invsiblestringswrites

[invsiblestringswrites]

lets have phone sex over walkie talkies

[invsiblestringswrites]

this is seth bleeker. by day (well, the night shift usually..) he works at a dog boarding kennel. but his real passion is ghost hunting. he loves nothing more than a good conspiracy theory. except maybe an orange julius. also, he can talk to animals. well. they talk to him and he's forced to listen. also, his grandpa boris died and was reincarnated as a borzoi dog. it wasn't a coincidence, and gramps is just as crotchety with four legs as he was with two, but seth loves him dearly & gramps is usually riding shot gun. he doesn't have a favorite color. they're just colors. he does not "like" or "dislike" any of them. that's so silly.

[invsiblestringswrites]

Claire was gullible, sure. Like when men told her they were going to show up on time or that they really were separated from their wives. But not when it came to details like this. She was want to believe people were inherently good and truthful, which had gotten her into not a few tough spots, but getting the details right was kind of her thing. So was it a museum exhibit, or an old book? And was it last week or a decade ago? It wasn't adding up. "What a funny story," she said, trying to come up with something honest to respond with.

She smiled, not used to forcing herself to do so disingenuously, and took her spot at the kitchen table, making sure to wait until Soleil had done so first since she was a guest, but also a woman, and therefore meant to sit before Ford. Luckily, it seemed like everybody here knew that was the customary order as well. Good manners were hard to come by these days, but maybe that was only true in the city, since she'd found nothing but hospitality (and a growing list of incongruencies, but that was a separate matter) since she'd entered this parish.

"This looks great, thank you so much, Ford," Claire said, and meant it. But.. "Do you say Grace before meals?" she asked as tactfully as she could.

It had been a matter of some contention in her home growing up. Her mother, a devout but admittedly unconventional Christian, insisted that they pray before meals. Her father, who was only at the table to humor her in the first place, seemed offended by the suggestion, or maybe even threatened by it. Still. If the vampire king of New Orleans had an Achilles heel, it was his wife. Needless to say, Grace was a confusing tradition for Claire and one she partook in out of habit and respect more than anything. She didn't want to offend here by assuming one way or the other; unlike her mother, it didn't bother her in the slightest what string of words someone wanted to put before their first bite. As long as that bite wasn't from something living.

"Aw, stop it," Soleil was ablaze with a peachy blush, always one to fall for flattery. She retrieved the eggs, then lamented in dramatics, "Ugh! Please, take me away."

-

Two firm taps against the counter and the egg cracked open, trailing residual clear, sticky fluid from Ford's fingers onto the surface. He was on breakfast duty in the kitchen just a few steps away from where the two women were forced to chat at the table. Ford had given his sister a bit of a warning look before he and Claire walked inside the home—something to say, Don't walk away. Otherwise, he knew Soleil would retreat upstairs in avoidance of their not-so-welcome houseguest.

"Make sure ya wipe that up, Ford," Soleil told him in disgust, green eyes flitting to the pile of whites accumulating on the counter as her brother cracked one egg after the other. She would have scolded him more, but it seemed like her brother was fixing up breakfast sandwiches for the table. Her favorite. One of the few things she could stomach if she couldn't have her first choice. (Which was, pure blood, of course.

Could'ja maybe drizzle some on top, like hot sauce or ketchup or somethin'? Nobody'd know the difference!

Soleil, you are despicable.)

The little sister was all saccharine-sweet whenever Claire began asking about the sigil. Claire didn't have to finish her word for Soleil to know. It was somehow embedded in Ford's warning look when the pair first walked in.

There was something anomalous about the blonde. Soleil could sniff it up this close that she wasn't just a plain human. Whether she possessed clairvoyance or something else. She wasn't an old-enough vampire to sniff it out accurately, but at this point, if she had a feeling, she'd hoped Ford had, too. Except, he seemed to be slipping. Perhaps allured by the woman's beauty, which was undeniable to say the least.

And when was the last time Ford got a long with a woman?

Leave it to Soleil to clean up Ford's mess, although Claire seemed quite insistently curious about it. All the years they'd had that sigil on the tree and not one townie mentioned a thing. Now here was some pretty girl that Ford picked up from the side of the road like a stray, asking questions. Soleil herself would never invite such a sleuth, no matter how easy he or she was on the eyes. (Never mind that she wasn't able to control who asked about the sigil and who didn't...)

"Oh, that stupid tree carving?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"It's the funniest lil' story. One time in middle school our class took a field trip to the St. Tammany Parish Historical Society." Then, a rambling monologue about all the things she'd seen that day, buying Ford some time to finish the sandwiches. "...My classmates and I saw that symbol in one'a the exhibits and had competitions to see who could draw it the best. We were so over that stupid little 'S' you drew in middle school, if y'know what I'm talkin' about?"

Ford's voice suddenly cut through, two sizzling plates of breakfast sandwiches in tow. "Alright, Soleil, enough'a your monologue," he said in scolding. He offered Claire an apologetic look, the siblings upkeeping the charade of being clueless. "Eat up, you two."

[invsiblestringswrites]

Of course as soon as Zander said not to tease him, that became all Rhys wanted to do, but he'd oblige. He rose up to his knees above Zan, smirking as he coated two fingers in lube. "Alright, alright," he laughed, nudging Zan's knees up. Because he knew Zander would not so secretly like it, he did tease just a little more, ghosting his knuckle over the man's entrance, easing in but then backing off again more times than was necessary in the name of being gentle. Sure, there was something to be said for getting to know a partner's body over time, over repeated encounters. Rhys had regulars - he knew the drill. But he had all the experience in the world to be able to read someone's body pretty well, even the first time. "No more teasing," he promised, and it was just moments between slipping his hand away, donning the condom, and nudging himself inside. But his focus was on Zan's face - he had to see what the man's expression would be when confronted with the new sensation.

Goosebumps rose in the wake of Rhys's touch, leaving him shivery with want as his dark eyes watched the other man. His arousal had softened during the massage but that wasn't the case anymore, and as his lover's lips touched him ever so briefly Zander swallowed a gasp of pleasure. It wasn't nearly enough, but a promise of things to come, and he shook his head at the question. "Not in the slightest." He wanted Rhys inside him, needed to have him as close as they could get, and soon. "Rhys.. Please." Only slightly embarrassed by how desperate he sounded, Zander reached down to run his fingers through Rhys's hair. "Don't tease me."

[invsiblestringswrites]

There were some people who were just naturals. The ones born gifted, born to heal, born to cut. And then there were the pretenders. People who tried tried tried to be so perfect it looked natural, even it wasn't. That was James. But Addie. This part, at least came naturally to Adeline - the innate empathy, the ability to cut right to the core of the problem, the way she could single handedly decide the mood of the entire room. The way with a touch and a kind word, she could damper the live wires in James' head.

Adeline's confidence in James' innocence was touching if misplaced. James swallowed, then swallowed again until the lump in her throat shrunk enough that she felt she could could get more than just gulping breaths down. It had been so long since she'd been on the receiving end of Adeline's touch, her warmth. Even if she hated the circumstances, she wouldn't reject the gift. "I didn't listen. He tried to tell me something was wrong. His nurse tried. But." Shame forced her gaze downward, away from Adeline's face. "I wouldn't hear it. I had the endarterectomy, and I wasn't - " She wasn't worried about anything, or anyone, else.

"Addie, it's my fault." Why she needed Adeline to believe her, she wasn't sure. Wasn't part of the problem that Adeline had been so convinced of James' flawed character? Why give her more ammo? Because this time, it was truer than ever. This time it had killed somebody.

she half expected to be shrugged off, to be told to leave. yet neither came to happen. much to adeline's surprise, her comfort seemed to be accepted, instructions obeyed with no such resistance. selfish as it might have been, she couldn't help but feel glad, relieved to be granted the chance to be present in a moment of vulnerability. it was all she had ever wanted, to see underneath the surface. though, she didn't dare to dwell on such thoughts. not when her efforts were needed elsewhere.

"there you go," the brunette praised in a gentle murmur, feeling the rise and fall of her shoulders steady. "you're doing good. just keep breathing for me," she encouraged, no ounce of impatience evident in her tone. she would be there for as long as her presence was wanted.

the air stilled around them once more — a moment of calm before the other utters words that has her heart squeezing painfully. such a heavy burden for one person to carry. she wished she could take the weight of it for her.

"hey," adeline begun, much more firm in her tone than before. "that is not not true—can you look at me, please?" she requested, fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear before lifting her chin and forcing her teary gaze upon her own. "you did all you could for that man. remember how proud of yourself you were after your surgery?" she had seen it for herself, even if from afar. "sometimes...things happen. things that are completely out of our control, no rhyme or reason. you can't be torturing yourself with those kinds of thoughts. i won't let you."

[invsiblestringswrites]

Zan's sigh told him him was on the right track, but his sass told Rhys he needed to make his intentions a little clearer. Rhys dragged his palms down the man's stomach, then out over his hips and underneath his knees, parting his legs without ever nearing where Zan would want the touch the most. He wanted the first contact to come from his mouth. "You could go to sleep if you're too tired. I won't be offended," he offered, even as he laid his cheek on the man's thigh, dropping a kiss to Zan's cock that lingered, lips hovering as if considering offering more, but he didn't. Not yet. "Do you wanna call it a night, Zan?"

"Mhm.." Zander settled onto his back, one hand behind his head as he watched Rhys grab what he needed from the drawer. His other hand ran down his lover's side as he leaned over him, fingers brushing over warm skin as the urge to touch him was too strong to resist. "I am relaxed," he told him honestly, a fond smile on his face as Rhys began to massage out any knots he found in his muscles. His hands were like heaven, and soon Zander's eyelids grew heavy, a content sigh passing his lips. Forcing his gaze up to Rhys's he let out a quiet laugh. "Are you trying to put me to sleep? Because if you don't want to fuck me you could just say so. You don't have to be so sneaky about it," he teased.

[invsiblestringswrites]

claire's apartment under the cut <3

468 square feet.

[invsiblestringswrites]

Not but ten minutes ago, Llewellyn thought the testimony of someone as good and respected as Ezra would be the only saving grace. But it hadn't taken long for her to abandon any such delusions. Everhart and his accomplices had no interest in listening to anyone but themselves and she resented Ezra's sense of duty dragging him into this mess, bloodying his own hands for her sake. Not even a silencing spell could stop the way she looked up at him with such pained reverence. Her Ezra. Noble to a fault.

When all of this was over and she received her own punishment, she'd come to deliver Ezra's for getting himself in trouble too.

She needed worry too long about the spotlight resting on her best friend. A new threat cascaded through the crowd on airless steps. Even if Llewellyn could speak, she would've been too stunned to do so.

As the woman spoke - as the woman revealed a truth almost comical - the strangest thing happened. It began as a warm tingling in her fingers and toes, like holding one's hands to the air vents in a defrosting car on a winter morning. The heat spread internally, so silently, mingling almost playfully with the little lick of flame she kept all for herself in the center of her chest. Enticing it.

That heat, once granted permission, unfroze her vocal cords and flushed her cheeks, and Lou really couldn't help it - she laughed.

"Blasphemy," Everhart sputtered, unsure whether to turn his ire on Llewellyn or the insurgent first. But the scales had already been tipped, the murmurings amongst the gathered coven rising in tenor.

"Well," Lou sighed, rising to her feet and dusting off the knees of her pants. "It seems maybe you all have things to... discuss. Unless you and Councilwoman Seedra wish to iron this all out before the whole coven," she offered with a wicked grin she did not bother to hide.

Ezra shared the same beliefs as Lou: the Council was far too powerful and too often did they like to dangle that power in front of those less fortunate or in inferior positions. As he stood in the front row of the audience members and listened on, it became obvious that Lou's status as a Singer didn't protect her from any of the Council members' scrutiny. In fact, they only treated her cruelly. He held back when they first pacified her speech, but the second time around—when they dared take away her voice again—he couldn't just watch. That was his best friend up there. Someone he loved.

"Your Honor, it was an accident," he called out. The room's chattering came to a startled halt. The Council members stared at him. Ezra wasn't sure what of him would make them want to listen. He grew up poor and slicked around the city for a long time before the Singers took him in and treated them like their own (in Lou's case, perhaps better). His reputation as a magic-learner was soiled to say the least. Many thought of him as impure—an insult in this coven—but only a few had the guts to say so out loud knowing his involvement with the Singer family.

If only Lou could have been spared from their gossip the same way.

"Accident or not, Llewellyn destroyed sacred coven property," spoke Councilman Everhart. "At this age, she should have full control of her magic powers."

Suddenly, a woman's laughter—boisterous and mocking—cut through the Councilman's authority. "Who dare interrupt?!" demanded another Council member, looking out into the crowd, seeking the source.

Just then, a woman emerged from the back of the audience, slow steps commandeering everyone's attention as she made her way to the front row, heading toward the wooden gate that kept the jury separated from the Councilman and the defendant. "Sacred coven property?"

Ezra recognized it was that same woman from before, who lingered outside in the hallway. Her strawberry blonde hair glistened even under the dim light of the courtroom. His brows furrowed as he watched on. She held an apple in one hand, and the other, she lifted up. With that slight gesture, the wooden gate—which was protected by a special seal that prohibited the use of any magic from anyone besides who had laid the seal—gently pushed open.

"Do you know how many times I've watched your horses piss on that structure?" she asked with a giggle.

Lou watched as the mysterious woman gazed at Lou.

"Anyway," she said, taking a bite of her apple and sauntering across the courtroom. The guards at the entrance were seemingly entranced as she danced about. "It wasn't Llewelyn's magic that knocked the structure down. Councilwoman Seedra has been trying to decommission that structure for months, hasn't she?"

Councilwoman Seedra shifted in her seat.

"This is preposterous!" Councilman Everhart protested. The woman simply placed her finger over her lips, silencing him.

"Didn't you propose a new building take its place?" the woman turned her attention back to Councilwoman Seedra, hopping up on the desk in front of Llewelyn and crossing her legs. She was about to take another bite of her apple before coming to a sort of epiphany.

"That's right. You wanted to build a new theater exclusively for your daughter's dance recitals," the woman shared. "And you placed a rot spell on that old structure to watch it eventually crumble... just in time for her graduation from theater school in about a month, right?

"Luckily for you, Llewelyn here sped up the job. But you and I both know that one of Councilman Everhart's farts or, God forbid, another piss break from all of your horses could have knocked it down. Not so sacred after all, is it?"

Another bite from the apple. Councilwoman Seedra was as red as it.

[invsiblestringswrites]

As he spoke, Claire felt at once a territorial pull toward the thing and also a self-preserving urge to run from it. The duality didn't surprise her; she was used to feeling cleaved by her warring lineages. She leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. The lines of it - more organic, carved crudely here, sure, but in essence considerably freer and more rounded than the angular sharpness of her own family's sigil and those of the lesser urban covens.

"You saw her do it?" she asked, flicking her head back to ask the question. Did Soleil really put it here? And if so, what sort of book had she gotten her hands on to find something like this? Did they even know what kind of trouble they were inviting, leaving markers like this for all the wrong people to see?

Claire wasn't especially gifted. The fact that she had any heightened abilities at all for a halfling was remarkable and owed only to the strength of her father's bloodline. What little ability she did have, she had no conscious control over. It came and went as it pleased. And now, triggered by some inborn alarm system, that scent which had first struck her upon entering the Smith home came back to her flowing sure and steady across open fields. Ford reeked of it. She couldn't tell from here, but she'd bet Soleil did too.

And something God awful occurred to her just then. A fear she didn't want to voice aloud - not in front of Soleil, for one, and not now, when she hoped she was just overcome by the discovery and therefore overreacting.

Because if she was right, the Smiths were being fed upon by one of those swamp trash covens and they surely didn't even know it. And she no idea what to do about it.

She didn't know what else to do other than take his offered hand and follow him back to the house. If she was right, that house wasn't any safer than an open field, but it felt like it was somehow. Four walls and a locked door with no welcome mat.

"Hi there," she forced herself to greet Soleil with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It wasn't this poor woman's fault, whatever was going on, and she needed to be a good house guest. Almost as much as she needed answers. "Thank y'all so much for accommodating me. I won't be a bother, I promise. And it's just beautiful out here. You're the cutest thing! I never had a little sister, but if I did, she wouldn't be as darlin' as you by a mile." She held the basket up in offering. "We, um. Ford. Got eggs. Do you know anything about that sig-" she cut herself off. The word sigil wouldn't and shouldn't mean anything to them. "That sign, carved in the tree by the strawberry patches? It's so.. peculiar."

There was something so carefree about plopping down on the grass and taking a big bite of a strawberry that Ford envied. He was too stiff, conditioned not to have fun by his strict father who taught him all he knew about taking care of the farm. Instead, he opted to pull a nearby wooden crate over, flip it over, and take a seat atop it. He set his basket of the day's pickings—strawberries, eggs, a handful of green onions in case Soleil wanted to put some in an omelette—on the grass near his boots. Part of him wanted to ask Claire if she wanted to step inside. It was getting too hot for a girl like her out here, no matter if she was from the same state.

"I'm always hiring new ferry drivers." It was a wistful joke in return. She came in on the same ferry he was driving. How amusing was it to imagine her behind that very wheel, trekking the waters of Lake Pontchartrain, sometimes stowing partygoers who wanted New Orleans on a budget. They'd party in the city and sleep in the country.

After a moment, he was planning to stand, but Ford's actions were interrupted by the blonde's realization. His brows knitted together. So many times he sat with someone by this very same tree trunk and yet, no one had ever pointed out that sigil. No one outside of the Smith family, that is. It was the Smith family crest. Something that only a certain group of people would recognize...

His expression relaxed not even a second later, keeping nonchalant. "Soleil did, when she was younger. It was something she saw in a book," he told her. "It's been years since I even remembered that was there."

Before Ford could ask why, Soleil's voice rang through the window in the kitchen. "Where are those eggs, Ford? I gotta head off to practice soon 'nd I'm starvin'!" she hollered.

It was as if she knew to cut in. He cleared his throat and stood up, reaching for Claire's hand to help her up. "We'd better go. She gets cranky when she's hungry."

[invsiblestringswrites]

Rhys laughed - really laughed - and kissed him back with such unabated joy. When was the last time he laughed in bed and meant it? "Any time," he promised between kisses, flipping Zan onto his back with a huff. He somehow looked just as good like this and Rhys rose up onto his knees to take in the view, making no secret of what he was doing either. "Side table?" he asked, leaning over to check for himself if he could find what they needed. Perfect. "Relax, baby," he soothed, kissing him again as his hands roamed, looking for spots of tension in his partner's body, easing them out with capable hands, gliding over peach fuzz and sinew and all the soft places he could find.

Zander soaked up Rhys's praise like a sponge, giving the other man a cheeky wink as he caught his gaze. He loved pleasing him like this, making him feel good. It made him feel good, too, his own cock throbbing with need as he took more of Rhys into his mouth, only coming up for air at his lover's urging. He would've gladly made him cum just like that, but he wasn't complaining seeing as he knew what was coming next. "Kiss me first," Zander told him, making his way back up the bed and crashing his lips against Rhys's.

[invsiblestringswrites]

The panic coiling every muscle in her body almost - almost - launched her upright to meet the threat coming through that door after her. Almost, until she took in those doe eyes. Not a threat. Adeline.

She hugged her shins tighter, the bones in her knees digging into her forehead, but she didn't notice. Adeline was speaking - what was she saying? James was a professional. She should know what to do for someone having a panic attack, which was certainly what this was. Logically, she knew that. Slow down her breathing. Yes. At least one of them knew what to do.

Without raising her head, James tried her best to follow directions. Adeline breathing slow and steady beside her, her own breaths ragged at first but then evening out to a similar if unidentical tempo. Adeline's hand on her back, steady and sure.

She wasn't dying. She wasn't alright, but she wasn't dying. Which was more than she could say for Mr. Blight.

"I killed him," she told her knees, still afraid to raise her head, but now out of something more akin to shame.

it had been weeks now, since the pair had last spoken — since they could even bear being within the same space for more than a few moments at a time. a difficult feat for adeline, but one that seemed effortless for her estranged lover. it hurt, of course. but life went on.

she resumed with her routine as usual. sleep, eat, work, study, repeat. no room for anything else. yet still, instinct reared in. it wasn't as if she would seek information on james' whereabouts or activities, but when it so happened to find her she would make note.

today's surgery happened to be a big one. the first solo surgery awarded to their cohort. and with a big personality like james, there was talk. adeline was one of many that filled the surgical theatre. as with everybody else, she watched in awe (others with envy) as she conducted the surgery — each move straight out of the textbook. perfect, even to the trained eye. however proud james must have felt, adeline felt prouder. she only wished she could celebrate james' success with her.

she came to learn of the news through a particularly mouthy group of their colleagues, far too smug for a situation in which a life was lost. adeline had told them as such within a monologue of insults and condemnation.

"maybe if you'd spent any less time with your heads up your asses you would be half as good as her, but i don't see any of you making that effort so—" her tirade had been interrupted by the very person she had been defending barging through the crowd she had managed to attract. adeline followed immediately, feet moving with no need for command.

"james!" the brunette called out after her, but to no avail. it did nothing to stop her from entering the room that the blonde had disappeared into. the sight she was met with broke her heart like nothing else — james huddled into the corner, looking as small as she had ever seen her. she didn't quite know how to react.

"james," adeline tried again, tone much softer now. she approached her figure slowly, kneeling down before her with a hand lightly laid upon her back. "hey, you're okay," she cooed, hand moving in soothing circles, "can you slow down your breathing for me?" she began to breathe exaggerated breaths, deep but steady with each exhalation. "i'm here. you're safe." / @invsiblestringswrites

[invsiblestringswrites]

Ezra. Her best friend. Her twin, in some ways - the same age, the same inky hair, the same moody set to their mouths. And also her foil. A head taller than her, a few decibels quieter, and a lot more palatable to seemingly everyone. If Ezra had accidentally blown something up, the council would've said 'Oh well, we've been meaning to renovate.'

It was a bad sign. Lou stood her ground for a moment, piercing into Ezra with her resolute stare. "Our lives are sacred," she reminded, as if it was Ezra who held her fate in his hands and not a room full of stuffy and uncompromising elders.

Whatever argument she'd been about to launch into was cut short when the ancient wooden doors swung open of their own accord, blowing her hair backward and beckoning her forward. Here goes nothing.

It was like the whole coven turned up to witness her public lashing. The stone of the walls, the carved benches, the floors and ceiling - it all seeped the color and heat from every living thing in the oversized room. As Llewellyn took her place on her knees before the half moon of enthroned elders, she dug around inside herself for that little scrap of radiant warmth that lived within. It would not go out. Not in here. Not anywhere.

"Your hi-" she began, but Councilman Everhart held up an imposing pale hand and stole the words from her throat. Not intimidated her into silence. Stole the words from her throat. It opened and closed, and nothing came out. She gaped liked a fish.

"Llewellyn Singer. You stand accused of defacing a holy temple by means of reckless and excessive use of power. Power beyond anything taught to you in the academy. Destructive power. Not healing power. Do you contest this accusation?"

"Yes. I-" She was only allowed those two words before the air was stolen from her again. This time she leaned forward on both palms, her brow creased, her skin hot despite the permeating chill. They could steal her voice but not her rage.

"And no sense of personal accountability, either. Many would expect better from a Singer." Everhart paused here to share a conniving glance with the weathered robed men on either side of him, and the pause gave permission for a few in the crowd to exhale bated breaths, shift on their feet, whisper to those they'd come with. And still Lou sat. Silent.

"Yes, I saw," Ezra reassured her, opposite hand reaching over to graze against her own as she grabbed his arm. As dire as the situation was for his best friend, he liked the fact that she could rely on him to be there for her.

The pair of them stood outside of the meeting hall now. Beyond the frosted glass panels on the two wooden doors that led into the meeting hall, he saw splotches of dark moving about. Likely the Council in their robes prepping for Lou and her case, taking their seats.

He let out a sigh, facing Lou and begrudgingly pulling her hand from his arm. This way, he could touch her shoulders and ground her. "But you know the Council only deals in absolutes. Maybe they'll lessen your punishment, but they're still strict. The temple," like all the other structures in their coven, "was sacred." Emphasis on was.

In the distance, Ezra caught sight of another figure peering at them. Almost eavesdropping. She was tall and thin, clothes raggedy. Something was bright red in her hand. Her face was unfamiliar to him. His brows furrowed out at the woman before glancing back at Lou, his hand on her shoulder guiding her in the hall. "It sounds like they're ready. Let's head inside."

That woman was Ivy. An excommunicated witch whose unknown powers proved too strong, too calamitous for the safety of the coven. She held an apple up to her mouth, hovering its waxy, bright red skin near her lips before she promptly took a bite out of it. Her gaze, dark blue like the depths of the ocean, was fixed on Lou. Though they were at opposite ends of the hallway, Ivy could see Lou's face clear-cut, from her spotless skin to the dimples on her cheeks. Ivy's stare was unwavering, isolating. And yet, warm. As if they were coaxing Lou to jump into a wide body of water for a new wave baptism.

Ivy would linger behind and eventually follow the pair inside.

[invsiblestringswrites]

closed starter for @mutatedangels

It became very clear very quickly that she was not going to receive a thank you. It wasn't like this had been her goal; when little redheaded withling tumbled from her broom, Llewellyn didn't think much of anything. Let alone what she could do to stop it. Let alone why. It was a tidal force, a rushing in her ears, a train car rushing through her core and then out of her, slicing through the atmosphere to lift the witchling on a violent tide back up into the air.

And nobody even seemed to pay attention to the fact that the little redhead managed to grab back onto her broom and alight safely. It was all about the decimated temple. Hell, the wind had to go somewhere.

Llewellyn was ready to plead her case (if they even gave her the chance) as she sat relegated to the hallway outside the meeting hall, like a teenager at waiting outside the principal's office.

"Ezra!" Lou jumped to her feet, racing to meet her friend halfway down the hallway, latching onto his arm and leaning in close as they walked the rest of the way together. "Thank Hecate you're here," she sighed. "You saw everything, right? You saw how I helped that girl? You can talk to them for me? They'll believe you."

[invsiblestringswrites]

He'd seen Zander a million ways but not like this. And it was something to see. Rhys wasn't shy about showing his satisfaction, letting his huffs and moans slip from his mouth as his hand fisted in Zan's mop of hair and encouraged him down, down. "Fuck, baby, that's good," he praised, forcing himself not to buck up into the man's mouth. He just hadn't experienced want like this in so long. Need. "Turn around, let me see that ass," he coaxed. Feeling guilty to keep Zan waiting, feeling a need to serve his partner in return.

Zander also took the opportunity to strip out of his own briefs, his eyes never leaving Rhys's body, and the sight of him lying there with nothing on was nearly enough to make his mouth water. Licking his lips, he smirked at the other man's comment, humming right before he kissed him hungrily. "You're right about that." Leaving a trail of kisses down Rhys's front, he didn't stop once he reached his cock, mouth pressing along the length of his shaft and back up before he wrapped his lips around the head, letting out a little sigh as he did. It had been a while since he'd gone down on anyone, but time hadn't diminished his skill or his eagerness to please his partner. In no time at all he was lost in the rhythm of what he was doing, cheeks hollow as he bobbed his head, noises of appreciation slipping out and letting Rhys know just how much he was enjoying himself.

[invsiblestringswrites]

"Something like that," she agreed. What was there to say? None of the canned responses Claire had rehearsed during her departure seemed suitable. Lying to an honorable man didn't sit right. But the truth wasn't an option and wouldn't do either of them any good. "I'm an only child," she explained. "There's an expectation that I will.. take the helm one day. I'm not sure I want to." She'd never said that aloud before, not even in an abstract way as she was doing now, but there was not harm in it, right?

Claire sighed, dropping to sit criss cross against a tree trunk and sift through her pickings. If she'd been back home, these berries would've been bought organic at a Trader Joe's, thoroughly rinsed, then pared into a bowl before eating. As it was, she plucked one from the basket and took a bite, holding it a little ways away from her so that when the juice slide down her palm, it would drip in the grass and not her lap. "Know anyone looking for a job? Benefits suck, but there's not a lot of turnover." She had to laugh at her own joke, even if she'd be the only one who got it.

But she wasn't laughing when she made to move her braid out of the way of the tree trunk and saw something known to her and yet not. "Did you put this here? Did Soleil?" she asked, her fingertips hovering over the crudely carved sigil in the bark. At her feet, the clippings still scattered. Someone had done this recently. "Does it mean anything to you?" her head snapped to him now, eyes purposeful, any humor gone. She almost wished this was her own family's sigil - not for her sake, but Ford's. She'd be able to bargain for him. But if this belonged to one of the calamitous covens she'd been warned about..

He nodded as he absorbed her own family's lore.

Maybe his ears perked up a bit at the notion Claire was from New Orleans, only because Soleil wouldn't shut up about it. If she was listening, she'd probably dash out into the strawberry fields sooner rather than later, if only to ask the blonde about all of her endeavors in the city. As if it was a place for movie stars. His overzealous little sister often wondered why they couldn't leave their podunk estate and move onto bigger and better things, like New Orleans. How could Ford simply explain that the city kind and their kind—the vampires from the bayou—didn't mesh well?

He let the blonde fill the basket with just a few more berries before their smiles matched each other's. Her smile was warm and genuine enough but, he still couldn't shake it. Something was evermore peculiar about Claire. What it was, he couldn't discern, and yet he felt as if curious fingers were slowly but surely peeling something back to reveal another something. He'd never felt this way about any other visitor that came through the Smith farm. Otherwise, he wouldn't think to be so curious.

"Right." Ford cleared his throat. Maybe this was his chance to uncover some light. "And you're out here in Abita Springs to... get away from the city, I take it?" It was an innocent enough question. So many New Orleans natives took advantage of the history surrounding them. Louisiana was rich with things unknown, knowledge waiting to be eaten.

[invsiblestringswrites]

When Zander said I'm yours, Rhys knew he meant it, and it terrified him as much as it warmed him. Being entrusted with something so important. It felt out of his depth. If he was breathing before, he wasn't when Zander touched him, so close to what he actually wanted. Rhys nodded against the man's mouth, lifting his hips up to deftly slip out of his briefs in a move he'd perfected ages ago. There was somehow an ever-growing list of reasons to be nervous around his partner, but getting naked had never made him feel that way and didn't now. Rhys wanted Zander to see the effect he had on him. "I think you'd look cuter with my cock in your mouth," he intoned, inching forward to nip at Zan's lower lip between his teeth. He had to do something with all this electricity, had to have somewhere to put it.

He spoke between kisses, and though his tone was casual the smile curving his lips told a completely different story. "What are you talking about? I'm always cute." The color flooding his cheeks and creeping up his neck revealed just how pleased he was by this compliment, the words meaning more than they normally would considering who had spoken them. It wasn't every day that he heard how cute he was from someone as sexy as Rhys, either.

Zander could feel Rhys's impatience in the way his fingers gripped his hair, but he didn't allow himself to be rushed, even as he felt the man's other hand on his ass. Instead he took his time, kissing every inch of skin that he liked as he slowly traveled lower. The admission was enough to make him pause once more, his gaze finding Rhys's a moment before their lips met. "I'm all yours," he promised, kissing him deeply as his hand palmed Rhys's arousal through his underwear. He smirked, playfully nudging the other's nose with his own. "Now I think it's time these came off, don't you?"

[invsiblestringswrites]

Rhys was just as good at following orders as giving them, and he could only offer a lopsided grin as he obeyed Zander's directions. "You're cute when you're bossy," he teased, finding Zander's cropped hair with his fingers so he could encourage his path south. Rhys knew he was supposed to be letting Zan serve him right now but he couldn't help it - his free hand found his partner's ass and squeezed, trying to commit the feel of it to memory, to learn this new part of him by touch alone and as quickly as possible. "I want you," he admitted. And it may have been the most obvious thing in the world to say - his body had been saying it for ages now - but for a man who didn't often know what he wanted or how to say it when he did, the fact that he knew and meant it and said it, he hoped wasn't lost on Zander. Or maybe he hoped that it was.

His lips parted in a gasp as Rhys's hips rocked against his, the man's arousal evident and that friction nearly making his eyes roll back in his head. They hadn't even properly started yet and Zander was already going crazy with need, the desire to touch Rhys all over replacing nearly every other coherent thought in his brain. The kiss was a temporary salve, and he let out a noise of displeasure as his lover pulled away. His attitude changed when he saw it was for the purpose of removing his jeans, and he eagerly helped Rhys with the removal of his own next. Once free of the constricting article he sat up and kissed Rhys again, his hunger for him insatiable. "On your back," he said, trading positions and straddling Rhys's thighs. He leaned over and claimed his lips once more, though his mouth soon began to wander, his hips rolling slowly back and forth as he pressed kisses all over the other man's neck and chest.