#“listen i need the idiots to keep coming to the crow club and losing all their money”

[greedbent]

@howthesleeplesswander || cont.

"I know why you're here."

He said it swiftly, not scathing or snippy, but to-the-point and on the ending cusp of the Harbinger's last breath. Until now, Kaz had been keeping a vigilant eye on the gambling floor beyond the private parlor in which they convened; surveillance of the chess board and all its players: if Tartaglia had come alone, how many curious gazes were slipping their way, who of his Dregs was aware of the engagement and keeping watch...

—I just can't figure out why they sent you. And he couldn't shake that nesting bud of unrest in his gut.

Kaz adjusted his position with a light exhale, and he put his elbows on the table, hands folded neatly against his lips. "Everyone else must be busy," he observed, "if you're the one here negotiating terms." Yes, he could sense it in the other: a similar humming energy much like that of his gunslinging companion. The desire—no, the unquenchable need—for a thrill.

But Tartaglia's was of a feral nature, wasn't it? He'd sooner challenge every patron here to a spar than try his luck on a few throws of the dice.

"Your Tsaritsa is no doubt aware the cost of our help will only go up from here. I know what kind of Mora she has to spare as well as I know what our worth is," Kaz warned, his cold shark eyes now diving into the lifeless ocean blues across from him. "Colluding with the Fatui carries a price all on its own—especially in the city of justice. You're bad for business. Make it worth our time."

[friendlyneighborhoodpsyop]

Quotes about Kaz Brekker:

Every act of violence was deliberate, and every favor came with enough strings attached to stage a puppy show.

The boy called Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason any more than he needed permission.

He was a collection of hard lines and tailored edges.

“Who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?” “If the cripple is you, then any man with sense.”

“I’m a business man,” he’d told her. “No more, no less.” “You’re a thief, Kaz.” “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“I’m not here for a taste. You want a war, I’ll make sure you eat your fill.”

The boy he’d been talking to had been cocky, reckless, easily amused, but not frightening—not really. Now the monster was here, dead-eyed and unafraid. Kaz Brekker was gone, and Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you one day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“Well I’m the kind of bastard they only manufacture in the Barrel.”

Inej was always trying to wring little bits of decency from him. “When everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.” “And what god do you serve, then?” “Whichever will grant me good fortune.”

“What’s the difference wagering at the Crow Club and speculating on the floor of the Exchange?” “One is theft and the other is commerce.” “When a man loses his money, he may have trouble telling them apart.”

“You’re a blackmailer—“. “I broker information.” “A con artist—“. “I create opportunity.” “A bawd and a murderer—“. “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.”

“You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those that take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach—the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone—a single brush of bare skin caused your flesh to whither and die. “Pick one. They’re all true enough.”

Kaz was not a giddy boy smiling and making plans for a future with her. He was a dangerous player who was always working an angle.

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

Brick by brick. It was a promise that let him sleep at night, the drove him everyday, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay.

Kaz’s servant, greed, luring them South like a piper with a flute in hand.

“Being angry at Kaz for being ruthless is like being angry at a stove for being hot. You know what he is.”

“I wouldn’t trust you to tie my shoes without stealing the laces.”

Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark—he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.”

“I don’t want to die.” “I’ll do my best to make other arrangements for you.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

Matthias suspected that Brekker would drag the girl back from hell himself if he had to.

He’d gifted her her first blade, the one she called Sankt Petyr—not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical.

“Kaz told me...he said it was my choice, that he wouldn’t be the one to mark me again.”

Because I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to your for two days.

He needed to know she believed in him.

“What to do you want, then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Inej. You.

Kaz would always remember that moment, when he’d seen greed take hold of his brother, an invisible hand guiding him forward, the lever at work.

There could be no judgement from a boy known as Dirtyhands.

“Let’s say the mark is a tourist walking through the barrel. He’s heard it’s a good place to get rolled, so he keeps patting his wallet, making sure it’s there, congratulating himself on just how alert and cautious he’s being. No fool he. Of course every time he pats his back pocket or front of his coat, what’s he doing? He’s telling every thief on the Stave exactly where he keeps his scrub.”

It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.

He’d heard there were sharks in these waters but they wouldn’t touch him. He was a monster now, too.

He’d imagined his death a thousand ways, but never sleeping through it.

It was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her.

“If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” Better terrible truths than kind lies.

He knew he was being reckless, selfish, but wasn’t that why they called him Dirtyhands? No job too risky. No deed too low. Dirtyhands would see the rough work done.

A good magician wasn’t much different than a proper thief.

She could see it took every last bit of his terrible will to remain still beneath her touch. And yet, he did not pull away. She knew it was the best he could offer. It was not enough.

“Some people see a magic trick and say, ‘Impossible!’ They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good nights sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for the skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind”

“You love trickery.” “I love puzzles. Trickery is just my native tongue.”

“Do you know the secret to gambling, Helvar? Cheat.”

There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not been healed wrong. There was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.

Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in the world. She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

You’ve cheated death too many times. Greed may do your bidding, but death serves no man.

He needed to tell her...what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her.

“Saints, Kaz, you actually look happy.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. But there was no mistaking it. Kaz Brekker was grinning like an idiot.

“I can hear the change in Kaz’s breathing whenever he looks at you.” “You...you can?” “It catches every time, like he’s never seen you before.”

“How will you have me? Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch? I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“I’m not big on bluffing, am I, Inej?” “Not as a rule.” “And why is that?” “Because he’d rather cheat.”

Inej wanted Kaz to become someone else, a better person, a gentler thief. But that boy had no place here. That boy ended up starving in an alley. He ended up dead. That boy couldn’t get her back. I’m going to get my money, and I’m going to get my girl.

“A proper thief is like a proper poison. He leaves no trace.”

There were no good men in Ketterdam, Kaz said. The climate didn’t agree with them.

“If you don’t care about money, Nina dear, call it by it’s other names.” “Kruge? Scrub? Kaz’s one true love?” “Freedom, security, retribution.”

“It’s pragmatic. If I were cruel, I’d give him a eulogy instead of a conversation.”

“You haven’t been alive long enough to rack up your share of sin.” “I’m a quick study.”

Patience, he reminded himself. He’d practiced it early and often. Patience would bring all his enemies to their knees in time.

“You’ve got the devil’s own blood in you, boy.”

Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch.

“I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. My father is profit. I honor him daily.”

Desperate for some sign that he might open himself to her, that they could be more than two creatures united by their distrust of the world.

They could continue on with their armor intact. She would have her ship and he would have his city.

Sure, a lock was like a woman. It was also like a man and anyone or anything else—if you wanted to understand it, you had to take it apart and see how it worked. If you wanted to master it, you had to learn it so well you could put it back together.

He always liked returning to a home or business he’d had cause to visit before. It wasn’t just the familiarity. It was as if by returning, he laid claim to a place. We know each other’s secrets, the house seemed to say. Welcome back.

“When people see a cripple walking down the street, leaning on his cane, what do they feel? They feel pity. Now, what do they think when they see me coming?” “They think they’d better cross the street.”

“We can endure a lot of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools. I nurture my grudges, Rollins.”

It was as if Kaz had a secret map of Ketterdam that showed the city’s forgotten spaces.

“I’ve taken knives, bullets, and too many punches to count, all for a little piece of this town. This is the city I bled for. And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it’s that you can always bleed a little more.”

Was Johannus Rietveld meant to be his Jakob Hertzoon? Or had it been some way of resurrecting the family he’d lost? Did it even matter?

“I wreak all the havoc I can until my luck runs out, use our haul to build an empire.” “And after that?” “Who knows? Maybe I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Tell her to get out, a voice inside him demanded. Beg her to stay.

Kaz thought he knew the language of pain intimately, but this ache was new. It hurt to stand here like this, so close to the circle of her arms.

“These things don’t wash away with prayer, Wraith. There is no peace waiting for me, no forgiveness, not in this life, not in the next.”

Two of the deadliest people the barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both keeling over.

A black glass boy of deadly edges.

A bit of entertainment, the dramatic end of Kaz Brekker, the humbling of Dirtyhands. But this was no cheap comedy. It was a bloody rite, and Per Haskell had let the congregation gather, never realizing the real performance had yet to begin. Kaz stood upon his pulpit, wounded, bruised, and ready to preach.

“You have two minutes to get out of my house, old man. This city’s price is blood, and I’m happy to pay with yours.”

“What is wrong with him,” Nina grumbled. “Same thing that’s always wrong with him. He’s Kaz Brekker.”

“Rich men want to believe they deserve every penny they’ve got, so they forget what they owe to chance. Smart men are always looking for loopholes. They want an opportunity to game the system. The toughest mark is an honest man. Thankfully, they’re always in short supply.”

“Well, Brekker, it’s obvious you only deal in half truths and outright lies, so you’re clearly the man for the job.”

“What do you think my forgiveness looks like, Jordie?” “Who’s Jordie?” “Someone I trusted. Someone I didn’t want to lose.”

He put his gloves back on and didn’t take them off. He became twice as ruthless, fought twice as hard. He stopped worrying about seeming normal, let people see a glimmer of the madness within him and let them guess at the rest.

The rage inside him burned on and he learned to despise people who complained, who begged, who claimed they’d suffered. Let me teach you what pain looks like, he would say, and then he’d paint a picture with his fists.

That was what destroyed you in the end: the longing for something you could never have.

“I will kill you, Brekker. I will kill everything you love.” “The trick is not to love anything.”

“Suffering is like anything else. Live with it long enough, you learn to like the taste.”

She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It’s a smile he thought he might die to earn again.

“He doesn’t say goodbye. He just lets go.”

“Ketterdam is made of monsters. I just happen to have the longest teeth.”

[thoughtsoftheantagonist]

A Song for You

Chapter One

Juice Pov

Being back from Ireland was different. The cali heat was a blessing but it didn't have the stillness he seemed to have found peace within, Ireland was fucking beautiful but it wasn't home. This was home, the sound of bikes and steel-toed boots on the lot was a close second on his comfort gauge, Looking over he saw Tig and Kozik working on a car and couldn't help but shake his head. When they all left those two would rather snarl and spit at each other let alone sit at the table together. It was a good thing he guessed, whatever made this club stronger and more stable was a win in his book.

Taking a swig of his beer he looked up at the rumble of another bike, and stopped short seeing what looked to be a sons Dyna but looking closely he saw the shine of a candy apple red gloss paint job that wasn't known to him, sure the drag bars and nine inch riser were the same, and the exhaust pipes were wrapped so no chrome was seen like a lot of their bikes. But he sure as shit didn't know a son who rode a red bike. Putting his beer on the table he stood and saw Chibs and Tig following his lead coming to check this out as well, seems he wasn't the only curious one today.

He heard the thump of what seemed to be a jersey remix and tried not to laugh, he actually liked that song but his brothers wouldn't ever know that and as he got a little closer he saw the music from an ipod speaker system in the tank, much like the one on his own bike he would be lying if he said tech geek in him wasn't impressed, He moved his eyes from the bike to the rider, and almost groaned, from the pair of thick denim clad thighs straddling the bike he knew it was a woman, he always had a weakness for a women with thick thighs, dark and tight fitted jeans showed off those legs perfectly, stuffed into a pair of what looked like army regulations boots. Her shirt looked like something from the 90’s a sequin smiley face on the black fabric of her tank top, a dark green men's flannel was so large over it she was swimming in it,  He was about to ask her to take off her face guard helmet before Tig opened his fucking trap, idiot. “Can I help you, sweetheart? Need help running that or do you need some bows detailed on it?” He rubbed his fingers over his lips to hide his grin at Tigs smart ass mouth, one of these days Tig would let his lips flap to the wrong woman, get his bottom lip slapped. And on that day he would marry said, women, he swore to god he would.

He was going to add on but the face he saw when she took off that helmet and shook out that mane of dark brown curls had him speechless. Her skin was a tone lighter than his but he knew she was of Hispanic descent. Her lips were painted in a dark red and pulled into a teasing grin as she fluffed out her hair but he couldn't see her eyes yet, She turned the bike off and looked at the two behind him before he finally got a look at her eyes, fucking hell he had never seen Hazel eyes so gold before, set into her small round face her eyes were hooded and lined in black. She smiled and stood and for once Juice found himself the tall one, she couldn't be more than 5,2 or 3. He got a good look at her body and took his bottom lip between his teeth, she looks so fucking soft to the touch. Thick thighs, her stomach was a little rounded but he honestly didn't care, sure he had slept with a few crow eaters here and in Ireland whose body type wasn't even close to hers but he always saw his ideal old lady fantasy as a woman with meat on her bones. A woman with thighs he could dig his fingers into, he smirked as she glared daggers at Tig over his shoulder.

She looked Looking up at him and smiled, his face relaxing and pulling into a grin to match. “What can I do for you?” Her eyes shot to Tig once again before she looked back at him. “You handsome? We can talk about what you can do for me later. But curls behind you can watch his mouth about my bike candy before I slap his fucking lip. I need someone to point me in the direction of one Happy Lowman.”

“And why the fuck should we help you smalls? You ride into SamCro territory and expect us to help you with no name and no fucking idea who you are? And you also threatened my fucking lip I'm not feeling very helpful” The look on her face as it turned to stone was something that gave him pause. He knew that face, he had seen happy make it for years now, he knew right then that they underestimated her, she nodded and took a deep breath before elbowing her way through the space between himself and Tig with surprising force for someone her size and bolted for the clubhouse door, Chibs reaches to snatch her up but she seems to quick for him, The door to the clubhouse slamming the door open and the scream that comes from her painted lips makes him pale. “DADDDDDDD!” he ran after her to find Tig with his gun trained on her and yelled “Tig what the fuck put it down she ain't armed! Put that shit down you asshole!”

She whipped out a suppressed Glock 17 from a hidden holster at her back and held it between Tigs eyes. Keeping her eyes on him she spoke to Juice. “I'm always armed handsome never forget that.” He was trying his hardest to not get turned on by this small, fierce woman. What kind of nut job was he that he was finding himself turned on by the person holding his brother at gunpoint. But the cold look she was giving Tig as she held him at gunpoint was something he only ever saw in his brothers. She wasn't a kid with a gun, that was the face of someone who had killed before. The sound of yelling had the rest of the club filing into the room, he saw Happy run in, his face oddly anxious and when he saw what was going on and aimed his gun at Tig with a snarl. “Get that fucking gun off my kid Tig!” Tig dropped his gun in shock. Seeing the gun lowered the women put hers back in the holster under her shirt before throwing herself forcefully at Hap. All of us looking between Happy and the girl as he wrapped her up in a hug, her feet dangling off the floor as he held her close, pressing kisses to the top of her head, his mind couldn't keep up. Happy was a dad? And said child was a beautiful fucking Woman? Why did he keep her from the club? Too many questions were bouncing off the walls of his skull.

He watched Happy set the girl on her feet he turned her around to face the club, and now that they were near each other he could see the similarities between them. Their noses are similar, the way their eyes were shaped. But other than that he guessed she looked like her mother, Happy put his hands on her shoulders before he spoke to the club. “Guys, this is Joy Lowman. My daughter. She is twenty and lives with my mom in Bakersfield. I'm sorry I kept this from you guys I just.” He had a feeling this was hard for Hap. He wasn't a very open guy and he could honestly he admired Hap for the dedication he had to this club. To this family even if Hap sometimes scared the fuck out of him. “I didn't want her in this but apparently this brat has other ideas.” Joy smirked and leaned her head back into her father's chest, as the others slowly closed in on her to make their introduction.

He kept back and watched her, finding himself smiling as he watched his brothers taller and broader frames almost swallow her whole,But he shook himself mentally and looked down he needed to put a leash on that shit, she was his brothers kid, not a fucking crow eater running around for him to stare at and chase. Looking back up at her face and saw her watching him, her eyes taking him in nice and slow before meeting his eyes, he smirked when he saw the flush on her cheeks and the dark tone her pretty golden eyes had taken. Seemed he wasn't the only one feeling something, he tuned back into the conversation as the other crowded around her, he listened to Happy introduce everyone.

Joy Pov

Being back with her father felt right. The smell of his cologne and his deep voice was home. She loved her grandmother more than anything but she was her father's daughter and no one understood her like he did. Never having known her mother she wanted to be everything her father was, sure he never stopped telling her about her mother, the beautiful fire-haired and golden-eyed girl who didn't take any of her father's shit. Her favorite story was of the day they meet, her sixteen-year-old father's mouth wrote a check his ass couldn't cash when he hit on her mom and her mother, God rest her soul turned him down flat, leaving him on the busy street corner to watch her walk away. And she had seen her dad as a teenager, he was a looker and hadn't heard no much from females, he said he didn't know what made him do it but he kept finding her in town whenever he got the chance, after weeks of following her. Of talking to her and learning about her, she finally said yes, a year later they married and she was born. And not long after she was gone, she knew her dad missed her mother every day, the years without her had made her father angry, losing the love of your life was hard, he told her it was easier knowing a part of her mother was with him through her helped, her dad wasn't a man of many words but when he did speak. His words had meaning. she knew that she kept a part of the man her father really was secret from the world and this club.

She knew he was a killer but he did what he did with the Sons for her and her grandmother, he had mouths to feed as a young man and he was a good killer, and if he could use that to get his family fed, then he would do it, and along the line killing became easy and she appreciated that once she got older he never lied about it when she asked him. She didn't feel disgusted or anger that he dad was a killer, it was a fact and she wasn't as innocent as others liked to think she was. Her hands were stained too He might not have been around like a lot of dad's but when she needed him he was there if possible, he taught her to protect herself, to take down men bigger and stronger than her.

Her grandmother was an amazing woman but it was time for her to earn her share in this. She looked at the man from outside, handsome as she called him was a fitting name for him, he was looking at her father so she took in all she could. His jeans were loose and slung a little low, his white shirt contrasted nicely against his cut and she felt the heat rise up her neck when she saw his inked arms crossed over his chest. She had always found inked men attractive, it was true that a girls first love is her father and her dad wasn't inkless, most people would look at men like her father or handsome and instantly see danger. She saw a damn good story to learn and someone who knew life wasn't easy.

In the parking lot, she had wanted the others to piss off so she and he could just stare at each other, his eyes were dark like her fathers but where her dad's eyes could be cold. Handsomes eyes showed nothing but light, and that smile? Are you kidding me? That wide dopey grin he gave her for calling him handsome lead her to believe he didn't hear that much which made her kinda sad. She hadn't lied when she called him handsome, but she wasn't sure if he knew that. His jaw was strong and his eyebrows heavy, and his skin was oddly clear for a bike, looked smooth to the touch. He seemed stern like her father but then he smiled and she saw something in him that this life would rip apart given the chance and she vowed to herself to protect him. If not just a friend then more.She was like her father that way when she saw something she wanted she would have it. She saw them all closing in and she tuned back into the conversation just as her father started pointing to the men around her, and the women she missed behind some of them.

She smiled as her father pointed out a salt haired man and the dirty blonde male next to him.“Joy this is the president and one of the first nine Clay Morrow. And the VP and his stepson Jax Teller.” She held her hand out but was surprised to be pulled into a hug by the large president looking over at her father wide-eyed she quickly glared when he was smirking at her, she didn't mind hugs, she was very affectionate, but all these giants made her a little nervous and her dad knew that, the smirking shit bag. She would get him later. Being put down she was passed quickly around the room into many tattooed arms. Jax, Opie, Tig who apologized for the gun and yelped when she whacked him on the nose like a dog and he quickly passed her to Chibs, and Kozik before she stumbled and fell into the arms and warm chest of the man from the parking lot, she really needed to know his name, her eyes almost rolled into her head at his scent, motor oil, leather and good weed mixed with mint. Looking up at him she flushed as he grinned. “I'm Juan Carlos, but they call me Juice.” she bites her lip as he clenched her tight for a moment before getting her stead enough to release her. Smirking she patted his cheek and whispered loud enough for the others to hear. “I think I'll stick to calling you handsome.” the men around her chuckled at the dopey grin that spread across their brothers face, all but Happy who frowned, looking between his grinning club brother and his flushed daughter.

She turned and saw her dad watching her and juice closely walking back up to him she wrapped her arms around one of his and nuzzled her cheek into his arm. She knew he would confront her about Juice later, but for now, she wanted to just be close to him.

Juice POV

He had been right. She was as soft as she looked, when she had stumbled and fell into him, he found her clumsy nature oddly endearing. Having her that close let him get a whiff of her scent, apples and weed smoke, it was heady and made his mouth fucking water. She was bold, calling him handsome in front of her dad and his club but he kind of liked it, the way Happy glared could be a problem but if confronted he would talk to his brother and be honest. Seeing the small women cling to her father was interesting, she was very childlike next to her father's imposing stature but he knew this life took them out on runs for days to weeks at a time so it made sense for her to cling to him tightly, maybe it was second nature by now.  

Once Introductions had been made everyone scattered and the women zeroed in on Joy, Gemma at the front of them and the cornered animal look on her face made him smirk. Good to know the Lowmen fear of Gemma wasn't just in Happy. Moving over to his corner he snatched up his computer and put in his headphones. Looking over a few things for the club time got away from him as it usually did, looking up he started when he saw happy sitting in front of him, watching him with the blank ass creepy look he got, he swore sometimes hap had already killed him twenty different way before he even caught him sometimes.  Yanking the headphones from his ear he looked around to see everyone in deep conversation, seeing Joy talking to Clay and Jax he looked back to happy. “What's up brother?” Hap was silent for a moment, just watching Juice and then he leaned in close. “Don't make her cry.” with that he left Juice, staring at the spot He vacated. He blinked and looked back at the numbers on his screen. Did Happy Lowman give him the ok to talk to his daughter? Shaking his head he was going to put his headphones back in before he heard Joy's voice and almost dropped his computer as she asked Clay. “So what's a girl gotta do to become a prospect around here?” he looked to Happy seeing him staring blankly at his daughter, Clay was laughing, he thinks clay thought she is joking but judging by the look on her face she is very serious. Holy Shit she wants to be a Son…...

Joy POV

She watched as Clay pulled himself together, she looked over at Jax and bit back a smirk at the shocked look he was giving her, guess they never had a woman around who wanted to be more than an Old Lady or Crow Eater. Sure she had mad respect for those ladies for different reasons, they both kept this club running in very different and similar ways. But she had her eyes on a bigger prize, she wanted a cut of her own, be the first female Son in the history of the MC and she didn't plan to let it drop, even if Clay turned her down today, she would be back tomorrow. Clay finally saw she was serious it seemed, he narrowed his eyes and leaned towards her. “You either have more balls than brains or your daddy over there gave you one hell of a poker face kid.” She smirked and leaned until they were nose to nose. “Last I checked I'm all woman and graduated with 4.0 so that's out, And second I'm shit at poker. So as I said. I want to be a son. Tell me how.” Clay stood over her slowly, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him, she never liked how men tended to do that when they wanted to make her feel smaller than she already was. She sighed and did the next best thing, taking her stool she had been sitting on and she stood on top of it and glared down at him, shocking not just him, but everyone in the club, aside from her father who was making his way over from the bar, mentally cursing the mix of his temper and her poor departed mothers, Irish and Hispanic was a thunderstorm of a temperament mix.

“I don't like being stood over it's a cheap form of intimidation boss man, now are we going to talk this out like equals or do you plan to glare down at me like a child. I'm not trying to be disrespectful but I grew up knowing about my dad's work. He didn't lie and he taught me well. I kept me and Nana safe while he was gone but now she is doing better and I'm ready for this, ready to put in work.” Looking around at all the men and Old Ladies she saw most of the women looking at her like she was out of her mind, except for Gemma. If anything Gemma was eyeing her in a new light, she didn't know exactly how she felt about that yet so she looked to Juan she saw him watching her closely, a slight smile on his face. She almost swung behind her when she felt hands on her waist, looking down she saw her father and sighed as he pulled her down from the stool planting her firmly on her feet once again, giving her a look of warning before letting her go.

Looking back to Jax and Clay she looked at them seeing a silent communication going on before Jax spoke. “Darlin forgive us for the shock and apparently cheap forms of intimidating you” She knew he wanted to smirk but the glare still on her face seemed to stop him.  “But no women have come in here with the intent to patch in. Marry or fuck in yes, but not wear the cut. Are you prepared to get blood under those pretty little nails?” He locked eyes with her, she could see now why he was VP. He was asking her more through his eyes then his mouth would in this crowded room, she nodded and pulled the top of her shirt to the side. Showing three smiley faces on her collarbone, just like the cluster on her father's lower abdomen, looking at her dad she saw him grace her with one of his quick smiles before she let her shirt go. “I have killed before. Like I said my dad taught me well. I don't flinch, might not love it as much as my dad” Even Clay got a nice chuckle out of that. “But I'm indifferent when it comes to doing dirty work and as for my nails. They are gel polish it doesn't chip so don't worry about those.”She winks and felt herself slightly relax at the grin on Jax’s face. Looking back to Clay she waited for him to say something, looking around he nodded. “We will take it to a vote, if and I mean fucking if this happens your going through hell. You will be treated like any other shit head earning their patch. I don't care if you're on the rag and in agony, we tell you to do something fucking do it with a smile.”

She laughed and held out her hand to shake once again finding herself in Clays barrel-like chest. Feeling a kiss placed on the side of her head he whispered to her. “Just like your damn daddy. If this happens kid you're making history.” she nodded and whacked him in the back. Seeing all the men standing she looked at them all and oddly enough found nothing but respect from these giant, rough group of men. “All right men, church. We have things to discuss. Juice take her to a room until we find one for her, maybe haps for the moment then get your ass in here.”

She kissed her father on the cheek before following behind Juan. She kept a good pace behind him and was she ever happy with her view. Seems he had nice ass under all those layers, seeing him stop she looked back up to see him watching her over his shoulder that damn lip of his between his teeth. She shrugged, flashing him a grin. “No shame here. I like to take in a good view when it's presented to me.” Brushing past him into the room she tapped him on the ass and tried not to giggle when he jumped. Looking around the room she curled her lip.

Her dad was a fucking pig she swore he was. Looking around at the trash and what looked like women's underwear littering the floor. She Looked back to Juice she shuddered and asked him for rubber gloves and several trash bags. He vanished for a moment before reappearing  handed them over with a smirk and pulled something from behind his ear and she almost whimpered when she saw the beautiful rolled joint, looking at him she snatched it from his hand and grabbed his face in her hands, leaning close she planted a smacking kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You Juicy Baby are my new best friend.” putting it behind her own ear, she looked around the room, already sectioning the room in parts in her mind so she could clean the fastest way possible. She realized she hadn't heard the door shut so she looks back to see Juan just looking at her with a small grin, fuck he was cute. She smiles and grabs him by the shoulders, turning him around she pushes him softly out the door, waiting for him to turn around before she talked again. “Go talk business, I'll be cleaning and if your back in time we can chill.” With that she closed the door and leaned against it, letting the breath she had been holding release. Running a hand through her hair she silently cursed, fuck why had she come on to him so strong. She wasn't normally a girl who went after a guy first, but something about him called to her. She wanted to be close to the vibes he sent out and she hadn't felt that for anyone before and if she was honest it did worry her but she wasn't someone who went against her gut. Hopefully, she didn't scare him off. Focusing back on the room she went to her dad's stereo and pressed play. Nodding along to the music as she got to work.

Masterlist for this series 

AN: I hope you love this. it's my baby, let me know your thoughts and See you next time. 

P.s.I own nothing except Joy Elizabeth Lowman

[themagnumnopus-blog]

You have delusions of persecution and worms in your brain

As promised to a friend. How bad could I possibly be?

A Prologue To More: Weep for you have failed.“I may not agree with you, but I will defend to the death your right to make an ass of yourself." - Oscar Wilde

You lack originality and you couldn't be funny if you tried.

At least between the two of us, even with worms in my head, I know something's there.

You're a fool without compare and I'll kick your derriere in any conversation you can bring. You are a whining little brat that is so flat you couldn't think of any way to fight what I say. You are vapid in the head without a thought behind or to your conviction, you have already proven that by using your own contradiction, your hypocrisy is plain and you failed to come at me with a brain. You simply have an addiction to your stupidity as anyone that reads this can see. You can't stand in a debate or even speculate that you can against me, because of your propensity to lie. If you think that you might win I beg you think again because I'm really quite a nice gal or guy. I mock and shame you. I unlike you do not seek to defame you. I simply state what I see, you must have a reason you're afraid of what I say. So I will say it louder and say it prouder because you try to take my voice away.

re·tard - delay or hold back in terms of progress, development, or accomplishment.

Now if you think you have a chance come forth to let us have a dance. If I'm really a fool I can't win but you've lost before you've started and I assert you're retarded and that you simply retard whatever argument you make. I do not seek to offend you but if you think that you can seek to quiet me, you simply seek to retard society. Well hey, what do you say? I say I'll take you any day and indeed will take you any time. Oh, yes. Let me wait. It's fine. I just get more time to strengthen my debate, I don't mind. Gather whatever you might, a fool's facts are my delight, they're so easy to debunk and I'll just cut your argument down chunk by chuck. For every inch in the arena, you think you'll take I will beat you back, yard by yard. With a club of facts, I'll beat you back all the way to denial and laugh all the while. You are simply an unarmed child.

I win.

Prove that I have "delusions of persecution" , whatever you might mean by that, prove that I am of a race or gender or sex that I have talked about, defended and furthermore prove me wrong. If it's a delusion it is self-evident in the real world that I'm wrong. Whatever you think I'm wrong about. Even if you prove that I am one of the groups I defended you've done nothing but waste your time. This isn't about me or you as a person it's about our ideas.

A quote I love and it fits perfectly here, it's been attributed to a lot of people but the contents are so exacting here it's hilarious. "Great Minds Discuss Ideas; Average Minds Discuss Events; Small Minds Discuss People." - Eleanor RooseveltFace Me in the Arena: A few thousand words about the ten that could not quiet me. Part One: The BallThere is a term for when a debate or conversation over ideas political or otherwise brakes down into name calling and attacks on character. It's commonly accepted that if you have to resort to name calling or attacks on the character of your opponent you have lost. You've attacked me like a coward and now I have sympathy from whoever sees that. Your small minded hateful message you tried to quite me with has now backfired. You have tied the knot, put it around your neck and I have just pushed you off. To beat me you now have to get back on my level and try to take me off whatever high ground I clearly occupied. Good luck. You have played me an easy win by not playing the game but attacking the player. This is your penalty. You lose.That is why I always stay civil and try to approach a conversation from a neutral and objective perspective. Never claim something you can't prove when it comes to political and real-world philosophical beliefs. If I say that the West has a problem with misandry, I promise I have a reason to believe so and that proof can be found, if I say that socialism is creating fascists, the same, if say that anti-white sentiment is creating anti-white extremists and in turn creating white supremacists, you darn dootally better believe I can more then likely prove it. Buuuuuuuuut now I don't have to, the burden is on you, you poor little cretin. You have attacked me. You now have to prove me wrong or be laughed at as an idiot. The best part is I know you can't or you would have A) tried to do so publicly or B) sent proof. As to what you're calling me names over, hilariously, I don't know. I don't know what your upset over. I don't need to now through by simple fact you have shot anything you say in the foot by attacking me like a petulant child with name calling and baseless accusations.You have given me the ball by failing your argument before you've even tried to make it. If you have no way to disprove my statements then you have to attack me, discredit me, try to make me be quiet? How weak is your point of view, your argument, your belief in what you have to say that you can't defend it? How weak is it that you're afraid to talk with someone who you claim has worms in their head. What? Are afraid to lose to some you clearly think is stupid?Part 2: Hy·poc·ri·sy I bet money you claim to be against bullies, against oppression, maybe you call yourself a good person and think that you have the right to say the above. You have said what you have to me because of a difference of opinion. I think that you are the worst kind of person because of this.“Of all the tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.  It may be better to live under robber barons than under the omnipotent moral busybodies.  The robber barons cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.” - C. S. LewisYou have every right to say whatever you please, you really do in my opinion but I'll be damned if you have the right or think you have the right to try and keep people silent based on a difference of opinion. If you think I have a complex, it should be so self-evident that you have absolute proof and objective truth to the contrary, no matter what it is. I think you're projecting and have a victim complex, you are not the target of anyone least of all me. I don't care about you, your narrative or your emotional situation. What? Do you have a sob story? I'll give you a better one that I can prove. I'm here for the truth, willing to change my point of view for facts and proof. If you don't like it? Tough shit. I don't care. I will not be dissuaded by emotional pleas. If you have proof use it. Now is the time.I have never sent hate mail, I have never blocked anyone (not even the person that sent this), this is the first hate mail I've ever had sent to me and I state and stand by for a fact that I cannot be made afraid by pathetic cowards that can't even make a statement. I will gut you like this if you send anon hate to me. It will be public and I will laugh at you and everyone else that reads it will laugh at you. You have no power here or anywhere else, least of all over me. I am no one's enemy. If you come to me in good faith and as a human to another human for an honest conversation, public or private, I'm willing to talk and be friendly. You get what you put in with me.Part 3: I Laugh at Thee“Freedom of speech is not only the right to say as you please, it is also the right to have what you say contested, and where it does not accord with reason - refuted, or with sense - ridiculed.” - David Joseph Cribbin, father crowI and anyone else reading has watched your ten unprovable, undefendable, small-minded words be turned into thousands against you and is laughing with me at you right now. You look like a twit, I have made a twit of you and you deserve it. You have run into my arena an unarmed opponent and been gutted for it. I'm not sorry to anyone, most of all you. If you think that I can be refuted then do so. I have every right to offend you with what I say, though it is not my intention, the truth can be offensive sometimes and as a human, you need to learn how to deal with that. I am a human of liberty and...“If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” - George OrwellPart 4: Why I Gut You.“The problem with today’s world is that everyone believes they have the right to express their opinion AND have others listen to it. The correct statement of individual rights is that everyone has the right to an opinion, but crucially, that opinion can be roundly ignored and even made fun of, particularly if it is demonstrably nonsense!” - Brian CoxI condemn in my harshest and most potent terms any and all people who prompt, advocate for or send messages like this to anyone regardless of what you think. Never hate or hate bomb anyone, ever, for any for any reason. Again ever. You give them absolute power and make yourself look like the villain, I have garnered sympathy and ran hundreds of words against this person already and I'm not even done yet, I'm lambasting and laughing at their poorly thought out insult to prove a point. They came to me so anything I do at this point is justified in the eyes of anyone looking at this. If you read this I'm sorry you misstepped and fell on a land mine face first. You came to me to get this.I make fun of you because your pitiful attempt at silencing me is in and of itself demonstrable nonsense and makes you look weak. Bullies are generally weak, using fear and work using crowd based courage and/or anonymity to strike at people that they can't actually fight and win or are not sure they can fight and win. I will never be silenced by cowards, my mind will be changed by humans that can prove what they believe and do not have to resort to childish small-minded attacks on character. Especially one so ill-founded. I will listen to anyone who wishes to speak with me as a person. BUT even to my attacker above, I still offer the hand freely, come talk to me, privet or public. Seriously. About whatever you have a problem with me over. We can sort it out. You had a reason to think this was okay, which it never is but I would actually love to hear it. Again I don't care if you apologize or not, that's not my concern. I beyond what you might think am just an honest person that honestly wants to talk, change minds and have us grow. Childish things like this hate message retard us as a society, as a people, as the human race.Part 5: I Pick My Battles“To a coward, courage always looks like stupidity.” - Bill MaherSome people may think I'm stupid for taking the stance I do on bullies and bullying, on hate. Just block people, just do this, just do that, etc. I don't care what other people do to shitty little bullies but are they going away? No, they aren't. They are going to bully someone else that might not be able to take it, until you challenge them, make them realize how they look and have everyone laugh at them. People generally don't like being mean to other people but they don't realize is that that doesn't stop cretins like this, challenge them. They think they are in the right. Prove them wrong.I'm a really nice person but in order to be worth the respect I offer freely, you have to treat me with the respect I deserve as a human. I have no problem putting down this type of person or putting myself out in the open while I do. Don't let these people threaten you, put them out in the open and laugh at them while you challenge them. Demand proof. If they had the proof they would use it but they don't and even if they did have proof of me or anyone else being specifically anything then they also have to prove that the bias they accuse you of exist. Refute the proof, provide counterproof and make counter accusations. I'll prove without reasonable doubt this person has a victim complex about the time they prove I have "delusions of persecution." For me, it just doesn't stick and I know it doesn't. I treat everyone with the same even-handed respect I expect. So instead of wasting hours trying to prove I fall into the groups, I talk about, to simply still be at square one again when I say 'Okay. Whatever. Now, prove me wrong.' Just make a statement and provide some level of proof. It's not personal. You don't need to make it personal.I never attack a person or people. Definitely not when I can fight an idea and this is exactly why. Even if you win in that respect and sway people to not like me based on character, that's not enough to win. You're costing yourself the war. You have won a battle that you and a fraction of a percent of people care about. If you win that battle and somehow prove I'm a card-carrying member of the kkk or some such nonsense. You've wasted time and energy that could have been used trying to beat my point and you still have to beat it. Call me a pedo, call me a Nazi, call me any insult, make any kind of accusation and I'll just say 'Prove it' and wait. Then if, well, when you can't I'll just call you a liar and you know you have to try and win that back. All before you even start to work on my end of the debate. I'm a smart person, I pick my battles and give no ground to anyone without cost. Without exacting, bloody, and hilarious cost. While people juggle narratives I trip them up with facts. Fight me in a fair and even exchange of political ideas and you might just prove a point. As far as your ten-word attempt goes, even if you prove I have a complex of my own and actually am stupid what you don't realize is . . . you now have to beat the idiot. I hope I've made it plain and painfully clear how hard that's going to be.Part 6: Here's The Close“Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.”  - United Nations, Universal Declaration of Human RightsI only seek to hold opinions without interference as I also seek to receive and impart information. I have done nothing in the above other than impart knowledge and nothing that could be constrained by the rules that govern the civil world. Welcome to humanity those who make it here, come and talk. Drop me a supportive message or a difference of opinion, I welcome all and if you're not comfortable talking to me directly simply drop a message in as an anon, I will never disable it or my asks. I will never block anyone. Just be prepared to talk civilly. If you don't like what I say, you are free to leave or personal preference on my end express distaste. I don't want to be stuck in an echo chamber like whoever sent me the hate mail and thought it was okay.If I can take ten off-handed words and stretch that into an almost three-thousand-word public chastisement. Only six words short actually. Now if I can do that, what do you think I can do to a bad argument? Again though we could just not. Anyone, as said, can come to me and talk with respect, invite some much-needed dialogue. Never know but in the end, it is your choice. Not mine.Last quote...“You can't expect someone to understand your journey, when they've hardly lived one of their own.” - Nikki Rowe, Once a Girl, Now a WomanYou don't know me but you could so I will offer in honesty and with respect. Join my journey going forward, let's talk. Door's open to anyone. :)

[darkdarkmydesire]

I really hope it wasn't (just an experiment)

Chapter 2:

"Alec, stop being an idiot. Open up, I know you're home.", came Isabel's voice, over the pounding knock. 

" How do you know that?", Alec replied with less vehemence.

"Alec, seriously?", she sighed exasperated."

 "It could be a very advanced answer machine.", Alec reasoned with  utmost seriousness.

"Alec!", Isabel screeched in fraustration, " I swear to God, I'll - ".

" Fine, fine, I'm coming.", he grumbled. 

Unfolding himself from the floor, he left his scattered textbooks on the coffee table. Still, Alec couldn't comprehend how Izzy found the prospect of such an answer machine unfathomable. Technology had advanced abundantly, it wasn't so far fetched that Alec should own such a device. 

Sighing he swung open the door, "Satisfied?", he questioned.

" Extremely.", chirped Isabel striding for his room, or knowing her, his closet. One that did not contain him any more. Snickering at his own joke, Alec followed Isabel only to be smacked with a pile of clothes in the face. 

"Wear these, we're leaving in half an hour.", she demanded.

" Izzy I can't, I have a test the day after tomorrow. I need to prepare.", Alec placated. Knowing that listening to Izzy only ever led to uncomfortable consequences, she was forever dragging him to torture chambers disguised as social events. They were unbearable, why anyone would decide to abandon privacy and indulge the curiosity of a stranger was beyond his understanding. Alec had an adequate amount of friends, he needed no more. 

"Exactly, day after tomorrow." , she stressed, "Don't even act like you haven't finished going over the material.", she cajoled, hands on hips. She did have point, but Alec was not going to give up so easily. Making his way to the bed, Alec flopped down on his back. 

" So what, Izzy? I still have other assignments and I could be spending the free time picking up extra hours at work. Hell I should take Max out, the kid needs a break from the continuous pressurizing mom and dad put him through. ", he said blowing out a harsh breath. All that he said was true, especially Max, although Alec did feel somewhat guilty using Max as an excuse. It felt like an extremely Marys Lightwood tactic.

Sighing, Izzy say on the edge of his bed, she could hear the steel determination in Alec's voice. " Alec, you need a break too. When was the last time you had any fun - for yourself?", she added cutting Alec off, as he began to open his mouth in objection. "Just because you're the oldest, doesn't mean you're our parent.", she spoke, voice tinged with sorrow, worry and a tinge of annoyance, as if wondering how many times she had to repeat the same sentiment.

Alec knew she was right theoretically, he was by no means their parent, but he also knew if either Izzy, or Max decided to pursue anything other than the family business, their parents would cut off all financial aid. Alec himself had learnt that the hard way, wanting to open a child psychologist firm. He had been working, since the age of sixteen to pay his way there - education included. That wasn't something he was willing to put his siblings through, he wanted to make sure they had a choice and the means to go through with it. So at the age of seventeen, Alec had opened accounts from them both, which he made sure increased each month, eradicating any financial boundaries for the future, even if the numbers inched up at an agonisingly sluggish pace. 

However, Alec also knew Isabel would keep worrying and complaining, if the prominent note if exasperation in her tone was any indication. Seeing as he was in no mood to stand at the receiving end of that hurricane, Alec relented. He would just slip away, when her attention was elsewhere, Isabel had just clarified Alec had to attend, staying at the location had not been mentioned once yhere. Sitting up, he kissed her forehead, " Just this once then. Where are we going?", he asked, but upon seeing Isabel's answering smirk, Alec wondered if what he had agreed to would allow his dignity and temperament to survive the miniscule minutes he intended to stay. "Clubbing.", she grinned, ignoring Alec's groan. " Come on, we're going to be late.".

<p>-------------------------------+</p>

Striding into Pandemonium, Alec was hit with pulsating music, strobed lights and sweaty bodies. The place assaulted his senses, everything was over the top, though surprisingly, Alec wasn't deterred. It held a dangerous enticement to it, with silhouettes in the dark highlighting a sharp cheekbone, a flash of midriff, a suggestive grin. 

Tonight Alec fit right in, with his fitted moss green, long sleeved shirt that hugged his muscles and brought out the flecks of green in his otherwise hazel eyes. The round neckline sitting just below his pale collar bones. His black, ripped jeans sat low on his hips, tight enough to stick in all the right places. True to his word Alex had made an effort by lining his eyes with kohl and underlining them with green liner, making them pop. And as the group made their way to Simon, Raphael and Magnus, he turned more than a few heads. He was a dark, aloof Adonis and all thoughts of escape plans fled his mind.

Alec's eyes latched on to Magnus, his gaze flitting over him. Magnus wore a thin, violet tank top, that shimmered and slid over his body like liquid night each time he moved, leaving his defined shoulders on display. If Alec had known Magnus would come, he would have declined, no matter what Isabel said. It was one thing to stare at Magnus in class where there were teachers and peers and distinctive boundaries. And quiet another to stare in a club made purely for sexualized interactions. Besides Alec had not forgotten the words Magnus had wielded against him, whilst unknowingly, Alec's wound still throbbed. His black, leather pants looked suffocatingly tight as they stuck to his form and Alec couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to peel them off, slowly. Each factor of Magnus's appearance scraped against Alec's laceration, scraping it raw, severing his nerves until all he felt was a disquieted silence the shape of Magnus's spiked purple hair. The colour of Magnus's superficial glint of his glitter. Alec was nothing more than the tilt of Magnus's eyes, the swipe of daintily applied kohl, the swirl twisting down lower from the corner of his right eye. Dipping and flaring into an intricate pattern that framed his cheekbone. Alec was speckled in the dusted with gold glitter on Magnus's lashes, mirrored in the glimmering tips of the markings, which set his amber eyes aflame. As if a smouldering fire flickered in those irises, as if it was Alec scorching in the depths of their flame. Lips glossed a delicious, sparkling bubblegum. Magnus was the picture of sin, addiction and inexorable self destruction.

Alec finished admiring him and knew his self awareness, self preservation had dissolved into grains of what it had been before. Looking up, he saw Magnus returning the favour, converting into the kinetic energy, which blew away the ashes of who Alec had been outside the confines of this moment. Outside this club, outside of Magnus's unabashed gaze, which flowed from rim of his glass: once, twice. His eyes snagged below Alec's waistband, electrocuting. Any remains of Alec's nerves sizzled and went out with a hiss. Magnus devoured Alec with a lustful gaze.

Sure he was at the brink of combustion, Alec spoke, "Hey. You guys look great.", however for all Alec knew, Simon and Raphael could be wearing spandex suits - his eyes still hadn't left Magnus.

" Oh thanks, I was actually worried I was too plainly dressed, but made it. Huh?", replied Simon pushing up his glasses, blind to the thread that tethered Alec and Magnus to each other. 

Alec hummed distractedly in response, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, unaware of Izzy's knowing smirk and Jace's deep frown. Magnus's eyes tracked the movement, as he took a deep gulp of his drink, leaning further into the bar.

"You're fine Samuel", Magnus drawled purposefully misnaming Simon, much to the other boy's chagrin. He tore his eyes away from Alec giving Isabel his attention, " You, however darling, outshine them all.", he compliment running a platonic gaze over Isabel's form.

She had on a grey, plunging neckline dress, that accentuated her curves and hollows, ending mid - thigh. " Even Alec?", she retorted with a teasing grin. She knew with the utmost conviction that the question would label the two men's admiring gazes and bring Magnus on uneven footing.

"Well...", Magnus hesitated, the corner of his mouth curling up.

" Don't worry,I know you don't want to hurt Alec's feelings. I won't make you choose. ", she commented wryly, when Magnus showed no intention of finishing the sentence any time soon. Winking, Isabel spun away, "I'm going to go find some fun.", she called over her shoulder, already disappearing into the crowd.

" Us too.", Jace said turning Clary with an arm around the waist, " Try not to have too much fun, Alec. ", crowed Jace, but the tightened skin around his eyes gave away his reluctance to leave Alec. The two communicated without uttering a word, in the way only those who have grown, bled and found themselves together can. Finally relenting, Jace slipped away. The concern of his sat heavily on Alec's shoulders.

Raphael and Simon had too vanished sometime ago, leaving Magnus and Alec alone. The lack of ability to recall at exactly when they had left,  depicted the profundity of Alec's infatuation. 

" Drink?", Magnus asked slipping closer to the bar, therefore Alec.

"Two tequila shots, please.", ordered Alec in lieu of an answer, causing Magnus's brows to shoot up

"I'm cutting lose.", he shrugged indifferent, before downing the drinks.<br /> The alcohol burned going down, settling into a pleasurable weight in his stomach and sending a searing buzz through his body. Any sensation of caution, or wariness had truly been purged from Alec. 

" You never used to drink.", commented Magnus casually, nursing his own concoction. He looked curious, at ease with allusion to the inexplicable before. I never used be disowned, weary and alone either thought Alec.

"People change.", he declared instead, looking over at Magnus with a sly grin. Alec was done with caution. This would surely end in explosions, but as long as Alec was the only casualty, he couldn't bring himself to care. Sobering, he added, " Just once in a while. I seem to have grown out of my righteous aversion to alcohol.". It was an honest answer, perhaps the only truly honest thing he had said.

Chuckling, Magnus finished his own drink. He held out a hand with a crooked smile, "Let's go dance.", he said. No preamble, no: let's talk of those years of solitude. Magnus just offered an outstretched palm across the chasm that was them.

It was the way Alec wanted it, he wanted the bridge without the weights they undoubtedly were to carry in the wake of excuses and apologies. With a small smile, Alec placed his hand in Magnus's and let him gently tug Alec into the fray of bodies. 

At first Alec was self conscious, aware of each movement he made, but as the minutes flowed together he gave himself to the music. Truly letting go. He moved as if the rhythm made love to him, his limbs became an extension of the beat: body swaying, hips twisting, his arms flowed languidly, slipping from one tune to the next - seamlessly. He couldn't remember how long he had been dancing, packed in here he was just another body, another consciousness. He was not Alec, son of Robert and Marys Lightwood, brother of Isabel and Max Lightwood, best friend of Jace Wayland, employee of Luke Garrison, student of Wyoming college. He was simply a man, one of many. Semantics and calculations and contingency plans floated away lost to the beat...

Alec moved with the sole purpose of simply being.

He had gathered the attention of many, dancing like this moment was what he had been working towards his whole life. Magnus inched infinitesimally closer, as he had been all night, but Alec didn't care for them, because in this moment he was wholly Magnus's and Magnus was wholly his. Touching Alec's arm Magnus closed the gap further, as Alec's eyes snapped open and he looked down with a mischievous grin.

He took in the shorter man's flushed face and damp hair, lips parted, as he breathed with exertion. Knowing he looked no better, he reached up brushing his fingers through his hair, ruffling it in the process giving himself a rakish look. Unable to resist, Magnus curled his fingers around Alec's wrist, lowering his arm back down.

Alec continued swaying, as Magnus brushed the sensitive skin on his inner wrist, skimming up his forearm, over his biceps and spreading his palms across his shoulders, before reaching to link his hands on the nape of Alec's neck. It was happening, Alec had loosened his control and it was happening. What this ominous it was, he didn't know. He didn't care. Alec's hands fell to Magnus's waist, tightening, as Magnus traced shapes on his skin, causing a shiver to ripple down Alec's spine. Whatever destruction was to preceded these chain of events, Alec would endure it all gladly, repeatedly, if only to feel the touch Magnus bestowed upon him now.

Continuing his teasing, Magnus traced the shell of Alec's ear, thumb grazing below his jaw. Alec smiled coquettishly, hooking his fingers in the loop if Magnus's jeans and tugged, crashing their hips together. Eliciting a throaty moan from Magnus. Yes, this was what he wanted. Magnus peered up through his lashes, giving a sultry smile in return as he began grinding against Alec. The taller man's eyes shuttered, his breath hitching, as lust crowded his senses. Still his severed nerves gave no sign of healing, Alec couldn't care for tomorrows and afters and latter consequences.

Not wasting another moment, he jerked back, dragging Magnus to a shadowy corner, he didn't wait to reach there as he slammed his lips against Magnus's. Magnus hit the wall with a muffled sound, his fingers burying themselves in Alec's hair and he kissed back just as fervently. Whatever resemblance of control they possessed had vanished, as Alec pushed closer trapping Magnus against the wall. His leg slipped between Magnus's and he pushed up against his crotch. Meanwhile, Magnus's right hand squeezed Alec's jean clad behind, his left scratched at Alec's scalp, while Magnus's tongue coaxed deep throated noises from him.

Their hands were a flurry of action - greedy - as they pinched and pulled, working faster, wanting more, more, more. Magnus bit Alec's lip, hard, earning a whimper from the taller boy, as he tasted blood. Sucking Alec's lip into his own mouth, Magnus looked into his eyes, framing his face with jewelled fingers.

Alec's pupils were wide and diluted, his breathing strained, "Fuck, Magnus I - ", he swallowed, as Magnus nipped the corner of his lip, the skin under his lobe, before continuing down his neck.

" You what?", Magnus asked huskily, biting especially hard at the hollow if his collar bone, earning a sharp gasp from Alec. He licked and sucked the same spot, causing Alec's grip to increase in pressure under the hem of Magnus's, hard enough to leave bruises.

"I...I want - ", he panted.

" Yes?", Magnus crooned, biting, licking and sucking the sensitive spot between Alec's shoulder and neck. "Say it, love.", he purred against Alec's skin.

Straightening, Alec pulled Magnus close until there was no question of what he wanted, putting his lips level with Magnus's ear, he growled, " You, I want to fuck you. Want you to fuck me so hard, until I'm sweating and swearing underneath you.". 

His finger slipped under Magnus's jeans meeting bare skin. Clentching his eyes shut, the realisation that Magnus was wearing nothing made Alec want to damn the consequences and let Magnus take him right here, not caring who saw. Magnus, becoming aware of the effect he was having on Alec, traced over Alec's front, before palming his jeans roughly.

"My place.", he demanded, hardening at Alec's conspicuous desperation.

Grabbing his hand, he yanked Alec out of the club, making him stumble after Magnus. The action in direct juxtaposition to how the night started. There was nothing gentle about him now.

<p>-------------------------------+</p>

In the cab, they sat on opposing ends, the air thick with sexual tension, but the crisp night air had dampened their frenzy, allowing doubts to creep into Alec's mind. The haze of the club retreated as Alec sat in the cab, aware of very real consequences. Though each line if thought ending with the same conclusion, even if I break from this, I can't stay broken forever. That was impossible, he had moved on before, he had picked up the pieces that were Alec and moved on. When Magnus left, when his parents had forsakenhim. He had taken the pieces of himself, piling them in an anvil and forged a sturdier Alec. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass, until goosebumps prickled his arm from the cool sensation. He knew they should talk about this, clarify, or name whatever this was, but for once, Alec raised banners of war against what he should do. For the first time in his life, he didn't care that he had spent more time with his tongue down someone's throat than speaking with them. For once he wanted to blow caution to the wind. All he could think about was Magnus's hand on his skin, breath on his face, moans in his ear, perhaps Magnus didn't feel the same. Perhaps he was waiting for Alec to bring up the subject. Sighing at ghis inability to even unknowingly cause Magnus affliction, he twisted around, opening his mouth and closing it. Reaching back to rub his neck, he cleared his throat, "So... should we talk?", he asked, wincing at his vexatious query.

<p>-------------------------------+</p>

Watching the street blur by, Magnus kept relaying the feel of Alec pressed up against him, his mind supplyinhpg a sludeshow of how he wanted Alec to co e undone under the tips of this fingers, the touch of hus tongue. Shutting out the world, Magnus begged his eyes to remain on his side of the cab, knowing he'd be unable too constrict himself otherwise. Be that as it may, Magnus's eyes had other ideas. They flicked across Alec's frame, illuminated by the passing street lamps. Magnus took in his broad back, tense and heaving slightly, Magnus couldny help but feel smug. He had been the cause of that. Alec was sitting facing the window, breath fogging the glass.

Magnus had wanted Alec the day he had laid eyes on him in class, head tilted backwards, leaving his pale neck on display. He had wanted to take Alec on the very desk he sat at, prying out scream after scream of pleasure. He didn't care about how he was supposed to do this. He was attracted to this hazel eyed, black haired, pale skinned man. This man who was built like a Greek sculpture with his angled jaw and high cheekbones and muscled body. He had wanted him. He still wanted him.

He didn't care about what they had before, it had meant something once, despite his early deterrence to the subject. Magnus had no idea why he had so callously replied at the lunch table, but right now, those emotion had no play in his actions. Alec was a stunning man and Magnus was going to enjoy him.

So, when Alec asked him if they should talk, he answered truthfully: "You're attracted to me, I'm attracted to and we're going to act on that attraction. What's there to talk about?"

<p>-------------------------------+</p>

Upon arriving at Magnus's apartment, Alec looked around, taking in a cream coloured carpet that gave way to a wood panelled kitchen. The living room was spacious and lined with a bookshelf along the whole left wall, the spines of various covers gleaming in the light. On upon a time that is what Alec would have wanted too, a collection of lexis that descibed and seduced him. Now he had to consider factor such as money and budget. There was two sleek sofas sitting in the centre, maroon with black seams. The whole back wall was glass, looking out over houses, an armchair was facing the view with a book perched on the arm rest. The apartment was classy, but comfortable. It was all very Magnus. At least what he had remembered of Magnus, the glimpse into the room felt like an admonishon, an almost confession that Magnus had not changed to the core, merely grown into a fuller version of himself. 

Alec didn't get a chance to further examine the place, as Magnus's hand snaked under his shirt and he tilted his head to whisper into Alec's neck, "Now where were we?".

Alec brushed his knuckles in answer, before firmly pulling him towards the door he assumed was the bedroom. Whoever Magnus was had no leverage in his current actions. Guessing right, he closed the door clumsily, as Magnus whirled him around, backing him against the door and attaching his lips to Alec's. The kiss was heated and wild, no preamble, as they clashed against each other again and again. 

Magnus's tongue stroked Alec's lips, before prying them apart, the first brush of their tongues sent a jolt of pleasure through Alec. Magnus doubled his efforts, sweeping his tongue over the roof of Alec's mouth. It was as if Magnus had doused Alec's body in kerosene and struck a match igniting a dormamt animalistic hunger. Alec reached out, intending to touch Magnus, pull him closer, however he found his wrists pinned above his head, while Magnus's other hand jerked open th buttons on Alec's shirt. He began mouthing Alec's neck, licking down his chest, as he brushed a palm over his nipples.

" F - fuck.", Alec breathed gulping down air faster, as Magnus carried on licking lower reaching the dip in Alec's abdomen. 

Not missing a beat, he flicked open the button of Alec's pants, before pulling them down. Hands skimming over Alec's butt, he pinched the tender flesh, earning a yelp from Alec.

"Sorry love, couldn't resist.", chuckled Magnus, as he skimmed over his thighs, calf's and up again, before cupping the base of Alec.

Capturing his gaze, Magnus licked the tip of him, flicking it, as he took him in. Alec's hands curled in the other man's hair. He watched Magnus's head bob, never wrenching his eyes away.

" Fuck Magnus. Shit. Th - that feels - .", he groaned panting.<br /> "Did I tell you Alexander, his much I love hearing filthy utterances tumble from your lips?", Magnus spoke around Alec, " Delicious.", he moaned huskily, knowing Alec could feel his words vibrating through him. Alec was unsure if he meant how Alec cursed again, or how Alec tasted. Alec was too immersed in pleasure to apply the appropriate amount of fastidious scrutiny it would take to decode the words.

Shuddering Alec gripped Magnus's scalp harder, " Fuck.", he gritted out, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.".

Magnus only laughed at the younger man's response, " Yes.", he urged, "Just like that.".

Smirking he watched as Alec struggled with the jolts of pleasure his words evoked, before pulling off and sauntering to lay suggestively on the bed. Alec pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes, if he was any less lust riddled, he would have been embarrassed, but desire made him immune. After gathering himself, Alec pushed off the wall, stalking towards Magnus and began to return the favour. He kissed his way up Magnus's thighs, over his hip bone, across his stomach, teasing his way around, procuring his revenge.

He bit and nipped at the others skin, causing Magnus to twist the sheets tighter with each passing second.

" Alexander.", he gasped.

"Yes?", inquired Alec innocently, echoing Magnus's earlier taunts.

" Please", he ground out, through glazed eyes.

The word snapped any resolve Alec had to continue his torture, as he took in Magnus's disheveled form. Bare chest heaving, heavy lidded eyes, legs splayed, as he gripped the sheet, white knuckled. Surging forward Alec roughly swallowed him in, jerking fast causing Magnus to cry out, as he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked.

The desire was a palpable force in the air.  

"Stop ", Magnus gulped out, "I want to finish inside of you.".

He pushed Alec off and on his back, kneeling in front of him. Magnus spread Alec legs, brushing against his entrance, eliciting a whimper from Alec. Both their members were straining and pained, but Magnus could wait a while. 

" Beg.", he deadpanned, "I did, so it's only fair if you do too.", he reasoned, as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

" Magnus ", Alec whimpered bewildered, "Come on".

" Beg.", repeated Magnus, still expressionless, holding himself at Alec's entrance.

The lack of emotion in his voice aroused Alec further, but Alec had never begged for anything, ever and wasn't going to know.

"Do it.", he ground out in frustration.

" Beg.", intoned Magnus, pressing his entrance hard enough to torment without offering any release.

Seeing Magnus's undeterrable expression, he chocked, "Please. Fucking hell Magnus. Please. Please. Please.", he cried out, voice hoarse with wanting.

Satisfied, Magnus grunted, as he thrust in. "Good", he mumbled, " Just like that love, keep going.".

"Please, Magnus, please.", Alec all but sobbed out, as Magnus slammed in hard and fast . 

The room filled with their moans, as Alec came still begging. Magnus rode him out rougher, stringing out his pleasure, as he too shattered with Alec's name on his lips.

[authorkarenfrazier]

Dear Humanity: We Are Doing This

Note: I originally wrote this in the wake of the Orlando nightclub shooting in 2016. In the wake of yet another, my thoughts remain the same.

Another morning where we've awakened to news of a terrible attack - this time a mass shooting in a Florida nightclub with 50 dead so far.  For just a moment when we hear, we each are our truest selves - drawing a collective intake of breath and feeing compassion. Yet we never stay in that moment for long. Instead, as we exhale, we're already allowing the noise to creep in: the relief it isn't us or someone we love; the fear that yells, "How did this happen and how do we stop it?"; the anger that seeks someone to blame.

Within hours, the noise has extended outside of us to the world at large. It becomes about punditry. Making news. Political careers. Agendas. Greed. Power. Within days, we have forgotten that initial draw towards compassion as we passionately argue about why it happens, who to hate, who to blame, and toss about meaningless ideas to fix it. In the next weeks, we will hear so many stories surrounding this horror...guns are to blame! Ban all guns and hate the gun nuts! It's another false flag operation set up by liberals and enacted by actors to make sure guns are banned! It happened in a gay night club - surely God is telling us that we must put an end to the gay agenda! It was a right wing religious nut with a vaguely Islamic sounding name - we must immediately close our borders and keep a sharp eye on religion, which is clearly the devil!

Politicians will pose. Activists, lobbying groups, and PACs will use it to further their agenda. Corporations will use it to instill fear so you'll buy their shit. News outlets will crow loudly to boost ratings. Pundits will push their own agendas, hoping to gain attention and further their own careers. And people will argue passionately - whether in person or on social media - cherry picking the facts that support whatever positions they choose to hold.

Meanwhile, lost in all that noise will be that moment when we heard when, for a split second, we remembered that we were all human, and we felt an emotion rising from love: we felt compassion.

Here's the one thing we probably won't think or say, and it's probably the thing we really should say when things like this keep happening. We are doing this. We, as humanity, are all responsible.

Whenever we believe our ideology is better or "righter" than someone else's, we are doing this.

Whenever we see ourselves as separate from others and look for otherness as opposed to oneness, we are doing this.

When we refuse to take accountability for our own actions (and boy do we do this), we are doing this.

When we point the finger of blame, we are doing this.

When we don't teach our children how to be accountable, we are doing this.

When we choose societal structures based upon economics, income, profits, and materialism, we are doing this.

When we choose as economic and social policy to ignore the dignity and needs of the most vulnerable in our societies while the rich and powerful grow obscenely wealthy, we are doing this.

When we marginalize any group within society because we are uncomfortable with the color of their skin, their nation of origin, their religion, their gender identity, their sexual preference, their economic and social station, or any other of the hundreds of reasons, we are doing this.

When we pass a homeless person on the street and feel disgust, we are doing this.

When we feel morally superior to others, we are doing this.

When we fail to recognize the basic humanness of every person we encounter, we are doing this.

When we fail to find ways to see the spark of Divine in every living creature, we are doing this.

When we justify our own choices, we are doing this.

When we model that behavior for our children - the greed, the justification of our choices, the sense of entitlement we all feel, we are doing this.

When the pursuit of stuff and wealth becomes a driving force in our lives; when we believe our religious or spiritual ideology is the right way and everyone else is wrong; when we get so entrenched in our politics that we lose any modicum of common sense; when we live in fear instead of love; when we choose anger or fear; when we take the attitude of "I've got mine - it's up to you to get yours;" when we believe that we, alone, are more special than everyone else; when we treat mental illness as something shameful instead of seeking to help; when we have created a world and a society so unhappy that people escape into addictions, and we don't reach out to help; when we see children being abused and neglected and turn a blind eye; when we don't recognize that the person standing behind us in the checkout line at the grocery store has the same spark of Divinity we do; when we choose punishment over rehabilitation; when we exist in dogmatic belief without open minds; when we focus on those things that divide us and make us different instead of honoring those things that unite us; when we choose darkness over light; when we forget to ask ourselves, "What would love do now?" and slip into fear; when we allow others to live in isolation; when we let others pull us headlong into fear; when we're more interested in our smartphones than the people we supposedly love who are sitting right across the table from us; when we engage in passionless pursuits to fill the time instead of doing what makes our souls sing; when we fail to ask ourselves where our personal responsibility lies...we are doing this.

When 9/11 occurred, there was a moment of unity, when we paused and recognized our oneness. And then the noise started, and within weeks we'd returned to business as usual. Companies profited, politicians gained power, news outlets got attention, and the average guy was left sadder, angrier, more frightened, and even further from the oneness. We had an opportunity for change, and we collectively made a different choice.

With tragedies come the opportunity for us to recognize ourselves and each other, but the moment passes and we return to our electronic devices and our busy lives, only making cursory glances backwards when it suits our own purposes. And those who lost loved ones or sacrificed their lives? After some noise, we return to ignoring the opportunities that arose for humanity from their sacrifices. I don't mean to minimize the loss of life and the tremendous grief and pain of loved ones  - only to bring attention to the fact that this great loss of life could be a turning point for humanity, if only we allowed it to be. And I can see no better way to honor someone's sacrifice than to truly live more meaningful lives as a species in the wake of their deaths.

In my blogs, books, and classes, I often speak of the universal two-by-four...the times the universe clocks us firmly upside the head and says, "Pay attention, idiot!" I believe if we fail to listen to the calling of our souls, then this is what happens. We get the universal two-by-four whacking us upside the head and saying, "Let's see you fail to pay attention to this, buddy." It happens on an individual level, and I also believe it happens within communities, societies, and even worldwide. The universal two-by-four is almost always painful. In fact, it hurts like hell. But with a little self-examination, we can find ways to take these wake up calls and engage them as a force for positive change in our lives.

And while each of us is just one tiny soul in a vast sea of souls that inhabit this universe, we can each choose individually to start to turn things around: to see all souls as being one with us; to allow others to walk their paths peacefully without trying to force our own ideals and beliefs upon them; to acknowledge the divinity in every soul; to respond with love and compassion instead of fear; to take responsibility for our own shit and to model and teach that behavior to our children; to stop seeing ourselves as better than any other soul walking the earth; to pursue things that really matter in life, such as love, compassion, joy, creativity, and beauty instead of meaningless stuff; to recognize our own shortcomings and lovingly work on improving them; to stop complacently allowing the noise to rise to a fever pitch as politicians, companies, media, PACs, and other groups try to manipulate us for their own gain; and to ask ourselves, "What would love do now," and then act on it.

It's not about guns. It's not about sexual identity, gender identity, race, personal belief systems, religion, dogma, national pride, or anything else. Those are all artifacts of fear, and as long as we continue to allow ourselves to live within that system of fear, these things will keep happening. Banning guns won't fix it. Forcing people to share our religious ideologies won't fix it. And certainly, flapping our gums about it won't fix it.

What will? Choosing love. Every moment of every day. Which is really hard when you think about it, what with all the fear flying around. I know it's hard for me, and I often catch myself caught up in fear again, having to remind myself I came here to love. But we can do our best. We can pause as often as possible and ask ourselves a simple question, "What would love do now?" And then, we can slowly turn that into a habit - catching ourselves when the fear creeps in and reminding ourselves to act with love, instead. We can start to see our fellow humans as the same as us - instead of fearing how different they are. We can acknowledge their spark of Divinity and act with every person as if they were, as we are, the embodiment of Divinity. We can stop contributing to the fear-based culture of anger, greed, and judgment and humbly walk our paths alongside others, whose paths may be very different than our own but no less valid. And when our paths cross, we can respond with love and recognize the Divinity of both self and other. Maybe then, the universal two-by-four can stop whacking us upside the head in such a painful way.