#sarah black

[inkedgoddesses3]

Sarah Black

[leverage-ot3]

thief conference but it’s just the leverage ot3, red notice ot3, and neal caffrey and el burke (peter isn’t there for plausible deniability)

[octopunkmedia]

Let's play Trivia Murder Party with the Livescreamers gals!

Join me, Sarah Callahan Black (Gwen) and Anna Lin (Zelda) in a round of Trivia Murder Party live on the Octopunk Media Twitch next week, Oct 15 @ 3PM ET.

Also remember all our Twitch income in October will be donated to Western NC Helene relief! 🙏

[ctarchangel542]

Unmatched face card

[sissyrosette]

I just listened to Ms. Sarah Black's sissy acceptance audio on soundgasm and ordered my ankle bracelet..

Feeling so wonderful and accepted.. every inspiration may it be free available or a patreon.. Going to honor everyone I am encountering on my journey of happiness and gratefulness in a daily diary, thanks a lot Sarah

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person telling them (and you’ve never claimed to be) part 4

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Pairings: bishops/nolan booth

Warnings: gunshot wound

Word Count: 3089

Nolan gets shot, the Bishops have to deal with their feelings.

"Drive," Sarah orders, pressing her hands hard to Booth's side. John pulls the car around and the tires squeal as more gunshots ricochet off the back bumper. She grits her teeth and presses harder, willing the blood to stay inside Booth's body. "Stay awake, do you understand?"

"I understand that you're currently fighting with my ribs, yeah." Booth yowls like a cat as she pushes down harder. "Hey, hey! Take it easy, I bruise like a peach."

"You're not sweet enough to be a peach," she mutters, too caught up in the fact that Booth is bleeding out from a bullet he took from her to worry about the words coming out of her mouth, not when he's rapidly losing color in his cheeks. "Just stay awake."

Even with his paling face, he still manages to make an offended pout. "I'm plenty sweet enough! I even have the rock-hard pit in my—okay, okay, ow, ow!"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not when I'm awake."

"Keep him talking," John barks from the front seat, "as long as there's bullshit coming out of his mouth, we know he's not about to die."

"Aw, you do love me."

She hears the hitch in John's breath better than Booth does, she's sure, and she doesn't imagine the way John leans into the curves of the road a little more, trying to get them through the next mile before Booth ends up bleeding to death all over the back seat. She grits her teeth again and pushes even harder. Booth winces, his expression contorting in pain, but he doesn't say anything else.

"What were you thinking?" Sarah hisses, shifting her grip as the car swerves around a turn.

"I was thinking that I'd rather not see you get shot right in front of me," Booth grits out, "that's what I was thinking."

"That was reckless of you."

Booth huffs a wet laugh. "What, making sure you don't get shot? You're welcome, by the way, and yeah, maybe not my finest moment, but you tell me how polished and suave you'd be if you saw someone pointing a gun at your partner."

Sarah's hands stutter and her gaze snaps up to Booth's. Booth isn't looking away, isn't biting his lip, doesn't look like he regrets what he said at all. No, it's far worse than that; despite Sarah's best efforts, his eyes are dropping lower and lower. His breathing is slowing under her hands and in a panic that she will deny later because Sarah Black does not panic, she presses down hard enough that she can feel something under her give.

But it works. Booth's eyes snap open again and he stares at her.

"Stay awake," she orders and it comes out more like a plea, "just stay awake until we can get you someplace safe."

The corner of his mouth tugs up the smallest bit and she hates how much she hates the fact that it looks like such a pale imitation of his normal smirk. "The Bishop has a heart after all, how touching."

"You're one to talk," she scoffs if only to cover up her relief that he's talking again, "you just took a bullet for me."

"Which I still can't tell if you're happy I did or not." He coughs once, twice, as the car swerves around yet another turn. "I'd ask if it'd kill you to say thank you, but I think I know the answer already, so—"

"Thank you."

Booth stops. His mouth drops open. "Okay, I definitely must be dying because I could've sworn you just said 'thank you,' and I—"

"You are not dying," she says firmly, as blood covers her hands, "and I did say thank you."

He goes to say something else—I'm sure it was excellent, Nolan, don't worry—but then he's coughing again and the wound under her hands gushes. She pushes harder and gets him to lie down in the backseat, climbing on top of him and using her full weight to press down on the bullet wound.

"Whoa," he mumbles, half-dazed, half-confused, "if this was all it took to get you on top of me, then…"

He trails off before he can finish his sentence and despite everything, she smiles. "If it's what you wanted, you could've just asked."

"Nah…you'd keep it from me," comes his reply, voice beginning to slur, "you're…you're so clever…you'd make—make me work for it…"

"Booth? Booth!"

"'S okay," he mumbles, eyes starting to droop again, "jus' a…jus' a minor s'tback, see? 'S not…'s none of my b'sness anyway…"

"Stay awake," she pleads again, pushing down as hard as she can as John curses and swerves again, "stay awake Nolan, you need to keep your eyes open. Just look at me, alright? Can you do that?"

Nolan's eyes blink open slowly and a slow smile manages to make its way onto his face. The soft sort of smile you see when the person isn't thinking about it, the one you can't really feel until someone points it out. Nolan is giving her that sort of smile now, as she presses down on the wound that should have been hers, as John drives them through the streets of Paris. Nolan just looks up at her, and he smiles, and how could she ever have believed him capable of the same sort of cruelty she was?

"There," she hears herself say as his breathing grows raspier and raspier, "it's okay, Nolan, you're going to be alright. We're going to get you someplace safe and fix you up, right? Then you'll be quipping and annoying us just like you always do, alright?"

"Tha's me," he slurs, "pain in the ass."

John's hysterical chuckle mixes with hers as Nolan grins with dopey pride. Something terribly sad occurs to her then as she has to adjust to keep her balance.

Is this all he expects from them? Just the occasional bone thrown to the world's most annoying dog? Does he think that's all he is to them?

Too late does she realize that in her moment of distraction, Nolan's eyes have fully closed.

"Booth? Booth!" She pushes down harder. "Nolan!"

***

"In here," John says, rushing to the bedroom and laying the too-limp form of Nolan Booth on top of the sheets, "grab the kit from the bathroom."

Sarah is off the next moment, her shoes clicking across the floor as John rips open Nolan's shirt and throws his own jacket to the side. He curses—the bullet's already gone through and through, which is why Sarah was having such a hard time keeping all the blood inside him in the car, and why he's still losing color.

"Here," comes Sarah's voice and he rips the kit open immediately, "I'll get everything else."

He barely has time to shoot a thanks or even an acknowledgment over his shoulder as he gets to work. Nolan will not die on their watch, they won't let him. He's a goddamn stubborn son of a bitch but they're more stubborn than he is put together, and they're sure as hell not gonna let him slip away.

"You think you can just tap out now and make us do the rest of the work?" he finds himself muttering as he works over the limp body. "Not a chance in hell. This whole thing was your idea to begin with, so you're damn well gonna stick around until it's done, you hear me?"

Nolan doesn't say a word, and John curses the part of him that ever wanted to shut Nolan up for good. He doesn't want that, he bargains with the universe, he wants the Nolan that pokes and prods at them all the time like it's his goddamn job. He wants the quips and the jokes and the innuendoes that perfectly walk the line between funny and too crass. He wants the asshole that's unfairly good at singing on key while he works on the blueprints or the lockpicking kits. He wants the dipshit who went right up to the people who betrayed them, double-crossed them right back, and then invited them to work with him on the biggest score they could ever remember.

He wants Nolan Booth, damnit, and if this bullet takes him from them before they've even gotten a chance, he's gonna march right down to whatever pit in hell they decide to stick his soul and drag him back to the land of the living.

"Come back here, you prick," he mutters as he gently cleans away the worst of the blood so he can see what he's doing, "you're not getting away from us that easily."

Sarah's hands join his and together, they patch the worst of the bleeding before Nolan can bleed out. He lifts him carefully in his arms as Sarah ruthlessly strips the sheets from the bed, tossing the mattress protector too for good measure. She remakes the bed with astonishing speed and strides to the bathroom to start getting the blood out. It's what she needs to do, he knows, pour her frustration at the situation into something so it doesn't blow up in their faces, but that doesn't make him move from his self-appointed vigil over the too-still Nolan.

Just watching his chest go up and down, up and down.

When night's fallen and Sarah's scrubbed the sheets within an inch of their lives, she comes to sit next to him. They don't say anything, just sitting silently as the moonlight spills across the bed. Nolan's hands are still bloody. He gets up and goes to the bathroom, getting a washcloth and running it under the warm water. He goes back to the bedroom and picks up one of Nolan's hands in his, tenderly cleaning the blood from his knuckles. When he's finished with the hand, he offers the washcloth to Sarah. She takes it and cleans his other hand as John keeps a hold of the one in his.

"I think he'd be a great dancer," Sarah murmurs after an eon, her eyes still on Nolan's knuckles.

"I think so too."

There's another moment of quiet.

"I think," Sarah says again, her voice even quieter, "if you asked him to dance, he would say yes."

John swallows around the lump in his throat. "Yeah?"

"You might have to ask a few times," and now Sarah's holding Nolan's hand too, the washcloth draped over the foot of the bed, "and he's probably going to say no at first."

"But you think if I show him I really want to dance," John finishes, "you think he'd say yes?"

"I do."

They look at each other across the too-quiet room.

"Are you—" he stops to clear his throat— "are you gonna ask him to dance too?"

She looks down at him, her fingers idly toying with the cuff of his sleeve. "I don't know if he wants to dance with me."

He huffs. "Didn't sound like that in the back seat."

"But that's who he is," she says back, "he makes the jokes and he takes the hits because it's expected of him."

"But he doesn't do things he doesn't believe in."

"You're biased," she says with the ghost of a smile.

"Of course I am," he says and she laughs, "but so is he. You two had a thing going way before he even knew about me."

"That was different."

"Is it?"

She looks at him, and she looks at Nolan, and she slowly lets out a long breath.

"He needs to wake up first," is her eventual concession, "and then…then it's going to take him a while before he's up to dancing."

"That's okay with me. Is it okay with you?"

She smiles and she looks like the Sarah Black he knows and loves again. "No one ever got anything worth having without having the right amount of patience."

See, he says silently to the sleeping Nolan Booth, we're waiting for you, you asshole, come wake up already.

***

When Nolan wakes up, he's very, very confused.

Because in the world he fell asleep in, he was very much the reluctantly dragged third wheel of the Bishops, who only teamed up with him because he blackmailed them into it. He was spat on and kicked around because he was an easy target and hey, he could give insults as good as he got. They kept him around because he was good, goddamnit, and he knows how to set up a good score. They needed him, and he needed them, and that was it. He took the hits because they couldn't hurt him in ways they hadn't already, and he took the good moments because he's a greedy bastard who doesn't know when to stop himself.

Including taking a bullet for the fucking Bishop.

Things got really hazy in the back seat, and not in the good, sexy way, but in the incredibly un-sexy blood loss way where he's not quite sure what happened, but he has vague memories of Sarah on top of him, telling him to stay awake, and saying thank you. He's not really sure what to make of those, nor what embarrassing things he ended up saying, but he's pretty sure that that world at least by and large makes sense.

The world he wakes up in, on the other hand…

Well, for starters, he blinks awake on a bed. Not a hospital bed, not a hotel bed, but an actual fucking bed. Hartley and the Bishop's bed, to be more specific, in that shitty little apartment on the outskirts of Paris. His mind would love to conjure up all the fun reasons why this could be happening, but then there's a blooming ache in his side and his head is pounding and the bed is cold, cold, cold.

Except it isn't, because there's a body like a fucking space heater right next to him, and he just manages to crane his neck to one side to realize it's Hartley. Actual, built-like-a-brick-shithouse Hartley, who blinks awake and smiles at him like he's something worth smiling at.

"Hey," he says, voice all soft and rough from sleep, "you feeling okay?"

Uh, no, he's pretty sure he's either died and gone to heaven or woken up in some parallel universe.

"Here," Hartley says, sitting up and reaching over him for the glass of water on the nightstand, "you're gonna be dehydrated, drink up."

Nolan goes to lift his hand when his body informs him that no, moving is not allowed right now, and a pained hiss escapes through his teeth before he can stop himself. Concern flickers openly across Hartley's face and he's sitting up more, turning and sliding a hand under Nolan's head to let him drink.

Water never tasted so good.

"That's enough for now," Hartley says when he's managed half the glass, "don't want you sick on top of the bullet."

Right. The bullet. The bullet he took for the Bishop. The Bishop—

"Hey, hey, hey," Hartley soothes as he starts to panic, one large hand pressing him down into the mattress, "shh, calm down. She's okay, she's just in the kitchen."

"Is he awake?"

"Yeah, he's up, he wants to see you."

"Don't—" he coughs through his dry throat— "don't put words in my mouth."

But then the Bishop actually comes around the corner and he can't stop the way he sags in relief at seeing her unharmed. She comes over to the bed, sitting down near his hand, and—and picking it up and putting it in her lap.

Uh, no, I definitely died and went somewhere else. What the fuck is happening?

Oh.

Oh.

It's just part of their ploy, isn't it? To get him to—to—well, he doesn't know what the fuck else they want from him at this point. Shit, he just took a bullet for the Bishop and now he's completely and utterly at their mercy, what the fuck else could they want? It's not like he's in any position to stop them if they wanted to do something right now, they could just go and do the score and leave him here on this bed, in the apartment, all by himself, while they go and he's left alone, all alone—

"Hey, hey…"

"Shh…don't cry, Nolan."

"Look at me. Hey, Booth—Nolan, look at me."

There's a hand on the side of his face. The side of his face is wet. Why is the side of his face wet? Oh. One of them said don't cry. Is he crying?

"Do you need more painkillers?" There's still a hand on his face. "Sarah, can you—"

The hands on his start to pull away and he's clutching at them desperately before he can snap at himself to stop it. But it's too late, the Bishop is sitting back down and they're having a murmured conversation and then there's a cool hand on his face too.

"Don't worry," comes her voice, smooth and soft as fresh water, "we're not leaving, Nolan."

"You're stuck with us," Hartley agrees.

But—but—but that doesn't make sense. Nothing in this world makes sense and he wants to go back to the other one where at least things made sense, where things hurt but at least he knew when to expect it, not here where he has no idea what's going on and he just wants everything to go back to normal and then he won't be guessing, second-guessing, triple-guessing everything until they leave him again.

"Silly boy," the Bishop says fondly as tears drip like razorblades down his cheeks—there goes his resolve never to let them see how badly they hurt him— "did you think I would let you take a bullet for me and then let you leave without giving me a chance to pay it back?"

"I—I didn't—I didn't mean—"

"Shh," Hartley soothes, his big hand moving to card through Nolan's hair, "calm down, Nolan, it's okay. We can talk about this again when you wake up properly, just rest for now. You've worn yourself out."

"I'll wear you out," he mumbles back, more out of instinct than anything, and Hartley chuckles warmly.

"It's a promise, big guy."

Nothing makes sense right now, Nolan decides as that big hand lulls him right back to sleep, but if the Bishop is promising they're not going to leave him alone, and Hartley is laughing at his stupid jokes, he thinks that maybe he could figure out a way to make this world work.

Just for a little while.

[deepinthelight]

Characters played by Gal Gadot

[dustedmagazine]

Lupo Cittá — S-T (12XU)

“White Bracelet” shocks itself to life with a screech of feedback, a jolt of electricity that kicks off a barrage of electric strumming, a rumble of chaotic drums, a careening, coursing flood of vocal melody that is both world-weary and extremely energized. It’s the second song on Lupo Cittá’s first album, an emphatic rocker after the narcotic echo and sway of “Onde.” This is the one that sounds most like Chris Brokaw, which is always a good thing. Though to be fair, there are other songs that don’t especially, that perhaps bear the mark of the two other members, Sarah Black and Jen Gori, and they are awfully good, too.

Chris Brokaw, as you might know, has been in roughly a million bands, genre defining ones like Come and Codeine and lesser known outfits like Martha’s Vineyard Ferries and Charnel House, but all of them rough-edged and heart-felt and excellent. Lupo Cittá is the latest Brokaw-affiliated musical ensemble, formed in pandemic’s ebb tide around 2021,with two other indie music lifers. Sarah Black was a fixture in a vibrant Minneapolis scene, playing in Kickball, Period, Plain Jane, the Bleeding Hickeys, the Lie-Ons, the Pointing Geenas and Brandy Thunders and doing performance and visual art. Jenn Gori intersected with Black in several of those bands, playing drums in the Bleeding Hickeys, the Lie-ons, Pointing Geenas and Brandy Thunders.

Once the three members met, they discovered that they had just missed connecting in various episodes of their lives. They were in New York and Seattle during the same periods, and they all moved back to Boston in rough synchronicity though they didn’t really become aware of each other until meeting at a summer 2021 house show. Soon after the two women asked Brokaw to play guitar on a song for them, which grew into more songs and finally Lupo Cittá, an echo-drenched, psychedelic garage trio enamored of 1970s horror and spaghetti western soundtracks.

“Gallup to El Paso,” for instance, has a slouchy western swagger, a molten shudder of bass running through its cavernous, surf-inflected sound. A nocturnal penumbra hangs over this and other songs, clouds of reverb shadowing its slanting cowboy vibe. There’s something lurid about the way the melody breaks through the gloom, a flash of neon in a rainy midnight. “Only in Love” does the same trick with a 1960s girl group melody, wrapping it in so much darkness and uncertainty that it becomes something else altogether. These songs loom up like highways signs as you fly by, flaring out of the impenetrable black then disappearing. Jenn Gori sings in a haunting, dream-shrouded way, slipping in and out of a mess of undertones, even on the all-out rockers, so that the songs have both murderous energy and mystery. “Shawano Pickup,” for instance, blusters and rollicks, an unstoppable rockabilly rave in its bones, but its head, somehow, in the clouds.

This is not exactly a slow-burner —if you like this sort of thing, you’ll like it from the very start. But it does pick up depth and resonance from repeat listens, as this straight on rock record reveals the enigma at its unruly core.

Jennifer Kelly

[iamaboredpotatonugget]

Nolan Booth/John Heartly/Sarah Black Red Notice Fics because I love this movie so much

Booth was scrunched up in the backseat with far from enough room for his legs, doing his best not to feel like a third wheel while also trying to keep the two very keen eyed criminals from noticing the blood that was steadily staining his shirt.

"Again?"

It's not really a request.

"You're insatiable!" he squeaks, throwing his hands up dramatically.

It's her turn to shrug now, like she's been caught and can't be bothered to defend herself. She resets the board, black side facing him this time.

Nolan Booth picks up shoplifting while he and the Bishops wait for their new score, gets caught, and gets fucked. Things get messy.

Nolan thinks he's been flirting with his soulmate-slash-professional rival for the last few years until he realizes he actually has two soulmates. And they've already found each other.

It takes a solid two weeks for Nolan Booth to realise that he’s essentially just following The Bishop and Hartley around like a lapdog.

It takes him a lot less time to realise that they fuck a lot.

Sarah and Hartley attempt to negotiate polyamory with Nolan, but Nolan is too clueless to figure out what is happening.

Not everyone has a soulmate. Only about 10% of the population is born with a mark on their skin signifying that somewhere out there their perfect match walks the earth. And even then there is no guarantee that the two will ever meet.

John Hartley has a soul mate somewhere. Sarah Black does not.

“That you could never truly give me what I wanted,” Nolan said bitterly with a laugh. “I was such a fool to think that I had finally found a family, people who actually cared for me…”

“What was it that you wanted?” John dared to ask.

Nolan stared them down with a fixed look. “Isn’t it obvious?” When they shook their heads, his lips twitched into a small smile. “God, you’re both thick, aren’t you?” He sighed, eyes flickering towards the wall. “I wanted the two of you.”

It had been hours, days, since those bastards had taken Nolan, and Sarah didn’t like to think of what could have happened in that amount of time. She couldn’t think about any of it or she would have to fight the urge back even more to claw at the eyes of anybody who got just a little bit too close.

And then they're alone.

This feels staged. It feels like such a fucking setup. "Found anything interesting?" he tries.

"Only on this side of the door," says Hartley, not without humor.

Booth makes an effort to brush past that with a positive outlook. "No news is good news, right?"

Hartley raises an eyebrow. "So you kissing my girl is not new?"

[inkedgoddesses3]

Sarah Black

[pro-royalty]

Doechii x PAPER Magazine

[thicksexyasswomen46]

SHEESH

@thicksexyasswomen46😍

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person telling them (and you've never claimed to be) part 8

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: none

Pairings: nolan/john/sarah

Word Count: 1736

An epilogue of sorts for our three con artists.

”I don’t understand why I have to be the one crawling through the vents.”

“Because you’ve got the most experience doing it, you’re better built for it than John is, and I’m going to be wearing a dress.”

“I have so much faith that you could do this in a dress, you have no idea.”

“And as wonderful as your faith is, it would be better served making sure your trip through the vents is as quick and inconspicuous as possible.”

Nolan pouts, looking every bit the petulant child as John ruffles his hair. He lets out an indignant squeak and swats his hand.

“Hey, Baldy! Just because you aren’t blessed with a fine crop of hair that doesn’t mean you can take it out on those of us who do.”

“Tell that to this patch right back here.”

“You are a jealous liar, John Hartley, I have never had so much as a receding hairline in my entire life.” The both make noises of disbelief and he gasps, affronted. “I never! You two need to learn some manners.”

“You and your perfectly fine hair have had enough experiences crawling through a vent to major it out of there with your dignity intact,” she says, not bothering to resist the urge to pat his hand consolingly, “and you’ll come out right at the fourth floor bathroom where the spare suit will be waiting.”

“We’ll put your pomade in there too so you can touch it up.”

“Have you been snooping through my medicine cabinet again?”

“I don’t need to go snooping for it when you use enough that the smell radiates from you.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, how come you can recognize my pomade by smell alone? Huh? What about that?”

Sarah rolls her eyes fondly as the two of them continue bickering, going back to examining the layout of the mark’s corporate headquarters. The fundraiser is set to take place on the penthouse floor, which gives them access to most of the express systems, but not the ones they need to access the basement. If they ensure there are ‘accidental’ camera defects that hide their passage through some of the elevator junctions on the higher floors, they should be able to make it to at least the first vault door without issue.

“I’m just saying, I’m not the one who can walk into a room and immediately list the luxury perfumes and colognes everyone’s wearing.”

“Sometimes that’s your only clue. You’d be surprised how long smells can stick to people.”

“Oh, for—is this about the sewer dive I took three months ago? I showered as soon as I got back and you burned those clothes, remember?”

“I wasn’t sure if it was you or one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

“I’m Michelangelo and you’re Raphael and you know it.”

“Does that make me Leonardo or Donatello,” she asks, putting aside the blueprints and reaching for her coffee, “the…leader and the smart one, correct?”

“You’re April O’Neil.” He looks her up and down. “You could definitely pull off a yellow jumpsuit.”

“In your dreams, Nolan. Now, if you boys are done talking about your comic books and movies—“

“It’s the TV show, jeez—“

“—we have an appointment to get to.”

“Ooh, does this mean I get shot gun?”

“Hey, you had it last time,” John says, elbowing him out of the way, “and Sarah’s driving.”

“You two are absolutely no fun sometimes, you know that?”

“Tell that to the security officer who won’t be looking at either of you when we reach the checkpoint.”

Booth grumbles a little but concedes to her point as they pull out into the road. Next to her, John sticks a piece of hum in his mouth and wordlessly offers the pack to Nolan.

“Ooh, I love this flavor.”

“I know.”

“Aww, how romantic, you remembered my favorite flavor of gas station gum!”

Sarah laughs.

***

”You look fine,” John says, removing Nolan’s hands from his collar for the eighth time in as many minutes, “stop messing with it.”

“It’s so tight! How do you deal with this?”

“It’s a suit collar, Nolan, you’ve worn suits before.”

“None that doubled as hangman’s nooses!” He digs two fingers under the white material and pulls again. “And you’re—your neck is the size of most people’s thighs, you’re used to it.”

John just rolls his eyes, carefully moving Booth’s hand and fixing his tie. “You’re giving yourself a red mark, stop picking at it.”

“What if I just go without the tie? Open collar suits are all the rage these days, you know.”

”Then you won’t be able to wear the tie pin,” Sarah says, sidling up behind him in the mirror, “and you do look so very handsome with it.”

“Hey, look, flattery is not going to work this time, no matter how true it is.” She laughs, though, and John watches the defeated slump of Nolan’s shoulders. “Fine, fine, I’ll wear this torture device. Next time, you can wear the suit though.”

“Deal.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Of course.” Sarah turns to saunter out of the room, shooting a look over her shoulder. “You don’t think I could pull off a suit?”

“Well, I—uh—with the right tailor and the right fit, then, uh…”

She laughs again and leaves, leaving John to chuckle at Nolan’s expression.

”She wasn’t joking, was she?”

“No. No, she was not.”

“Wow. Okay. Note to self: figure out where her tailor is. God knows I need a better suit next time too. Or maybe you and I should be the ones in dresses.”

“Haven’t found one that compliments my shoulders yet.”

“Are you kidding? Do a high-neck halter with a low back and a slim silhouette, you’ll knock ‘em dead.”

John chuckles, smoothing one of Nolan’s lapels. “Are what’ll you wear?”

“Oh, my momma raised me to wear full skirts below my knees and my buttons all done up.”

“So you’ll be in a miniskirt, then?”

“Stripper heels to match.”

“Boys,” Sarah calls, “the party starts in half an hour, we need to go.”

“Have you ever fought in high heels?”

“Can’t say that I’ve had the chance, no.”

“They do wonders for your posture, let me tell you. Plus, excellent if you need to emergency stab someone’s eye out.”

John rolls his eyes fondly and puts his hand on Nolan’s back to walk him to the car.

***

”Evon,” Sarah says with a soft smile, opening her arms at the bustling pile of jewels moving toward them, “it’s been too long.”

“Roxanne, Arthur, Mademoiselle et Monsieur, it has been too long!” Nolan watches with no small amount of wonder as the man manages to kiss the both of them on the cheek without dislodging the gaudy thing on his head. “You did not respond to the invitation!”

‘We were traveling,” John says apologetically, “we did not have time.”

“No matter, no matter, you have come, that is all that is important.” Evon catches sight of Nolan, who waves bemusedly, and gasps, holding his hand to his mouth. “And is this your third? The lovely man who did not come to the little party in Paris?”

Hold on. Back up. What?

“This is him,” Sarah says, her voice infused with a warmth that still takes him by surprise, “in the flesh.”

“Evon Madripoor, at your service, Monsieur. If I had any lingering questions about your friends’ taste, they have all been answered.”

“It’s an honor. Warren Clearwater.”

“Ah, what a lovely name you have.” Something shifts in the man’s expression and he takes Nolan’s hand, smile softening. “I am relieved to see that your friends found you. You all deserve every happiness life can give you.”

Nolan blinks. And blinks again. “I, uh, I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“Oh! Oh—forgive me, Mademoiselle and Monsieur, I have said too much. I will take my leave, please, I am not a part of this conversation.”

Nolan watches with no small amount of confusion as the man scampers off back into the crowd. “Well, that was weird. Who knows what the hell he was…”

He turns to see expressions equal parts sheepish and…embarrassed?

“Uh, guys?”

“At the party in Paris,” John says, way too quiet and way, way too intimate for Nolan to be prepared for, “the night you left, he noticed how badly we missed you.”

“What do you mean, ‘how badly we missed you?’”

“We were leaving space for you in conversations,” Sarah says, like she isn’t blowing his mind, “and when John danced with Evon, then—“

“—he asked me who he was a stand-in for.”

Hi, sorry. Nolan’s offline right now, he’s gonna need a minute to reboot.

”It was never just about the job,” John continues, stepping closer, “and it wasn’t…we weren’t playing games.”

“Uh—you two—so that means—“

Sarah takes his hand and wraps it around her waist as John steps close enough to cup the back of his head. He’s fucking drowning.

“Not a game,” Sarah mumbles, “not a con. Not a ploy.”

“Just an offer.”

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

For a long moment, Nolan just stands there. Flashes of the beach, the pub, hell, even the prison race through his mind, along with every reason not to believe them. This is dangerous, this is more than dangerous, this is stupid. This is reckless, this is terrifying, this is…this is…

He takes a drop breath and lets it out very, very slowly.

“On one condition.”

“Which is?”

‘I get to drive on the way back.”

Both of them nearly slump in relief as breathless smiles overtake their faces. He feels his lips turning up too, the giddiness of a new job replaced by the high of whatever wonderful mess this will turn out to be. He holds Sarah close, reaches up to take John’s hand in his. Sarah looks at him for a moment, like he’s the most priceless artifact she’s ever seen, and then her smile sharpens.

“Are you sure you want to drive?” She leans close enough to murmur in his ear. “Think of all the fun we could have while we make John drive.”

His throat runs dry because fuck. “You have a point.”

“Or,” John says, voice as deep and smooth as…something really deep and smooth, shit, “we could make Sarah drive.”

“Tell you what, you both have until the end of the party to convince me.”

“Game on.”

And this time, everybody wins.

[deepinthelight]

Gal Gadot and her characters

[louisbxne]

black vampires + witches

akasha, queen of the damned (2002)

louis & claudia, interview with the vampire (2022-)

tara thorton, true blood (2008-2014)

blade, blade (1998)

marcel gerard, the originals (2013-2018)

sarah fox, my babysitter's a vampire (2011-2012)

alex & camryn, twitches (2005)

rochelle zimmerman, the craft (1996)

bonnie bennett, the vampire diaries (2009-2017)

vincent griffith, the originals (2013-2018)

marie laveau, american horror story (2011-)

macy vaughn, charmed (2018-2022)

[bandcampsnoop]

12/23/23.

Gerard Cosloy's 12XU label has never gotten the attention that his earlier labels Homestead Records and Matador Records have received. But the label puts out consistently great music. Lupo Citta "Lupo Cittá" truly sounds like it could have been at home on any of those Cosloy labels.

This is hard edged rock in the vein of The Men, Sonic Youth or Eleventh Dream Day. And it does sound like Chris Brokaw's "Puritan" which is apropos seeing as Brokaw is one of the band's three members. Sarah Black and Jenn Gori are the other members, and it seems as if both have an extensive band history of their own.

Lupo Citta are a Boston, Massachusetts based band.