{Hmm?}

[The rook has three eyes. He is keen and shrewd.]

{I can find a way to break the Blood Bond, if that's what you're asking.}

[How?]

{An opportunity. You can't do it for... Well, for obvious reasons. But get him to a specific place at a specific time... And of course, I'll need time to make it.}

[It won't work.]

{Not completely, no. But you'll be able to get out of Tucson. Get far away, so the Bond will weaken. Then, you just need to stay away. If we're lucky, he'll die before he can find you and re-establish it.}

[He wants a full set.]

{A full set?}

[Blue jays sing of truth. He will be blue on blue on blue. A vicious creature. But he is loyal, that blue jay. The rook was also a twin.]

{Huh, the more you know.}

[But not now. It's not time yet. Something is coming, son of Haqim. You will get your opportunity.]

{Any last minute hints?}

[Blue blood spills in the sand. An eagle steals a crown and flies east. A blue jay awakens from slumber when angels set a tower aflame.]

{… Yeah, I'll need some time to make any sense of that. Nothing's ever easy with you Malkavians... Either way, I'll keep an eye out. Oh, and Lark? You owe me for this. Big time.}

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and Her Gunn (Part 115 2Xs2) "True Intentions"

@crystalbaby12 @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @5sosfam1dlover @rosefilledhearts-blog

"I've got different colored sticky tabs for the different spaces." Luna announces as she enters her storage unit.

Jackie and Sam are there with The Movers. Luna goes through picking out which pieces will go to The Brownstone, her Studio Apartment and the Recording Studio she just bought. She had signed the closing paperwork electronically with Monica and Ben earlier this week on the latter properties. The Apartment is ready but the Recording Studio needs a contractor for the equipment installation. Jackie being on top of that, they start the gutting process next week. Everything else is being moved out today.

"Whoah!!! Be carful with that!!" Sam cries out in concern as she watches The Movers roughly handle an original, stretched Mapplethorpe.

"What the FUUUUUCK." Luna groans as she rubs her forehead. "Why wasn't that crated?" She asks no one in particular as her phone rings. "Hello?" She sighs into the receiver.

It's Kylie. Luna's therapist. Calling because it's 2P on every other Thursday. Luna excuses herself, trusting Sam and Jackie while she finds an empty stairwell.

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"It's just conflicting, Ky... " Luna let's out with an annoyed sigh and a cloud of smoke from her pen while playing with Colson's padlock around her neck.

She's been on the phone with Kylie for the last 45mins talking about everything and anything. Colson, Justin, trust, feeling over exposed, setting up the lable. Her therapist advising her to breathe as always and to make a Pros and Cons list regarding marrying Colson. Knowing there is no option, Luna humors her with an Okay before they get off the phone.

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"How do we look?" Luna asks after coming back in from the stairwell.

"Good." Jackie begins to reassure her. "Everything you want is loaded into the two trucks. I'm gonna ride to The Brownstone and Sam to The Apartment... Uhm, Lee said you're good to go at Electric Lady Land around 7P... "

"And I talked to Mikey, he'll be there no problem." Sam chimes in.

"You guys are fucking AWESOME. Thank you." Luna pulls them in for a three way hug. "I gotta go meet Petey." She informs them once they release. "You guys good without me?" She asks.

Both women nod. Giving promises of phones calls if there's any problems as Luna heads back towards the stairwell; popping another XR and two 30s during her descent. It shouldn't be THAT hard... They're only responsible for moving half of her life.

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Colson gets in touch with The Boys and heads to Amsterdam Billiards for pool and beers. Popping his own handful of Adderall along the way. Stepping out of the cab, Mod greets him with an excited hug.

"What up, Kid!" He squeezes his unhappy friend. "Aww, come on... Don't be like that, you know Luna'll come around. She always does." Mod tells him with a slap on the back as they walk inside.

Benny, Baze, AJ, Rook and Slim have a table racked up. Mod grabs more beers as Colson joins them. They're all talking about the GMA performance. Agreeing it was killer. While Rook also can't stop talking about Jackie.

"Good luck with that, Rookie. I don't think Loons is doing any of us any favors right now." Colson sighs as he leans down to break.

"Shit. Speak for yourself, that's my homie, Dawg." Rook disagrees with him as he swigs his beer.

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Luna meets Pete on The Delancey's rooftop bar. He's already sat when she walks in. Noticing her, he stands for them to hug Hello. His normal excitement clearly missing as she orders a drink.

"I heard you and Colson got into it after I left." Luna cuts right to the core.

"Yeah. He wants to blame me for him running his mouth." Pete starts to complain to Luna's silence. "Like I started all this shit."

"You kinda did... I love you Petey but whether I cheated on Colson or Justin, like I told you last night, it's none of your business. My betrayal didn't land on you or even Colson so really the two of you are fighting over some shit that doesn't even concern you. It's that simple." Luna explains.

"So you did cheat on Beebs?" Pete asks her, ignoring everything else she had said.

"Yeah, Petey. I told you last night that I had an affair. I'm not proud of it but it happened." Luna shrugs as she fights back tears of guilt.

"Who was it?" He pries.

"What? No. You don't get to ask questions like that... Like, I don't understand why this feels like you're mad at me for some reason. I didn't do ANYTHING to you." Luna furrows her eyebrows at him as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Yeah but you did do something to my friend that he never did to you." Pete looks into his beer and then up at Luna.

"You didn't know Justin and I's relationship as well as you think you did. Just like you don't know nearly as much about me and Colson as you think you may. My turn? Your judgmental attitude towards me is really disappointing and if you're so worried about your FRIENDS than go make up with the one that's still in town. I'm outta here though." Luna swallows the rest of her Old Fashioned with two gulps. "Hit me up when you're done being a dick." She calls over her shoulder as she walks out of the bar.

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Mike's sitting alone outside of Electric Lady Land when Luna arrives. Lighting a cigarette, he looks up. Green eyes taking her in as he stands to grab her guitar case from her.

"What's goin' on, Luna?" He asks as he sits back down and takes a drag from his Marlboro.

Luna fishes around in her bag for her joint box and flask. Finding them both, she takes a swig before offering it over to his acceptance. Lighting a joint, she sighs out a cloud of smoke as they sit in silence. Sometimes no talking is good.

After a while Sam shows up. The three of them head inside to meet up with Lee. Thanking him, he tells Luna no one was even booked as they begin to set up in Studio A.

Realizing they need producers, Luna calls Slim. Then Snaps Colson. Setting her bag on the table, she pulls out supplies. Weed, whiskey, cigarettes and more weed. Popping another few 30s before laying her guitar back onto her body.

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"Yeah! No problem, we'll be down there ASAP." Slim says into his phone. "That was LunaTic, she wants us to come produce the track." He says excitedly to Baze once he hangs up. "Dawg! We gonna make some music in Jimi Hendrix's fucking spot, Yo!!" He exclaims as they slap hands across the pool table.

Colson's just about to put his two sense in when his phone goes off. Digging in his pocket, it's not the message he was expecting. It's a Snap from Luna.

"If I want? What kind of fucking shit is that?" He scoffs in his mind. "Why's she so fucking hot even while she's being such a fucking a bitch." He finds himself becoming annoyed with how much he wants her and her resistance towards him. He shoves his phone back in his pocket without responding.

The Boys are getting ready to head to  Greenwich Village when Colson's phone goes off again. It's the message he's been waiting for. Telling The Boys he'll meet up with them later, he's out the door before they pay the tab.

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Luna's leaned towards Mike in the booth when Colson walks in. He can't hear them but he doesn't like that he can see him making her laugh. Mike's a little to comfortable in his interactions with Luna in Colson's personal opinion. Luna catches the back of his blonde hair and significant tattoo as she looks up, watching as he walks out of the room. He quickly heads down the hall towards the bathroom, promptly pulling out the quarter ounce of cocaine he'd grabbed from Nipple.

Colson walks back into the studio just as Luna, Sam and Mike begin recording. Sitting with Slim and Baze at the soundboard, he grabs a pair of headphones and slips them on. Listening and watching intently. Luna can feel his eyes burning straight into her soul.

Nailing it on the third full take, they leave it alone. Luna doesn't want it mixed. Layered, yes but not mixed. She's always preferred the gritty, garage rock sound over studio polish any day. Coming out of the booth, she approaches Colson as he stands up.

"You came." She purrs with a drunken slur to her sentence as she wraps her arms around his waist.

"I go where you go, Kitten. Always." He promises her before lifting her chin to kiss her deeply; enjoying their first real kiss of the day but opening his eyes half way through to stare down Mike from around the side of the top of her head.

Hanging out afterwards, they celebrate with beers and lines. Luna declining as everyone else partakes in Colson's party favor. Having done enough other drugs all day, she's still buzzing from earlier so she's solid without it. Preferring to burn and drink instead.

"What do you have recorded so far?" Mike asks Luna about her upcoming album.

"I think maybe three out of an ambitious twenty!" Luna laughs softly at herself.

"I'm down to help with anything you need." Mike offers as he passes her a joint.

"Thanks... I'm probably gonna take you up on that." Luna answers. "I don't really have a band right now and we... "

"That's why you got us." Rook interrupts her while plunking down on the couch beside her and tossing an arm around her shoulders; he doesn't like the way Mike has been hanging around Luna either.

"That I do." Luna giggles as she kisses his cheek.

"We backed her on Nightmare and I produced Outlaw." Rook declares proudly while studying to the musician.

"That's cool, Little Man." Mike responds unfazed by Rook as he stands up. "Luna, you got my number if you wanna use it for anything. I gotta run though." He smirks at Rook as he leans down to peck her cheek.

"You want me to walk you out?" She offers.

"Nah, I'm good... I'll catch you around though." Mike smiles at her before heading for the door.

Watching the entire interaction, Colson follows behind him. Calling out his name, he catches him in the hallway right at the front door. Mike turns around unamused.

"You know we're engaged, right?" Colson questions him with an irritated tone.

"Yeah... And?" Mike cuts back while cocking his lip.

"AND? And I don't like the way you fucking act around her so back the fuck up." Colson snaps at him.

"Gonna be kinda hard since it seems that SHE wants ME as her new bassists." Mike laughs at him while slapping him on the shoulder.

"Gonna be kinda hard to play ANYTHING when I snap your fucking fingers." Colson warns him as he shoves Mike up against the wall; Mike's 6'2 so there's not much of a height difference between them.

"Try it, My Man." Mike chuckles, unimpressed by Colson's threat.

"You know what, you're right... " Colson let's him off of the wall. "Maybe I overreacted." He says as he opens the door for Mike and he begins to walk through. "Or maybe I FUCKING didn't!" Colson growls as he grabs Mike's right hand and jerks him back.

Slamming it with the door, in between the frame. One. Two. Three. Four times. Most likely breaking it.

"YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!" Mike screams as he grasps his mangled hand.

"You can walk away right now or you can crawl away with two broken legs also." Colson advises as he props the door open again.

"You're gonna FUCKING regret this." Mike snarls to Colson's emotionless stare as he holds his hand and turns to leave. "That was a bad fucking move, My Man." He calls out from the sidewalk.

"Maybe it was... Maybe it wasn't... But DAMN if it didn't feel good." Colson walks back to the studio with a pep in his step for the first time today; having released a majority of his stress. "I never liked that motherfucker anyway." He thinks as he opens the door, looking to locate only Luna. Knowing in the back of his mind that her and Sam are gonna probably fuck him up for what he just did but he doesn't care. Fuck that Dude, he doesn't want him around Luna regardless of the cost.

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"There's stuff!!" Rook exclaims pointing at the large, round arial rug, crates and boxes in The Living Room as they return to The Brownstone. Everyone but Luna is zooted, even Sam. "Yo!!" Check out these fucking chairs!" Rook continues to holler, now from The Study.

It's also stacked with boxes of Luna's books and vinyls. Having one wall with floor to ceiling bookshelves, she's looking forward to using them. Walking in, she finds Rook lounging on one of the two highback, purple velvet chairs she owns along with the exposed Mapplethorpe.

"What's up with that picture?" Rook asks as he accepts a beer from Luna.

"My grandfather shot it." She tells him proudly as they clink their beers together.

"It's really cool. Like the two flowers are reaching out for each other. Like death grasping for life." He says thoughtfully.

"I think that's what he was going for." Luna smiles to herself, admiring the exceptional piece.

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Luna makes her way upstairs to the shower. Turning Fletcher on, she lights up a joint as she cuts up another two 30s and swallows two Xanax bars. It's been a long day, she hasn't been to sleep in almost 48hrs and she's incredibly shaky from all the Adderall. Wanting to simply wash everything away and knock the fuck out.

"Hey... " Colson's sitting on the bed when she comes out of the bathroom.

"Hi." She answers as she stops and looks at him with a sigh.

"Please come're, Luna." He asks for her as he reaches his arms out yet again.

This time she does. Sitting on his lap in her towel, she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her head into her spot in the crook of his neck. Resting his chin on her head, Colson and Luna hold each other silently besides his constant sniffling.

"Loons, I'm sorry." Colson speaks first. "I shouldn't... "

"Please. I'm SO tired." Luna whines. "But, Colson, it's not the secret that you told. I would've told Justin had he cared to notice or ask. It's that you told A secret because I've got bigger ones than that. You have no idea." She sighs sadly.

"Like what, Kitty?" Colson pries with concern.

"Seriously, I am so fucking tired, Col. Can I please just sleep. I promise I'll tell you everything." She pleads with him as the Xanax begins to take over.

"Okay... " Colson agrees as he kisses her forehead. "Lay with you?" He asks.

"There's no way you can lay down right now... Just come to bed eventually, please." Luna requests.

"Yeah." He promises "I love you." He tells her before taking her face in his hands and kissing her passionately.

"I love you too." She kisses him lightly on the lips again once they release before crawling off of his lap.

Dropping her towel, Luna climbs into their bed. Wrapping herself in the warm, custom blanket, she snuggles into the pillow with heavy exhaustion. Colson leans down and kisses her cheek. Dropping another I love you into her ear as she mumbles the same. She's out before he closes the door.

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Colson, Sam, Baze, Rook, AJ, Benny, Mod and Slim are downstairs for the next few hours. Jamming, talking uncontrollably and bouncing in and out off the front stoop to smoke cigarettes as they blow through the bag of coke. 

The house is still bare so they decide it's a good idea to start setting Luna's books up on the shelves. They're all high as fuck, doing whatever they want. Sam and Mod begin trying to organize her vast collection but are making no sense. Baze gets caught up in a hardback limited edition entitled The Great Big Book of Rock and Roll. Slim and Colson are in awe when they open a box of her records. Sitting on the floor, they start going through them like little kids in a candy store. Rook's really flying and gets bored quickly, heading into The Living Room to beat his energy out on his new drum kit. Benny and AJ are the only chill ones as always. Maxed out in the purple chairs, they continuesly puff on and pass blunts to the other wackos. Luna sleeping through it all.

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Sam and Colson find themselves out on the stoop alone. Their normal awkward silence is gone as cocaine fuels their conversation. Talking all things Luna. This is one of the reasons Sam barely hits the slopes, she talks too fucking much when she's on 'em.

"You can't be mad at Pete." She offers up her opinion. "Luna's like another little sister to him." She tries to explain.

"Yeah but he's supposed to be my bestfriend." Colson disagrees.

"I get that... So can't you understand the fucked up spot you put him in between the two of you?" Sam counters as she takes a drag off of her Camel.

"Yeah... I think he thought she cheated on me... " Colson trails.

"Look, he had a really hard time with Justin and Luna's relationship too. We both did. Justin would disappear and we'd be looking for him with Luna. Sometimes we'd find him sometimes we wouldn't. Sometimes he'd call Pete, me or Izak on his own. Pete and Izak would hide him... It was fucked up." Sam shakes get head in dismay as her own heart breaks. "Justin would get clean, be good for a minute but then relapse all over again and she'd be a fucking mess. If anyone tried to paint their relationship as picture perfect to you than they didn't truly know them. Luna and Justin had a lot of problems." Sam admits to one of the first people ever; Colson seeming to have that effect on people.

"She doesn't really talk about him... I mean a little but I can tell it's restrained." He sighs.

"There's my Sammy Bam Bam!" Baze interrupts them with a grin as he opens the door.

"Make up with Pete." Sam pats Colson on the shoulder as she stands up to head inside with her boyfriend.

The Cocaine Cowboys eventually round their night out. Sam following Baze to his room as Rook, AJ, Benny, and Slim head to theirs. Mod being super grateful for the spare bedroom he slept in last night. Colson making his way up to a still sleeping Luna.

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Stripping his clothes, Colson climbs into bed with Luna. Her body is warm as he slides himself around her. Firmly running his hand up her outer thigh, along her hip and ribcage before crawling around her breast. Feeling every inch of her once more as he runs his hand back down her slender body.

Luna moans as her hips begin to shift back and forth out of need and instinct. Colson grows harder against her back as he slips his fingers along her pussy lips. Feeling her juices spill out as he lightly dips his finger inside of her.

"Mmm... Fuck, I've missed her taste." He mentally moans, not being a able to resist sticking his fingers in his mouth as his tongue dances around her unique flavor.

"I wanna fuck you." Colson husks deeply into her ear while he grabs her tit.

"Mhm." Luna murmurs hazily as she perks her ass into him.

Getting the Go, Colson seperates her delicate lips with his fingers. Taking his time, he slowly guides himself into Luna. Feeling her body tense as she moans and pushes her ass deeper into him. Tangling their legs in each other's, Luna reaches behind and grabs the back of Colson's neck to pull him closer to her. Kissing every inch of her that he can reach, he fucks her sternly while she bounces lazily off of his cock. With her face and closed eyes still resting softly in her pillow; she moans and fucks Colson contently in her sleep and drug induced state.

There's something about a SleepFuck that's incredibly satisfying to Luna. Her walls clutch Colson's dick in pleasure, making he thrusts harder. Releasing himself as he feels her cum all over him.

"FUCK." He breathes into her bare neck.

"Mmm... " Is Luna's only response, she's already almost back asleep.

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Pete shows up on The Brownstone's stoop with two coffees. Colson meeting him with four blunts. The two friends take a seat. Colson firing up the first blunt after Pete hands him his coffee.

"Yo... I'm sorry, Dawg." Colson starts as he exhales. "I put you in some shit... "

"Nah, Homie." Pete cuts him off as he accepts the blunt. "Luna's business is her own. No matter who it's with." Pete sighs. "I just worry about her, Man. And you too. I've seen you both go through some fucked up shit and I don't want to see it again, I guess." Pete half shrugs as he takes a pull.

"Look, Sam ACTUALLY talked to me last night so I get it a little more than I did before." Colson tells him as he accepts the blunt.

"It was just hard... " Pete shakes his head at the memories.

"I don't want this to fuck us up." Colson bares his soul to one of his bestfriends.

"Me neither." Pete agrees as he reaches for the second blunt and fires it up.

Both friends look at each other. There's an understanding between men that can happen without words. This is one of those times. With a simple nod, Pete and Colson are good. Going on to enjoy their coffee, each other and the NYC morning as they get high and bust it up like nothing ever happened.

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Luna's extra miserable when Colson wakes her up for their flight back to LA. The lack of sleep, too many drugs and her gunshot wound have her aching in every sense of the word. She doesn't shower. Just throws on sunglasses, cuttoffs and an oversized Hotel Diablo hoodie.

They make it to JFK just in time for their 11A flight. Everyone is dragging, not only Luna. Proving that cocaine is a Motherfucker. Once seated in first class, everyone knocks back out. Luna curling up against Colson as his face lays on her head and arm rests upon her bare leg.

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It's just before 8P by time they make it back to The LA House. Everyone is tired. No one is happy. All dropping their luggage in The Living Room before heading to their beds. They're so mentally jacked, no one's even thought to check The Charts, let alone eat at all day.

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Luna and Colson sleep clean until the next morning until her alarm goes off. Colson groans as she shifts away from him. Climbing out of the bed, she reaches high to stretch. Colson watching her out of one slitted eye.

"Why are you up?" He asks flatly.

"So you can truly see me." Luna answers before disappearing into the bathroom.

It takes a shit ton of coaxing and drugs to get Colson moving after Luna's shower. Complaining the whole time as she hands him water and joints. Once in the shower he starts to feel slightly better after he jerks off. He's FINALLY fully functional after his Adderall and coffee kicks in.

Not getting as much sleep as Luna and doing way more drugs, he's really edgy. She hands him a football before they walk out of the bedroom. He's so pissy they leave the house quietly without his trademark WE OUT.

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"Can I have the keys?" Luna asks, she's dressed in an overall romper, white shirt, long socks and one of her leathers as they walk towards the Rover in the early Saturday sun.

"Why?" Colson asks back as he tosses them to her in his own ripped jeans and black T.

"I need to drive and you need to listen." She answers before sliding into the driver's seat.

"You're talking to me now?" He counters with a slight attitude as he buckles his seatbelt.

"Do you think this is a fucking game?" Luna whips her head towards him.

"No." He answers solemnly as he sparks a joint.

"You don't seem to fucking get it at all." Luna shakes her head as she pulls out of the driveway.

"Look Loons, I'm sorry I fucked up with the Tommy and Justin thing. I shouldn't have said shit no matter how I was feeling." He exhales his apology as he passes her the joint and finally pops the Xanax she gave him.

"You still don't get it, Colson. How many times do I have to tell you.. It's not the secret you told. It's that you TOLD a secret. Period. You don't seem to realize that I'm dirtier than a fucking affair... Fuck." Luna let's out an exasperated sigh. "Let's be honest. In the short time you've known me; I've committed coercion, shot a federal agent, am in the process of setting up an underground abortion clinic... Oh! And I was blackmailed into issuing a public apology for fucking up one person out of what? A fucking dozen? And that's only been in the last 3MNTHS... Seriously, I am a fucking criminal." Colson stares at her as everything begins to register. "Fuck, I've got things going on that you don't even know about yet." She continues to worry as she hits the joint a few times while staring ahead. "And now, I'm terrified to fucking tell you about them."

"Like what?" Colson asks her with a concerned, yet amused SideEye as he takes the joint.

"Why should I tell you? Every criminal who's been caught is usually taken down because of their irrational lover." She looks over at him with a light smirk and hazy blue eyes for the first time during their car ride.

"You really gonna play me like that?" He scoffs at her before inhaling a huge hit.

"I don't know. You wanna say don't call Jax but are your stupid ass, jealous comments gonna get me popped one day?" She bites back as she fumbles for her cigarettes.

"Are you fucking serious?" He spits out as he starts to get angry with her. "What the fuck do you think I would do to you and what the fuck else are you doin' that's worse than what I already know? And where the FUCK are we going?" He demands as they continue to drive.

Luna's quiet for a long moment as she smokes her Newport. She's trying to keep herself calm and figure out exactly how to tell Colson about what things. Already having made her decision long before they got into the SUV to give up her biggest secret.

"Tell me, Luna." Colson asserts as he lights another joint.

"All in?" She asks him firmly as she looks over at him and holds his stare while he grabs her hand to reassure her. "I told you... I'm dirtier than you think. I own properties that clean money and stash shit for one of the biggest distributors on The East Coast." Luna admits in a hushed voice.

"It's for Tommy, isn't it?" Colson immediately snaps as his mind flashes back to his conversation with Benny.

"OH MY FUCKING GAWD!!" Luna can't help but scream. "You are so fucking hung up on other dudes that it's insane and probably what's gonna get me caught!" Luna stops. "How can you not see that I tell you more about myself WILLINGLY than any other human being on This Earth? That you know more about me than Justin ever did." Luna's lip trembles as tears escape from her eyes. "So, yeah... It started with Tommy but I have bigger associates now... " Luna shakes her head. "That's only a blip though. There is so much more at stake for me than that!" Luna slams her palms against the steering wheel in frustration as she begins to sob. "You have no fucking idea." She shakes her head again as her voice breaks.

"Then what is it, Luna?" Colson softens his tone with her.

Coming to a stop light, Luna turns her head and looks Colson dead in the eyes. Her hands are clutching the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles are white. There's a look on her face he's never seen before. It's a mixture of sadness, pain and determination. Taking a shuddered sigh, Luna flicks her cigarette out the window. She finds herself begging The Universe that he won't betray her this time as she's about to tell only Colson her true intentions. Lighting her own joint, she inhales deeply and holds the hit in. Looking over at Colson, she studies him. He stares back, waiting for her words.

"I'm gonna kill Smurf." She states icily before turning away, releasing the brake and focusing on what's ahead. "Still wanna marry me now?" She asks, puffing on the joint without taking her eyes off of the road.

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Part 2 of 2

To be continued...

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. vii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt vii: anything that touches

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6.4k (sorry I’m a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance from here on out. Uhhh brief mental breakdown that implies disassociation, and also some weird Joseph/Deputy if you squint real hard. Like REAL hard.

Notes: This chapter was a blast to write, mostly because I got to revisit that ICONIC scene (iykyk). That's pretty much the last in-canon thing we're going to have; the dialogue is essentially the same, but it felt important for me to have Elliot's experience of what it was like, when she was still soft and new.

Y'all the HOPELESS romantic in me is SUFFERING through these two but. I swear!! I swear. I SWEAR. Also anyone who tells me John doesn't want a partner who can put his ass in the dirt can fight me in hand to hand combat, because home boy needs it.

Thank you, as ALWAYS, to my sweet talented beautiful incredible @starcrier for proof-reading when this stuff is still in trash stages, and the ever-dutiful and perfect @empirics, who doesn’t even go here and yet???? Still stans and ships like she do. We love.

As always, thank you again to everyone who reads/comments/whateva! I’m so grateful for anything and everything and I just want to make it clear that I would not continue writing without you. Tysm!

John had never felt dread like this.

It was strange, the way it crept upon him as they walked to the trees. It was dark out, but the clouds had cleared so the moon and stars above were perfectly visible; it wasn’t as though he couldn’t see, and the closer they got to the trees, the more assured John felt that the van was there, or had been there. He supposed he didn’t know if the cultists had made off with it or not.

No, he wasn’t feeling dread about the fact that they were on foot, or that Boomer was nowhere to be seen, or that it was dark, or that he didn’t know for absolute certain that he was going in the right direction.

He felt dread because they were alive: because they were free, because there was no cultist in sight. He felt dread because Elliot was clutching his hand in hers, and her other hand was gripping his forearm, and she no longer moved with the surety of the apex predator she had made herself out to be in a very short period of time. Her feet hit the ground with heavy, unsteady thuds, their progression through the field and to the trees painfully halting. He had a very vivid memory of Elliot telling him, I’d rather you let me eat shit when he’d tried to steady her from falling, just a few days ago.

She wouldn’t look at him, either. Not directly in the eyes. He didn’t know if this was another side-effect of whatever they’d laced her with, or if it was Elliot, or if it had anything to do with the way she’d tried to pull away from him when he’d first found her in the field.

“Elliot,” John said, trying not to sound frustrated as her nails dug into his arm, “loosen your grip a little.”

Her lashes fluttered. She said, “Okay,” but then nothing changed, even though she looked like she was trying, as though the faculties with which she normally operated were so severely hindered that she wasn’t even aware if her body was doing the things she was willing it to.

He didn’t bring it up again. Even when he thought certainly her grip was going to bruise, even when his arm began to ache.

By the time they got to the trees, the moon was high in the sky, and John’s legs burned with the effort of merely walking. That was all it had been, walking, but the longer he turned it over in his mind that they were headed into a trap, the more laborious the movements became. They waded through the trees, the moonlight only barely filtering through now, until he saw it: the van.

At first, he felt relief. And then, immediately after, crashing into any good mood he might have left, was the paranoia. Why did they leave it? he wondered, hesitating. A trap. They want us to get back into the van.

But if they were trying to trap them, why wouldn’t they have just... kept them?

“John.” Elliot’s voice dragged with exhaustion. When he looked at her, her cheeks were flushed with fever, and her pupils were still huge—but not as much as before. “I’m so… tired.” Her body swayed a little, her eyes struggling to stay open; she was crashing, hard and fast.

“Stay here.”

Carefully, John pried his arm out of her grip, sitting her down in the nook of a tree’s roots before creeping his way over to the van. It was empty, and open, as though the cultists had just taken them and left it as it was. He wasn’t about to get caught a second time, so he moved quickly—climbed into the back, grabbed the backpack Elliot had filled with food and Tylenol, and reached for where he thought the guns were.

“Fuck,” John said. Gone. Everything else was left, except for the guns. And his glasses. Fuckheads.  

He stuffed the pack of cigarettes and the lighter into the backpack before he slid out of the back of the van and made his way back to Elliot. Her face was buried in her knees, her fingers absently curling and uncurling, something that John knew was just an Elliot thing—he’d seen it when she was at her most stressed, when she was trying hard to stay rooted.

John reached out and touched her shoulder. Even though he’d been clambering through the brush, the gesture startled her, her head jerking up and her eyes looking at him for just a second before diverting.

“We can’t stay,” he said urgently. “Come on.”

She nodded numbly before she took his offered hand, hoisting herself to her feet and trailing after him past the van and out closer to the road side. He thought, briefly, about yelling for the dog, or trying to whistle the way Elliot did, but the idea of making a violent range of noise to fetch a beast from somewhere deep in the woods—if he even was there—did not sit right with him. So instead, he found them a spot that was still within the trees, but pressed into the slope that led up to the road, and sat Elliot down again.

Now that he had a moment to sit, a moment to think, his brain flipped a switch into a necessary, self-preservation panic. Just a little adrenaline, to keep him awake, surely; because he didn’t want to be sleeping any time soon.

John couldn’t push the image of Elliot, pressed against the earth, crying , out of his mind. What had she seen? What did they do? His mouth burned with the itch to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when her eyes couldn’t stay on one place for more than a second.

“They didn’t—they didn’t do it to you?” Elliot asked him, after she took the tylenol he gave her dry and picked a chocolate chip out of a granola bar. John turned his gaze to her, cocking his head to the side. She still carried with her that dreamer’s sway, that soft loopy tone to her voice that reminded him she wasn’t yet quite herself again, but he thought it sounded like she was clearing up. Hopefully.

“Do what to me, deputy?”

She blinked down at her hands. “Drug you.”

He hesitated. He’d certainly gotten something , though he didn’t think it was anything like what they’d given Elliot. “Not the same,” he said after a second. “But I was asleep, for a while. For hours. I don’t know how long.”

“I wish I had been sleeping.” Elliot’s voice was miserable. She had never been so small, he thought, than in that moment, and she tipped her body over until the side of her face was on the ground. And then, after her eyes had drifted shut and a lapse of silence had passed, she mumbled, “They probably thought I was a bigger threat than you.”

John fought the urge to smile. It only barely worked, and he was glad, because he didn’t need Elliot getting a bigger ego than she already had.

“Yes, Rook, you’re very scary and intimidating. All—what, four feet, eight inches of you?”

“I’m five foot four, you fuckhead.”

A wave of relief washed over him. He rested his head back against the tree, exhaling softly.

“Go to sleep, deputy,” he murmured,  “so you can go back to being the bigger threat.”

For the sake of both of us.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For the first time in what felt like years, Elliot slept.

It was fitful sleep, to be sure, plagued by a strange, blurring color-scape of nightmares and fever-dreams that haunted the corner of her sleeping vision. It all just lurked around the edges, never an image that she could pin down or find, only ever something that was present enough to fill her with a persistent terror. Voice melded into each other, overlapping; fragments of noise and color drifted in and out of her, like a tree shedding petals in a fiercer wind.

When she woke, light was just beginning to try and creep over the distant mountains. It wasn’t enough to feel like a real morning, like the day time , but enough that the milky glow of it filtered through the tops of the trees; the earth smelled wet and fresh, and her clothes were a little damp from sleeping on the wet ground. The sky stretched, gray and soft as wedding silk, through the tops of the trees. She wiped the water from her face.

I smell: the earth, the rain, the grass and wind. I see: the light, the sky, the tops of the tress. I feel —

“Ah, sleeping beauty awakens,” John said. His voice sounded gravelly; maybe he hadn’t slept at all, this whole time, which somehow made her stomach twist a little even though she didn’t want to care about what John did or didn’t get to do.

“Fuck off.” She groaned, coming into a sitting position and feeling her head immediately swoon with the effort. The back of it pulsed with a splitting pain, and she remembered the red-haired man from before, telling her to go back to sleep just before he slammed her head into the floor of the van. “God—what the fuck —”

“It’s so lovely,” John intoned, and she got the impression maybe it wasn’t lovely at all, “to have you back at full capacity again, deputy.”

Elliot pressed the heel of her palm to her head. “That asshole that works for Ase smashed my head in before he drugged me.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

She stilled and closed her eyes against the splintering pain at the back of her head; she heard John shift where he was sitting, and then his hands against hers, brushing them away from the back of her head. Elliot tried not to think too much about how warm his hands were, how comforting the calloused feel of them was, or how gentle they were when he combed the hair out of his way. He clicked his tongue a little, hands dropping from her hair, and suddenly Elliot’s stomach plummeted, too; the loss of contact sent her poor little drug-addled lizard brain reeling.

“Well, you’ve got a nasty cut,” John said after a moment, “which is mostly scabbed over. And a bump that will probably be the size of an egg by the time it’s done.” His voice slid her out of her strange little panic, her desire to grab his hands and put them back on her face, even when that exact nightmare she’d had was stopping her from being able to meet his eyes for very long.

Elliot swallowed thickly. “Goody.”

She thought she could hear a smile in his voice when he said, “I’m sure you’ve had worse, Rook.”

“Don’t call me that.” She tried to force more heat in her voice, but she was so tired ; it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. John made a mild noise that might have been amusement, and then shifted where he sat before coming to a stand and stretching. Elliot asked, “Did you sleep?” and then immediately kicked herself ( because why would she care ), but it was too late to take the words back.

Her gaze flickered to John’s face and then immediately away. The strange dream—nightmare?—that she’d had of him, cradling her face, his touch searing through her, my Elliot , lingered on her skin still, heavy like a cinder block tying her down. It made it hard to look him in the eyes; she was afraid she’d see the flowers again.

“No,” he replied, and if it bothered him that she wasn’t looking at him very much, his voice didn’t sound like it. “Someone had to make sure those crazies didn’t come back.”

She scoffed, struggling to her feet. “The term crazies coming out of your mouth is impeccably comedic.”

“I’ll be here all night.”

Elliot shouldered the back pack and glanced around. The forest was quiet, and there was no sight nor sound of Boomer anywhere. She could only hope that he’d been out and away from the van when everything happened, and that he’d had the good sense to stay hidden. He was a smart boy. She tried not to worry too much.

At least, she would keep telling herself that, until proven otherwise. But she wouldn’t be whistling for him anytime soon—not with how easily they’d been tracked down by Ase and her fuckhead assistant.

“I suppose we should go on foot from here,” she said, a little mournfully, regretting the reasonable nature of her statement. She saw John grimace out of the corner of her eye.

“I suppose so, deputy.”

She heaved a sigh, fingers fluttering over the cut on the back of her head absently before she nodded. Her clothes were wet, she was nursing a raging hangover from whatever the fuck she’d been drugged with, and she’d eaten half a granola bar in a little over twenty-four hours. And if the drag of her breaths in her chest — even when she was taking a normal inhale — were any indication, sleeping in wet clothes had done nothing to improve her sickness.

Elliot set off, marching through the underbrush to get out of the woods and closer to the road. They passed the van again on their way out, and she thought, fuck, I’d kill John to get one more cigarette out of there, but she knew she shouldn’t. They probably had some kind of—bomb, or tracking device, or—

But in her heart of hearts, she knew that wasn’t true. They didn’t utilize machinery the same way that Eden’s Gate did. And if they wanted her and John dead, well. They would have killed them already. So even though she knew this, and thought it to herself, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to the car.

I see your color, mor, Ase had said, her voice like a thousand whispers against her skin. Elliot’s throat felt tight. She turned to John suddenly and said, “Hey, do you speak Swedish?”

John brushed past her. “What do you think?”

“How are you so unhelpful, and all of the time? Don’t you get tired of being useless?”

He laughed, and Elliot felt a little spark of indignation light in her chest. All of John’s strange tenderness—and she hadn’t forgotten, even if it was fuzzy, the way he’d held her face and said it’s me, Elliot, like he was supposed to be a comfort to her—

(and he was, now, what a sick thought, )

—was gone, and instead she kept thinking about the stupid fucking expression on his face when he’d said, so you think I’m attractive, then , because there was nothing more irritating than John Seed knowing he was attractive. It wasn’t like he needed her to tell him, so why he’d tried to wriggle the words out of her was beyond her comprehension; although Elliot supposed it could be explained that John hadn’t had anyone chant yes at his face for perhaps twenty-four hours, so how was he still sustaining himself? He must be craving attention, starved for it.

“You are the most annoying fucking person I’ve ever met,” Elliot announced, so that she could abruptly shove any and all thoughts of John’s hands on her face out of her head, huffing a little as she worked to catch up with him.

And then John turned around so suddenly that she careened straight into his chest, his hands landing to steady her shoulders—( warm, she thought absently)—and he said, “I know,” with all of the arrogance that she knew him to have. “Give me the backpack, deputy. If they are tracking us in some sick game of hide and seek, they’re going to hear you huffing and puffing from fifteen miles away.”

Elliot mustered all of the spite she had in her—which was not as much as she would have liked—and said, “I hate you, John Seed.”

“You’re going to have to find a new slogan,” John rumbled, sliding the backpack straps off of her shoulders, “because that one just doesn’t ring very true anymore.”

She let him take the backpack; not because she liked that he was being helpful, but because her shoulders screamed in relief. The more and more sober she became, the more her muscles ached, like she had been involuntarily tensing all night, and now they burned . John might as well have punched her entire body over and over again, with his stupid rings.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, fishing the tylenol out of the bag and swallowing two. John rolled his eyes.

“Look, I can tell when you’re lying to me,” he said. “And I know that I’m irresistible, not only because I saved you—”

“Do not —”

“—but because, as a man of God, I am infinitely more wise than you, as well. If there is one thing that I would know about a woman of wrath, Deputy Honeysett, it’s that the one thing she wants is to feel in control of herself, and I’m exactly the man who can give you control.”

Elliot could have, perhaps, not picked a less-Godly man than John Seed; the only exception would be one of his brothers. His words rattled around in her skull. Was this the stupid shit he told himself? That he could give her control? Here, in the woods—soaking wet, sick, split open, walking for God knows how long on foot—and that’s the sales pitch he was going with?

Her jaw clenched, blistering the headache behind her eyes under an impossible heatwave of pure ache , and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re—fucking—”

John waited, patiently, much to her fury: but the words would not come to her, color fractals splintering even when her eyes were closed, driving frenzied neurons to fire off pain signals over and over again. When she opened her eyes, for a second, an aura stretched across her vision, like someone pulling saran-wrap tight right over her face. She thought she might puke.

“I’m fucking...?” John prompted, and when she only shuddered a breath, his tone shifted a little. She couldn’t tell what to , but his voice was different when he said, “Deputy?”

He sounded, quite suddenly, like he was very far away from her. She tried to open her eyes again. The world wobbled unpleasantly, and the ground stretched beneath her until it felt like she was on a moving conveyor belt. She saw herself , standing there numbly, heels of her palms pressed against her eye sockets in a desperate attempt to quell the migraine.

“Elliot.”

John’s hands came to her face, yanking her back into a painful reality. He was too close now, smelling like wet earth and forest and a little bit like sweat, the rough, warm palms of his hands holding grounding her back to reality. He said, “Earth to Elliot.”

“Yes,” Elliot managed out. She couldn’t muster up any vitriol; one of her hands gripped John’s wrist where it cut through her peripheral. “I’m here,” she added, and she didn’t know why she said it like that , like she’d been somewhere else—maybe because she had. “Just—this head wound is really fucking with me. We have to get moving, and—”

She heard, a few feet away from them, the sound of a car door slamming. Her brain immediately jumpstarted; first, she thought, oh those fucking Swedes, and then her brain tried to say, or maybe it’s Jerome, or Grace, or —

It was neither of them. Through the haze of pain, Elliot heard the sound of Eden’s Gate’s radio playing, the sound of boots hitting the pavement.

“Well,” Joseph sighed, “if it isn’t the lamb and her shepherd.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Joseph Seed is a particularly difficult man to pin down.

She never meets him once, either before she goes off to the Academy or after, and she’s glad for it. After she gets back to Hope County, after she gets cleared by the psychiatrist, after she gets back to life-on-normal, she thinks she’d be happy to never see Joseph Seed. Not because she isn’t religious, but because she doesn’t like his brand, because the doomsday-ing and the wriggling past legalities of owning land or, perhaps, even people make her skin crawl.

Elliot doesn’t think she’d ever be able to walk herself into his compound. She doesn’t think she’d ever be able to look Joseph Seed in the eye, but she doesn’t have a choice , the helicopter planting them squarely in the compound. 

The ground is wet, fresh from a recent rain, and slips underfoot. The night is clouded above with no stars in sight. She feels almost like she’s in a dream, Joey walking ahead of her as the U.S. Marshal bickers with Sheriff Whitehorse, back and forth. She’s barely listening. She feels eyes on them, burning, angry and defiant shouts coming from the onlooking Eden’s Gate members, and she hears the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

They get to the church. Inside, the congregation is singing Amazing Grace, and the crickets match its feverish pitch, sliding along her skin.

“Hudson, on the door and watch our backs,” Whitehorse says, when the Marshal— Burke , Elliot thinks absently, that was his name —acquiesces to doing things the way Whitehorse wants to do it. “Don’t let any of these people get in. Rookie, on me.”

Elliot nods, her gaze focusing sharp again. Whitehorse has taken a risk, bringing her out when she was still so green; she wasn’t going to let him down. 

Not that he has much choice. They’re short-staffed as it was anyway.

“And you—” Whitehorse looks at Burke, his expression faltering, tired. “Just… Try not to do anything stupid.”

Burke claps him on the shoulder. He is all easy confidence, surety of foot, the kind of confidence Elliot wants to have some day. She hopes she doesn’t become tired, like Whitehorse. “Relax, Sheriff,” Burke says, “you’re about to get your name in the paper.”

But Elliot isn’t paying attention to them. She’s thinking about the armed men and women skulking around, and the dogs barking in the distance, and the sound of the singing from the inside of the church.

Joey’s hand briefly touches her shoulder. Her dark gaze is soft, and she squeezes Elliot’s shoulder before she says, “You’ll be fine.”

Whitehorse doesn’t look pleased by Burke’s comment. He doesn’t even look assuaged, mildly. He pushes the door open, and Elliot sticks close to his heel, as the singing comes to an abrupt stop; the church is dimly lit, with most of the light coming from behind the man at the front, his silhouette carved obsidian so that his features are obscured to her.

They walk slow. The man says, “ Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you?”

His voice is a rich-willow timbre, decadent. The gathering of the cultists turn, their eyes piercing into the trio. Elliot’s heart is slamming against her rib cage. She doesn’t have a gun pulled—would never, not without Whitehorse’s blessing—but she wants to, not to fire but to warn. To keep them away.

“We are creeping toward the edge, and there will be a reckoning. That is why we started the Project—”

They’re dirty, and bedraggled. Elliot’s throat tightens. Why would they choose this? Why would they want to be like this?

“—because we know what happens next. They will come. They will try to take from us—take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith.”

Burke looks back at her, his hand floating and tense, ready to pull his gun at any moment. But he beckons her with a crook of his fingers and she does as he bids. Closer now, Elliot can see that the man is not alone; to the left, a tall, rugged red-head, his arms crossed, his expression stony. To the right, a soft young woman, dressed in white, dreamy. And just behind Joseph, a handsome, dark-haired man; a man that Elliot recognizes as John Duncan, but now is told by Joey is John Seed .

Joseph’s shirtless, which should be ridiculous and comedic but only serves to make him look both polished and feral in equal amounts. Golden light from outside drenches through a window cut to be the same shape as the emblem of Eden’s Gate, and it bathes him; he is golden, soft and sharp all at the same time.

“Sheriff, c’mon,” Burke says, because he is not charmed; he, too, thinks it is ridiculous. Whitehorse holds up a hand to steady him. 

“We will not let them.” Joseph Seed’s voice flexes, furious and controlled. “We will not let their greed , or their immorality or their depravity hurt us anymore. There will be no more suffering.”

Burke is furious that the sermon —if it can be called that, which Elliot would argue that it cannot, knowing the Seeds—has continued this long. She hears him say, “No, fuck this,” and he pulls the paper out and holds up in front of the man’s face.

“Joseph Seed,” Burke bites out, “I have a warrant issued for your arrest, on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Elliot’s gaze flickers. She feels sick to her stomach. Joseph lifts his hands; he is soft, again, no longer fervent, no longer yelling, and his gaze fixes on her.

“There they are,” he says, his voice quiet. “The locusts in our garden.”

Members of Eden’s Gate—armed, ragged, feral —slide their way between them and Joseph.

“You see, they’ve come for me.” Other members are beginning to get angry. They’re yelling, now, as Joseph says, “They’ve come to take me away from you , they’ve come to destroy all that we have built,” and the voices raise in volume, and Burke puts his hand on his gun and Whitehorse yells for him to stand down and Elliot’s fingers itch and she thinks, oh, no, this is when I’m going to have to shoot someone.  

But Joseph steps down from his platform. His hands brush the shoulders of his supporters, and they part for him, quieting the crowd, quelling their noise. Behind him, John steps across the stage, his eyes narrowed and sharp, studying them; he moves like an animal, prowling.

“We knew this moment would come. We’ve prepared for it,” Joseph says, gentle. He ushers them away; they brush past Elliot, her head turning after them, thinking certainly one will grab her, choke her, kill her, but they don’t.

“— and I saw, ” Joseph is biting out, pointing at Burke, and then looking at the sheriff, “ and behold, it was a white horse. ” 

And then Joseph is looking at her. He lifts his hands to her. His eyes are fixed on her, and she feels a strange, uncanny thrill slide through her. Joseph looks at her like she is the only person in the room, like all others have blinked out of existence and it’s only them. 

That’s why, she thinks, the feeling of it making her heart ache a little. That’s why they choose to be this way. To belong to someone.

She knows that’s what it is. She knows that’s how he’s gotten these people to follow him: because he looks at them like this, with longing, like there is nothing in the world that he wants more than to take them into his embrace.

His voice is breathless, soft, covetous, jealously cradling her in velvet swathes: “ And Hell followed with him.”

Elliot feels frozen. Petrified. Her stomach churns. She can feel the eyes of the Seed siblings on her. Burke jerks his hand at her, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch.”

Joseph is holding out his hands, obedient and compliant. “God will not let you take me.”

Burke says it again, maybe different, she can’t remember because the blood is rushing through her head, so she does as he asks. Her hands might be trembling. She takes Joseph’s hands and slides the cuffs on them, and he leans into her like he’s going to breathe her in or swallow her whole and almost purrs —

“Sometimes, the best thing to do is to walk away.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John’s hands slid from Elliot’s face. The first thing he felt when he saw Joseph was relief —sheer, pure relief, that it wasn’t the Resistance that had found them and that it wasn’t Ase and her man again, but that it was his brother. Over his shoulder, too, John could see Jacob in the driver’s seat of the truck, his face stony and hard as always.

The second thing that John felt was dread.

Joseph’s expression was unreadable. It almost always was, he supposed, but now the fact that he couldn’t tell what Joseph was thinking struck a hot cord of fear inside of him, because he was reminded—now and painfully—that Faith was still lost to them.

“Joseph,” John managed out, his hands drifting now from Elliot completely, where before they had slid to her shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You could sound like it,” Elliot muttered, and he shot her a look before he turned back to his brother, immediately crossing the gap from him to Joseph, standing on the road. Joseph watched him steadily, and once he was within arm’s reach, John stopped, hesitating.

“We were on our way to you,” Joseph explained, his voice steady, a soothing balm to John’s frayed nerves. “We heard talk on the radios that our sister had been taken, but we didn’t get a response when we tried to contact you at the ranch.”

John nodded. “Yes, it’s—there’s so much to tell you—”

Joseph’s hands came to rest on his shoulders for a moment; and, much the same way that John had done to Elliot, Joseph took his face in his hands.

“We’re so glad you’re alive,” Joseph murmured, his expression softening just that much . John felt the relief flood his system immediately at the gentle contact—merciful, healing, the way Joseph liked to be. “And that our dear deputy is still with you. Compliantly, too, it seems.”

Elliot’s voice was hard as flint when she said, “Yeah, well, you missed the last twenty-four hours where this fucking idiot had us cuffed together.”

Behind the yellow lenses of his glasses, Joseph’s gaze flickered to wherever Elliot lingered behind John, over his shoulders. His brother stared at Elliot for a moment; there was something in the way Joseph locked his gaze on the blonde that made John’s stomach twist uncomfortably, and he couldn’t quite pin it down, either, couldn’t get it to stop squirming long enough for him to figure out what it was.

“And yet,” Joseph said after a moment, his voice a low drawl as his hands dropped from John, “you are here, unburdened.”

John turned to look at Elliot. She still had to be in pain; she might have been trying to hide it, because of Joseph, or maybe even still because of him , but he could see it on her face, in the way her fingers curled and uncurled themselves absently, absently digging her nails into her palms. But this little give-away of hers meant nothing to anyone else, because the lines of her face were sharp and unrelenting.

Elliot’s gaze did not once leave Joseph. John recognized on her face that same odd, cold calculation she’d had when she’d thought about choking that Eden’s Gate guard out. If there was, he supposed, one person that Elliot hated more than himself, it was Joseph; perhaps she was thinking about all of the ways she wanted to kill him , now.

“Well, coincidental, we were on our way to you , Joseph. There’s now a problem one size bigger than your little cult.” Elliot said, her shoulders relaxing. She crested the hill up to the road, her feet hitting the pavement with more surety than she’d had since she’d woken up. It was like seeing someone that she hated had poured adrenaline straight into her body, and now she moved with the same precision she always did—though if the weariness in her expression was any indication, she was only half capacity. “How lucky .”

Joseph gazed at Elliot, as though John didn’t exist—as though no-one and nothing else existed, in that moment, except for her. John’s stomach lurched again, once more, with feeling! a wicked voice shouted in his brain, rattling around, keeping him nice and distracted so that he couldn’t figure out quite what it was that it made him feel.

“Fated,” Joseph agreed. His voice was almost sly. “One could say.”

“One could,” Elliot shot back, “but one shouldn’t, if they don’t want to sound like an idiot.” The words shot a jolt of fearful anticipation through John—not only because he thought, Joseph is only so merciful , but because he was sure that it reflected back on him, the way she felt so comfortable insulting Joseph.

“Deputy,” John snapped, and she glared at him, her brows knitting together at the center of her forehead. Joseph smiled pleasantly.

“Mouthy,” Jacob said from the truck, his voice clipped, “for someone who wants our help.”

Elliot bit out venomously, “Fuck you,” just as John said, “ Elliot ,” their voices overlapping furiously, and she looked at him again. There was something accusatory in her gaze. John wanted to pluck it out of her, break it apart so he could figure it out: but there wasn’t any time for that now. 

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, like she was going to fight Jacob right then and there, and John wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t, pushed enough. He turned back to his brothers and said, “She’s agreed to help and get Faith back.”

“Not for nothing.” Elliot’s add-in was sharp. “I get to use the radios to contact the resistance and tell them to get the fuck out of Dodge.”

Joseph’s gaze fluttered between them, just for a moment—landing on Elliot for a heartbeat longer than it did on John—and then he stepped back, gesturing for them to get into the back seat of the truck. The blonde stepped on without John, brushing past him and flinging the door of the truck open before hoisting herself inside.

“How much do you know?” John asked as he climbed in after Elliot, shoving the backpack behind one of the seats. He tried not to think about the way Elliot’s eyes stayed pinned on Joseph, or the way her body had gone rigid, like at any moment she was ready to throw her fists in the direction of the nearest Seed brother—and certainly now, she had her pick if that were the case.

“Enough,” Joseph replied. He closed the passenger seat door and Jacob pulled the steering wheel of the truck until it was turning around. “But I’m certain you’ll be of more help.”

John opened his mouth to elaborate and give what information he had at the top of his brain when Elliot said, abruptly and without pretense, “You’ve come so unguarded, Joseph. Doesn’t that make you nervous?” and John turned his head to stare at her in disbelief.

Fucking insane, he thought. She wants to die. Does she ever stop?

But Joseph only laughed. Through the rearview mirror, John saw his eyes make contact with Elliot’s, and he said, “Jacob is sufficient protection on his own.” He paused, something slick and cool in his voice when he added, “But your concern is touching .”

“That’s an interesting choice of word. Not what I would have picked, though.”

“When we heard the radio chatter,” Jacob interrupted, before John could will himself to tell Elliot to shut the fuck up while he was still within hitting range, “Joseph told everyone to hunker down while we identified the threat. For once, it wasn’t a little girl playing with a shotgun.”

The accusation lay there, unspoken: Jacob had made it clear many times that he was certain he could snuff Elliot out faster than anyone else, either deeming her useless or shaping her into the perfect killer. If Joseph would just let him, he’d said, he would see.

But Joseph had told him to wait. To let John—persuasion was his specialty. Let John show us.

And John didn’t miss the way that his brother said it; Joseph told everyone. An opinion had been overruled, and it wasn’t Joseph’s, and Jacob hadn’t forgotten.

Elliot’s mouth opened, rearing up to say something; the indignation had been lit in her gaze, furious. He would have been comforted that she was back to normal—no longer trembling, no longer somewhere far away from him—but he knew that Jacob had much less tolerant than Joseph did.

“I grabbed the cigarettes from the van,” John said tartly, before she could get going. “Smoke one.”

The unspoken words lingered. Chill the fuck out. Occupy your mouth with something else. Something that John didn’t think he’d say to her, out loud, unless he was feeling particularly confident that she wouldn’t strangle him to death in front of his brothers.

“Good thinking, honey ,” Elliot drawled. His eyes narrowed at her. She stuffed her hand into the backpack, searching until she found them. The blonde only looked mildly surprised through her rage that they were actually there. 

When she rolled down the window and lit it, John relaxed a little and continued, “We’ve had a run-in with their leader. They’re armed and organized.”

Elliot stayed quiet. She settled back against the seat, deep into the corner of it, closest to the window, as though she couldn’t stand how close to them all she was, and took a long drag of the cigarette. The orange end of it burned until it was a sunspot in his vision.

John’s gaze drifted over her for a moment. Still, she wouldn’t look at him; she only spared him furtive glances through the corner of her eye, but never met his gaze, never going farther than his mouth.

“Ah.” Joseph’s gaze remained fixed on the road, his voice interrupting John’s thoughts. “So there’s now one more breed of locusts in our garden, it seems. Easy enough to exterminate, I think.”

“And how, pray tell,” Elliot asked, her voice sly, “do you plan to get rid of a new breed when you can’t even get rid of the old one?”

Jacob’s fingers tightened and flexed on the steering wheel. John could see a small smile tick the corner of Joseph’s mouth.

“If you get one flat foot on the devil’s wing,” Joseph replied, “you can get him to do just about anything you want.”

[fuzed-hostage]

RainbowSix l Siege

Doc and Montagne have been planning a date night for weeks and just can’t catch a break! After numerous attempts, they settle on cuddling but get carried away.

Rated: E [ Some Doc alone time, They finally get to ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) !! , definitely nsfw ] Parings: Montagne/Doc, Bandit/Jäger [ Mention ]

     It felt like every time there was a break in the madness that was Rainbow, something would suddenly, inexplicably, unfortunately happen right as Gustave was about to send a text to Gilles. He’d be seated in his office, reclining in the not-so-comfortable chair with nothing to do but kill time. Whatever appointments had been made that day were over and done with, it’s nearing sundown, and he’s waiting for the clock to strike ten so his shift could end.

     Fingers would tap the same message each time [>>Want to go out for dinner in an hour?<<] and then BOOM the door would burst open. If not that, he’d get a phone call, or the computer screen alerted him of an incoming message. Mozzie ate shit riding his bike with Mute on the back, Fuze and Jäger had a mishap in the workshop, Bandit tased Tachanka ( it did nothing to him ) and Kapkan stapled the German to the wall in retaliation, etc.

     On Montagne’s end, it was no different outside of the subject matters regarding whatever emergencies he was called to handle. Given his easy going nature, ability to break up fights, and calmly knock some sense into people’s heads, it was no wonder he got picked before anyone else. Lion started another fight with the SAS, Maestro and Valkyrie are bickering about who’s camera gadget is cooler, Ela called Echo a lazy fuck and now she’s being tormented by Yokai; the list goes on.

     Whenever they did get to meet up, it was on the clock and quite often during a stupid incident they both had to handle. In the case of Mozzie and Mute, the Brit didn’t lean into a turn like he should have and their crash nearly took off Thermite’s shins. Poor Mute took the brunt of the impact, whereas the Aussie had jumped back up on his feet to curse at a pissed off FBI agent threatening to torch his ride. It almost came to blows until the GIGN tag-team showed up.

     Knowing Mozzie, he bailed off of the bike prematurely out of habit and left his buddy to become one with the earth. That’ll teach them both to either never ride together again or to slow down a little and work out the details more. Well... maybe. Since when has the pint sized daredevil ever slowed down before in his entire life? Survey says: Never.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

     Planning in advanced wasn’t very helpful either, what with how unpredictable the two love birds’ schedules were. Montagne would have a day off while Doc was knee deep in overtime. They also were’t ever deployed together and that just made the medic mad. He could remain professional throughout an operation while Gilles was there! Up until the larger man was hurt and then he’d probably lose his mind that is. 

     Back then he was a lot more level headed when it was just the GIGN operating within France. With Rainbow, there were ten times more shit to factor in on top of the obvious risks that the job explicitly entailed. More CTU’s, more men and women, a lot more ground to cover, an expansive array of new surprises. Tension sometimes ran high within the mixed teams, not everybody knew how to leave their baggage back at base, and it all felt like a glorified armed daycare.

     Which part of a mission would he rather be in? Right up in the action, stressed out about Gilles, and potentially becoming a liability by slipping into tunnel vision quicker or clawing at his hair, glued to the radio, and picking at his lip until it bled? He’d hurt less people back at base but the anxiety was significantly magnified and his colleagues were beginning to notice.

     Out on the field is where he believed he could make the most difference in life and death situations but Rainbow needed him back home terribly as well. Training accidents that could become permanent damage was mended by his expert hands, sickness ( be it from terrorist chemicals or natural means ) was eased by his knowledge. Montagne, as much as he wanted his love by his side, preferred that the good doctor wasn’t assigned to his squad if it was more productive.

     It used to not be that way though. One or the other would insist on coming along during the time they were dancing around each other not knowing how to interpret the signals being given. Rumors spread like wildfire about how obvious their love was and that someone should shove them in a closet so they could work out the sexual tension. There were even attempts to get them alone at a bar after arriving with a group so that liquid courage would spill the beans in the form of Je t’aime Gustave and Je t’aime aussi Gilles but to no avail.

     Montagne could hold his liquor and wine brought forth all of Doc’s pent up exhaustion, leading to an early bed time. Having the medic drink something else was like pulling teeth as his response was always “I’d like to remain in control of my mind and body, merci.” while the taller Frenchman chuckled. Sometimes, however, he’d try a sip of whatever Gilles had accepted. It was fifty-fifty on whether or not he’d like it but zero chance of him ordering it again. Doc was a hard nut to crack but it all paid off in the end.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~ 

     “I am getting really tired of all this madness. It’s like we’re cursed!” Gustave ranted, throwing his hands up and knocking a stapler off of his desk. He looked down at the damn thing like it had offended him by toppling over when it should have just remained put. “It is rather perplexing. Has there been a full moon recently?” Came Gilles’ calm voice as he picked up the stapler to place it back where it belonged. All his lover did was roll his chocolate brown eyes and sigh. Everyday felt like it had a full moon attached to it, bringing forth the age old curse emergency services workers dreaded. Tack that along with the Q-word and you’d have a recipe for disaster.

     “I heard there was a nice Japanese place in town. Why don’t we-” Sadly, the shield operator was cut off by the ding of his phone. He looked down at the pocket it was contained in with a sigh that starkly contrasted the fury building up inside of Gustave’s red face. With the shake of his head, Montagne placed a quick kiss to his lovers lips and departed, not knowing that his partner was secretly daydreaming about strangling whomever pried them apart.

     This trivial text happened to be IQ snitching about Caveira’s apparent stalking of Glaz. The sniper was well known for spotting the shit that nobody thought twice about. Shifts in daily routines, objects moved out of their usual place, mood swings, and, of course, his uncanny ability to pick up on when he’s being followed. So far he’s caught Taina six times and she’s pissed about it, refusing to give up even though she knows it’s childish. This will take hours of conversation, some translation, and bringing Timur in to resolve the conflict.

     Meanwhile, Doc has treated a nasty gash Seamus acquired while teaching Aria how to cook traditional Scottish dishes. They both share a love for food and wanted to surprise their fellows with what they’ve learned from one another. Good friends, those two. She’s even given Sledge some dating advice when he accidentally let slip that there’s another guy he’s interested in. While it was nice to hear that this injury was just an accident and not some rage fueled wound, Gustave wished it never happened. For one, he doesn’t like seeing his colleagues hurt and two, he needs this alone time with Gilles.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

     It’s been nearly a month since he’s shared a bed with Montagne and everyone’s starting to notice how grumpy Gustave is getting. Hell, he can’t even sit with the guy in a friendly setting let alone a romantic one! Quick kisses and light touches ( such as the brushing of their hands together or a shoulder squeeze ) are all he gets and that’s unacceptable. Gilles is on a mission this time in Russia with Buck, Fuze, Jackal, and Gridlock. He’d also planned a coming over the night he got deployed for takeout and a makeout sesh that’s obviously not going to happen now.

     The upset on Gustave’s face at how badly the universe is treating them is almost palpable upon the doctor’s tensed up form. He’s had six cups of strong coffee, going on seven, and it’s barely even ten o’clock. Breakfast is quiet in the cafeteria at Hereford Base until he hears Bandit announcing his arrival. “Man, you look like you really need to get laid, Gus.” For a guy that doesn’t shrink away from Kapkan’s frightening gaze, the look Doc gives him makes the hair upon the back of Dominic’s neck stand straight up.

     He mumbles some sort of excuse to get away, steps back quickly, and departs while everyone tries to avoid eye contact when Gustave glowers at them all from his table. The rest of his day is spent talking only when it is necessary and retreating to his room immediately upon its conclusion. The staff posted for night watch better figure out how to operate without him unless the patient is literally going to die if he’s not there. He’s got faith in them only because he wants one uninterrupted night to shave off some neglect.

    Rook and Twitch went out with Blitz and IQ for an evening of casual drinking so he’s got the GIGN quarters all to himself. It’d be nice if his lover was here, but a dildo with similar length and girth will do. Gustave is wearing one of Gilles’ shirts that had been worn for half a day and wasn’t quite dirty yet. It smelled of his cologne and was a size too big to fit him, but that didn’t matter. He’s taken up residence in his lover’s room, they often do this when one was away, it was comforting and arousing all the same depending on what the intention was for this consensual invasion.

     Even though he didn’t need to keep the noise level down for a while, Gustave had already decided on forcing himself to be as quiet as he could. Preparation was done a bit quickly, fingers pushing in and scissoring right away with a groan of need tumbling from his lips. He’s touch starved to all hell and knows he’ll regret that come morning when the ache kicks in. Squatting with his feet planted flush with the floor ( thank the slav squad for helping his balance with that ) one hand holds the dildo steady while he sinks down onto it.

     It hurts going in and Doc doesn’t feel inclined to wait for proper adjustment until his cheeks meet the floorboards. “Fuck... Why did Six have to choose you again?” Montagne was an amazing operator, highly skilled, very sexy.. Get on with it Gustave. He can already see that perfectly sculpted body as if it were beneath him, holding a strong grip on both hips. It takes him longer than usual to come; soft thumping against the floor combined with muffled moans and uttered encouragements slurring into curses until a choked sound signals the end.

     He’ll sit there for a moment, still anchored onto the dildo with a shameful mess in front of him, and sighs when he finally catches his breath. It’s not the same but it is satisfying. After he cleans up and tucks himself into Montagne’s bed, the rest of his team has returned and gone their separate ways to conduct nightly rituals to get ready for sleep. He’ll greet them in the morning with a smile and a tired yawn.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

     It’ll be a week before Gilles returns and during that time frame, Doc decided to ask Dominic ( of all people ) for advice. The German already knew he was dating his colleague, it was obvious as fuck, but felt inclined to help a friend in need. He kinda owed it to Gus after the crude comment in the cafeteria a few days ago. Out of all the wild things Bandit suggested, a vibrator worked the best as it was simple / discrete and pleasuring himself in the shower made cleanup so much easier. It all came down to timing those sessions right so that he wouldn’t have to be so worried about the noise.

     He spaces out masturbating with getting additional work done in preparation to have a clean slate in the foreseeable future. Bandit offers to give him a quickie here and there, but he refuses. Discussing it with his partner must come first even though they’ve talked a little bit about it before. Someone they trust would be a better alternative than trying to go at it alone. Montagne trusts Dom while Doc thinks he’s rather annoying but trusts him as well. If he didn’t, he’d not of spoken up about his sexual frustrations.

     Brunsmeier can and will take secrets like those to his grave along with other personal shit. They’ve often spent nights sitting together on the roof of the base venting about past trauma, talking about hardships, and laughing when one of them remembers something stupid that’s funny now that it was over. Bandit’s a good man, you just need to see through the jokes and rough exterior. If he’s pranking you more than others, he likes you.

     Inquiring a second time felt too awkward, so Gustave decided to wait out the last handful of days. He’ll be the first one up to the helicopter so that absolutely nothing can get in the way of their date night inquiry. Since they obviously couldn’t go anywhere, having a glass of wine or whatever Gilles felt like drinking in their quarters was a decent alternative. He’s ordered takeout and goddamn it this private time is going to happen!

     The deployed squad shuffles off the helicopter one by one, taking their gear with them. Thankfully nobody looks seriously injured so there goes that speed bump. Montagne is the last to have his boots touch the ground, he’d been talking with Jäger and thanking him for a smooth flight. He didn’t have to but it was a nice thing to do. Now, about that date... “Gilles. You and me, tonight, my room. I’ve got food and great wine.” Doc received a quick nod for confirmation and they carry on with renewed energy to finish the day. He can’t help but catch a sly grin and a thumbs up from Bandit when he passes by in search of his engineer.

     Dominic will probably ask questions come morning and, for once, Doc won’t mind. The man did help him without judgement or ridicule. He also kind of wondered how much experience Bandit’s had with how in depth he went with his explanations sometimes and the terminology. It was both embarrassing and intriguing to listen to if you ignored the gestures the German made with his hands. Gustave’s selection of the vibrator earlier was the absolute most vanilla shit apparently.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~ 

     Night falls and Gustave passes on custody of Rainbow’s health to the poor souls taking his place for the graveyard shift. He’s definitely not going to answer any calls now. Critical emergencies will have to wait too because getting untangled and yanking on boxers or pants won’t hide an erection. That would be the worst case scenario: Doc rushing to the medical wing with a bouncing hard on re-trapped within one or two layers of clothing trying to concentrate on saving a life when he knows everyone can see the obvious bulge will be a night he’ll never live down.

     It makes him shudder just thinking about it or is that Gilles behind him unintentionally breathing against his neck? They’re on his bed, naked save for their underwear, with a glass of red wine in their hands. The cheap takeout has been consumed a while ago and did a fair job at filling their bellies. Gustave has made himself comfortable, basking in the feeling of skin on skin contact and the gentle rise and fall of his lover’s chest. If their evening remained this way, he wouldn’t be all that upset. He is content listening to what happened during the mission through his love’s point of view. It went off without a hitch, Rainbow had caught the White Mask’s with their pants down.

     Speaking of that, Gustave decides he’s going to wiggle a bit and pretend he’s adjusting so his back won’t hurt and the weight distribution doesn’t make any limbs go numb. He gets a heavy sigh in return, a kiss to his neck, and that makes his cheeks flush a light pink hue. “I was so lonely while you were gone.” He mock pouts, tilting his head up to watch Montagne chuckle. Tending to all of the base’s boo boos and ouchies doesn’t count for having company and he knows that.

     “Were you now? I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s sincere, yes, but the underlying mischief in Gilles’ voice doesn’t go unnoticed. His wine glass has been set down and Gustave’s  is taken so that it too won’t get in the way. The hitch in the medic’s breath tells him all he needs to know the moment fingers dip beneath the thin layer of cloth that dares to say it’s held some kind of modesty. “Let me make up for it, oui?” He doesn’t even need to hear an actual verbal confirmation with how eager the younger man is by getting up and demanding for them to switch positions.

      It isn’t always this quick. Most nights they take their time, indulge in tantalizing touches, teasing one another for what felt like hours, making it all last as long as they can. Tonight won’t be that tame, Gilles won’t deny either of them what they’ve both wanted and could not have. Months, it’s been literal months since the were able to make love and not settle for a quick blow job or hasty wanking in Doc’s private office. They better use what time they have before it’s gone, claimed by a persistent curse neither know how to dispel.

     Montagne is on his feet and pulling his lover flush against his body, kissing him deeply each time he feels his lover’s lips part for more. Oxygen becomes a luxury for a short while, something they need but cannot have without separation. It’s not fair, really, but breathing is obviously necessary and the show must go on. He hopes Twitch has decided to take up space in the workshop next to the usual one or two operators that sometimes call it home. Rook slept like a rock and nothing short of a smoke alarm or gun fire will wake him up.

     A quick squeeze to Gustave’s ass makes him frown in disappointment when nothing else follows it up. It doesn’t last long, however, once he realizes it’s a silent demand for him to lie down on the bed while Gilles finds a bottle of lube in one of the dresser drawers. So he does as he’s asked, lounging not-so-patiently with a fist curled around his cock, pumping it slowly simply for the stimulation it provides. He really wasn’t kidding when he said he was lonely. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, it makes the dick get hungrier. Bandit said that and Gustave laughed so hard he started to wheeze.

     The pad of Gilles’ thumb pressed against his lover’s puckered hole as he descended upon him. Careful ministrations intended to loosen it up so that a finger can breach the taut muscle. A curious thought crosses the mountain’s mind when it gives more readily than it should, accepting the initial digit without much protest. He’s beginning to think his lover’s impatience must have escalated while being left alone for so long. “You spoke with Dominic didn’t you?” He chuckled, receiving an honest nod that quickly turned into a spine arching moan as a second finger was pushed in.

     “I’ll have to thank him later.” That could mean a number of things considering how close they’ve let the German get into their relationship. Marius didn’t seem to mind seeing as how there have been no objections yet. The pilot was well aware that his partner has been giving the two Frenchmen advice but that’s the fullest extent of their interactions. Now’s not the time to get lost in thought though, Gustave’s legs are being hiked up and over the larger man’s shoulders. While he’s not all that flexible, it isn’t uncomfortable yet. They’ll start to ache halfway through and burn the next day, a cost he’s willing to pay in full.

     “Come on, mon amour. Haven’t I waited long enough?” Doc whined, pouting when an eyebrow was raised in response. How needy, but who’s he to deny such a wonderful man what he wants? A pillow is tugged over and shoved beneath Gustave’s lower back to give it cushion and raise his hips more. It’s the little things like this Gus loves, how conscious of his lover’s comfort Gilles is. Again there isn’t nearly enough preparation ( and that worries Montagne ) but Gustave insists on progressing right this instant.

     “This may hurt a little...” The older man warns, receiving no indication that his partner cares. He’s a doctor, he understands, and frankly has had enough of the delay. Gilles slicks up his cock with a healthy amount of lube, guiding it to where it needs to go before pushing in slowly. A bitten hiss is forced through Doc’s teeth, his primary focus now shifting to relax himself around the steadily growing girth burying itself deep within him. It’s a mixture of pain, an uncomfortable stretch, and rising pleasure at feeling the familiar warmth.

     At hilt deep, he’s given time to adjust that Montagne will not allow to be skipped. They aren’t as young as they wish they were, too much carelessness will ruin the experience. And so they wait, exploratory hands detailed the muscles of Gustave’s chest and stroking his sides while he gets lost in the gentle touches. Gilles knows exactly how to make his treasured love feel like a king, whether he’s nestled atop his lap or pinned beneath him. On queue, which this time is a squeeze to the taller man’s thigh, Touré slides back.

     His first series of thrusts are slow and careful, drawing out a pleased hum from Gustave’s throat. They have a well practiced rhythm, it starts at a crawl and picks up to a steady beat both can last their longest on. By no means is it ride or die, in fact, someone like Bandit might find it boring. The position Doc is in allows Gilles to drive in deep at the expense of a now growing ache in his legs. They bounce atop the taller man’s shoulders, his cock left unattended on his stomach. He won’t touch it, not yet, it’s too soon.

     Adjusting his angle draws out a moan from the doctor, one somewhat louder than he intended it to be. Using a little more force produces the same results and Gilles knows he’s found just the right spot to drive Gustave wild. The sound of skin hitting skin, husky breaths, and Doc’s voice is a filthy symphony in an otherwise quiet part of the base all the while he’s being encouraged to let go and praised for how good he feels, looks, and sounds.

     “Pleasure yourself, mon Ange, let me hear your enjoyment.” Gilles says so sweetly, letting go of his lover’s hip to guide a hand to the neglected shaft spilling precum on glistening sweat soaked skin. Fingers curl around it and pump in time with the heavy thrusts pounding his consciousness into oblivion. “There you go, that’s it.” Now Gustave’s mouth is hanging open, eyes glossed over and fixated on the older man’s beautiful hues.

     The burn in his knees is only getting worse but Doc doesn’t feel it anymore. Warmth is pooling in his gut and he can’t string together coherent sentences, repeating Montagne’s name instead along with a few expletives coming out in mixed French-English jumbles. He’s always been the noisier of the two no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. At some point he loses that restraint and drowns out the growls and grunts from his faithful shield. It’s when he becomes silent that Gilles knows he’s reaching his climax.

     With teeth gritted and red flushing his cheeks, Touré chases his own orgasm in the form of less coordinated and more forceful thrusts that have Gustave’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. He hears his name shouted into the heavens and can feel the contractions of Doc’s body as he cums, painting his chest with each spurt. Riding upon that high, Gilles keeps going until he buries himself deep, presses their chests together, and groans into his lover’s ear.

     Having nothing to hold them up, Doc’s legs drop as far as the broad body in between them will allow. They both need a minute to relearn how to breathe correctly and see straight. “God I needed that..” Gustave pants, earning a breathless chuckle from his partner who has raised himself back up on shaking arms. He pulls out with the same care as he had initially going in, giving them both a good look at the mess that had been made.

     Rather than attempt standing, Montagne rolls over onto his back and smiles when he feels Doc turn to snuggle against his side. They’ll worry about showering and changing the bed sheets tomorrow. Neither of them have the strength to bother this time.

     “Je t’aime, mon Ange.” Gilles hums. “Je t’aime aussi, mon Trésor.” Gustave yawns, placing a kiss on his lover’s cheek.

[kiruuuuu]

Siege The Valentines 2019 Day 1

Blitz/Rook oneshot in which Rook would like to have sex and Blitz doesn’t. So they compromise and have sex. (Rating E, fluff/humour, explicit smut, some exhibitionism and semi-public sex, ~8.5k words)

Thank you so much to everyone at @dualrainbow​ for organising this event!! I’m thrilled to participate and look forward to everyone’s contributions :) Please follow @dualrainbow​ so you don’t miss a day and let writers know if you enjoyed their story! 💕

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“You should’ve seen me, I drop kicked one of them down the stairs and actually made him do a flip, a bloody flip, I bet none of you have ever seen anyone do that, it was brilliant! Much cooler than the way I made five of them curse like all hell when I set off one of my babes, and that was already -”

“I think my favourite moment of yours was when you were currently telling me about how much you needed a piss, so much that you considered just dipping out for a second to do it in the middle of a mission and one of the blokes burst into the room. You shrieked like a child, my ears are still ringing.”

Smoke shoots Mute a glare when the younger Brit’s comment earns more laughs than his dramatic exaggeration of the events transpired earlier, but an arm casually slung around his waist placates him instantly. Blitz can only imagine how he feels in his lover’s half-embrace, pressed against a warm body and so obviously claimed in front of everyone – he’d bet it’s nice, has felt a similar sensation before, confidence and affection settling low in his stomach and weighing him down in a good way. A quick glance over to a certain Frenchman assures him that Rook is following a similar tale as well, eyes bright and mouth stretched into a rapt grin while he listens to Maestro. He’s almost cute like this, enthusiastically poses additional questions to allow the Italian to flesh out the story, and Blitz knows what it feels like to have all his attention.

Okay, he’s understating. Rook is adorable. If he could, he’d hug him right now and kiss the tip of his nose. Maybe tell him how happy his entire existence makes him.

“You’re the one babe I never have to set off, you do that all by yourself”, Smoke is grumbling now after Mute once more rained on his boisterous parade, prompting his boyfriend to laugh and his hold to tighten.

They’re loitering outside their hotel – since drinking alcohol in the lobby isn’t permitted, they’ve gathered here to share their post-mission hyperactivity. Their group must make for an intimidating picture, around twenty well-built men and women congregating, sharing cans of beer and raucous laughter, but as long as nobody chases them away, they’ll stay. There’s no alternative really: they’d go insane in their individual rooms, with some of them probably taking apart the furniture due to cabin fever, and going out isn’t preferred either. Because rarely anyone would understand the rush of having saved lives, and they want to ride the high for just a little longer. It won’t be long until exhaustion sets in.

Blitz can feel the tension slowly leaving his muscles but instead of rendering him immobile, it makes him giddy. He barely resisted the urge to join Finka in her spontaneously made up drinking game of having to take a sip whenever any of them curses in their mother tongue (and by now, she and various others are very tipsy) and it’s getting more and more difficult to not just run, tackle someone for a friendly wrestling match or try to scale a building – though the glass façade of their hotel would make this last one impossible without the proper equipment.

“Have I ever told you that you’re fucking awesome at your job?”, Ying addresses Hibana with a reverent expression which speaks not only of her admiration for the other woman but also of the fact that she’s by far the worst of them in holding her liquor.

“Only six times today”, the Japanese woman replies with a both flattered and amused grin. “You’re talking about me saving your life again earlier? It’s becoming a running joke at this point.”

Ying puffs herself up in front of her, almost like a small bird trying to seem more intimidating and stabs her in the collarbone with a finger to emphasise every word coming out of her mouth. “I. Love. Your. Controlled. Explosions.”

“Sounds like she’s setting off a controlled explosion in your panties”, Ash butts in drily and amid the chortles and chuckling, Blitz’ eyes meet Rook’s.

It’s a relatively mild night for the season but even the beers he had don’t really explain the sudden rush of heat overcoming him. Not for the first time does he realise just how gorgeous the other man really is with his dark curls and bright blue eyes, his physique oddly attractive even to someone who preferred softer curves all his life. It probably has to do with almost dying – death puts a lot of things into perspective. Cheeks hot, he offers a warm smile and nearly crushes the can in his hand when it’s reciprocated, so pleased is he, before averting his eyes again. He feels like an open book but would prefer for no one to read him right now.

Maybe he should drink some water to clear his mind a little, guide his restless state towards something more productive. He’s got some bottled water in his hotel room, so he excuses himself from no one in particular as everyone is currently cheering on either Ash or Hibana in their battle of wits while Ying seems a tad confused with the entirety of the universe.

The moon is mirrored in the spottily illuminated glass front of the building and Blitz is so mesmerised by it that he only notices he’s gained a companion when he enters the lobby and Rook slips in with him.

“What are you doing?”, the young man wants to know cheerfully and seems barely capable of containing his excess energy.

“Getting some water. I hate travelling with a hangover and we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with!” The announcement is followed by Rook dancing alongside him, basically running laps around him and bouncing in place as they wait for the elevator. More than ever he reminds Blitz of a puppy. “Did you hear what Maestro said? Apparently Lesion lost the bet with James and now he has to get an undercut, can you imagine how silly he’s going to look, probably almost as bad as the time Gus had to -”

His chatter lulls Blitz in who’s more than happy to let Rook do the talking and simply indulge him, but he was not at all prepared for the tongue which pries his lips open and shoves its way into his mouth as soon as the elevator doors close behind them. He makes a surprised noise and stumbles back yet Rook merely follows him, presses their bodies together and continues ravishing him. Having no other choice, Blitz succumbs and kisses back tentatively, smiling at the desperate sound he earns in return and putting his arms around his lover.

Rook is a needy disaster whenever he feels he’s been neglected for too long and so it’s no surprise when he mumbles: “I haven’t kissed you all day.” His pout is audible but at least he detaches when they arrive on Blitz’ floor, trailing after him with a whine.

“Well, we had a few situations to de-escalate”, Blitz reminds him gently while unlocking his door. “If you want, we can cuddle a bit before going to bed, but you’re sleeping in your own room.” Rook perks up at this and were he really a dog, he’d probably wag his tail at Mach 3 right now. As expected. “That’s not a euphemism. I’ll be too tired for anything else.”

And here comes the ear droop – also as expected. “But -”

He feels bad. He really does, he hates disappointing people and disappointing Rook even more and he’d be lying if he claimed the quick and dirty kiss in the elevator had no effect on him, but… there’s other issues. Unaddressed ones, entirely his own fault, he knows this, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to raise the topic yet. “Come on in and we can make out for now”, he suggests instead and Rook is immediately full of life again.

The room itself is remarkably pleasant even if cramped, the carpet fluffy, the bed just the right kind of hard and the floor to ceiling windows a nice touch. Blitz turns the light on, gives Rook a peck on the lips to appease him for the moment and draws the heavy curtains closed before rummaging around in his backpack for his sparkling water. Rustling behind him causes him to turn around curiously and he’s faced with -

“Julien!”

Rook pauses uncertainly, blinking at him like someone who got caught doing something forbidden yet not sure what exactly. He’s half way in taking off his shirt while his trousers are unbuttoned already, his shoes kicked off to the side and his toes trying to find purchase on the hem of his trouser leg so he can pull it off as well. If his intent hadn’t been crystal clear, he’d look comical. “Is this not what we’re doing?”, he wants to know, sheepish, and once more reminds Blitz of a dog – only this time a mindlessly horny one.

“Making out also wasn’t a euphemism”, he stresses firmly and he knows this look all too well, has received it several times after dates and in the morning and even at work but … he can’t. He can’t give in, no matter how much it pains him to turn down these wide, dejected eyes.

“It’s been so lonnng”, Rook whines and shuffles over to him, listlessly throwing his arms around Blitz and crowding him against the nearest wall. A quick look confirms that yes, there’s no gap in the curtains meaning none of their colleagues still outside can see them, so Blitz relaxes and pulls his boyfriend close to him, finally enjoying a hug that, while being slightly uncomfortable due to the arms digging into his back, feels utterly wonderful. “And you’re always so handsome, it’s not fair. Your helmet hair is cute and when you’re being modest it’s adorable and you know I love it when you drink out of a can wrong.”

The ticklish words grumbled against the exposed skin on the side of his neck make him laugh softly and card his hand through Rook’s silky hair. “You know there’s no wrong way to drink out of a can?”

“There is. And you’ve perfected it just to taunt me. Have I told you that these jeans make your ass look amazing?”

It’s good that Rook can’t see his reddening face – Blitz is weak to heartfelt compliments and he knows he can take Rook’s seriously. “You’re really pent up at this point, hm?” Another pleading whine is enough of an answer. “I can just… take care of you, how about that?”

To his genuine astonishment, Rook declines. “I want to make you feel good too, mon cœur, or else it’s no fun.” He does belatedly accept the offer of making out, however, simply presses their lips together and purrs against Blitz’ mouth. He gives in without hesitation, always does so when they’re alone, whether it’s early in the morning, amidst frantic preparations to go to work, during a film they’re watching or as a prolonged good night kiss. Rook thoroughly enjoys kissing in all circumstances and is slowly winning Blitz over as well, not only with his eagerness but also because he’s excellent at it.

Rook does the thing which always makes his toes curl and he can feel himself melting into the devoted ministrations speaking of an affection he reciprocates wholeheartedly. He’s gotten worryingly attached to this man in a relatively short amount of time, willingly allowed him into his life and doesn’t even object to spending most of their nights together – but there are still some obstacles in the way, moments during which one of them is left staring blankly or unsure of what to say, awkward situations and slight hurt, often mutual. All in all it’s considerably less rocky than most of Blitz’ previous relationships or attempts thereof, and still he’s painfully aware it’s far from perfect. He doesn’t mind though, they’re both putting in the effort to make it work and it shows.

The beer he drank is only a very small part of the reason why Blitz enthusiastically toys with Rook’s tongue as soon as it becomes available: he’s missed this too. Letting himself go isn’t something he’s done often but Rook coaxes him out of his shell with loving touches, understanding reassurances and very uncharacteristic patience every time. The longer they kiss, the steamier it gets, and he really should’ve seen this coming. Rook has… a remarkable libido, as he’s come to realise, and it’s much too easy to allow him to take the lead, especially since he always ensures Blitz gets whatever his heart (or rather his crotch) desires, and why has Blitz been this reluctant again?

He’s drawing a blank now, the wet sounds of their sloppy making out just as distracting as the way Rook subtly grinds against him, full of hope and need. The Frenchman is groaning into Blitz’ mouth, running his tongue over his teeth and simultaneously massaging his ass, always moving, almost writhing against him while he systematically takes apart all of Blitz’ composure. It’s only a kiss, yes, but what a kiss it is – dizzying, with no opportunity to breathe freely, a merciless onslaught of sensation and Blitz feels like he’s seventeen again, snogging his crush for the very first time. His knees are getting weak, his eyelids heavy enough so he never wants to lift them again, and more and more of his focus wanders to his lower half, this one place where he’d like to feel all of Rook, preferably right now.

They’re not even undressed. Rook hasn’t even said anything, and Blitz already is as flustered as if he had three fingers inside and it really has been a while, hasn’t it? It’s not his lack of desire for his boyfriend which held him back, not at all, if anything he’s been exceedingly tense and trying not to keep glancing at Rook whenever he was working out or smiling or having unruly hair or really just there, and this definitely isn’t helping. He’s thinking about it now, Rook over, under, behind, inside him, and he loves it all.

Rook knows what he’s doing, knows how susceptible Blitz is to his kisses and so he’s made use of them as a distraction to sneak his hands under Blitz’ shirt, running them over heated skin as he slowly nibbles and sucks and licks Blitz’ inhibitions out of him. And then, suddenly, he rolls one of his nipples between gentle fingertips. The unexpected spike of pleasure is too much, entirely too much, and Blitz can’t help but moan, just allow this loud noise to escape his throat as if it had any justifiable reason to exist, and simultaneously panics.

“No”, he whispers and twists away from the offending hand, “stop, stop.”

Immediately, Rook pauses and withdraws a little, the troubled look on his face only increasing Blitz’ guilt. “I’m sorry. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, but give me a minute. Okay?” His words come slow, his mind still trying to catch up. Rook nods, visibly trying hard not to let his disappointment show, and rests his forehead on Blitz’ shoulder, pants softly against his collarbone and keeps holding him close. He’s given away by movement further down, his prominent erection straining against his underwear in the exposed triangle between the hem of his t-shirt and his open zip. It’s -

It looks really inviting. It looks like something Blitz needs to touch or even lick and holding back is surprisingly difficult. He pictures himself sinking to his knees and taking care of it, guiding Rook’s tentative thrusts and yes, he could do that, it’d be fine as long as he doesn’t touch himself which is getting harder by the second, pun fully intended.

“Do you want me to -” He kisses soft hair and brushes his knuckles over the rigid shaft, earning a gasp and another twitch. “I can just satisfy you. That’d be okay.”

The aqua blue eyes directed at him are full of defeat. “Why not more, mon cœur? We have the time, and we don’t need to do anything exhausting. Am I doing something wrong? Don’t you like having sex with me anymore?”

Blitz feels his face warming up once more. “It’s the opposite, rather. That’s the problem.” He would prefer not to talk about it at all until he’s found a solution by himself but he supposes he owes Rook at least this much.

Only it looks that all he’s doing for right now is thoroughly confusing him. “You like it too much? What do you mean?”

The words don’t really want to come out right, warped by insecurity and self-consciousness. “It’s… embarrassing.”

“What is?” Rook has momentarily forgotten about their state, tilting his head inquisitively and hell-bent on making Blitz spell it out for him, apparently.

“When we – you know, then I’m…” He makes a meaningful pause, hoping that Rook gets it on his own, but is merely met with more bewilderment. He must be crimson by now. “I’m too loud. Okay? I’m just – it’s awkward. I can’t hold back and I don’t like it.”

Astonishment morphs into complete and utter lack of understanding. “What?”

“It’s embarrassing”, he reiterates to really drive the point home but it seems that this isn’t where Rook’s mind is refusing to cooperate.

“It’s incredibly hot!”, his lover shoots back with passion. “No, really, you have no idea how much it turns me on, I love it. Please don’t even try to hold yourself back, it’s my favourite thing.”

Oh.

“But you’re much quieter.”

“Yeah, so I can hear you better.”

Oh. Blitz ponders this new revelation. He supposes that Rook does indeed let himself go if it’s only him being stimulated, yes, now that he thinks about it. “I just thought it wouldn’t -”

“Wait, is that the reason you didn’t want to have sex recently?” Oops. And there it is.

Sheepishly, he replies: “Maybe?”

“So I didn’t do anything wrong? You still want me to sleep with me? You were just embarrassed because you moaned during sex?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds silly”, Blitz protests weakly but ultimately, he has no leg to stand on. Quite literally, too, because Rook wordlessly picks him up and carries him until the mattress digs into the back of his knees.

“You have no idea how relieved I am”, Rook murmurs into the side of his neck and Blitz belatedly realises that the questions he posed weren’t rhetorical but genuine, he did want to make sure there wasn’t another unaddressed issue between them holding Blitz back. “And how pissed off.”

That’s fair, Blitz thinks. He’s still not wholly comfortable with the idea of giving himself up like this, of allowing Rook to assume total control over his body but he trusts him nonetheless. Knowing that Rook doesn’t mind, quite the opposite, is a reassurance he apparently needed, and so he wraps himself around his boyfriend and mumbles an apology.

“It’s alright, mon cœur, but if you hold yourself back now, I’m gonna fuck you so slowly you’ll end up begging.” And before he can react to this announcement in any way, Rook has shoved him onto the bed already, crawling on top of him and once again claiming his mouth, only this time the goal doesn’t seem to be seducing Blitz but rather silencing him – now that Rook knows there’s technically nothing speaking against them having sex, he’ll be unrelenting.

His mouth is merciless and so are his hands, roaming Blitz’ torso freely, rubbing him into a pleasant daze and lulling him into a false sense of security because it doesn’t stop, none of it, neither the deep kisses nor the fingertips digging into his skin and when Rook rolls his hips against his, he’s surprised at how hard both of them are nonetheless. They move up on the bed, stretching out on it while Rook suckles on his lower lip contentedly, fumbling with Blitz’ buttons.

“Shouldn’t we go back?”, Blitz gasps. “The others -”

It’s a weak excuse and both of them know it, he’s actually amazed Rook even graces him with a reply. “- won’t care, if they even notice at all. Gilles and Dom disappeared a while ago too and no one wondered about them.”

They’re definitely not doing anything like this though, Blitz wants to object but groans instead when a hand dives into his briefs and wraps around his erection. He’s momentarily stunned by how fantastic it feels to have someone else’s hand on his dick, lazily stroking up and down and squeezing the head lightly, prompting another strangled noise from him. The fierce pleasure rushes through him and erodes his sanity in a very familiar way – if he’s going to stop this at all, he has to do it soon.

“I don’t have any lube here”, he pants, desperate and his self-control waning.

The fond, adoring look this earns him makes it brilliantly clear that there really is no escape. “Mon cœur, you can’t honestly think I’d ever be unprepared for spontaneous sex”, Rook tells him gently and pulls a small bottle out of his pocket triumphantly. “Take your clothes off, will you?”

And Blitz admits defeat. He does want this, painfully so, but cringes whenever he lets out a sound he deems too loud regardless. And for some reason he has the impression that Rook is going to enjoy teasing him immensely.

Following Rook’s order turns out more complicated than he thought because the Frenchman chases after every piece of clothing with his lips, peppers any newly exposed skin with ticklish kisses and makes Blitz giggle in the process. Unlike Rook’s previously almost frantic displays of affection, he’s much more playful now, bites at Blitz’ calves until he threatens to throw him off the bed and sucks dark red marks onto his thighs. It’s oddly calming, the uncomfortable tension between them has dissipated and given way to mutual desire and passion which is a relief to Blitz also – he hates nothing more than disappointing people, and repeatedly worming his way out of something he genuinely enjoys were it not for that Small Detail wasn’t easy. Rook really must’ve worried.

“Can I make it up to you somehow?”, he offers while helping his lover out of his clothes, feeling his muscles and strong legs while doing so. He can’t help but admire his body – he’s beautiful with and without clothes, only he doesn’t get to see him naked nearly enough. Their hard work and training indubitably pays off and Rook is the best example with the pronounced muscles adorning him.

“You can moan like a whore for me”, the younger man supplies cheerfully.

“Julien.”

“Have I ever told you that you sound like my old teacher when you do that?” He catches sight of Blitz’ horrified expression and hurries to amend: “No, don’t worry, I like it. You don’t need to stop doing it.”

“You know, somehow that doesn’t make it any better.” Rook chuckles in response while ridding himself of his socks and then takes his usual place between Blitz’ spread legs, beaming at him expectantly. “Isn’t there anything else you’d like to do?” The question is dangerous. He made the mistake of granting Rook a blank cheque before and ended up sobbing into a pillow as he came so hard he got some in his hair, but right now they’re coming down after a tense mission, they don’t have all evening and Rook is missing most of his ‘equipment’ anyway. What’s the worst that could happen?

Rook contemplates the offer for a moment while touching Blitz’ stiff member, massaging the tip gently, then his scrotum, then even further down. It’s distracting despite its absent-minded nature and he finds himself lifting one of his legs to grant better access already. Noticing the subconscious gesture, Rook shoots him a smile and presses against his perineum, repeating the gesture when Blitz bites his lip at the pleasant sensation. “I’d like a certain position and a certain location. Here in this room though, don’t worry.”

Sounds easy enough. If he’s honest, it sounds entirely too easy, but gift horses and so on. Maybe Rook is happy with a little bit of experimentation, and besides, even if he wants to do something like bending Blitz over the desk, it’ll be fine. More than fine. Maybe… maybe he should bring up this suggestion himself at a later point in time. “Alright. I’m okay with that.”

“You’re the best”, Rook announces, full of giddy anticipation, and leans down to engulf the head of Blitz’ cock with his lips.

The sudden gesture makes him jump first and inhale sharply second, not expecting to be encased in moist heat this abruptly, but adapting to it is made easy by a skilled tongue swiping over sensitive flesh. Reflexive protest turns into a content sigh as Rook demonstrates exactly why Blitz allowed him to do this very thing to him at work once – no one cared what they were doing anyway, they were both bored and Rook side-eyed him and the rest is pretty messy history. The Frenchman is not only ridiculously skilled at this though, no, it’s also made better by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes whenever he gazes up to Blitz as well as the brown mane he can hold on to.

He’s serious from the start, allowing the glans to glide over his lips a few times as he bobs his head shallowly, then swallows more, goes deeper with each motion, sucking hard on every upwards pull. Within seconds, Blitz is reduced to a panting mess over the unforgiving stimulation, digging his one heel into the mattress and flexing his toes on both feet, almost shying away from the intense feeling. His breathing turns ragged, irregular, as he alternates between squeezing his eyes shut to focus on the lips tight around him and raptly watching Rook slide up and down like a true professional.

It only gets worse once his lover has snapped the cap open and poured some of the lube he inexplicably carried around with him onto his fingers, because he very practically-oriented doesn’t waste any time before pushing one of them into Blitz and that’s the moment he has to slap a hand over his mouth. Because if he thought Rook couldn’t be any more ruthless, he’s sorely disappointed when a fingertip rubs directly over his sweet spot.

Rook is very versatile concerning a lot of things, not only at work – he adapts easily to those around him and seems to fit in anywhere, and even in bed he’s eager to switch things up now and then, go with the flow, read Blitz’ mood and act accordingly. They’ve had evenings filled with languid kisses, almost lazy orgasms and copious amounts of cuddling, just like they had moments where everything was over and done with in less than five minutes. Right now, Blitz is still vaguely weightless from their earlier collective success and, now that they’ve at least acknowledged his issue, ready for a slow and thorough session.

Unlike Rook. Very unlike Rook, if how he’s currently sucking the life out of Blitz while abusing his prostate in the most wonderful way is any indication. He feels even more vulnerable now, being invaded by a slippery digit and trying to relax into the sensation, yet need is pulling his body taut and hindering him. Having Rook inside him still hasn’t lost its magic, especially not when he’s paying close attention to Blitz’ reactions as he is now, crooking his finger over and over as if he’s beckoning him to come, motioning for him to come closer and closer – and that’s exactly what Blitz is doing, still not allowing himself to make a noise but quickly running out of oxygen.

Distractedly, he notices that he’s almost lifting off the mattress due to the need thrumming through him and, abruptly, it hits him that he really is about to climax. Panicked, he pushes Rook away, nearly tripping over the edge when his cock is released with a wet pop, and is instantly rewarded with a half-lidded gaze and lips shining with spit. Breathing heavily, he gasps: “No more. I’m – I’m almost there.”

There’s an almost malicious glint in Rook’s eyes now. “Try not to come then, I’ll be fucking you regardless”, he responds, quite obviously feeling vengeful and deservedly so. Blitz opens his mouth in protest but merely draws a deep breath when a second finger joins the first, stretching him in preparation. Sinking back into the sheets, he accepts his fate which, admittedly, is more than bearable. He enjoys this part anyway, not only because Rook does but also because his lover, as with many things in this domain, is exceedingly skilful. Despite expecting it to, being entered never hurt and Blitz knows better than to take any credit for it.

Impatiently, he pushes against the fingers, grinds into them and hums at every shock of want hitting him out of nowhere. Without the added stimulation to his dick, it’s manageable, his mind blissfully empty and a dreamy smile on his face as he drifts away on the ebb and flow and then – then Rook swallows him again. Just the head for now, but it doesn’t matter because it feels divine and fantastic and holy shit what is he even doing; Blitz forgets how to breathe for a second, catapulted right back to the edge with how hard Rook is sucking but doesn’t tip over, teeters and looms but doesn’t fall.

It takes him a few moments before he can identify this heavenly sensation: Rook is tonguing the underside of the head, directly over one of Blitz’ most sensitive spots – as he very well knows. Apart from that, he’s not moving, simply rubbing over it again and again, just like with his prostate and it’s obvious what he wants to achieve at this point. But Blitz isn’t giving in. No matter how fucking magnificent it feels, he refuses to let out more than minuscule whimpers, even if Rook keeps this up… which he can, without much effort really. And actually does.

Blitz ends up trembling, trapped between an insistent tongue and deft fingers, both of which have his own hands twitching and overwhelming want taking priority over all. He’s extremely close to just getting rid of the brunet between his legs and jerking himself off but this, too, would be admitting defeat – so he endures, eyes watering, teeth clenched, abs tensing. And Rook seems to be having the time of his life. Even more so when he reaches up, his free hand slowly gliding over Blitz’ hips, his ribs, towards -

All he can do is watch in horror as fingers slowly close on his nipple but something for which he was even less prepared is Rook swallowing him whole as soon as he pinches, and the throaty moan that follows couldn’t have been held back no matter what. “My love”, Blitz whines and hears another strangled noise leave his lips while Rook makes sure he hits the back of his throat on every bob, “please, don’t – Julien – I’m so close. Oh God.” It’s too much, Rook is scissoring his fingers now, pinching harder, moving faster, and he really is just about to orgasm, he can taste it, the tingling starting in his crotch and working its way outwards to his limbs…

And Rook stops again. This time, he ceases all stimulation, withdraws both hands, sits up and licks his lips with a satisfied grin. The air is cool on wet skin and Blitz feels himself throb, feels his hole pulse and has to make an effort to see straight. If, in certain moments, his lover feels a fraction of the ferocious desire currently tugging at Blitz’ limbs, he can’t blame him for being perpetually aroused. Rook is a God and Blitz wants to worship him the only way his brain is allowing him to consider right now.

“Come on”, he pleads quietly, reaching for his boyfriend, “come on, Julien, don’t make me wait.”

The impish smirk transforms into a devoted smile and Rook leans down for a tender but quick kiss. He’s not unaffected, as his rock hard erection betrays him, but he’s certainly more composed than Blitz. “I love you”, he murmurs against his lips before climbing off the mattress, holding out a hand. “Get up. We’re doing it while standing.”

Easier said than done, his legs probably don’t feel like rubber. Blitz crawls to the edge of the mattress and lets Rook help him up, then sways unsteadily in place, much to his boyfriend’s amusement. His lower half is still throbbing viciously, demanding release or at the very least more stimulation, and coherent thought is nigh impossible in this state. Uncomprehending, he watches as Rook turns off the light and then fumbles his way to the large windows, drawing the curtains back and letting pale moonlight in.

“Come here”, he says with a grin and Blitz understands.

“Julien.”

“They can’t see you like this.”

“Julien, no.”

“You promised.”

He did promise. Not explicitly, but he agreed to Rook’s terms and this is apparently what they are: fucking him against a full length window. He should’ve noticed this loophole and is grateful that he at least killed the lights or else all their colleagues outside would’ve gotten mooned by Rook’s really quite marvellous ass. He thinks about it. The façade is dark enough, he certainly couldn’t look into any of the darkened rooms.

As he approaches, face burning, Rook’s outstretched arm curls around his midsection and creates a protective barrier between Blitz’ body and the cool glass in front of him. He’s manoeuvred between Rook and the window, facing the outside, and forces himself not to look down at all the people he knows, instead focuses on Rook pressing himself against his back and kissing his shoulder, heavy erection slipping between his cheeks and rubbing over his quivering ring of muscle which is more than ready to receive it.

“I’ve always wanted to do this”, Rook divulges with a chuckle. “It’s going to be so hot when you shoot against the window, mon cœur.”

None of what he’s saying helps to put Blitz at ease but since his body is still in horny mode, he’s incapable of refusing Rook anything. “This is terrible”, he states and flinches when the tip of his dick touches the cold surface, shoves his hips against Rook’s.

“Just relax. And remember that no one can see you.” In the second it takes Rook to lube up his own cock, Blitz contemplates his life choices but gets rudely interrupted when Rook pushes his legs apart a little further. Knowing what’s about to happen, Blitz shuts his eyes so all his attention is concentrated on the glorious sensation of Rook entering him from behind – the first stretch is mind-numbing and feels endless, but once the head has slipped in, it’s just a matter of filling up his insides; every centimetre pushes more air out of his lungs until Rook bottoms out with a blissful moan. They stay mostly still for a few elating seconds during which Blitz can’t help but reach between his legs, fondle Rook’s balls and make him twitch deep inside repeatedly, something that always sends waves of pleasure rolling through him.

Rook fills him out so perfectly as if they were made for each other but he’s still in a pitiless mood: once Blitz has nodded and thus given him the signal to move, he withdraws almost all the way before slamming back in, repeating the process when it yields another broken sound from Blitz. He loves when Rook does this, when his hard thrusts reach deep but don’t come so fast as to numb his insides with overstimulation – like this, he feels every centimetre sliding in and out keenly, almost stumbles and staggers each time Rook hits his prostate. The angle is unfair, the fact that he has to endure this while standing merciless and Rook’s lustful moans directly into his ear lacking any compassion. He’s going to be ruined.

First, he needs recover his balance, he’s dizzy and only getting worse with every burst of pleasure exploding behind his eyelids, every hard impact, so he steadies himself against the windowpane. The smooth glass is icy to the touch and only reminds him of how scorchingly hot Rook is, how the hands holding on to Blitz’ hips set him ablaze, Rook’s breath on the back of his neck as hot as his body, radiating heat and making Blitz sweat. A particularly vicious thrust hitting all the right spots forces another moan out of him but so far he’s been good, suppressed a lot more… but why is he holding back?

Rook is living out a fantasy of his right now, and he’s making no effort to hide it – already his movements are becoming irregular and the endless stream of noises falling from his lips is unselfconscious. He’s utterly lost in the moment and has no qualms about letting Blitz know, allowing him to hear just how good he feels, how much he’s enjoying himself. He’s so… honest and open.

The moment Blitz moans his lover’s name, Rook almost loses his rhythm. He stumbles a little, obviously surprised, but when Blitz does it again, Rook echoes it with a similar groan of his own. He curses heartily and increases the speed at which he drives into Blitz, simultaneously hugging him tightly so he can’t go as deep but neither of them care. If he could see his reflection, Blitz bets that the other man would be smiling.

It’s astonishingly easy. Once Blitz has gotten accustomed to channelling the intense pleasure into mewls and whines and gasps, it happens all by itself, genuine reactions to Rook’s thorough fucking – and it’s liberating, strangely enough, heightens his lust where before he robbed himself of this, diminished it through his misplaced embarrassment. He feels more naked than before, probably also due to the fake sense of exposure the glass before him gives off, but it’s fine because Rook holds him, a reliable strong body keeping him upright and causing more and more pulsing need. He’s ecstatic.

Wanting more, needing to feel Rook even more sharply, Blitz pushes his hips back once again, changing their stance slightly to break the embrace but allow Rook deeper penetration which turns out to be one of the best ideas he’s ever had. His hands scrabble for purchase against the cool window but find none, so he squishes the side of his face against it instead, every hard thrust dragging his skin against the glass and every breath of his fogging it up yet it’s perfect like this. Rook’s motions are almost frantic now, getting worse whenever Blitz moans a yes or oh fuck and he can’t blame him, he does sound increasingly lewd.

His thighs are shaking by now from the exertion, his body covered in a sheen of sweat and his brain long bidden farewell. All he can do is idly wonder why he ever leaves the Frenchman out of his sight, why he would ever say no to any of his suggestions when he ends up feelings this fucking amazing each time. A hand wraps around his shaft, making him groan and instinctively clench around Rook’s cock, heightening the gratifying sensations with which it graces him.

“Imagine they could actually see you like this”, Rook whispers into his ear and increases the tempo, ramps up the intensity even more, the thought quite obviously exciting him. And Blitz does, he does imagine it, pictures what he looks like right now – rosy cheeks, face flattened and palms uselessly pressed against the window, lower half pushed towards Rook to allow for deep thrusts, swollen cock happily dripping clear liquid as it bobs along to the rhythm at which he’s being entered. He’s fine with showing his boyfriend this side of his since it goes both ways, he’s seen Rook squirming in ecstasy below him before. But he’d rather not share either of these displays with anyone else.

By now, his legs are threatening to give in despite the iron hold around his hips. His pleasure never really declined as he didn’t recover from Rook’s spectacular blow job earlier, and so he’s been high-strung this entire time, the relentless stimulation of his prostate in this position only contributing to the roaring lust. Feeling a fist around his dick now leaves him reeling and he pushes into it mindlessly, moves back and forth between Rook’s hot flesh and his merciful hand promising sweet release, his desire building and building, working towards the crescendo -

Rook plunges deep into him a few times more and he’s gone. He barely stops himself from folding in half at the sudden, concentrated pleasure hitting him and moans with abandon, moans to accompany every motion fucking his orgasm out of him, moans for the way Rook massages his dick, moans at each violent spurt of come shooting out of him and splashing the smooth glass, the only barrier between him and outside. The relief is overwhelming to a point where his vision goes dark for a second and his entire universe consists of pure delight for an impressively long time. He feels like he handed himself over wholly and this is his reward for trusting the man behind him – and it was more than worth it. Panting in disbelief, he rides it out until the pleasure has subsided and given way to thorough contentment, a deep-seated warmth relaxing his muscles.

He opens his eyes to Mute staring up at him from the street.

His heart skips a beat and the unexpected adrenalin rush makes him perk up despite the physical exhaustion. No, he’s not imagining it, Mute is indeed looking up to where he is squished against the window, and so is Smoke. Both of them are grinning like people who just got away with murder – but that’s not even all. Hibana, a few metres away, also gapes up at him, pointing and apparently making the others aware because most of them turn and look and Jesus fucking Christ.

“Julien”, he murmurs urgently, pushing against the glass to move them back, further into the room, away from the freaking window which has betrayed him so. “Julien, please -”

“I’m so close”, his lover mews, his grip tightening. He’s not letting go and he’s not letting Blitz move, holy hell, soon everyone will have seen them, and this is when Mute takes out his phone.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Move, Julien, we have to -” He’s flailing, struggling against his lover who reacts by merely shoving Blitz’ upper half against the cold surface, the shock of it causing him to tense once more and this is apparently what does it for Rook.

Helplessly, Blitz stares down at his smiling colleagues while Rook unloads inside him, their hips flush and his hot breath in Blitz’ hair. It’s not made any better by the fact that he can feel literally every throb with which his lover pumps his sperm into him, he feels it all while shuddering in residual want and keeping up eye contact with people he’s going to have to face again very soon.

He wishes for a swift death. Or maybe immediate exile.

This is the worst.

“Julien, they’re looking at us”, he hisses quietly once Rook has started relaxing against him.

“What?” A short pause. “Oh shit. Oh fuck. I didn’t think -” Finally, fucking finally he allows Blitz to move, withdraws gingerly and takes a step back into the safety of darkness. “I’m so sorry, mon cœur, I didn’t know -”

Blitz is both too much in shock and overcome with mortification to reply, so he mutely watches as Rook hurries to wipe the window clean, draw the curtains shut again and switch the light back on. To his credit, he has the decency to look apologetic as he basically wrings his hands in worry.

“At least they had a nice view?”, the Frenchman offers tentatively and that is it. Blitz is going to have to look for a new job. There’s absolutely no way he’ll ever live this down, let alone be able to look any of them in the eyes again. Ever.

“Are you insane?!”, he shoots back, audibly upset. “They watched me – I can’t believe it. None of them even knew -”

“Well, they know now.” Rook takes his hand and drags him into the bathroom and into the spacious shower, quite obviously to take his mind off of this… horror. “It’s okay, mon cœur.”

“Literally none of this is okay!” He got carried away, agreed to Rook’s terms out of guilt; he should’ve refused instead but at that point it wasn’t his upper brain doing the thinking anymore. He wonders whether anyone is going to put ‘excessive embarrassment’ as his cause of death on his tombstone.

While Rook’s gentle caresses under the warm stream of water help soothe him a little, the growing shit-eating grin does exactly the opposite. “Come on, don’t be so grumpy. You’re going to laugh about it one day. And I know you wanted to tell people yourself, but now we don’t need to hide anymore. Really, it’s a win-win situation.”

Blitz doesn’t think he’ll have any success in trying to make Rook understand that if he was embarrassed about being too loud during sex already, being watched by people whom he personally knows is infinitely worse. Not even affectionate kisses can calm the shame raging inside him and so he at first vehemently protests when Rook suggests they go back outside. “There is no way in hell I can show my face right now, neither my pride nor I would survive that.”

“Look, you fell off the horse, you have to get back on it. Better get it over with now, right?”

He has a point. Blitz doesn’t like admitting it, but his cheery boyfriend is possibly right in this, even if his bright smile is incredibly irritating. Eventually he relents after realising that Rook won’t allow for any peace otherwise, splashes his face with some cold water to hopefully reduce the flaming colour a little and fidgets restlessly in the elevator. He’s so far refrained from telling even his closest friends about Rook, so this must come as a shock to some of them. And he definitely would’ve preferred they hear about it any other way.

Everyone’s attention shifts to them as soon as they step out in front of the hotel and Blitz very nearly turns on his heel to storm back in. Rook has placed a supportive hand on his back, nudging him forwards towards their beaming colleagues.

“There you are!”, Mute greets them excitedly. “Did you two -”

“Yes, we are together!”, Blitz snaps at him, interrupting him with the brusque announcement. “And no, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Deafening silence.

Buck pauses mid-sip, Ying looks up from where she was dramatically dipping a giggling Hibana, and Maestro seems speechless. Even Maestro doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Riiight”, Mute replies awkwardly the way someone would react to an entirely uncalled-for slur by a racist grandparent, and Smoke murmurs a quiet and yet perfectly audible: “Weird flex but okay.”

Blitz has no idea what’s going on. Mutely, they all stare each other until Rook tugs at his sleeve and wordlessly points up at the hotel.

There’s an illuminated window, by Blitz’ estimate directly above his own room, and two silhouettes are illuminated in a tight embrace. They are the only thing visible and even then it’s a little difficult to make them out as the windows are tinted.

The windows are fucking tinted.

Not only that, their light was switched off and it seems that everyone was amazed at whatever transpired in the actually lit room, not theirs.

“Well”, Blitz says more to himself than anyone else, because.

Because well.

And then he finally gets why everyone is so thrilled, why people were laughing and smiling, why Mute felt the need to record whatever was happening above their room, in plain sight, very unlike what Rook and he were doing at the time.

“It’s Dom and Gilles, isn’t it?”, Rook wants to know, mirroring everyone else’s exhilaration and earns a few nods.

“They were adorable”, Ying fills him in and nearly drops Hibana, “so awkward around each other but so cute, they kept looking at each other and not knowing what to do with their hands, and a few minutes ago they finally kissed. Took them long enough, but they got there. Now what was that about you and Elias?”

“Nothing”, Blitz hurries to answer. He feels Rook’s gaze on him, remembers how well he reacted to the prospect of their friends knowing about them. “I mean – it’s true. We are together.”

And when Hibana finally hits the ground with an exaggerated shriek, it’s almost like a signal for everyone to go back to whatever it is they were doing previously. It’s as if nothing happened, only now Blitz has one secret less to weigh him down. And Rook is smiling at him as if he hung the stars.

“That didn’t go so badly, did it?”, the Frenchman purrs and snakes his arms around Blitz’ waist, pulling them flush. The urge to fight the casual display of affection is still present but Blitz squashes it without much effort, thinking back to Mute and Smoke leaning into each other as if it was the most natural thing on this world. And… it really is, isn’t it?

“Could’ve been a lot worse”, he agrees and kisses him. A few ‘awww’s erupt behind them and he doesn’t know whether they’re directed at them or maybe Bandit and Montagne who have gone back to kissing as well, but it doesn’t matter. They all know now and it’s certainly the better option compared to knowing everyone watched him get -

“Does this mean I can spend the night in your room?”

Rook is being cheeky and both of them are aware, he often jokingly suggests things despite knowing Blitz will say no, only this time he gets a nod without hesitation. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Rook’s instant joy makes it more than worth it, though it also prompts Blitz to clarify one thing extremely carefully: “But we’re never doing anything like this again.”

[rookinvestigations]

29 Cantlan

  Too long and strange a day to write down. If there's a myself in the future reading this I might as well paste tomorrow's newspaper into this journal, as I'm sure it'll summarise the important bits in case I, ha ha, happen to forget enough great swathes of my life to need a reminder. (Why else keep a journal? It isn't as though I particularly enjoy staring my feelings in the face.) Suffice it to say that it started very routinely and somewhere in the middle went very wrong and by the end of it I'd watched several people die and watched a monster rampage through the city while I and the rest of my guard company tried to lure it to the top of a bell tower where we could subdue it until we were able to kill it with the sound of the cold iron bells. Also we attempted to investigate a murder which turned out to be a little more complicated, pried a Vistani merchant out of the grasp of his racist neighbours who wanted to pin the murder on him and eventually got eaten for their troubles, I had a grand idea I might get to set my life back to rights for all of about ten minutes before everything went sideways, a history book legend showed up out of nowhere to rescue one of the company and then order us around, I acquired a handgun through less than ideal means, we met a living box, Bob the Crow introduced herself to us (how have I lived in Foxmarch for so many years without ever being flapped at by Bob before? Have I been making too much trouble or not enough?), and I completely failed to learn to ride an enchanted broomstick or punch one silver-tonged asshole in the face. Also I caught sight of the Volpe just as the battle died down, watching us from one rooftop while we fought on another. He did, I belatedly realised, send over a small amount of help, mostly in the form of flung rope when one of us nearly fell, but at the time I was too occupied to notice much, and I don't understand why he didn't help us any more, unless he's really in the vigilante business for the usual reason of hitting people and didn't see this as important enough to risk being social and blowing his cover. I don't understand him at all, much as I've pored over Montcalm's documentation of his efforts. Part of me wants to shake his hand – every slippery Undercity backstabber and extortionist off the streets is a win – but part of me is too wary.

  After all of that there was a funny sort of adrenaline still howling through my veins which made it very difficult for me to comprehend the very normal idea of “calm down” – I remember suggesting we take our victory celebration to the nearest pub, and a few of our party took me up on it, but conversation quickly turned to not-conversation and a lot of staring exhaustedly into tankards while the rain dripped out of our hair and I don't really remember most of it now. All the bravado leaked out of us with the rainwater. I took my leave early and walked home in the dark. It was still raining.

  When I got into my flat I was chilled to the bone and shivering, which didn't seem right as it's Midsummer Eve and the weather had been primed for it, even with the rain. I set my new handgun down on the desk and stood in the middle of my flat still wearing my coat and dripping water into my eyes and completely forgot how to move for a minute, or maybe ten. It occurred to me from a very long way away that I might have burrowed into company I would have otherwise shaken off because the idea of being home alone with the night I'd just had all over me was a little too much to face. I don't know anyone I can be alone with, except Mrs MacGruan, and certainly no one I could ask over to my flat in the middle of the night, not that I'd want anyone to see me in a less than coherent state. From the far away observing place I watched my body crumple, one hand braced on my desk, and begin to weep. Which was appalling, I haven't shed a tear in actual years. It makes me feel undone and helpless and very small and I've had enough of feeling undone this past month. It occurred to me that I might be in some sort of shock but I wasn't in much of a place to do anything about it. I remembered that you needed hot drinks for that sort of thing and maybe getting un-cold, but I couldn't get out of my horrible crying body and make it do anything useful. I just kept thinking about spending half the night completely useless, watching people die and running back and forth barely able to help or think or plan. I've never fought anything bigger than a street scuffle or been in a scrape that required anything more frightening than a knife and a full-scale battle on a public roof is a little beyond my ken. Even that ass MacMalperdy had, in the end, risked his neck – quite literally – rescuing Molly while I darted back and forth unable to decide what to do. (I owe him that missed punch but it seems untoward to hit a man who's just come back from the dead, if that is what happened. Then again, if I ever run into him again I'm sure I'll change my mind the moment he opens his conniving fast-talking mouth and I remember immediately why it wanted punching.)

  After a very long time I managed to make my body stop crying and went through the curtain to the other side of the room to start a fire and lie down in my chair. Even the thought of smoking seemed like too many complicated hand movements to manage. But as I threw my coat over the chair as usual the pocket moved and I remembered the little scrapworms from the carving and awakening of the trunk made from sapient pear tree I'd let crawl down off my hands into its safety so many hours ago. My heart stopped for a moment, fearing they'd been injured in the battle when I hadn't been thinking of them at all, but when I stuck my hand into the depths of the pocket all three of them scuttled up my palm, one of them running around my wrist into my sleeve. They felt a bit like caterpillars and a bit like being rubbed gently with a tiny bannister railing, only a little fuzzy, the way new rough-hewn wood is. I felt very badly about having nearly forgotten them and selfish for having taken them with me – but then no one else was going to. Maybe they'd have liked to skitter off into the woods, but the city might have been a little much on them. I cupped them in my hands and begged forgiveness for their rough night. “My name is Rook,” I told them, and the one in my sleeve wound back down and poked its head  out – they haven't got eyes or anything but they move and behave as if they've got a front part – “and I'm going to take a little better care of you than I have been. If you'll have me,” I added. I could always leave the window open and see if they wanted to go... be part of a tree again somehow. I don't know. One of them seemed to nod at me, swaying, and the third one reached up and sort of slithered at my dripping hair. It was, I realised, absorbing the water. The smallest one, the one from my sleeve, reached up and butted its not-a-head against my wet face, very gently. It siphoned all the tears and rain from my face and I stood there with the outside wind still howling in my ears in my bones and let it.

1 Samonan

  I've left a saucer of water on the windowsill for the scrapworms which appears to be well-recieved. It's the only sunny spot in the flat, not that I've seen the sun through it in some time, but I went in to work later than usual on account of profound and earned exhaustion, so when I left the scrapworms they were preening and coiling towards the light.

  It appeared that nearly everyone got a late start and several of the usual party was missing. Though I don't blame anyone for staying home as the outside of the Tolbooth was absolutely thick with journalists and broadsheeters. I'm going to need a bigger hat if I'm going to hide from them. They were all clamouring for us to give statements about last night, but I'm very good at snarling until people stop asking me to talk about something and I got in without having to punch anyone (not a good look in a guard sash). Montcalm, to his credit, finally managed a facial expression, and it was one of such total bewilderment that my dour mood parted just enough to let in a warm smugness at seeing the granite block get caught off his feet for once. He was so baffled that he kept getting side-tracked giving us the run-down, although some of that might have also been the journalists shouting for us from outside. Instead of throwing us out in disgrace for destroying a lot of buildings and failing to prevent several deaths we've ended up city heroes, and we've been given a letter of thanks from the Margrave. He issued several letters of commendation, but my utter uselessness in battle has at least escaped me that. No one in the Bends, much less the Fire Pit, would trust an investigator with a Margrave's letter of approval, in the vanishing chance I have a career again after this anyway. I have to think as though I might or I don't know what I'm going to do.

  Horribly, we have been punished for our heroism by being put on paperwork duty, which makes sense as we can hardly go out patrolling with everyone in the city out to clap us on the back and beg us to confirm the increasingly weird rumours and embellishments I'm sure are already sparking up. Montcalm's refused to give any of our individual names or descriptions to the press so this may die down soon but I've... met journalists. Anyway they know we're fresh meat and haven't been press-trained (well, most of us – I imagine Molly's learned how to say “no comment” in a tight spot with the best of them), which is problem enough till the novelty dies down I reckon.

  On all of these notes, Tolbooth canteen coffee is about the only reason I yet live. That tang of tar and alley mud is almost beginning to taste comforting.

2 Samonan

  Attempting to return the merchant Kerim's loan of a broomstick went differently than expected. I liked him more than I've liked most people in some time, maybe because we seemed to understand how to talk to each other better than most. Then I made an unexpected misstep but I'm not entirely sure how. Maybe it's best I don't look for people I might be able to talk about home with. There are a lot of good reasons I've avoided it so far.

  He did, in the end, sell me the nicest weapon I've ever owned – a dark mahogany sword cane with a grip in the shape of a raven's head, gone dark lake-at-night silver with age and handling. It unsheaths like a dream – if you dream a lot about bladed weapons, and I do – and I do feel a certain delight in the sharp-beaked shape of my nearly-namesake keeping watch over my blade. “Is bird, like you,” Kerim told me, as if he particularly wanted me to have it, and while I know it was mostly friendly shop banter to get me attached enough not to be able to walk away I felt a little clench of fondness at it, and once the cane was in my hands it felt like part of the reach of my arm, though time will tell if I fight any better with sword or cane than I've failed to fight with knives and gun. Something uncomfortably persistent in me is very certain that I haven't seen or fumbled my last large scale battle.

3 Samonan

  Well clearly I've made several mistakes.

4 Samonan

  I've made a lot of mistakes and agreeing to be hit repeatedly with blunt objects may be my worst one yet.

 5 Samonan

  Actually the worst mistake I've made was POSTING MY HOME ADDRESS ALL OVER THE CITY. Young naive Rook, trying to get an investigation business off its feet, blithely pasting flyers on every noticeboard in Foxmarch and a few underneath, why did you never take a moment to think of JOURNALISTS and trust to word-of-mouth instead? Montcalm may have kept our names out of the paper but unlike everyone else I'm findable, regardless of whether or not anybody knows I was involved in the big thing they're all after scoops about. I am going to have to get a guard dog, or maybe some large traps, in the event that opening the door and snarling “fuck off” and then slamming it begins to wear down its usefulness after the eighth go-round. I would like to sleep someday.

6 Samonan

   Bob the Crow has been watching me, though I'm not sure why – I've found grey and black feathers on the windowsill outside a couple of times when I've gone out to have a smoke, but I wasn't quite sure. Even though it seemed a little too pointed to be a coincidence, I've been jumping to and from enough things recently and didn't want to add “conclusions” to that list. At any rate, I saw her properly when I was smoking after my run-around with Rigna tonight – she lit on one of the nearby roofs and didn't seem at all abashed when I caught her eye, not that Bob has probably ever been abashed for a single moment as long as she's lived. She just tilted her head at me and cawed once and waited for me to finish my pipe, and when I shook the ashes out into the street below she nodded and flew away as if she'd got whatever it was that she came for. I suppose she's keeping an eye on all of us since we dragged a mimic nearly to her nest and are making quite a commotion in her city. Still when she looks at me like that I feel like she's waiting for something, a question or an answer or an action, that I don't know if I have to offer or the faintest idea of where to look to find out what it's supposed to be. Hands empty and found wanting as always. What is it that I always seem to be missing or failing to to answer? 

8 Samonan

  Several people have clearly noticed my new and ever-changing collection of bruises but no one has appeared to want to bring them up. I suppose they all just think people have been taking a dislike to me even more than usual. I don't think it's a secret, really, and I would answer, I think, if someone did ask, but it does feel a bit weird to say, sorry I'm limping again, a centuries-old Auf general has taken it upon herself to make me passably shit at fighting instead of dismally shit at fighting so her eyes don't bleed every time she has to look at me. “Pain is a lesson of its own,” she's informed me coolly, more than once. “You must learn to withstand it so that the fear of it does not dominate you, and learn to endure it so that it does not slow you down.” But I'd reckon she's never had to do paperwork for hours with ribs that seize up every time one tries to breathe.

13 Samonan

  My old schedule was unbearable but my new schedule is becoming untenable: waking before dawn half the week so Rigna can hit me with a broadsword or make me run over the rooftops with barely enough time for a mid-morning meal before my guard shift begins and stretches over the next eight hours while my body slowly collapses into a scream and I stumble home to try to eke out any time to myself, which mostly ends up being elbowing a nosy stranger out of my hallway, watering the scrapworms, and falling asleep still sitting up with a book or a pipe or a pack of cards still in one hand and waking up at dawn again a wasteland of muscle cramps only to realise that in the midst of everything I'd forgotten to eat dinner the night before. And then I take my creaking and furious body over the rooftops to the mostly empty floor over the Grand Emporium to go get pummelled with obscure weaponry while Rigna shouts at me that my posture is awful and my form is worse and she's seen a goat with a broken leg fight better than I am till I get so angry that I either hurt myself or finally manage to do something nearly correctly. Then I limp downstairs where Kerim looks altogether too amused to see me trying to hold my bones in but usually offers me a consolation prize of showing off some weird trinkets he's just gotten in from a city I've never heard of and sometimes sharing a bit of tobacco or tea so I can remain upright long enough to push myself back down the street to the Tolbooth for my shift, bleary-eyed, bruised, and bloodied. Once in a while he tells Rigna to try not to knock out my eyes or break all my ribs, which I appreciate.

  The rest of the days I get to sleep in to what I once thought miserably of as my too-early shift start time and then I spend my evening dodging blades and bludgeonings instead. Rigna gives me every third day off but the Guard certainly doesn't. Once my day off from training coincided with one of my weekend days off from the Guard and to my disgust I spent nearly all of it unconscious. If only I could have used up all my need for sleep in that one go. I barely feel like me anymore without more than a few stray moments to choose my own actions, but then again, when I do stop having things assigned to me – all I've got is the howling wilderness of my own head to contend with.

  Today I fell asleep right in the middle of a stack of ordinances, which I've been furtively doing for weeks now but previously I'd managed to be much more discreet, and never slept for longer than ten minutes at a time. I woke with a paper stuck to my face and Captain Montcalm trying to shake me awake. He informed me in that voice that usually cuts right through me that he couldn't have any of us sleeping on the job, but having been up before dawn for several days has made me delirious. I smiled up at him beatifically, said, “I'm a hero of the city,” and laid my head right back down. I'm going to get nothing but comparing health and safety regulations for local buildings till I'm dead but it was worth it to see his face twitch an expression away before it could surface. And for the next seven minutes of sleep before Chief blinked over and barked sharply in my ear till I sat back up. Mostly the latter.

[killianmesmalls]

A Christmas Story

I am so behind on 25 Days of Wish Hook! At least this will help a little. It started one way and then kind of just... happened. So, I’ve been reading some different versions of Rogers inviting Tilly places or taking care of her, and I adore every single one I’ve seen so far. Then I thought... what if one time Tilly is the one to reach out?

Chapter: 1/2

Warnings: Nothing explicit, but mentions of unpleasant group home and foster situations, plus the mention of death... just in case that’s a concern for anyone. 

Summary: After Alice pries Roger to tell her his “story”, she begins to realize how much their home lives have in common. With no other family to speak of, why not spend Christmas together?

“So, detective, what’s your story?”

He fumbled the bishop in his hand, the plastic piece colliding with an unfortunate pawn. “My story?” “You know what I mean,” Tilly insisted, leaning back into the booth at Roni’s, the gentle buzz of a few fellow diners and midday drinkers acting as a soundtrack to their chess game. “You know a bit about me—the group home and where I live, all that. What about you?”

He raised a playful eyebrow. “You want to know where I live?”

“You’re stalling and you know it. Come on. Out with it. You weren’t just born a surly cop. At some point, you must have been a surly child.”

“Funny. Come on, your move.”

She crossed her arms and stared, the hint of a grin creasing the corner of her mouth. Perfect, she just had to be as stubborn as, well, he was. Someone somewhere was laughing at him, he thought. Likely his older brother, his voice even now echoing in his head: You were born a damn mule, I swear.

Well, he supposed, that was at least a starting point.

“I had an older brother. He was seven years older than me. Took care of me after our mother died and our father… went to the store and never came back, as they say. We didn’t have any living relatives aside from each other and our bastard of a father. So, at first, we went together in a group home probably a lot like yours. Sometimes foster care. The same general story.”

She nodded, her arms falling to her sides. Yeah, she knew it well. The feeling of being lost and knowing no one was out there looking for you. “It must have been nice to have someone around.”

He gave an affirmative hum, a fog settling over his eyes for a stretch. Tilly watched as he drifted, knowing better than to interrupt. She had been there. She felt the haze of memories pull her back to some other time and place. Sometimes even moments that weren’t real memories flooded her mind’s eye—images of a high window and a time she felt sheltered but safe. Loved. Not real, she knew, but a pleasant distraction to believe in from time to time.

She almost felt herself drifting, too, when he spoke again. “I was eight when we went into the system together. He protected me from a few of our less-friendly foster parents or siblings. Took the brunt of things for me, even though I was the troublemaker.”

“You? Trouble? I thought you were practically born with that badge.”

Rogers chuckled, toying with the rook he had managed to capture. “No, far from it. I had a smart mouth and a lot of attitude when I was growing up. After my father left, I didn’t really care too much for authority and didn’t really trust anyone. Liam, my brother, did what he could to keep me out of trouble, but I was really bloody good at it and he couldn’t monitor me 24/7.”

Tilly chewed her lip, her nimble fingers twisting a loose thread at the end of her flannel shirt. “What happened?”

“When he was eighteen and aged out, I would usually try to run away to be with him. Even when he lived in a car for three months, I kept trying to stay with him. He would usually bring me back if I was staying somewhere halfway decent. Took me to our social worker if the place wasn’t… Anyway. H would tell me he was working to get a steady place, and even wanted to sign up for the police academy. When he signed up, he fought to get custody of me. Only…” He rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes. The creases in his forehead seemed to speak to her even when he didn’t. Why am I saying all this? This is too much. I should quit while I’m ahead.

Without thinking, she reached out and placed a hand over his prosthetic. The pressure on his wrist brought him back to the present, back to her and the soft smile she gave him. His forehead relaxed and his breathing eased. Something about her, something about her presence and that look in her eyes that felt damn familiar somehow eased his nerves enough for him to continue.

“Only he didn’t get that far. I was sixteen when he died. The doctors said it was some adverse reaction to a medication he started to take, but I didn’t believe them. No evidence, though. No idea who would do such a thing or why.”

“Is that why—“

“I became a cop? Yeah. You can say that. At least partially. I guess I also hoped becoming one myself would make him proud, since he never got the chance.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing as the words fell. They felt so cheap, so hollow. “Sorry” didn’t cover how she felt for him and his story, and it certainly didn’t cover how much she loathed that this man who had begun to treat her like family had lost his own.

“Don’t be. I’m here now and wouldn’t be without him. Anyway, that’s my story. Now, let’s talk about something more pleasant so I don’t have to say I completely ruined your day.”

“You could never ruin my day,” she said suddenly, flushing at the honesty. “I just mean it’s been really nice to have you around the last few months. Someone to talk to. Almost know a little of what having a family might be like.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, this time reaching out to give her hand a squeeze.

She wasn’t sure what made her think of it. Perhaps all the fake trees in the stores she went into to get warm. Maybe it was all the holiday music she kept hearing as people’s cars drove past her troll. Whatever the cause, Tilly began to think of how she would spend Christmas.

For once, there was a friend she could see herself spending it with. Someone who, she now knew, understood how she felt. Understood what it was like to be alone, to be on the outside looking in as everyone else had a loved one to gravitate to, to argue about movies about, to cook a botched meal beside.

She had gotten to know his work schedule over the course of the last few months, and stood at the front door of the station, beaming mischievously with a twelve-pound baked ham in her arms.

“What the bloody hell…?” he started the moment he opened the door. “Tilly, what are you doing?”

“We can’t have Christmas dinner without ham. It’s what all the commercials I keep hearing are saying. Also, apparently Coke is festive but I could only carry one heavy thing, so ham it was.”

“Christmas dinner? Coke? I have no idea what you’re going on about…”

His flustered annoyance washed over her in a heartbeat, wiping away her wide smirk instantly. “It’s… I just… thought…”

Oh. OH! Realization dawned on him, breaking through the exhaustion of eight straight shifts and a pile of paperwork still flipping through the back of his mind. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just tired. Are you saying you, uh, want to do Christmas dinner with me?”

“Well, um,” she squeaked, face flushing. “After you told me about your family, or I guess lack thereof, I got to thinking. You know? Well, I mean, I guess I didn’t think too much. Mostly it was an idea. A couple of ideas. Or, a few ideas that are rolled into one idea. And then there were all those commercials—“

Before she could get too lost in her own sputtering words, Roger’s crow’s feet crinkled his eyes and he gently pulled the ham into his arms. “Tilly? I’d love to have Christmas dinner with you.”

A relieved sigh escaped, her whole face lighting up so much he imagined she looked like a tree-topper—glowing and angelic. A moment of déjà vu hit him but he quickly shook it off and escorted her to his SS Chevelle.

“If I manage to get you to have some vegetables, too, it’ll be a damned Christmas miracle.”

[timetoboldlygo]

bodhi week day 2

written for bodhi week day day, “above his pay grade” and once again this was written really fast and is entirely unedited and honestly? entirely UNthought out. but hey, have bodhi taking change and being cool when cassian, jyn, and bodhi have to deal with some pirates

“We really should have thought about pirates,” Bodhi said breathlessly. It seemed rather an understatement at the moment. Their cargo bay had been pried open, Jyn had been hit in the side with a blaster shot, and Bodhi was hunched over her form, her head in his lap as he put pressure on the wound.

All in all, Cassian considered this to be a huge understatement. There were hundreds of pirates outside their ship, which had been caught in a tractor beam, and they couldn’t fight them all to keep their cargo, precious Alliance medical resources.

One of the pirates crouched down to Cassian. Cassian had been tied up, but Bodhi hadn’t been, maybe because they didn’t think he posed a risk. “Listen,” the pirate said. “We don’t want you. We just want your cargo. You’ll live.”

“She might not,” Cassian said, nodding at Jyn.

“Maybe not, but that’s your fault,” the pirate said. “We won’t kill you. Yeni doesn’t like it, and he’s the boss.”

Cassian resisted the urge to spit in his face.

“Hey,” Bodhi said, and the pirate looked over. Cassian wanted to tell him not to get involved, not to attract attention, please. Cassian didn’t want him to get hurt. “Hey, you’re Yeni’s men?”

“Shut up,” the guy said.

“You’re Yeni’s men, right?” Bodhi said, a little more forcefully. Cassian didn’t know where he was going with this – bluffing wasn’t Bodhi’s strong suit, but he had to have a plan. Surely he’d dealt with pirates all the time, flying Imperial cargo back and forth over the galaxy, hadn’t he? Cassian wasn’t sure what he was doing but he trusted him. “Yeni and I are pals.”

Cassian wasn’t sure where he was trying to go with this. He wasn’t sure what good trying to convince someone that you knew their pirate boss would do, when eventually the boss would probably just come down and kill you.

“Yeni isn’t pals with you,” someone sneered with distaste. “He’s a pirate king.”

“And before he was a pirate king, we played sabacc together in Tam’s Bar on Coruscant,” Bodhi snapped. Jyn’s eyelids fluttered. “Listen, just get him down here, would you?”

“He doesn’t want to be bothered. Now shut up, or I’ll shoot you.”

“Oh, you really want to take the risk of shooting one of Yeni’s friends?” Bodhi said, bristling. Maybe getting angry wasn’t the best idea, but what could Cassian do about it? Nothing could stop Bodhi from getting angry. “Is that what you-”

“Rook?” Someone called. “Is that you?”

“Yeni,” Bodhi said, and all the tension went out of his body, his shoulders dropped. Whatever was happening, it was clear he thought they were out of danger. Cassian wasn’t so sure. But Bodhi was obviously handling it. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” the guy said. Tall, orange hair, carrying an impressive amount of fire power. Cassian didn’t like him, but he looked friendly enough. And clearly Bodhi did actually know him. Maybe they’d get out of this yet, Cassian thought. Maybe Bodhi had saved the day. “Didn’t realize this was your ship, man, I thought you were still with the Empire.”

“Job change,” Bodhi said. “Listen, Yeni, we kind of – uh, need this cargo back. And also maybe medical assistant for my friend?”

“Why is it that every time I see you, you ask for so much?” Yeni said, laughing. He gestured for one of the men to get a medidroid and then for someone else to cut Cassian’s bonds.

“We haven’t seen in each other in two years, I don’t think that counts,” Bodhi said, letting the medidroid take over and gently placing Jyn’s head down on her jacket. “But thanks.” He looked down at his bloody hands.

“Here,” Yeni said, pulling a cloth out of his pocket. “What are you guys doing in the middle of nowhere like this?”

“Working a cargo route,” Cassian said, jumping in.

“For?”

“Not anyone we’ll tell you about,” Bodhi said, a little forcefully.

Cassian looked back at Yeni, who rolled his eyes but didn’t seem that put out. Cassian wondered how they knew each other; they were pretty friendly. It wasn’t like Imperial pilots got on well with pirates. Certainly not well enough to be trading jokes and laughing, the way Yeni and Bodhi were now.

“Okay,” Yeni said, eventually, as the medidroid whizzed away and Jyn got to stand up, shaky on her feet. Bodhi slid an arm under her arms to help hold her up. “I will let you keep all the cargo. Only on the condition that we get a drink some time, Bodhi, okay, next time you have a break?”

“I’ll comm you,” Bodhi assured him. “Really, Yeni, thank you. I’ll buy you a thousand drinks in a few weeks.”

“You did good,” Jyn told Bodhi as they helped her towards the ship. All the cargo was back in place and Yeni was seeing them off, after giving Bodhi another huge hug. “I’m pretty alive and everything.”

Really, Cassian could only be impressed. Once again, Bodhi had saved all their lives and not needed a blaster to do so. And they’d managed to save the cargo as well. Bodhi constantly surprised Cassian by getting out of messes that no one should have been able to get out of.

“Oh my god,” Bodhi said when they were a suitable distance away from the ship. “I didn’t think that would work.”

“What,” Cassian said. From the way Bodhi had handled it, he’d assumed that the other man knew what he was doing, was completely confident. Bodhi had certainly fooled him. “I thought you knew him!”

“I mean, yeah, I do,” Bodhi said, waving a hand around. “I did. We haven’t seen each other since we broke up. So, you know, I could have made it way worse. He could have taken all the cargo in response to the fact that I stole one of his ships to get off the planet. Or he could -”

“You wouldn’t have,” Cassian said, interrupting before Bodhi could get started. “Made it worse, I mean. You did really good, Bodhi. You wouldn’t have made it worse.”

As always, Bodhi shrugged off the praise. Too humble for that. “I just wanted to help.”

[zerogravityrelease-blog]

Our current active headspace is 15 members! I [Bear] am incorporeal so I get to see what’s going on all over the place whenever I want with the exception of being invasive of someone’s privacy, you know.

Lilith, Luka, and Ember live in the bungalow near the shore of Skyy/Finn’s beach, where it is always summer. Visual above can give you an idea of what it looks like. The sky is clear blue with a few white puffy clouds rolling by, the air is hot but the breeze is lovely. You can hear gulls crying now and then and hear the soft crash of the water against the rocky part of the shore.

Ember is doing running leaps into the water for cannonballs off one of the small docks and playing, splashing, and swimming with Finn who is in nyms typical lemon shark merfolk form, they are both laughing, although Finn is nonverbal at all times. Luka is on the end of another one of the docks sunbathing in a white lounge chair with nyr face partially covered by a bright rainbow umbrella. Ne is wearing really cute brown sunglasses with little jewels on the temples and nyr two-piece swimsuit is cherry red and suits nyr perfectly. Lilith is sitting on the dock itself next to nyr with aer feet in the water eating an ice pop. Ae is wearing a white sun hat and has an open washed-out blue denim button up over a navy blue bikini top and jean shorts over the swimsuit bottoms. Aer white sandals are sitting underneath Luka’s chair. I can’t hear what they’re saying but Luka must have said something funny because Lilith is doubled over in laughter. Things are peaceful and everyone seems happy. Carol, Hannah, and Rook live in a really funky building thats too tall to be a reasonable single floored house but its not really separate apartments either. Its basically an apartment on the bottom with a double-loft on top, but its one collective place. It’s a bit hard to explain but here’s some visuals to help: exterior:

general interior aesthetics, colorful as fuck basically, both for the house in general and each of their bedrooms:

Rook has the lower half of the building and Hannah has the top left loft and Carol has the top right. I’d have to draw it for it to make any sense visually but essentially the upper floor is two halves of a circle pushed back from each other a bit with a hallway in between and a set of stairs that leads downstairs in the middle of the hallway like this: |)=‘’=(| the difference is that aside from the hallway and subsequent doors that lead out to it, the circle halves dont have walls, the open space is just covered by colorful curtains on both Hannah and Carol’s sides, so, essentially, they could open their doors and say hello to each other in the hallway, or they could just lean to one side and open their curtains and wave to each other with no barrier in between. There is also no floor between their rooms aside from the hallway so the only way to get to each others rooms is to either take the hallway or do a running leap LOL Hannah and Carol are both in Hannah’s loft right now laying on their stomachs kicking their feet gently doing crafts together. Carol has So Many Stickers in front of her and Hannah has a box of those funky-shape scissors that cut neat patterns with them next to her. Their heads are close and they’re pointing to a huge scrapbook in front of them, I can’t hear what they’re saying but they keep giggling so I think they’re having a good time. Some cute music is coming from Hannah’s phone, it sounds something like Anamanaguchi. Cherry comes to visit them sometimes and do fun stuff because sie and Carol are like sisters. Rook is in the lower level doing what looks like pilates in the middle of the kitchen while the stove and countertops are full of things both cooking and about to be cooked. It looks like pri’s making dinner and dessert at the same time, it smells amazing. Dinner smells sweet and spicy & all I know about dessert is that there is an alarming amount of fruit on the counter and a hunk of dough the size of an adult skull on a baking tray. Rook is also playing music from his phone, but he has headphones in, it’s also absurdly loud given that I can hear it from here. It sounds like really upbeat guitar-heavy rock, but I don’t recognize it. If you were looking to see a man do air guitar meanwhile one leg on the ground and the other pointing clean up to the ceiling, you came to the right place. He’s smiling and its obvious he’s having a good time. Teagan, KG, Nik, and Libra live in this sweet, huge, ritzy-ass house thats like black & white contemporary minimalist and would be expensive as all motherfuck in real life so god bless headspace lmfao. KG and Teagan have the ground floor and Nik and Libra have the lofts, which are completely separated as the second floor of houses usually are, unlike Carol & co.’s house. Living room aesthetic (like if you have that huge palette instead of the coffee table by the L couch in the first img, thats definitely there):

Kitchen aesthetic:

Okay let’s start anywhere, first up is KG, feyr room aesthetic is like this:

It’s always that clean too because that’s how fey is. Teagan’s room is like this:

It’s messy in the sense that it always definitely looks like it’s lived in but it’s just messy, not dirty. There is So Much Stuff on the walls and the tea lights are definitely a thing. Right now Teagan and KG are on the huge palette in the living room laying on their backs facing opposite directions, KG is reading a book and Teagan is reading a magazine. I can’t read the title of either but I know KG is legitimately interested in the book and Teagan is reading the magazine to live-comment kyr anger at magazine culture and beauty standards. Teagan goes off now and then and KG just laughs quietly like “why do you read that stuff if you know it’s going to make you angry” “we have to be critical of the media!” KG scooches up to bonk feyr head against Teagan’s like “whatever you say, dear”

Next up is Nik in the left loft, xyr room aesthetic is like this, minus the regular windows of image one and plus the giant windows in img 2:

It’s small and full of soft things and looks very warm all the time. Xe also has a lot of things on the walls. Xe sits on the alcove by the window and looks at the sky a lot at night. Xe is currently sitting there listening to music with large headphones & writing in a notebook. Possibly writing song lyrics? Xe seems to be okay aside from engaging in a bit of self-isolation for time to clear xyr head. Finally is Libra’s room on the right loft, the aesthetic:

All of the decor in Libra’s room is white with the exception of a few things here and there, that entire right wall is glass just like in the image, even though its on the second floor. Cae is currently taking a nap with caer 97 pillows. It seems like its starting to rain. Altair and RG live in a really large, airy house that’s more or less like a cottage. They have small bedrooms but most of the time they’re in the shared spaces with the windows open letting in light and fresh air. They both like to cook and there’s always fresh flowers around the house. There’s a small garden outside as well as a moderately sized lake. It’s very woodsy and smells like cedar and apples. Spring is definitely here. Aesthetic:

Right now RG is in the kitchen chopping vegetables and Altair is working in the garden. They’re both nonverbal a lot so they communicate a lot in nods and small smiles. They enjoy the general quiet, minus the array of birds chirping as its the beginning of spring, and each other’s generally silent company. Last but not least, Viria and Lamia live in Viria’s skinny, spooky house with two floors, Lamia having the top floor and Viria taking the bottom. It’s very old world in concept but is functionally modern, it’s just creepy as hell at night, which is how they like it. Most of the decor is gold, maroon, white, and brown. Entryway and kitchen aesthetic:

The livingroom double functions somewhat as a library to Lamia’s extreme delight, like this:

Viria’s room is absurdly gorgeous and looks something like this:

Presently they are both having coffee in the living-library, both quietly reading with soft music playing over what seems to be a kind of surround-sound setup. Everyone seems to be doing okay and leading happy, uneventful lives. It’s been really nice and fun to check in with everyone and really focus on what everything looks like. That was lovely, we’ll have to do it again soon. Thanks for reading!

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 82Xs1)

"Bridge Parties & Strippers"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@lovemythsworld

@crystalbaby12

Ashleigh runs into Pete first. He's furious and headed out of the venue.

"What the hell is going on?" She asks him.

"Dude..." He shakes his head.

Giving her a quick run down of the events between Colson, Luna and BeBe.

"BeBe's was here!?" Ashleigh asks shocked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she's STILL here. Luna fucked her up." Pete tells her.

"I don't doubt it... And can you blame her? Why would he even do that??" She asks.

"No... And I don't know. You seen 'em, they were all Booed Up OnStage, announced their engagement and not even an hour later, THIS shit is going on." He answers. "Let him know I went to see Kate.... He's on some fuck shit right now, so he probably won't even notice." Pete tells Ashleigh. Shaking his head before kissing her cheek GoodBye.

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

"Another mess to clean up..." Ashleigh sighs "Fucking Kells." She thinks annoyed. Even before Luna, there's always been constant chaos with him.

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

Curled in a ball on the floor clutching his balls, Colson opens his eyes. Pain is shooting through every nerve of his body. Focusing, he sees a bloody Bleta on the ground not far from him. Closing his eyes again, he groans as he rolls onto his back.

"Fuuuuck... That Bitch dick punched me so haaaard.... I wish Bleta would just go awaaaay...." He thinks of the second girl Luna has knocked to the ground in a violent rage. "In my defense... They shoulda shut the fuck up." He tries to justify their injuries to himself. "Oh FUUUCK... My balls..."

Colson opens his eyes again to Ashleigh standing above him. She has no sympathy.

"My balls, Ash..." He whines.

"I don't care, Kells...." She dismisses him.

"Fine. Then, at least get Bleta out of here. I can't deal with that right now. Please." He asks, looking up at her.

"Whatever." Ashleigh shakes her head as she walks away.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The room is still full. The Band, Crew, Girls, Vendors. There's a shit ton of people everywhere BackStage.

Looking around, the word LAWSUIT flashes through Ashleigh's mind. Thinking of Luna and the advice she's given her regarding spin control, Ashleigh puts on her Boss Bitch pants.

She signals The Band over to her. As they head her way, she looks up generic Non-Disclosure Agreements on her phone. She quickly downloads and fills it out, emailing it to Slim.

"Listen, we gotta clean this shit up. Slim, I emailed this to you." She says, showing him her phone. "I need you to print out, what?" She sighs, looking around the room. "Three hundred copies to be safe?" She asks out loud to his nod. "Everyone needs to sign one before leaving. Use your charm. Try not to make it a big deal."

"Gotcha, Ash." He agrees as his phone dings with the email.

"How many people are with BeBe?" She asks to their head shakes of I Don't Know. "Run me back the first three copies." She instructs Slim.

"Bet. I'll be back." He agrees, heading to The Bus.

Turning to Baze, AJ and Rook, Ashleigh directs them next. "I want you to keep everyone in here having a good time. Once Slim gets the NDA's, help him. Please. With charm." She asks as she reminds them of the key component. "One of you run up. See if there's any ready. I gotta get BeBe to sign first." She finishes.

All three nod in agreeance. AJ heading to The Bus. Rook and Baze to attend to the room.

"Help me get her out of here?" Ashleigh sighs again as she asks Benny.

"No problem G-H..." He teases her as he puts his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm gonna fucking kill 'em both." She laughs lightly, catching the Luna reference as they walk towards BeBe.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Colson has decided to play opossum. He can hear Bleta calling his name a few feet away but refuses to acknowledge her.

"Maybe if I just lay here, she'll think I'm dead... Ugh... I feel like I'm dead.... She destroyed my baaaalllls" Colson mentally cries to himself.

Still on the the ground. Still holding his whole junk. He stays perfectly still when he hears Benny and Ashleigh approaching. Peeking out of the sliver of one eye, they pass him. He hears Ashleigh speak.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Hey... Are you okay?" Ashleigh asks BeBe as she and Benny help her up and hand her a towel.

"No. I think that psycho bitch broke my nose!" She cries through the cotton.

"Are you here with anyone?" Ashleigh pries.

"No. I came to surprise Kells." BeBe answers, looking at her bloody hand as the other holds her face together.

"Did he invite you?" Ashleigh asks.

"No!" BeBe looks up, angrily. "I wanted to see him because he owes me an explanation for this Brooklyn Cunt or whatever the fuck her name is... He's fucking me then blocks me a month ago and all of a sudden he's getting married?? What the fuck is that!?" She shoots a glare between Benny and Ashleigh. "Besides, the way he was speaking to me, didn't seem like he put a ring on anything." She says snidley.

This pisses Ashleigh off.

"So, what happened?" She asks the million dollar question.

"She came up talking shit to Kells so I told her she could get her ass beat. That's when she head butted me. Like a fucking goat. Who does that?" BeBe winces from snaking her head while her hand holds her nose in place.

AJ taps Ashleigh on the shoulder. He slips her a clip board with a pen and a few copies of the NDA.

"So, you threatened her and she protected her life?" Ashleigh manipulates BeBe's words. "I'm gonna need you to sign this." She says handing the clipboard over.

"What? No." Bleta says pushing it away.

"You just admitted fault. If you sign this no one can speak about tonight or sue you." Ashleigh does NOT know where these incredible lies are coming from.

Neither does Benny, but he likes it. Encouraging BeBe to sign the paper also, he throws Kells name into the ring. Overwhelmed and in pain, BeBe scribbles her signature.

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

Ashleigh isn't a lawyer but she knows that what they're doing right now is technically illegal. "Most American contracts are signed under some form of duress...." She tries to reassure herself. "Murica'!!" Her brain insists, pushing her on.

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

Face hurting, embarrassed and wanting to get out of there, Bleta shoves the clipboard at Ashleigh.

"Can I fucking go now?" She asks, irritated as she pulls the blood soaked towel from her wound.

"Yeah, come on, Benny and I will walk you out." Ashleigh says as they guide her outside.

Once in a cab, Ashleigh leans in.

"Some advice, woman to woman? Luna and Kells are something different. It doesn't matter what he said to you, I guarantee she'll be back in his bed tonight and they'll be fine tomorrow. Save yourself the heartache and let him go." Ashleigh says as kind as she can.

With more than just her face hurt, BeBe simply closes the cab door.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Still laying on the floor, Colson waits until the coast is clear before he stands up. Looking around, he can't find Luna.

He watches, confused as Slim, Rook, Baze and AJ walk around having people sign papers. Seeing Ashleigh and Benny walk back in, he heads over to them.

"Where the fuck is Luna?" He asks firmly.

"She split with Nikki and her friend Sam..." Ashleigh answers.

"Oh, yeah? Fuck THAT Bitch." Not caring what His Boys are doing, he turns and shouts. "YO FUCKERS, WE OUT. NOW!!"

Ashleigh sighs for the hundredth time in less then an hour.

"Follow them?" She asks Benny.

"That's my job.... You know, if they keep snappin' out and disappearing separately, you might wanna bring in Bullet..." Benny says, looking down at Ashleigh.

Bullet is Colson's other bodyguard. Ironically, his government name is also Thomas.

"You honestly think that when Luna's pissed, she's gonna let anyone follow her anywhere??" Ashleigh asks Benny as if he's silly.

Both of them already knowing the answer.

"Facts... Extra hands wouldn't be a bad idea with those two though, Ash..." He continues to make his case.

Sighing again, Ashleigh agrees to call Bullet. Clearly they can't handle Kells and Luna on their own.

Benny kisses the top of her exhausted, little head before he follows The Madness outside. Slim coming over to hand her a stack of papers.

"I think we got 'em all..." He breathes out. "I gotta catch up with them. Sorry you gotta deal with this bullshit, Ash!" He kisses her cheek before jogging off.

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

"It's my job... And my bestfriend." She thinks as she flips through the NDAs. Debating on if she should call Monica on Luna's behalf.

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

In the back of the cab, Luna's phone rings. It's Pete.

"Hey!" She answers. "Yes, I'm Okay. I'm with Sam." She replies to his questions. "I'll be fine, Petey!!" She laughs as he teases how THAT'S what he's worried about.

Pete then unloads onto Luna his feelings about Colson and tonight. Listening, she doesn't speak until he finishes.

"Don't be mad at him, Petey... I know why he did what he did. I made him jealous and he tried to do the same..." She explains to their friend.

Pete tells her how she's making excuses for him the way she used to for Justin.

"Pete." Luna never calls him that and he knows it. "It's not the same..." She trails off. Pete doesn't know about her affair with Tommy. "I need you to trust me. He wasn't right but he had his reasons." Luna partial explains.

Her words stop him. He's known Luna for a long time and knows she doesn't put up with being disrespected. Knowing that both she and Colson are extremely complicated individuals, he accepts her shut down with a promise of lunch. SOON. Luna agrees with a grin.

Pete and Luna end their conversation with Be Safes, Love Yas and A Definite Lunch.

Hanging up, Luna turns to Sam. She's wedged between her and Nikki in the back of the cab.

"Where we goin'?" She asks.

"Mothafucken' Bridge Party, B!!" Sam exclaims to Luna's excitement.

Luna turns to Nikki asking if she wants to change as she pulls a red scarf out of her bag. Drapping it around her shoulders, Luna's dressed in cutoffs, a tank, stockings and Docs. It's what she performed in. Always Bridge Party ready.

"Fawk NO!! I look FABULOUS, BITCH!!" She exclaims to both Luna and Sam's laughter.

"Yo. You said he had his reasons... Why?" Sam asks Luna directly.

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

Sam and Luna have known each other since 6th grade. Making Sam one of Luna's oldest friends. Being based in NY, Sam knows EVERYONE. Not just Nikki and Pete but Justin, Ashley, Mack, Frannie... Even Jackson. Sam being Luna's drummer in their band Dysfunctional Baggage, they'd seen a lot and been through a ton of shit together. Sam was who Luna first called when she found Justin. Not 911, not his mother or her grandmother. Luna called Sam. Rushing over, Sam had witnessed Luna break in a way she'd never allow anyone else to. Or probably ever will again. Luna trusting Sam beyond her life.

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

Before Luna can answer, they pull up to the corner Sam requested. Tipping the cabby, the three women jump out.

"THIS IS GONNA BE SO FAWKING FUUN!!!" Nikki exclaims, wrapping an arm around both Luna and Sam's laughing necks.

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

Hitting The Bus first, Colson changes. Slipping a cool, pink, silk shirt onto his body, he thinks of Luna.

"Bet she's wit fucking Tommy. Whore." He tries to convince himself before he heads out into his own recklessness. Knowing he's wrong.

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

The Bridge Party is raging. Making Luna happy to be home. Linking arms with Sam and Nikki, they skip down into the music and lights.

NYC's party scene is a culture all in it's own. Heading under the bridge, it's like a multicolored, twisted, high school reunion. Luna and Sam seeing people they love. Nikki running into others she hasn't seen in YEARS.

"Wanna get on?" Luna asks Nikki with a grin as she opens her mouth.

She has a blotter and three single stacks on her tongue.

"FAWK YEAH!!!" Nikki grins, ready for another Nix&Loons MessABout.

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

Colson and The Band are a Flashers, an elite gentleman's club in NYC. Not that they're gentlemen or anything.

Tossing bills everywhere. Asses all over him, Colson pounds drink after drink. He's trying to erase Luna from his mind. He's got about an eight ball left over from the half ounce from Philly. Pulling it out, he dives face first.

He's on a mission. Not necessarily to overcome as many women as he can like before but to forget One who is like no other. Standing with a beer and drink in hand, joint in his mouth, he leans down to pick up another shot.l

Wanting to erase ever meeting That Brooklyn Bitch.

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

Luna is living her best freaking LIFE!! And she doesn't give a FUCK. Music flows as she dances with Nikki and Sam.

"I HAVE FUCKING GLOSTIX!!!" Luna exclaims as she bounces to the side to dig in her travel bag.

EVERYTHING is in there. Clothes, drugs, makeup, things to play with, candy and SCARVES.

Luna ties a flowered one around her head as she brings back GloStix and lollipops to her grateful friends.

They continue to bop and groove. Luna is tripping her PUSSY off. Playing with the red scarf around her body as she dances with Sam and Nikki.

"WATER!!!!" Sam shouts after what feels like two beautiful lifetimes but is probably only an hour.

Nikki and Luna nod in agreeance.

Bridge Parties are the ancestors of WoodStock. The grandmother of a non-profit festival, if you will.

Making their way to the water table, there's ten old orange Gatorade coolers set up. The City knows what's needed to party.

Grabbing her water bottle out of her bag, the three friends stand, drinking water continuously. Raving over it's Holy Greatness.

They laugh and catch colors. Trails and magical objects. Keeping close to one another to not be lost upon their voyage.

Bellies full of life fluid, they fill Luna's water bottle before going to squat and pee. What does Luna have? Toilet paper and baby wipes because LIFE.

They pee together, alllllllllll the way at the end of the bridge. Nikki teasing Luna how she's an Old Lady when she has hand sanitizer too.

Still living in the real world, Sam reminds Nikki.

"Nah, Boojie. Remember... THAT'S how we roooooll!" Sam teases Nikki as she squeezes her friend. "Dirty hands, Bitch!!!" Sam shouts laughing.

"Ahhh... Get the fawk owf meeee!!" Nikki laughs, hugging Sam back. "Nah... That shit was good."

Nikki agrees with a smile. Her hallucinating soul, mind and heart floating back to the early days of her career and their friendships.

Together the three of them grab hands. Skipping into the lights like they have no worries or cares.

Slowing down, Luna remembers. "Yoooo... I have chalk." She grins as she reaches into her bag.

Plunking down right where they are, the three artistic friends begin to display their tripping minds. Like a Mandela. Once they're gone, it too will be. Shortly after.

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Colson's leg is jumping. He's high as fuck and still irritated. Downing shots as a pretty blonde wiggles up and down him. She's doing nothing for him.

"Take you in the back, make you feel better?" She offers as she bounces her tits in his face.

"No thanks." He says, pulling his head back and shoving a hundred towards her.

Insulted, she rises off of him.

Slim's been watching His Boy all night. Taking this as his opportunity, he slides over.

"What's good, Dawg?" He asks his bestfriend as he hands him his pen.

"Shit, Man." Colson puffs on it hard.

"So... Tonight is nothing?" Slim leads.

"Tonight was fucked, Homie." Colson responds, hitting the pen again.

"Talk to me, Brotha..." Slim continues to lead Colson.

Leaning back, Colson hits the pen a few more times. He's trying to collect his angry, confused and as always, inebriated feelings.

"She seen Tommy today." Is all he says.

Colson's a lot like Luna. He doesn't like his things to be touched.

Slim nods. He knows it's a contentious subject with Colson and Luna.

"Why?" He asks.

"I don't know... We didn't get that far. She told me and..." He looks at one of his longest friends. "And I shoved her. Hard enough to break a mirror." Colson looks down as he says the last part.

"Shit, Man." Is all Slim can say.

"I know... I don't know why the Fuck she was with him though." Colson starts to get angry again.

"She didn't say why at all?" Slim asks, not believing that if Luna was gonna pull some shit, she'd be careless.

"A fucking business meeting or something.... I don't know." Colson answers.

"Dawg. Do you know who this Tommy cat is? Like really? Besides from Luna?" Slim asks, suddenly worried Colson doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.

Colson shoots him a dirty look. He remembers what Benny had said.

"Dawg. He's like THE BIGGEST hitter in NY.... You know Luna's got her hands in a lot of shit. Remember how she freaked out over the picture of them? It could be business. HIGH FUCKING BUSINESS, Homes." Slim sighs. "Look, I don't know up from down when it comes to LunaTic because that bitch is wild, but what I will speak on, is she ain't never done you dirty and I ain't never felt her motives as dirty. Even if she got dirt wit this Tommy cat. That was before you... You really think she fucked him and came back to you?" Slim cuts to the chase.

"Nahh..." Colson says with an irritation to his certainties.

Another girl walks up on them. Colson shrugs as he throws his arms out. The girl takes this as an indication to climb on top of him.

Never thinking he'd take a chick's side over his boy's, Slim shakes his head as he watches another girl slither upon Colson.

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Luna texts Ashleigh, hitting her Google locate. Letting her know where she is in The City. She goes on to apologize for not bringing her with her, promising to be back soon, to hit her up if she needs to.

"I should've fucking grabbed her..." Luna thinks. "If anyone needs a fucking escape, it's her...." Luna deciding her and Ashleigh will have an official MessAbout.

Sam climbs onto the cement wall Luna's sitting on, she's lost her shoes. Nikki is dancing free in the night.

That's the thing about The City, you can be everyone and no-one at the same time.

Nikki's appreciating being no-one in this moment.

"So... You never answered my question..." Sam asks Luna.

"Hmm?" She hums.

"Why? Why would you even consider marrying him after we spent tonight under a bridge like we're 19 because he wanted to schmooze up on some twat?? Are you not trading a junkie for a whore?"

Sam's words cut deep, but not enough to phase Luna. A calculated woman who knows what she expects out of this life, Luna doesn't care to explain.

"Sammy. I tell you. You know I'm not without fault. Neither is he. But love is love and sometimes that shit makes people jealous and they retaliate. I fucked her up for her OWN words. Not his actions. He may have antagonized it but let's not act like he fucked that bitch on the middle of the floor." Luna tells her friend.

Both always one to call a spade a spade. Neither bullshit.

"You know murder was the case that they gave me." Sam states, eyeing her friend.

Even tripping balls, Sam is very much like Luna. She don't fucking play.

Bursting into laughter, Luna grips Sam. Squeezing her tight.

"Let's go find your shoes, Bro." Luna laughs.

Lacing fingers with Sam before they begin their hunt.

Nikki comes running up with one of Luna's scarves on her head. She attacks both her friends with a hug.

"I FAWKING MISS THIS, YO!!!" She shouts, pecking Luna and Sam with kisses.

Luna relates to one of her greatest friends. Unhappily for the first time ever. Her third eye realizing how much she hates being out of her element.

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"I wonder if she'll come back..." Colson thinks as another random ass grinds against him. "Maybe I should hit her up... No. Fuck that. She fucked up first... Not me." He stubbornly thinks as he slides a bill into the g-string in his face.

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Sam and Nikki are dancing within the crowd as Luna sits by herself. Finding a random lighter beside her she flicks it.

Giggling at the colors radiating off of her finger tips. She wishes Colson was with her.

Tripping out of her mind, Luna closes her eyes and imagines him bouncing around with her. She grins at the idea of his excitement. Then her mind jumps to red. The blood. The girl. The anger.

Luna whips her eyes open. Knowing how to stop a bad trip, she leaves the lighter where she found it. Jumping off the ledge, Luna heads into the crowd. Letting the beat take control of her body as she finds her friends.

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Still slamming lines, Colson's not hungry when they leave the high class strip club.

As everyone one else gobbles down pizza, he continuously checks his phone. Leg bouncing maniacally off the floor.

He wants to know where the fuck Luna is. But like an Asshole, he won't contact her.

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"Ahhhh!!! I haven't had THAT much fun in SO long!!" Nikki laughs in the back of their cab.

It's rounding out 6A. The sun is coming up. The day is done and Luna had a fucking blast.

"That's why I don't ever wanna be famous..." She groans, placing her head in her hand. "You're so fucking busy and miss out on all the cool shit... For what??? Your fucking name on people's lips??" Luna snidley complains.

"Not all of us can be born with a silver fucking spoon, Loons." Nikki cocks back.

"Shut the fuck up, Nix." Sam comes to Luna's light defense. "We both know Patti didn't raise Loons as a baller and even if she did, Loons don't give a fuck about that shit." Sam states with a knowing smile.

"Enh... You got some truth in that." Nikki smirks. "But royalty is royalty and you can't deny that shit."

Luna and Sam don't dispute the truth.

"I love your rich, white ass doe!!" Nikki laughs as she hugs Luna.

Their cab pulling up in front of her Upper Eastside buiding.

"BOOJIE." Sam laughs calling Nikki out.

"Fawk you!!" Nikki laughs as she hugs her friends GoodBye.

Sam and Luna heading back to The Bus.

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Walking onto The Bus, it's awake and aware. Luna grabs Colson by the collar of his shirt. Dragging him with her, she leaves Sam. Knowing she's been on tour before and that Boys are no obstacle for her.

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"Kitten.." Colson starts to say.

"Shut the fuck up" Luna states as she grips the back of his neck. Kissing him fiercely.

She may understand Colson's jealously but it does not excuse his shove. Luna has a strict Don't Hurt Me Unless I Ask For It policy. He broke that. And now, she'll make him pay.

Releasing him, she demands he strip as she pulls off her own clothes.

Colson listens. Pulling his shirt off and dropping his pants for her. Happy she's in their room but starting to grow pissed over Tommy again.

Luna shoves him on the bed.

Climbing on top of him, she kisses his mouth with anger as she plays with her folds. Opening herself enough for her to jam him inside her tight pussy.

Even furious, his girth is too much. Luna cries out from his cock as she tries to work him into her.

"Kitten.." He says again.

Clasping her hand over his mouth, Luna tells him to Shut The Fuck Up as she rides him to her pleasure.

Not one to be told what to do, even by Luna for too long, Colson losses his patience.

Grabbing her ribs, he flips her over on the bed. Luna wraps her legs around him as he drives into her.

"Tell me what to fucking DO..." He taunts huskily in her ear.

This infuriates her. Using all her strength, Luna flips him off her. Keeping his dick in place, she rides him like she owns him. Because she does. Placing her hand on his throat as she bucks against him, Luna demands Who The Fuck Does He Belong To.

He gasps out "YOU."

Colson is stronger than her. Gripping both hips, he easily tosses her back off of him.

On top of her, as her head hangs off the bed, he demands Who's Pussy Is This as he punishes her with his dick.

Hips jolting against him, Luna diverges. "NOT YOURS IF YOU DON'T ACT RIGHT!!!"

She bites his neck hard, causing him to whimper. Flipping him back over, Luna commands his body.

She fucks him strong and hard. The rage and anger from the last couple days only peeping out.

Pulling his hands to her ass and holding them there, Luna shifts Colson deep into her. Using his body until she's done with it.

Feeling herself cum, not caring but knowing he did too, Luna drops on to the bed beside him. He doesn't get the luxury of staying inside of her.

"Kitten..." He hums as he reaches for her.

"Don't fucking touch me." Luna spits out, swatting his hand away.

Just then The Bus jerks to a stop. It was only a two hour ride to NJ.

Luna climbs off the bed, throwing on her clothes from last night.

"Don't think we're fucking good. At all." She states before grabbing her bag and marching out of their room.

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Word Limit (1 of 2)

To be continued....