[Eddie screamsmake me, and it's bait, and she knows it, but she's annoyed, and raw. So her body follows her head and in she comes, stalks her way to the mattress, to Eddie and shoves him back, climbs in on top of him and smashes her mouth to his.
It's pure frustration when she hisses out against his mouth: ] Shut the fuck up, I mean it.
( he’s been sitting in the pile of furs, hands in his hair from frustration before he’s shoved back on the bed. his hands go to her hips, pulling jem close.
it was bait, it was. he’s frustrated too. hisses back; ) I can talk for myself.
( one hand tangles in her hair, keeps her close. but if they’re distracted, they can’t fight on the network and maybe he can explain himself. )
i finally got more ink so if either of you are jonesing for tatties, some matching shit or otherwise, i need practice :)( writing out his name on their asses particularly )
( he's gotten sweeney to grow one weed plant and stephen to help him out, magically processing them.
so what he sends to both of them is a mental image, a rolled joint next to some large nug on a table in the greenhouse proper. )tell me why i'm the best and you shall receive :)
[ The festival is, in a way, a welcome distraction from it all, from the hurt that still oozes forth over all of them. Jem’s alive and back from the wilds, but Eddie still jerks away from any movements that are too quick. It’s only been a handful of days since Murphy woke, and no one’s talking about it, what happens next, what healing looks like. Not yet. It feels tight, like they’re all held together by tension, like someone is going to snap. He wonders which one it will be. It might be him.
They kiss his cheeks before they all gently divest at the festival, but not before testing the give of supple leather collars vs. heavy polished metal. Billy’s thumb rubs over leather, feeling the fine stitching under his thumb pad. Then it’s all festival, all sweat, and bloody animal hearts, all viewed from the safe pleasure of a wrist strap. Blood, sweat, cum, currency for the duchess. Let no one say Billy doesn’t give the duchess her due.
He’s overstimulated at the end when he clunks his key into the lock at Eddie’s shack. It’s late. He discards his boots, unbuttons his shirt, starts disrobing as he makes his way across the space, getting one knee on the bed and crawling on. He ducks his head against Jem’s neck, hand reaching out to grip at Eddie’s thigh. They might be sleeping, but, he doesn’t really care. ]
Where's mine? [ he asks, smelling the heady scent of Jem's collar, snug on her neck. He's been thinking about it all night. ]
( the last few days, weeks, months feel like a dream. maybe a nightmare that Eddie can't wake up from except that there's good amongst the shit. he still doesn't feel safe, not really, but little things help. Jem and Billy help. getting the collars, the fact the two of them let him fasten the leather and metal around their necks does goddamn wonders to ease the tension from his shoulders and abate the sense that Eddie'll never feel like he'll never have a choice, will never have control again.
it's nice to have that trust.
Billy stays at the festival and he and Jem run back to the haphazardly tidied shack, stripping of layers. Jem spends the day being so good for him, Eddie took his hand to her ass at one point, then her cunt before fucking her as the tears made her eyes look a more insane sort of blue.
by the time the bed dips, it's late but they'd left the lanterns on for Billy's return. or Eddie did, Jem'd finally fallen asleep in the furs -- cared for and kept safe, Eddie's not sure if he wore her out too much. he feels the bed dip and opens his eyes before he feels Billy's hand on him, still bothered by noise but aware it's safe. there's a hand on his thigh and Eddie reaches over to card his fingers through Billy's curls, then pushes himself up to sit up. ) I'll grab it off the counter, baby. We didn't make it that far when we got back.
( he kisses Jem's shoulder as he pulls out of her, then the top of Billy's head as he has to crawl over him to get his collar. ) You want it just to sleep or--?
I'll be back. Promise. ( it's soft, rasped into their heads as the sun creeps overhead in the early morning. Eddie's cold, laying amongst the plants, and his blood is seeping into the soil like liquid fertilizer. he's trying to pull air into maybe one lung; it feels just as shitty as last time, just as terrifying.
he doesn't want them to worry. thinks 'Vlad. with a knife. in the conservatory.' and that might come through too with a spark of amusement like it's a game of clue before that fades into something distant. )
I love you two. ( it's to them both, it's weak but honest. he should say it to Billy sometime, out loud and not thinly veiled when they're tangled up in each other. he should say it more to Jem, say it often. )
ok. so. truce? can we all have a talk? ( he's exhausted, actually, and he misses things not being snappy, not feeling like something is wrong at home. he usually runs from conflict and, yeah, he's been running but this is him trying. )
( there's a litany of random thoughts sent in their directions through the days, the nights, the times Eddie isn't sure if he should be awake or not. he's tired, so damned tired and hungry and miserable. they had only a brief few days before they'd been dragged here - no time at all to be together again, to mend.
he thinks he looks more like a corpse than he had when he was dying now, lifts a hand and frowns at the gauntness of his fingers. the sips of blood from the Rubean guard hadn't been nearly enough and in the end, Aemond had been right. they did muzzle him.
but he doesn't want to think of Aemond, of guards, of anything else by the two people he wishes were close. the whole point of what he'd done had been safety and it feels more moot than it ever had. lestat is gone, they're all still imprisoned. it's all shit.
he doesn't want to think about the bullshit. wants, wants, wants and wants things he can't put into words and name. wants them, wants them on his lips and in his veins as they fuck and all become one. )
i can't sleep,( he whines into the emptiness. it's probably a better interruption than the hours long deep dive into the politics of gil-galad's court that he'd graced them with for the hundreth time. )
if you make a lot of noise, they'll come in and kick your head in. [ He sounds tired, but mostly he's hungry. It hits him in waves, the need buoying up inside him, cresting until he feels like he's going to burst from hunger before it retreats and he just feels hollow. It always comes back though, and he's so hungry. So disgusted about it. ]
tell them about phil-fuckass's politics and they'll probably do the same.
[ It would probably be more bearable if they'd had that time together, wedged into bed back at the greenhouse shack. Billy had rarely slept alone since he arrived in Rubilykskoye, and it's been... ] how many days you figure it's been?
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action, 27/1
It's pure frustration when she hisses out against his mouth: ] Shut the fuck up, I mean it.
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it was bait, it was. he’s frustrated too. hisses back; ) I can talk for myself.
( one hand tangles in her hair, keeps her close. but if they’re distracted, they can’t fight on the network and maybe he can explain himself. )
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do not perceive the date pls
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feb 6, night
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— feb.16th-ish
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he's not on my approved list
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so what he sends to both of them is a mental image, a rolled joint next to some large nug on a table in the greenhouse proper. ) tell me why i'm the best and you shall receive :)
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Post-February Festival
They kiss his cheeks before they all gently divest at the festival, but not before testing the give of supple leather collars vs. heavy polished metal. Billy’s thumb rubs over leather, feeling the fine stitching under his thumb pad. Then it’s all festival, all sweat, and bloody animal hearts, all viewed from the safe pleasure of a wrist strap. Blood, sweat, cum, currency for the duchess. Let no one say Billy doesn’t give the duchess her due.
He’s overstimulated at the end when he clunks his key into the lock at Eddie’s shack. It’s late. He discards his boots, unbuttons his shirt, starts disrobing as he makes his way across the space, getting one knee on the bed and crawling on. He ducks his head against Jem’s neck, hand reaching out to grip at Eddie’s thigh. They might be sleeping, but, he doesn’t really care. ]
Where's mine? [ he asks, smelling the heady scent of Jem's collar, snug on her neck. He's been thinking about it all night. ]
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it's nice to have that trust.
Billy stays at the festival and he and Jem run back to the haphazardly tidied shack, stripping of layers. Jem spends the day being so good for him, Eddie took his hand to her ass at one point, then her cunt before fucking her as the tears made her eyes look a more insane sort of blue.
by the time the bed dips, it's late but they'd left the lanterns on for Billy's return. or Eddie did, Jem'd finally fallen asleep in the furs -- cared for and kept safe, Eddie's not sure if he wore her out too much. he feels the bed dip and opens his eyes before he feels Billy's hand on him, still bothered by noise but aware it's safe. there's a hand on his thigh and Eddie reaches over to card his fingers through Billy's curls, then pushes himself up to sit up. ) I'll grab it off the counter, baby. We didn't make it that far when we got back.
( he kisses Jem's shoulder as he pulls out of her, then the top of Billy's head as he has to crawl over him to get his collar. ) You want it just to sleep or--?
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27.03 aka death day
you’re both welcome 😊 )
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text.
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16/04
i think john's uhm
gone
but i'm going to help look.
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what do you mean
GONE
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28th (then 29th.)
[they’re on the roof. her mouth is closed. she wants to kiss him. she wants to beg him to stay. ]
29th.
He’s gone. [simply. ]
cw: ableism
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— voice | late morning of the 13th (cw: actively dying)
he doesn't want them to worry. thinks 'Vlad. with a knife. in the conservatory.' and that might come through too with a spark of amusement like it's a game of clue before that fades into something distant. )
I love you two. ( it's to them both, it's weak but honest. he should say it to Billy sometime, out loud and not thinly veiled when they're tangled up in each other. he should say it more to Jem, say it often. )
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[This is the first thing she says, while her blood runs cold. Then it's: ] Where? [As she heads out the door - grabs her gun, her knife. ]
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— early-june | text
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— voice.
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he thinks he looks more like a corpse than he had when he was dying now, lifts a hand and frowns at the gauntness of his fingers. the sips of blood from the Rubean guard hadn't been nearly enough and in the end, Aemond had been right. they did muzzle him.
but he doesn't want to think of Aemond, of guards, of anything else by the two people he wishes were close. the whole point of what he'd done had been safety and it feels more moot than it ever had. lestat is gone, they're all still imprisoned. it's all shit.
he doesn't want to think about the bullshit. wants, wants, wants and wants things he can't put into words and name. wants them, wants them on his lips and in his veins as they fuck and all become one. )
i can't sleep, ( he whines into the emptiness. it's probably a better interruption than the hours long deep dive into the politics of gil-galad's court that he'd graced them with for the hundreth time. )
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tell them about phil-fuckass's politics and they'll probably do the same.
[ It would probably be more bearable if they'd had that time together, wedged into bed back at the greenhouse shack. Billy had rarely slept alone since he arrived in Rubilykskoye, and it's been... ] how many days you figure it's been?
cw: forced feeding mention
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text; oct
smart
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text;
Re: text;
the void's coming in closer, though. it's too dangerous
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