#The townhouse on the west side that needs all the work

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 6) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 13.1k

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, p. in v, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 (𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢?), 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 😵‍💫, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯

note: i really hope this isn’t too angsty and confusing? also i noticed the atrocious amount of typos i had in the last part and holy moly... hopefully this one had less because i very lightly proofread it 😭 but if it does i am sorry (im really lazy about proofreading help 😵‍💫)….

two months later

you had not talked to Simon for two weeks. you had not even seen him for days.

the last time you did, it was late at night in the office.

most nights, just like days ago, you were up late working, rain pelting against the window where you typed at your desk, just the irregular patter of rain filling the empty office and the quick clatter of the character keys beneath your fingers. there was a sharp ache in your shoulders and you sighed, rolling them back and wincing at the cracks along your spine. 

rolling your head back, you looked at the desk beside your own—painfully empty in the dim lighting.

as promised, one-four-one had filled the gaping power chasm within the western frontier, shifting headquarters to the capital of the west and buying several properties on every key corner of the sprawling city—much like the brand new townhouse you called an office. 

not many rival gangs had stood up to the power shift because they couldn’t. widespread federal crackdowns had swept through the city. the anonymity of one-four-one had still been preserved—though over time, you had grown to doubt that—and one-four-one had won the war.

it didn’t feel like it though. it felt like you were in hiding all over again, but not from Turner’s men. it was the law this time.

now, at least, one-four-one disclosed all business endeavors to you.

you poured over their financial bookings. Simon had grumbled about it, saying something like it was dangerous for you to be so involved, but it didn’t matter much anyway. you were their main operation of business now, and all ordeals went through you… and your father’s saloon chain.

Kate implored, with the heat of the law breathing down one-four-one’s back, that they needed a legal guise for their illegal ventures. and you offered the saloon chain as an outlet so long that  you would remain the major shareholder.

one-four-one had agreed and Simon, albeit grudgingly, with a grumpy disposition, had agreed.

but establishing a saloon in every town, city, and borough of one-four-one’s proved to be difficult, making Simon busy and you even busier.

eyes darting back down to the empty desk, you missed the vacant absence by your side nonetheless. rubbing at your face, you decided to call it quits, reaching over to turn off the lamp at your desk. the room plunged into darkness, and only the murky light of the moon seeped through the window.

a chill swept through the place and you couldn’t help but shiver, swiping away all papers and materials into the filing cabinet beside your desk when there was a knock at the back door of the office.

“who is it?” you called, sliding the drawers shut and wiping your palms against your dress.

when there was no response, you paused, craning your neck to peer at the door. through the opaque glass, you could make out a tall, shadowed figure at the door.

sighing, you snatched a revolver from your purse, cocking it just in case, and strode over to the door to twist it open.

“business hours are closed—” you began, looking up to the tall figure in the entrance, breath hitching when you saw a familiar scarred face.

Simon looked tired—more tired than you remembered him after two weeks. maybe older too, you worried, watching the downpour roar of rain slip off his trench coat. he just watched you with quiet eyes and a blank expression, swaying slightly in the doorway, which only worried you more.

“Simon—” you said, voice pinched as you reached out to him, then muffled a yelp when he suddenly lurched forward and pressed his wet body to yours.

your hand was still outstretched when he curled into you, big body bent down to wrap around your waist and pull you flush to him.

“missed you,” his whispered, pressing his nose into your neck, then kissing there. the water seeping through your dress made you shiver and he rubbed at your sides, like he was trying to warm you.

an overwhelming crash of confusion wracked you. Simon wasn’t due to be back for a while. at least a few more weeks. nonetheless, you twisted your hands into his clothes, amazed to find him solid and real in front of you.  

“Simon. why are you here—?”

he pulled back from your neck and suddenly pressed his lips to yours, the kiss cold and wet from the rain, his stetson tipping off his head when he angled his head to kiss you deeper, messier, his teeth knocking into yours as his tongue dipped through your lips.

you muffled a squeak, trying to match the fast movements with your own, curling your arms around his neck and letting the revolver clatter to the floor. when his tongue brushed against yours, there was a rich and bitter taste in your mouth, and you gasped. alcohol.

you pressed against his chest and he pulled back with a disgruntled noise, frowning, before trying to kiss you again. but you pushed him away by his jaw and his frown only deepened.

“why?” he asked softly, brows furrowed. 

you rubbed his chest, quelling the hurt look on his face to melt away.

“you’re drunk, Si,” you whispered back before gently tugging him towards the vacant chair in the office.

when he sat in it, the chair groaning under his weight, he tried to pull you onto his lap, fingers curling around the back of your thighs and tugging you forward. when you didn’t budge, he huffed, and jerked you forward with enough force that you fell into his lap with a yelp.

“Simon—!”

he curled you up into his lap, snaking an arm around your waist and the other up your chest, hand gripping at your shoulder to keep you locked against him. with a sigh, you let it happen, smoothing your dress free of its wrinkles Simon had just created. his eyes lazily followed the movement, nose pressed into your cheek and hot breath against your skin.

“pretty dress,” he remarked, squeezing you tightly. you just rolled your eyes.

you were about to give him a sarcastic quip when, voice deceptively soft, he asked, “why are you avoiding me?”

the breath left your lungs, and you went very still.

when you didn’t give a verbal response, Simon shifted beneath you, just winding around you tighter.

“supposed to be my wife,” he said, forehead sinking into your neck. his voice was so somber that you had to stifle a laugh of disbelief.

“you haven’t even proposed,” you reminded him. he just grumbled something you couldn’t hear, words smothered against your skin.

you didn’t know why you were avoiding him. 

Soap had told you—very briefly during one-four-one’s inhabitation of san francisco—that it gets worse before it gets better. he had said it so briefly that you hadn’t know what he meant, didn’t really think it meant anything, until your life resumed in a new bustling city that felt impossible to get accustomed to.

now you know exactly what he meant. swallowing hard, you willed the thoughts away, burying them under a thick layer of bitter denial that Simon sniffed out like a hound.

“marry me then,” he offered, and you pinched the skin of his wrist.

“no. you’re not proposing to me while you’re drunk.”

he huffed out. “why not?”

you ignored him. “why were you drinking?”

when he was silent for a long moment, you smothered a smile of victory, feeling like you had won for some stupid reason.

then, he grumbled out quietly, “you were ignorin’ me.”

the smile slid from your face.

after a pause, you hiked up your dress, uncaring for indecency when you twisted in his hold, hooking your thighs around his in the chair. he gripped your hips tightly, looking up at you with hooded eyes. the small, unpleasant twist of his lips soured any warm feeling in your chest.

“m’not ignoring you,” you said softly, reaching up to brush the tangle of his blonde hair from his brow. his hair was getting too long now—the close shave on the sides of his head shaggy and unkempt.

he looks pretty anyway, you decided dreamily, kissing his forehead gently. his hands slid up to your waist, gripping you tighter.

“feels like it,” he grumbled and you suppressed a smile.

“sorry,” you said, the ache in your chest only swelling when you noticed the crestfallen look in his dark eyes.

“i’ve been busy,” you admitted, rubbing a comforting hand over his chest.

he just pulled you closer, forehead knocking against your shoulder. his hands crept up to your upper back now, clutching at your dress.

“so have you,” you pointed out.

he mulled in silence, hands sliding back down your torso, a shiver wracking you in his hold. then, he dropped his hands to your legs, fingers brushing over your legs as he edged up your dress, hands sliding beneath the fabric to play with the hem of your drawers. the leather of his gloves was cool against your skin.

“Simon,” you chided, blushing when his fingertips slithered beneath the fabric.

“missed you,” he reiterated, grip firm on your upper thighs as he pulled you tight against his hips. the blush bloomed across your ears and neck when you felt his hard arousal beneath his pants.

“not in my office,” you hissed, and he grumbled.

“you were gonna shoot me,” he complained, picking his head up to glare at the revolver that lay forgotten across the carpet floor, just by Simon’s fallen stetson.

you rolled your eyes. “i was not gonna shoot you.”

“you should make it up to me,” he interjected, voice a seductive, low rumble.

with another roll of your eyes, you swatted at him, pulling off his lap despite the string of expletive protests that left his lips.

you knew him too well to be fooled by his manipulative seductive tendencies. instead, you gathered your items and your purse, ignoring his big, sukling body beside yours. when he tugged at your dress, and you ignored him again, he made a sad noise.

upon observing the dark cloud of disapproval that roiled off his body, and the deep scowl on his face, you promised, “later Si.”

at that, he perked up, looking hopeful as he followed you to the back door of the office. you picked up your revolver on the floor and shoved it in your purse. opening the door to the pouring rain outside, you sighed, wishing you had an umbrella as you craned your neck out into the night.

instead, Simon picked up his stetson from the floor and pushed it onto your head. it was too big on you and tipped forward, concealing your vision of the city streets. at that, he huffed a laugh and drew you closer, hitching up his coat so that you were tucked beneath his arm and the flap of his trench coat.

“lead the way, lovely,” he said, voice tinged with an amused lilt as you frowned, tilting his hat back so that you could see as he led you down the little steps from the office and out onto the street—bound for his horse by the cobbled sidewalk, the black stallion stomping in the rain. bound for home.

looking over at Simon whose eyes were trained ahead, you took in his content, handsome profile with a greediness, only realizing just then how much you had missed him. down to the very bones of your body, you had missed him. 

just then, you couldn’t help but feel that you were already at home in his arms.

but that was days ago.

Soap had ridden into the city with a panic that same night, roving around to find that blonde brute of yours, he had explained in the comforts of your new, big apartment. the third place he had looked was your home, and you had tried to hide the flush of your skin behind the cup of tea you sipped.

he had explained that Simon had gone home prematurely without a notice, too drunk to reason through with things. too drunk to be able to quell how much he missed you.

with a sinking feeling, you had come to acknowledge with a tinge of guilt just how much you had been neglecting him. not that it was your responsibility to take care of him in the first place. you weren’t married.

though, after everything, that didn’t seem to matter at all. you were completely his anyway.

with a wince, you couldn’t help but wonder, was he yours as well? could you even dare to wonder if your relationship was an equal give and take? if it was anything more than a silent power imbalance?

eyes darting from Soap to your open bedroom door, you eyed the large lump beneath the blankets of your bed. you hadn’t even done anything upon arrival at your home. you had pushed him toward the bedroom and he had sunk down into the mattress, exhausted from his long ride to san francisco, and promptly fell asleep, thoroughly soaking your sheets.

you had let him sleep, content to lay flush by his side and tangled in his wet embrace, till there was a pounding on your door. you had opened it to find Soap dripping with water and looking just as tired as the hulking man who slept in your bed.

and there you were on the living room sofas with Soap, sipping tea as he explained that they needed to go back and finish taking care of things in arizona and mexico. then they would be home bound again. it was a promise.

once the sun crested the sky along the horizon, you gently shook Simon awake, looking confused and sleepy in the morning light.

he had gone without much reluctance—much more sober than the night before. a composed stoicism overtook him again and he was curt in his goodbye. so curt it made your heart ache.

he could barely look at you, brushing his gloved fingers gently against your cheek in a brief reminder of his deep, lingering affection, before he disappeared with Soap out your apartment. the only remnant of him was your drenched sheets and the soft smell of smoky ash and woods against them.

this was how it had been for months. it gets worse before it gets better, Soap had said to you when things had grown tense between you and Simon. you were managing a business. he was managing the entire western frontier through the business you managed.

was marriage an option anymore?

your mind chanted a quiet reminder that it wouldn’t be long before one-four-one would be in san francisco permanently. Simon’s stoic presence would be more resolute and then maybe, maybe, you could do something about it.

there were nights when you caved when he was home, staying just across the hall from your apartment, knocking at his door and desperate for his touch on your skin. he would always relent, picking you up and throwing you onto his bed, crawling over you and setting your whole body alight with sensual touches and long, breathless kisses as he fucked you through several earth shattering orgasms that had your nails scratching down his back, hands twisting his hair, sometimes biting down on his shoulder to try and quell the overwhelming pleasure of it.

you’d roll in the sheets for hours, tangled together until the sun came up after a long, pleasurable and sweaty night. there were always bruises left along your skin, a darkened splotchy purple against your hips where his had slammed into you over and over, making you see stars.

there were nights when he’d do the same. you remembered opening the door to him—half-naked and his bare, muscled torso on display, a scarred, discolored twist of skin over the side of his chest and shoulder that matched the skin of your own arm. there was always a tinge of plea in his voice, of desperation, as he edged you into your own apartment and you always, always relented.

you remembered being down on your knees for him for the first time, throat swollen and tight as he eased his cock down your throat, a gentle hand in your hair.

“thas’ it,” he had praised, voice slurred as he guided you through the unusual motion. your head slid up and down his thick, hot length that pulsed in your mouth, sucking him with closed eyes.

“look at me,” he had commanded, thumb pressing against your cheek and you had fluttered your eyes up at him, head feeling light and airy from the lack of oxygen circulating in your system.

“fuck,” he choked out, head tipping back at the sight of you, so small and obedient between his thighs.

it was just like this every time—mind blowing and unforgettable. content in his strong arms after every night of intense passion, your cheek pressed to his warm chest and soft, lulling whispers into your ear as he stroked your hair till you fell asleep to his random bursts of rambles about work, one-four-one, and you. soft, loving words about you.

he was always the most talkative those nights. in the morning, he would always be gone, and in the light of day, you’d half ignore each other for fear of…

you didn’t know what you should be fearing but you feared something so strong that you buried yourself in work and allowed yourself to be selfish. trying desperately to forget everything and always failing much to Yue-Yi’s amusement.

damn special privileges, you had hired Yue-Yi as a personal assistant after the majority of brothels had been shut down with the crackdown of law across the west. managing so many of her own personal clients throughout her life, Yue-Yi proved to be adept at organizing your busy schedule and especially adept at keeping you company when one-four-one was gone. when Simon was gone.

she reminded you to take care of yourself when you were overworking. you always countered by saying that one-four-one was working twice as hard, though with the incredulous look she would send you every time, you grew to become unsure of yourself.

and here you were in the present, days since you had “talked” to Simon though his mind seemed to be barely present underneath a veil of intoxication. days since Soap had whisked him back to whatever duties that lay east of san francisco.

you tried to ignore it all, taking long strolls through the park during lunch to avoid the hustle bustle of your office during the busy hours. you preferred to work in silence, but that proved difficult with the growing number of employers that were corralled into your business, no matter how perturbed they thought an unmarried woman as their boss.

you heard their gossips and whispers. they thought you were hiding a secret marriage with the prophesied ceo from them. Simon Riley. little did they know, their ceo was actually you. you didn’t have the heart to tell them that they were wrong and allowed them to continue thinking you were some favored personal assistant of Simon—just a typist and nothing more.

you only let a few men—vaqueros who knew good english with proficient math and business skills—into your secret, pressing real business matters to carry out into their hands. they never questioned it, and whether it was a command from Alejandro or not, you thought of them as amiable acquaintances.

the fall leaves littered the path in the park on this day, your hands clasped behind your back as you observed the sun flecked surroundings. a husband and wife ambled through the grass as their children trailed behind, throwing up colorful leaves into the air with pitched laughter. immediately, you looked away from the sight.

that’s when you spotted a familiar man staring at you, splayed across a nearby bench in a fancy three-piece suit and ginger hair fiery in the sunlight.

you stopped in your tracks.

“Konig?” you choked, slowly edging toward him. he tipped his head to you with a smile that smothered something strange in his pale green eyes.

“pleasant to see you little lady.”

your mouth opened and closed and you would’ve sat by him if it weren’t for the thrumming, ominous instinct in you to stay away.

and you did just that, stopping a comfortable distance from the big man, his eyes never leaving you as he took a swing from a flask before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his suit.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, dismayed, wondering if you were hallucinating it out of your own loneliness.

he ruffled his hair, smile lopsided but eyes still flat and dead and cold. Konig had disappeared on the move into san francisco. he would reappear every one and a while, poking around in your business and checking on your well-being before disappearing all over again. it was frustrating and left you beyond confusion.

it left Simon seething because Konig would conveniently pop up in the midst of a random, bustling street, tell you with joy that he was staying just around the corner of your new apartment and make Simon sulk at the very sight of the austrian man.

“my employers in Austria,” he said with a tilted head, “they want me to stay in san francisco for business.”

your mind spun. business? assassin business?

your throat ran dry. “you won’t kill Simon, will you?” 

the smile on his face was malicious.

“i already tried,” he said slowly, and you suppressed a shiver, remembering when Kate had told you that Konig had left Simon for dead in that fire but took you with him. saved your life.

“that british boy,” Konig said, brow furrowed like he was concentrating hard, “i do not like him, Engel.”

you sighed out, rubbing at your temple. “i know, Konig.”

when Konig only kept staring at you in silence, you decided to probe him with questions. “where have you been?”

you were surprised by the hurt in your voice. his brows only rose slightly. “san francisco—”

“what have you been doing?” you interjected, twisting your hands in your dress.

he stared at you for a long moment. “business.”

his voice dropped an octave. “and watching you.” then, he rephrased, “watching you and Ghost.”

you wrinkled your nose. not ominous at all.

“you care about him,” he observed lightly, looking away from you. a frown twitched at his lips and you sighed, gaining the courage to sit on the very opposite edge of the bench. though with his sheer size, he took up more than half of it, his arm splayed out over the back and his fingers pressed against your shoulder when you leaned back to look up at the clear, crisp sky.

“i do,” you confirmed, and he shifted beside you, picking up his hand to play with the ends of your hair.

“why? he’s an insufficient boy,” he grumbled and you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. you had never heard someone describe Simon as a boy, though sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel the same.

“i am an insufficient girl sometimes,” you countered, surprised when Konig shook his head.

“i have always seen you for what you are, Engel.” his pale green eyes flitted from your hair up to your eyes.

“capable.”

at that, you swallowed hard, but he continued on. “i want to stay in america. for you, little american.”

quickly, you countered, “you didn’t know me before, Konig.”

he shook his head again. “i don’t need to.”

there was a dizzying panic that rose in your chest. 

“i’m not innocent,” you practically hissed, pinning him with your most intense gaze that he easily held. “i have mental issues. i don’t know who i am or what i want. i just want…”

your voice faltered. “Simon.”

then, you whispered so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear yourself, “i love him.”

the admittance of it was like a weight that slid off your shoulders, and you gasped a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Konig had gone very stiff beside you, a pure look of something dark and angry twisting his face before it was swept away. he took his arm from you, letting your hair drop against your shoulders, sighing as he looked away.

“i don’t get it,” he grumbled.

you could only agree. “i don’t either.”

after a long moment of silence, Konig stood from the bench and whirled around on his heels, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face, though you could see the strain in his eyes.

“no matter. this will be the last time you see me, Engel.”

“i doubt that,” you said bitterly and his smile only grew.

“you are a business woman,” he said carefully, giving you a slight bow, “i am sure we will do business later in life.”

i’m counting on it, you thought, but didn’t voice as he turned on his heel and strode out the park with a confident step. your heart shrunk with every step he took. maybe you cared about him more than you realized.

you winced, trying to imagine how you would tell Simon about this strange encounter. then, you corrected yourself, reminding yourself that you actually didn’t need to tell him anything at all.

“excuse me!” a voice called from afar, and you turned to see Yue-Yi standing at the edge of the park, hands balled up by her side.

at the sight of her, a smile crept up to your face as she impatiently tapped at her wrist. 

“you’re late for a meeting,” she hissed as you strode over. with a nasty look, she whirled around to trudge toward the office with a huff. 

you looked back at Konig one last time, towering as he weaved around people who glanced at him with a wariness.

when he didn’t look back, you hurried to catch up with Yue-Yi, a strangled laugh escaping you when she quickened, throwing a mischievous look over her shoulder as you chased her up the steps to the office.

the meetings went smoothly. as usual. most of Turner’s men had been decimated or scattered, lost to the winds as they left western gang life for a mundane one. few changed sides to work for one-four-one. there wasn’t much threat to your livelihood now, especially now that there was a legal outlet for illegal activities. you implored one-four-one to set up a horse race betting system within each saloon—semi-discrete and something local law enforcers were a part of from time to time…

the rest of the day continued to go smoothly till it was late in the evening, nearing dinnertime, when you passed Yue-Yi typing at her desk. gathering the necessary papers she typed up, one paper by her typewriter caught your eye. 

familiar, obnoxiously loud handwriting in all caps lined the top, addressed to YUE-YI from SIMON RILEY. you immediately picked it up, eyes darting over the paper, just reading the first few, formal sentences when Yue-Yi snatched it from your hand.

“didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to read someone else’s letters without permission?” she said with a scowl, wagging a finger at you.

you ignored her, reaching for the letter but she leaned back, crumpling it into a ball in her hand.

“Yue-Yi,” you whined, and she just rolled her eyes with a little smile.

“what is this about?” you probed, endlessly curious as to why Simon had written to Yue-Yi.

and not you, a slither of a whisper spoke in your mind. you grimaced. in all fairness, you never wrote to him either.

mulling by the edge of her desk, Yue-Yi sighed at the sight of you, lost and confused, as she resumed her work and lined up a fresh piece of paper at the typewriter.

“one-four-one is coming back tonight.”

you balked. “tonight?”

she shrugged. “Ghost addressed the information to me several days ago. the letter did not arrive till this morning. we will dine together at six o’clock.”

checking the clock on the opposite of the room, you bristled.

“it’s half past six, Yue-Yi,” you gritted out between a clenched jaw.

she stopped her incessant typing, giving you a brief glance full of impatience. “your meetings didn’t end till half past six.”

you groaned with frustration, stomping back into your office and moving past Simon’s vacant desk without even a glance at it—a bad habit that you had developed to somehow will him to return quicker.

not this quick, you lamented in your head, rifling through the wardrobe (for special occasions just like this) by your desk, undressing in your personal bathroom with quivering hands.

someone knocked on the door politely, a three beat rhythm you recognized as Yue-Yi, and with huff you tugged it open, not sparing her a glance out of your own frustration. she closed the door behind her softly, moving closer to undo the back of your dress for you.

you wasted no time to pin up your hair, eyes darting to hers through the mirror, flushing to find her gaze already pinned on you.

with a grumble, you complained under your breath, “how could you do this to me.”

she lightly smiled, helping you pull on the fine gown, exposing your neck and a glimmer of your collarbones.

“i knew you would’ve ran away if i told you weeks ago.”

grimacing, you chose not to say anything, remembering how you had done the same a couple months prior. but it was just once—Simon had written to you saying that he would be in town for the night, and you had written him back saying you were just too busy that night.

it was a lie. 

oh how the tides had changed between the devil and his angel. it wasn’t out of your own revenge, but the gnawing fear wracking your bones and those simmering, painful questions running circles in your mind.

could Simon ever be yours?

it just wasn’t so simple anymore. maybe it never was.

Yue-Yi hummed softly as she pulled your corset tighter for good measure and buttoned up the back of your dress, smoothing it over before giving you a hug from behind.

“you look divine,” she said as you pulled silk gloves up your forearms.

“thank you,” you squeaked with a flush. she patted your sides before opening the door for you like a proper gentleman.

you curtsied for her and rolled her eyes, smacking your backside on your way out of the office as you squealed, and she laughed when you rubbed at your ass that stung beneath your gown.

moving through the townhouse, rooms of the place had been converted into work spaces, lined with desks of busy men with cigarettes between their lips that filled the room with a smoky haze. they paid you no mind as you followed Yue-Yi to the end of the hall, passing by the room of women typists who bid you kind goodbyes and waved as you descended down the spiral steps to the lobby.

there was already a horse and buggy stationed at the sidewalk with an impatient looking coachman, whose eyes darted between you and the watch in his breast pocket.

“do you women not know how to tell time?” he spat, and you gave him a narrowed side glance.

“it would do good on you to remember who your employer is, Mr. Busby.”

“that would be Mr. Riley, miss,” he shot back, opening the door for you nonetheless.

you ignored him but Yue-Yi didn’t.

“and you should remember that the miss is his lady,” she quipped, brow furrowed with a glare as she helped you up into the carriage.

that shut him up, grumbling something under his breath you couldn’t be bothered with as you slid into the leather carriage, Yue-Yi flush at your side as the coachman snapped the reins, horses taking off over the bumpy cobblestone road.

with a sigh, you said to her, “we ought to buy one of those fancy model t’s after today.”

she choked a laugh, clasping her hand with yours as you watched the passing scenery with a smile, though it didn’t last for long, melting from your face with every passing minute—every minute the distance between you and Simon closed.

the one-four-one mansion neared on the twinkling horizon, a good time’s travel from the inner boroughs of the sprawling city, far away enough from commotion where you could hear the soft drag and pulls of the ocean lapping at the shores. the mansion sat just near a cliff overlooking the pacific ocean.

the first night you had stayed for a formal event with important stockholders and other prominent figures involved in the family business, you had laid stock still in the ginormous bed, buried beneath blankets and thick, expensive furs, listening to the lulling roar of the ocean crashing against the cliff rocks through the open windows. a breeze danced through the room, brushing against your cheek so real and strong it felt like skin against your own.

blinking open your eyes, you saw Simon by the edge of the bed, his hand brushing over your cheek and hair in a mess like he had just awoken. without a word, he clambered into your bed, snaking beneath the blankets and pressed to you, bare skin hot to the touch and soaked through with sweat.

some words of concern had left you, some words you had forgotten now as you sat in the carriage, some words he had smothered with a sweet kiss. a kiss that you returned as you pushed him onto his back, shimmying out of your nightgown and undergarments with a practiced ease before straddling him, rolling your hips against him to pull gentle groans from his throat.

you leaned down to pepper kisses over his skin, sucking along his neck and his sharp jaw. then, with an earth shattering reminder of just how strong he is, he tugged your hips up his body till you hovered above his watering mouth, hot breath against your swollen cunt.

with a squeak of confusion, you had gripped at the fluffy pillows above his head, meeting his dark gaze as he pulled your pussy flush to his lips, guiding your hips over his face as he devoured your cunt, suckling your clit into his mouth till you were a shaking, crying mess.

it was strange and felt too dirty but your neediness betrayed you, just wanting more and more of him. even when he flipped you over, pliant and weak from a strong orgasm, and stretched your tight cunt open with his thick cock and low comforting words. 

good girl. my sweet little angel, my sweet little slut. just f’me, all f’me.

you weren’t sure why it always ended up like this exactly—somehow tangled in each other’s bed and desperate for skin against skin, tongue and lips on each other, and his low throaty whispers in your ear that sent you reeling over the edge every time with breathy, pitched whines and his fingers rubbing addictive little circles into your clit.

shivering at the memory with a hot flush of embarrassment, you pressed your thighs together, taking your embroidered fan and flapping it at your face as the coachman drew the carriage up the drive-way to the mansion, the butler and servants lined along the extravagant entrance of the victorian mansion.

just beyond them, one-four-one filed out the doors of the mansion, Soap striding up to the carriage with a loud greeting. the coachman opened the door for you but Soap waved him away, outstretched his hand to you with a rugged smile.

you took it, holding the hem of your dress up as you stepped to the ground.

“yer a sight for sore een, bonnie,” he said with a big grin and you choked a laugh.

“sore what?” you asked as he kissed your hand brusquely, not elaborating as he moved to help Yue-Yi out the carriage as well.

you walked up the steps of the entrance, John and Kate calling out to you in greeting. your eyes darted over Gaz and Simon, looking like a pair of twin statues with the way their arms were crossed over their chests and a stoic look pinched their face.

you bit back a scoff, letting Kate pull you into a soft hug as John looked down at you with an affectionate smile, hands clasped behind his back. turning to Gaz, he gave you a curt nod which you returned.

eyes sliding to Simon’s, his arms dropped to his sides, hands clenching and unclenching, lips parting like he was going to say something, but Yue-Yi materialized at your back in an instant, and his mouth closed, jaw clenched.

“Yue-Yi,” he greeted with a nod. she just tilted her head in response, a menacing scowl twisting her lips.

the look they shared passed something between them that you couldn’t decipher—like a silent argument ensued in the air between them before he let out a low huff, sending you a lingering look, before he followed one-four-one into the mansion.

promptly, you turned to Yue-Yi.

“what was that?” you probed, and she completely ignored you, pushing you into the mansion with an impatient, hushed reminder that you were late.

you bit back your frustration, letting yourself be led by the butler to the banquet table stacked with half-eaten food and empty bottles of whiskey and wine, the vaqueros loud laughter and chatter filling the cavernous dining room. they all stood at your presence, which you protested with a startled squeak, sitting down in an plush chair near the head of the table where John sat, and right beside Simon.

Simon pushed in your chair with an ease, face blank as he plopped in the seat next to you, lacking manners when he leaned an elbow on the table, a tense silence filling the space between you.

desperately, you ignored it, grateful that Yue-Yi flanked your other side, and looked down to the other end where Alejandro, Rudolfo, Kate, and Maria sat, a raucous laughter and chatter ensued. it filled the whole room with an expanding joy that you rode—joining in on a few conversations across the table, hyper aware of the quiet, hulking man beside you sharing low murmurs with John and Gaz.

his hand crept over to the arm of your seat, long fingers hanging off the edge where he rested his forearm, fingertips barely brushing over your thigh. you shot him a look from your peripheral, but he was still braced against his other forearm, leaning over to speak in John’s ear, his face furrowed as he nodded along to Simon’s words.

across the table, Soap piled your plate with food, one hand spooning out generous portions from different platters and the other tipping back a glass of whiskey into his mouth.

with a sheepish laugh, you thanked him, happy to finally have a meal after such a long, exhausting day.

you took a big spoonful of mashed potatoes, chewing happily when a vaquero across the table pointed out you got some on the corner of your lips with a mix of sign language and a couple words in english. embarrassed you swiped at it, but he just laughed, saying something in spanish as he smiled at you.

then, you recognized him—his twinkling brown eyes and gentle smile, tanned skin, dark slick backed hair that parted and curled around his ears. handsome in a soft, pretty way.

“it’s you!” you exclaimed, happy to see a familiar face.

he nodded, pointing to himself. “i am Javier.”

“your name is Javier?” 

he nodded again, then pointed at you. “you are Angel.”

with a blush, you shifted in your seat, changing the subject quickly. “how are you?”

when he looked confused, you tried to rephrase, “how are you feeling? good? bad?”

his let out an ah, eyes twinkling as he leaned forward in his seat. “good.”

then, he tilted his head. “escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece.”

he was looking you up and down. “te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel.”

his words were hushed, just loud enough so that only you could hear. there was a different, more intimate tone in them that had the heat in your cheeks just thickening.

“what?” you choked and his smile only widened.

you looked to Yue-Yi beside you, locked in conversation with someone on her other side, growing uncomfortable under the vaquero’s curious, lingering gaze.

you had thought that no one had heard when a strong arm had curled around your waist, dragging your entire chair across the floor with a screech so you were flush to his side.

“¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron?” Simon’s words were a low snarl that carried through the room and cut through the end of the other table. immediately, the room quieted, and Alejandro’s eyes darted up from his conversation, the smile melting off his face.

with a deadly amount of leisure, Simon threw his revolver on the table, eyes a glare full of challenge at Javier. you stared at the hard lines of his face and panicked, knowing he’d hold to whatever word he had just delivered if it was something as trivial as his male ego being threatened. especially if he thought you were being threatened.

when Javier reached for his own revolver beneath the table, you threw up a hand, standing to shield Simon.

“wait—!”

but Alejandro beat you to it. “Javier.”

Javier looked down the table at his leader that stood, hunched over and knuckles pressed against the table. Alejandro shook his head lightly, and Kate heaved a sigh, her cutlery clattering against her plate as she put them down.

“here they go again,” she grumbled distantly, blue eyes flashing when they met yours.

after a long pause, Javier finally leaned back into his chair with a huff, then turned his gaze to you once more.

“debo haberme equivocado. lo siento Angel.”

the smile on his face was deceptively soft, eyes never leaving your wide ones as he spoke, and Simon’s grip only tightened on your waist.

“Javier,” Alejandro repeated, sounding impatient, though Javier’s gaze on you was unflinching.

for a long, terrible, twisted moment, you watched Simon’s hand twitch by his revolver before it curled into a fist, and he sat back against his chair with a thud and a low grunt. finally, Javier looked away, and you sunk back into your chair, gasping a breath you didn't know you were holding.

at that, Alejandro straightened and held a bottle of whiskey up into the air with a smile.

“no need to fight my brothers and sisters. we’re here to celebrate our victory, vaqueros and vaqueras!”

at that, the table cheered and resumed its festivities, retopping their drinks with a tipsy hand so that their drinks fizzed over with liquid that soaked into the tablecloth. then, Alejandro gestured his bottle to you, meeting your eyes, mouthing out the words so that only you and Simon could see.

“to the devil and his angel.”

he took a big swing of the whiskey bottle, and the muddled feeling in you only sunk, jolting when Simon pressed his lips to your ear.

“sit in my lap,” he commanded and you shot him a glare.

“you haven’t talked to me all night,” you hissed under your breath and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“you haven’t either,” he countered, which you thought was rather immature as you looked up at him with a pinched expression.

with a little yelp, you jolted when his hand lazily slid around your throat. “and i wasn’t asking, princess.”

swallowing hard, you let him pick you up and drop you in his lap, curling both arms around you in a vice, chin tucked over your shoulder. you told yourself, chanted to yourself, that you were doing it to prevent any further bloodshed already spilled between the men and women of the room, your eyes darting over Kate and Maria flush together at the end of the table.

you clutched at Simon’s strong arms, leaning back into his massive body, turning your cheek so that your forehead was against his jaw, closing your eyes.

“sleepy?” he offered, voice gruff in your ear. gently, he kissed the lobe of your ear, and a resolute ache wracked your chest.

you realized, in his arms, this was the first time in multiple days since he had held you. you reached back to clutch at his neck, sinking into him.

“mhmm,” you hummed, grateful that Gaz and John ignored the pair of you in their own conversation.

then, he kissed your neck softly. “i can take you to bed.”

the suggestiveness of his words don’t go unnoticed. “now?”

“no one will say anythin’,” he promised, already pushing you off his lap softly. even if half the table watched you disappear through the rooms of the mansion with Simon’s arm wrapped around your waist, you found yourself completely uncaring, just nuzzling closer into him.

once you were both completely out of sight, he hooked an arm under your knees and carried you up the stairs and into a random room shrouded with darkness, the blankets and furs soft against your back when he laid you out over a bed.

you watched him undress in silence, undoing his vest and then his button up before you heard the clink of a belt in the dark and his dress pants dropped to the floor. he crawled over to you, completely bare for your greedy eyes.

“let me?” he asked softly, finger hooking in the low collar of your evening gown, and you nodded, letting him sit you up and unbutton the back of your dress. you tugged it over your head, uncaring that it crumpled the fabric, and flipped your hair over your shoulder, turning so you offered your back to him.

when he made no move to your corset, you sent him a confused look over your shoulder, lips parting at the sight of him breathing shallow, and swollen, veiny cock pressed against his thigh.

he edged forward with a low curse, kissing your shoulder as he untied your corset expertly, too expertly now, with a clumsy rush, your breasts bouncing when he practically ripped the thing from your torso.

a gasp escaped you when he bound an arm around your chest, kneading at your breast while his other hand tugged at the hem of your drawers. you lifted your hips, awkwardly shimmying out of them in his tight hold. he tore it the rest of the way down, and you chided him with disapproval that he ignored, arms squeezing you tight to his muscled, warm chest.

you could feel his feverish cock pressed into the curve of your ass, and you reached down blindly to stroke him but he grumbled out something like a no, burying his face into your hair and neck as he just held you there in that awkward position.

you clutched at his arms, feeling the muscled strength of them tense beneath your touch. “Simon?”

he hummed distantly, pressing pleasant kisses to your skin.

“i need to show you something,” he said, untangling himself from your body for a brief moment to step away and search for something on the floor. he took something from the pocket of his discarded pants, silvery and shiny in the dim light as he crawled back onto the bed and pulled you flush to him once more.

he looped both arms in front of your chest, the silver thing dangling in the air in front of your face.

you gasped at the sight of the pink jewel embedded in an ornate silver casing—dazzling even in the low light. it wasn’t unlike Simon to bring you back trinkets and small mementos from his travels, though they were always discrete, left on your nightstand after an intimate night, or the kitchen table in your apartment. 

this was the first time he had directly presented you with something so romantic.

with a content hum at your reaction, he clasped it around your neck, pulling your hair out from under the silver chain, pressing his lips along the necklace against your skin. the contrast between its cold metal and his hot kisses left you shivering.

“what is it?” you asked in wonder, clutching at the jewel against your chest.

“pink tourmaline,” he slurred against your skin. you met his half-lidded gaze from over your shoulder.

“s’my birthstone,” he said, voice deceptively soft as he reached around to toy with it in your fingers. a heat slithered down to your core, and you had to clench your thighs together to stave off the aching pressure of it.

the act was so possessive it left you hot with delirium.

physically branding you as his, a happy voice sung in your somewhere, though the logic of your mind swatted at it, reminding you this wasn’t how you wanted it.

you bit down on your lip, feeling conflicted as you stared down at the jewel in his fingertips.

when you didn’t respond to him, Simon gently pressed you onto your back, sliding over your body to study your face with a blank expression.

“what’s wrong, lovely? you don’t like it?”

you shook your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. “no. i like it. it’s just…”

he tilted his head, eyes flitting down to your exposed, swollen breast from his kneading, then up again.

“fuck me,” you offered, and his face pinched, pulling back from your touch so he sat back on his haunches.

“what’re you not tellin’ me, lovely?” he asked, angling your chin down so you were looking right into his dark eyes.

you swallowed hard. “Konig came and talked to me.”

he stiffened, grip on your chin tightening as he frowned. “he didn’t touch you, did he?”

“no,” you said, clutching at his wrist, “he told me that he wanted to stay in the city for me.”

with as much honesty as you could muster, you told him, “i realized that i care about him more than i believed.”

his hand dropped from your face, jaw clenched as a new void look swept through his expression, which left you icy inside and out.

“you want to tell me that you love him?” there was such a strain in his voice that it didn’t sound like his own.

“no,” you said immediately, and the tight bunch of his shoulders dropped. “i want...”

that voice in your head screamed and you tried to bury it but it came out wracking and loud. you screwed your eyes shut. 

you Simon, it screamed. i want you. you wanted him so bad it was soul-crushing. you wanted him so bad you’d rather deny yourself of the need, ignore him endlessly, if it meant that he wouldn’t… reject you.

those same, sharp questions pierced finally broke the barricade of your mind. could you ever hope for Simon to be yours? would he ever think you an equal? was it more than the power balance you felt it to be?

you looked into his stoic face.

“i want to start over.”

he tilted his head, voice rough. “start over.”

you nodded. “i’m a business woman. i’m a murderer. i’ve done awful things. i’m not innocent anymore.” 

you held your breath, hoping with all your might he would believe your words. you were so, so, so very afraid that he cared for a girl that you weren’t anymore.

you are a woman now, Yue-Yi had said to you with wonder after your reunion in san francisco, marveled that you had survived the harrowing gang war. 

he edged closer to you, creeping over you so his body bowed down to your own. his hands slid up to your cheeks, holding your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. his dark eyes flitted between yours. 

you pressed on. “let’s do everything over. no more secrets. retell me ones i’ve already learned.”

when he was silent, you reached up to gently hold his face in your palms in return.

“the one i love is you,” you admitted, amazed at how the weight slid right from your shoulders into some intangible pit below, just how it had been that noon with Konig.

you searched his eyes, finding nothing changed in them after your words. just Simon’s brown eyes. still just Simon. the clarity in that realization was like finally finding a foothold after months of free fall.

“you’ve changed Angel,” he said, quietly, like he was in awe.

your breath hitched. “is that bad?”

“‘course not. is this what you’ve been worrying your pretty little head about for months?”

you frowned. “yes.”

his whole body relaxed, easing down to trap you beneath his muscled body. “i thought you were rethinkin’ about marrying me.”

you winced, because in all technicality you were, but not because you were doubting him. you were doubting all of the unreliable circumstances that danced around the two of you.

he said softer, “i thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“i want you more than anything,” you squeaked and he cocked his head. 

only you could decipher it as the silent question that it was. then why’d you do all that to me?

your breath hitched, the guilt of neglecting him like a crashing, icy wave splashing over you. or, rather, you had neglected yourself.

“i can’t explain it,” you choked and he rubbed a hand over your chest.

“take your time Angel.”

shimmering tears glossed your eyes, and you said quicker than you thought, “i wanna be equals.”

the slow, soothing circles he drew against your chest stopped. “equals?”

“i wanna be more than this,” you said, clutching at the jewel on your chest, hoping with every fiber of your being that he understood.

more than the once innocent and naive girl he kidnapped.

but he was just silent for a long moment, eyes darting between your face and the little jewel, and you made a strangled noise of frustration.

“i want you to be mine, too,” you admitted, so embarrassed by the proposition that you couldn’t look at him.

when his silence just continued, your eyes darted over to meet his, face void of anything perceptible before he suddenly smothered a laugh, pressing a fist to his lips and twisting away so you couldn’t see his face.

“what—”

you scrambled up to see him keeled over by the edge of the bed, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Simon!” you shouted, kicking at his shoulder to get him to quit it, but that only goaded him on. 

with a sniffle, you wiped at the tears in your eyes and scrambled from the bed, standing up to stomp out of the room. even if you were naked and all, you didn’t care.

“don’t even try to run away,” he growled between laughter, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you back so you fell back against his chest with a yelp, fighting him as he wrestled you back down to the bed.

when your cheek was pressed against the mattress, back arched and ass pressed to his hips, you slumped with defeat and he let out a low, approving hum, laughter finally subsiding as he bent over you to nose at the crown of your head.

once he settled above you, he hummed again, an iron grip around both of your forearms that were pressed to the bed. he kneed your thighs apart, cunt spread and presented to him in the most indecent way possible. 

you shuddered, a burning heat in your tummy.

“silly girl,” he murmured, hips sliding forward to press his leaking cock into the softness of your inner thigh.

you gasped, squirming around in his grip, trapped beneath him.

“my cock was made for this pretty pussy,” he rasped, low enough that it sent goosebumps across your skin, a little whimper torn from your lips. 

“made for you,” he emphasized, picking up a hand that pinned down your forearm.

you looked down between your quivering legs, watching him wrap a large hand around his length and pump his cock a couple times before lining up with your entrance.

“already?” you whined, shaking at the feeling of his drooling tip pushing through your gooey folds.

“you can take it can’t you?” he cooed softly, leaning down to press a messy kiss to your cheek.

of course you could, you wanted to say, but the memory of how the stretch of your cunt around his big cock burned even when he prepared you made you tremble.

but that didn’t stop you from wiggling your hips back into him, wanting him to just slide in already, the wetness of your cunt hot and unbearable. you couldn’t keep from whimpering against the sheets for him.

at your meek display of submission, he whispered in a low, throaty tone, “good girl.”

slowly, he pressed his cock into your unstretched cunt, smothering your cries against the blankets. you screwed your eyes shut, tears slipping down your cheeks as you half-sobbed.

Simon smoothed a hand down your spine, his other hand going between your thighs to circle at your aching clit as he plunged further in.

“hurts,” you whined and he hummed, kissing your shoulder blade.

“want me to stop?” he offered softly, but you immediately shook your head, wanting to please him.

always wanting to please him.

“you’re perfect,” he purred against your skin, bullying the last thick inches of his base into your pussy till he was flush against your ass.

lingering there for a moment, letting the sharp burn subside as you sniffled against the sheets and he peppered kisses all down your neck and back, fingers still massaging your swollen clit.

“needed this so bad,” he admitted, hot breath against your back making your shiver, “needed this pretty little, tight cunt so bad.”

the first snap of his hips punched the breath from your lungs, the rest leaving you gasping, breathless, and mind dizzy as he fucked you. rough. rougher than you felt in a long time.

punishing, you thought dreamily as his hand reached around your throat and squeezed periodically to keep you from passing out.

his hips slammed against your ass, growling out low grunts that coupled with your breathy hiccups in the quiet of the room. it had you delirious and out of your mind, thick tears rolling down your cheeks and pooling at the mattress below.

when he stopped abruptly, hips flush to the back of your thighs that stung from repetitive impact, he manhandled you onto your back, twisting you on his cock as he draped your legs over your shoulders, bending you in half and ignoring your little whimpers as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

when his hand snaked up to your throat again, you thought he’d give you those delicious little squeezes that had your cunt throbbing and aching, but he wrapped his fingers around your necklace instead, pressing the jewel of it into your throat.

his head was tilted, eyes predatory and clouded beyond recognition. 

“pretty,” he snarled, fingers digging into your cheek to keep you still as he pressed more messy kisses to your face as you whimpered.

not punishing, you realized, choking out a sob when he slammed deep into that sweet spot in you, possessive.

so possessive that it made your head spin, clit twitching for his attention, your hips bucking up into his rough movements as you whined for his touch desperately.

“touch yourself,” he commanded roughly, and you sobbed out a thank you, running a hand down your stomach to rub at it—but it just wasn’t as good as the rough pads of his fingers that knew exactly how you liked it.

whining again, he chided you with a tsk, leaning down to shut you up with a hot, wet kiss, tongue invading your mouth as he pushed your hand aside. he pressed his thumb against your needy clit, fingers splayed across your stomach as he abused the pebbled bud to perfection.

“oh, Simon,” you gasped into his full lips, watching the silvery scar of his upper lip stretch when he smiled, malicious and pupils blown wide.

“hm? tha’ good, baby?” 

“yeah,” you choked out, more tears running down your face when you screwed your eyes shut. he kissed them away with a softness that made you melt, curling into his touch, taking and loving every one of his rough thrusts that drove you a little further up the bed. 

so far that he held up a hand against it, broad and big body towering over your small, shaking one, dwarfed by him in the darkness.

he groaned, little strings of praise leaving his lips. “so perfect takin’ me, Angel. so small and tight and takin’ it all.”

you nodded, gasping for breath as your fingers twisted in the sheets, overwhelmed 

“this cock yours? hm?” he goaded, and you just kept nodding through your hiccuped gasps, hands running up his strong arms to sink your nails into his shoulders, tugging him down to you with a whine.

he relented, dropping down to squish you beneath his heavy weight, your thighs almost pressed to your ears as he fucked his thick cock into you, your eyes rolling back when you felt it throb inside you.

“tell me m’yours,” he growled in your ear, and you moaned, snaking a hand into his hair to pull at its roots and quell the crashing pleasure wracking your body with little overstimulated shakes.

“you’re mine,” you squeaked back, and he chuckled low in your ear, talking you through an orgasm with throaty murmurs.

good girl. come for me now. wanna watch your pretty face while you come. thaaas’ it, pretty thing, come f’me, come f’me—

and you did, every one of his words spurring you closer to the edge, thrown over it when he snuck a hand around your throat and squeezed, the cold metal of your necklace digging into your skin.

it was too much, and you came so hard you saw white, throaty groans in your ear as you came down from the high, Simon’s thrusts slower and more affectionate.

“did so well f’me,” he cooed, and you nodded weakly, still clutching at his hair as your body continued to shake.

“think you can do it again?” he asked softly and you immediately shook your head.

“no,” you sniffled, but he pressed his lips against your hair, a telling smile twisted them and you whimpered, knowing exactly what that meant.

you gasped when he suddenly pulled out of you, feeling light and airy and cold from the weightless absence of him. dizzy, you picked up your head, blinking your eyes against the darkness, pacified when he leaned down and enveloped your lips with his warm ones, movements slow and soft when he flipped you to straddle his hips.

you leaned against his chest, feeling just as woozy and dizzy as he angled your hips, dripping length pushing through your folds and catching against your sensitive clit.

“i think you can, lovely,” he said, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip. “can you try? f’me?”

you sniffled, sending him a pout that just made the smug look on his face stretch.

“want you to use me,” he rasped, eyes darting down to where his cock was nestled between the wet folds of your entrance—sopping with your orgasm and the pearly white liquid that rolled from the tip of his cock.

you whined, grinding down on him, feeling that needy thrum between your thighs again, and he hummed approvingly, guiding his cock back into the waiting clutch of your heat.

the position was unusual to you—so exposed in the cold air of the room, begetting you a whole new berth of control that you were unsure what to do with when you sunk down on him, watching his blonde lashes flutter as his eyelids drooped, sighing out a heavy breath.

once you were settled flush to his hips, you gasped, head tilted back and eyes wide at how deep the head of him nudged against that gummy crook of your inside that ached and keened for stimulation. 

“Simon,” you gasped, unsure what to do.

he placed two hands on your hips, dragging your hips up so just the tip of him was at your entrance, before spearing you back down.

you gasped when the head of his cock pressed right against that sweet spot again, and you clutching at his big hands on your hips, picking your hips up before dropping back down onto him, the new pleasure blooming through your body.

“tha’ it,” he grunted, lolling his head back into the pillows, watching your work his length with little breathy moans and gasps, “use this cock. s’all yours.”

you whined at that, whimpering a little, “mine” as you peered down at him through half-lidded eyes.

“mhmm,” he affirmed, using his thumb to play with your aching clit, “m’all yours, princess.”

a moan escaped your lips as you tipped your head back, riding him slow and sensual to your own pleasure, letting it overwhelm you with loud keens of pleasure, head spinning at the thick, pulsing cock between your legs.

all yours, your mind chanted, reaching up to pinch at your own sensitive nipples and whimpering at the sensation that mixed into all the others, watching Simon groan beneath you.

“such a dirty, corrupted little thing,” he grunted, thrusting up in time with your movements so he slammed a little deeper in you every time.

“gonna let me make you my pretty little wife, princess?” he asked, voice so soft as he cupped your cheek.

you nodded incessantly, babbling incoherent words and little pleas as you leaned forward on his chest, another orgasm rushing closer and closer to you.

“gonna come?”

you nodded again, pitched little whimpers the only sound you could push from your lips as he snapped his hips up, taking over the weak, shallow movement of your hips, thighs burning from the effort.

your whole body turned to jello, muscles going lax as you collapsed over him, core convulsing with sweet, delicious pulses that blissed you out, a roar of static in your ears as you screwed your eyes shut with a broken sob.

you hadn’t even realized your cheek was pressed to Simon’s chest till you were coming down from the intensity of it, mind still buzzing with overstimulation, as you just listened to his lulling breaths against your hair and the slow swells of his chest.

he brushed his fingers up your back. “alright, lovely?”

you nodded with a contented hum against his bare chest, tracing the mottled scars of his body softly.

you only noticed his throbbing, hard length still flush to that sweet spot in you when he bucked his hips up, and a surprised moan left your lips. 

“can i?” he asked, lifting your hips softly to slide his cock out the tight clutch of your cunt.

you weren’t sure of what he was asking for till he perched your leg up, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking, tip pressed right up against the rim of your entrance.

you moaned at the sight, craning your head back to look at the quick swipe of his hand twisting around his cock, hips bucking up in an irregular pattern that made you dizzy. 

he twitched beneath you every time slapped the head of his cock against your clit, making you mewl out with sensitivity, turning your head back to him, finding his dark, clouded eyes already on you.

he picked his head up in a silent offering that you took, kissing him with a delirious need, needing him to do something, needed him to come.

“need it,” you whimpered, grinding your hips down against the head of his cock, and his hips bucked with a low groan against your tongue.

“fuck,” he grunted, forehead pressed to yours, “you don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

that only left you confused, brow furrowed as you traced your fingers over his neck and collarbones, scratching lightly over the skin just to hear his breath go shallow.

“need you to come in me,” you begged, whining at the very thought of his hot, milky spend spilling into your cunt, not knowing why you needed it, just that you did.

he groaned loud, hips bucking up into his hands a few more times till he held the head of his cock right against your entrance and came all over your pussy lips, splashing them with a hot, goopy liquid as you whimpered, grinding down on the feeling.

you were half tempted to sheath himself back into your cunt, but his fingers already beat you to it, slithering down your stomach to curl up into your entrance. you gasped as he pushed the spend in you, hot and slimy and just as you had imagined as you ground down on his fingertips.

“this what you needed?” he asked, voice hazy and distant. you blinked up at him, his head lolled against the pillows with a lazy smirk.

shifting up you pecked his lips, humming as he fucked his fingers into you, spreading his spend within you. he pecked your nose in return.

“good.”

then, his fingers were sliding out your cunt, leaving you empty and cold after the accumulated sweat on your body had dried. but his arms were warm as he wrapped you in his embrace, turning you over to crush you beneath him again, just where you belonged.

stretching out beneath him, you winced at the sting between your thighs.

“sore?” he asked, reaching down to cup your cunt, and you swatted at his hand with a flush.

“s’your fault,” you said with a pout.

he just thumbed at your lower lip that jutted out, and you playfully bit down on it, satisfied when you saw a little smile on his lips.

“i promise i’ll stretch you nice and good beforehand next time. with a couple orgasms too,” he purred in your ear, and you only flushed deeper, hiding it under an indignant nod and a little hmph.

“but that won’t be happenin' for a while, pretty,” he said, rolling off you to sit at the edge of the bed.

when you sent him a quizzical look, beseeching him to come back and keep you warm, he just shook his head.

“s’improper while courting.”

you stiffened against the sheets, dropping your hand back down to your side. then, your eyes narrowed. “since when do you care about that kind of bullshit?”

he just bellowed a laugh, standing, tall and broad and stretching his compressed muscles in the open air. your eyes dropped beneath his hips, taking in the hair along his naval and his softening cock with a greediness.

tipping your knees open suggestively, you bared your intimates to him, and his eyes honed in on the messy mix of wetness caking your lower body.

“don’t do that,” he said, low and threatening as his eyes darted back up to your own, tongue sliding along his lower lip.

you couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of him, splaying yourself suggestively over the bed to entice him back. he just turned on his heel with a scoff, muttering something like insatiable beneath his breath before he walked off somewhere into the spacious room.

with the whiz of a match, you saw a space on the opposite of the bedroom bloom with light as he lit candles inside the bathroom.

in the meantime, you burrowed beneath the blankets and soft furs, humming with content at the warmth, brow furrowing when you felt them being pulled off your. with closed eyes, you felt Simon lift your leg, gently wiping your thighs and the sensitive place between them with a warm cloth, making you jolt at the sensation. 

he pressed an apologetic kiss to your shoulder before the blankets were on you again and there was the sound of rustling, footsteps in the distance, the rush of water, footsteps nearing you, and more rustles when Simon slid into the bed behind you.

you turned onto your back to blink your eyes lazily at him, seeing him propped up on his side against the pillows and looking down at you. you smiled, tracing along his jaw and the silvery scar on his upper lip before he stooped down to kiss you with an intensity, tongue softly brushing against yours, before he pulled away again.

“do that again,” you commanded and with a huff he complied, kissing you so hard it made you dizzy.

“better?” he asked with a relaxed look on his face, reaching around you to play with your necklace.

“mhmm.”

you clutched at his wrist. “this my first courting gift?”

he let it drop against your skin, snaking two arms around you to pull you flush to his chest. it was warm and inviting. exactly where you belonged. exactly where Simon belonged.

“naturally.”

you smothered a smile, slithering your hand over his bound around your waist, intertwining your fingers together. he nuzzled against you with a hum, yawning right by your ear like a big cat. 

“it was my last effort at failing to court you for months,” he admitted softly, breathing in the scent of your hair and skin shamelessly. you swatted at him, giggling at his ticklish breaths on your skin.

“leaving things around my apartment was courting?” you asked with a snort, and he grunted against your neck.

“i don’t know how it works,” he grumbled, and you drew lazy patterns across the veins of his muscled forearm.

“i could’ve taught you,” you sighed, remembering how your mama had described your daddy’s courting process.

Simon’s prolonged silence goaded you, and you began, “supposed to have a chaperone. first, you talk to her parents, gain their approval to pursue her, then—”

“i know all that,” he interjected, sounding sheepish. it was the first time you heard him so flustered, but you decided not to push him when you could feel him frown against your hair.

squirming around in his arms, he loosened his hold enough so that you could turn, taking in the strained look on his face. you pecked the corners of his scowl, willing it away, but it didn’t relent.

“then,” you said, brushing his brow with your fingers, “you fix a date to court her in front of her family.”

his scowl just deepened and you huffed a laugh.

“court me in front of Yue-Yi,” you offered, letting your head sink into the pillows, a droop pulling on your eyelids.

“i don’t want to,” he countered and you rolled your eyes.

“she’s the only family i’ve got besides one-four-one,” you said, stifling a yawn, “unless you wanna court me in front of John.”

he nodded slowly, like he was being thoughtful. “that could work.”

you scoffed, letting your eyes slide shut. “unbelievable.”

his fingers traced along your bare spine. “i’ve gotta tell you somethin’, lovely.”

“hm?” you prompted, tilting your head into the pillow like you were listening.

“i did ask your parents for permission.”

you stilled in his arms, breaths growing shallow, waiting for him to explain. when he didn’t, you pressed him.

“and?”

when his silence was only prolonged, you blinked your eyes open, lazily looking up at the serious look pinching his face.

“your mother was shot by one of Turner’s men in the street. it was a mess. don’t know how she got there, or where your father was. just hauled her down an alley and tried to save her.”

your heart swelled so big that it cinched your esophagus, and you found it hard to breathe around the beating appendage in your throat. 

“in her dyin’ moments, she asked me if i had done somethin’ to you.” he screwed his eyes shut, a pained look crossing his face.

“i told her that i had, but that i cared about you more than anythin’. i promised i’d marry you and be a good, faithful husband.”

gripping his jaw lightly, you shimmied up in his arms to press a kiss to his lips that he didn’t return, dark eyes flitting over your face.

“i think she wanted to kill me,” he admitted softly, and you just gave him a wry smile.

“sounds like my mama,” you said, trying to ease the pained look on his face, heart sinking when his scowl only strengthened.

“i tried to save her,” he said, voice gruff and brows pinched together, “i promise.”

you nodded, brushing your hands over his face, willing all of his pain away. “i believe you.”

he closed his eyes with a frustrated huff. “m’terrible at courting.”

you would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the dark roil of deep disapproval coming off him in waves.

“we didn’t exactly have a practical start,” you reminded him, thinking back to months ago. when it was the heat of a dusty summer and he was waltzed into your daddy’s saloon like he owned it, snatching your heart just at the first sight of his brown eyes behind the bloody layer of his glittering mask.

you could barely remember how it looked after it so long. you took in the handsome planes of his face just to remind yourself that you could.

“you deserve more,” he grumbled, still not looking at you. instead, you kissed his eyelids softly.

“stop it,” you chided, patting his cheek hard enough to make his eyes snap open.

“i only want you,” you said, enjoying the way his expression went sweet and gooey at your words, a sleepy smile on his lips, “there is no more or less.”

“this is it,” he said, voice soft as he pressed your foreheads together.

“this is it,” you sighed, curling your arms around his neck, letting your eyes close once more.

goosebumps rose where his fingers danced across your skin, picking up the ends of your hair against your collarbone and playing with it gently.

“marry me,” he offered, hooking a finger beneath the silver chain of your new necklace, rattling when he tugged on it.

“i do,” you sighed, letting him kiss you softly before his warm touch was pulling you down into a heavy slumber.

translations: — te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel = you look so pretty tonight, angel — escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece = i heard you're Ghost's girl. but it doesn't seem that way anymore —¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron? = does she still look like she’s not mine, bastard?

anyway! next up.... wedding scene 🌚 unless.... jkjk unless............. 👁️👁️ jk (unless...)

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @tomiesdiet @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @mr-sol @warenai @saturnknows @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mentallynot-here @aqua7ofana @ccerviee @haleidontknow @imjusttheretofightforlove @moonstonedeluluera @tieflingteatime @syddieuh @savakewl @shinebright2000 @bakugo-apologist98 @queenie-b- @whenyoushipuponastar

[lookingfts]

Friday Fic Rec 9/6

Thanks for your submissions! Here are the recs for our first week. (Titles are links to each fic)

All the magic we made by @iwishyouwouldstop

"I'm always shocked this fic doesn't have 1000 kudos. It's so damn good."

Description: Kate and Anthony grow up together, learn to harness their magic together and are certain nothing can tear them apart. Until something does. Now they are strangers who occasionally publicly humiliate each other in between finding means to survive in a world that is increasingly hostile to their kind. Then Anthony commits the ultimate betrayal and Kate's retribution results in a life-threatening curse that forces them to work together.

Status: WIP (18/?) Rating: E

Love Doesn't Burn. by magicalmenagerie

"This fic isn’t finished, and the author hasn’t updated it since 2023, but it’s still one of my favorites. I love how it mixes the past and the present, and how the two characters were involved during the worst phase of their lives and then reconnect when they’re more mature."

Description: Anthony is trying to forget his past. Kate is trying to remember as much as possible. They’re both too young to know what they fall into is not love. Until much later, they finally do. (A second chances au riddled with miscommunication, infatuation, and incomprehensible philosophical musings)

Status: WIP (11/14) Rating: E

The Hope That Keeps You and One Last Weekend by @helenakwayne

"They have very different vibes but they’re both soo good and I think they’re less known fics in the fandom. I would say read the hope that keeps you if you’re looking for something more fun and fluffy, and one last weekend if you want angst (with a happy ending of course)."

Description: The Hope That Keeps You: Kate Sharma loves football because her father loved a certain West London club, so she made it her job. Anthony Bridgerton loves football because his father loved a certain West London club, so he bought it—or at least some of it. They’re all supporting the same side, so there should be nothing but harmony, right? It’s not like they unnecessarily complicate everything for no reason.

One Last Weekend: On the weekend of Simon Basset’s and Daphne Bridgerton’s wedding, Anthony Bridgerton and Kathani Sharma try to finally get what they both need after years of pursuing what they thought they wanted.

Status: Both Complete Rating: E

I'd Give All I Have, Honey (If You Could Stay Like That) by @newtonsheffield

"23 year old Anthony is a himbo and causes a LOT of tears for Kate but ends perfectly."

Description: The one constant in Anthony Bridgerton's life was Kate Sharma. They'd spent their entire childhoods together, she was as part of him that could never leave him. But the time to grow up came sooner than he thought it would. And he doesn't know why the sight of men queueing outside the Sharma's townhouse makes him sick to his stomach.

Status: Complete Rating: T

LFTS rec: A Devil's Love by FormerlyIR

Someone asked me about a mafia fic recently, and my mind went straight to this masterpiece. I had to reread it and honestly - it was even better than I remembered. Crazy hot passion wrapped in the most creative, evocative prose.

Description: When Kate's sister goes missing, she gets herself a waitress job at the Pebble Lounge to track her down, working under London’s seedy underbelly to find the only person she has left in this world to love. And Anthony Bridgerton? No matter how alluring and distracting he may be, he’s just a means to an end, his life defined by his family business built on corruption. Kate won’t dance to that tune. She’s just trying to find her sister.

Status: Complete Rating: E

Thanks for your submissions! This will be a weekly thing, so keep your recs coming, and I'm open to suggestions about the format!

[breadandblankets]

when his parents are fully recovered, Duke still spends his weekends at the manor with the bats

that would take a looooooong time imo, there is a period of time its like a year maybe two where Duke just kinda Hovers over his parents, like if he lets them out of eyesight (of which he has a Lot of mind you) theyll just up and disappear

the fact that he has to leave for hours at a time to attend classes or be a hero Kills him every time

it comes to a point where his parents have to basically throw him out, tell him he can't waste his whole life watching over them, that he needs to live for himself

he doesn't know how to tell them that he doesn't remember how to be himself anymore, its the part of him that is most like Bruce, he doesn't know who he is without the mission

"Living in fear isn't living babybird," his mom has to tell him. "You're surviving, nothing more."

"Life is hard, its sad, its confusing and it gives you no instructions or hints," his dad continues. "Its a bunch of leaping without looking and thats just that."

Here's something instead, the bats come to Duke. Wayne money puts them in a nice townhouse on the lower west side, its more than big enough for the three of them (so much so that Doug complains about dusting it all, but manages it anyway)

luckily its never just the three of them

babs takes the subway a little ways off from old gotham on fridays after work, she brings muffins from the little bakery around the corner and talks with Duke's parents for long enough to be invited for dinner

cass swings by when she's getting off patrols and duke is starting his, she brings coffee and funny stories to tell, she's there so often that it might as well be her third home, on rotation from the manor and the clocktower, she soaks up easy affection like a cat in a sunbeam.

damian comes by on saturdays, elaine puts on a pot of tea (something she got at some point or another, its all just a routine by now) they sit in near total silence while they drink their tea, damian does his homework, and elaine devours the newspaper, she reads him the funnies and when duke gets back, they play mario cart and try not to kill each other

Bruce starts off awkwardly at first he feels immense guilt for what happened to Duke and his parents and doesn't really know how to express it outside of sullen silences, it's been so long since the last time they met that he's not even sure he's welcome, he is quickly disabused of the notion, and is now regularly goes with the Thomas's to Knights games

Idk sometimes the manor is too cold too full of ghosts to full call it home, sometimes u need to drag your nocturnal found family kicking and screaming into warmth and light

[prettyyoungandbored]

hi, me again, desperate and lacking in Charlie energy lately. I fear I need to read something about him that doesn’t require me putting any effort in so I’m here with a request.

Adult Charlie, working a job he always feared, and wasting away another Friday night at the bar with expensive whiskey and stale cigarettes. That’s when a girl shuffles in looking gorgeous as ever and soaked from the rain. He obviously can’t help but flirt, the night turns out different for the both of them. I need the tension, I need it 😩

I took this, ran with it, and decided to make it part of the engaged Charlie and Y/N universe. Think of this as how they first met.

Hope you enjoy!

Charlie Meets His Match - CHARLIE DALTON

Pairing: Adult!Charlie Dalton x Fem!Reader

Same couple from this and this and this

NOT MY GIF

Charlie exhale, cigarette smoke escaping his lips and the week’s stressers leaving his body. He was grateful for the noise of the other bar patrons laughing and chatting as it kept him from his thoughts.

Just like he’d suspected, and feared, he ended up in the banking industry. He was working for his dad and while the gig paid well enough for him to have a townhouse in New York City, he could still feel the weight of the mindless and boring work crush his soul spirit.

“This shit doesn’t get easier, does it, Lou?” he asked his secretary earlier that afternoon.

Louise, or Lou as she preferred to be called, shook her head. She was a few years older than him and had become his confidant in the office.

“That’s why you’re supposed to go out and enjoy your weekends, Dalton,” she reminded him. “Go out. Get laid. Have fun while you still can.”

She paused and pouted teasingly. “Or did you already screw your way through the Upper West Side?”

“It was two women.”

“Didn’t your old boarding school buddy want to set you up with someone?”

“His girlfriend did and I’m not in the mood to pretend to be interested in a woman.”

Lou set down her pen. “Go to a bar, Charlie. Not one of those fancy bars. Like I’m talking packed on Friday and Saturday night kind of bar. Like the floor is packed. That’s more of your scene anyway.”

He went to a bar Knox had told him to check out. He asked Knox join him, but his childhood friend had to leave the city for the weekend.

Charlie also considered wandering around the city, but the heavy rain made him reconsider.

So there he was, enjoying his whiskey in between puffs of smoke. He turned his head to scan the room when his eyes fell to the door opening and she walked in.

Charlie’s fell open slightly as he took in the sight of her. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that drew him to her, but all he knew is that he couldn’t look away from her.

She eyed the room herself, looking for someone. He prayed that whoever it was she was looking for, it wasn’t a man.

She ran a hand through her soaked hair as she walked toward to the bar area and cursed the group of guys sitting next to him. She took a seat at the end and Charlie knew exactly what to do.

He flagged down the bartender.

“See that girl on the end there? I’d like to pay for her first drink.”

The bartender nodded and made his way to the woman. Charlie watched her light up at the bartender and order a drink.

When the bartender returned with a glass of red wine, she tried to give him cash. He shook his head and motioned to Charlie.

And when her eyes landed on him, he could feel his heart burst. He smiled, toasting his drink at her.

I look like a fucking moron, he thought to himself.

That voice went silent when she smiled at him and suddenly, he felt like the luckiest man in the entire world.

His heart clenched as she grabbed her drink and walked toward him.

“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Happy to make your night,” Charlie nodded.

She held out her hand. “Y/N.”

He shook it. “Charlie.”

As luck would have it, the person next to Charlie got up from their seat. He gestured toward it and Y/N sat down.

“So have you bought drinks for all the women tonight or am I just really lucky?” she teased, taking a sip of her wine.

“Just you,” he said. “Your boyfriend gonna beat me up for it?”

She chuckled. “If I had one, maybe. But for now you’re safe.”

Waves of relief washed over him. She was single and appeared to be interested. All he had to do was keep her interest. He could do that, right?

That’s when he realized he never felt this worried about losing a woman’s interest before.

“What brings you to this bar?” he asked.

She set her glass down on the wooden bar top. “I was supposed to be meeting a friend but it appears she’s late.” She paused. “Well that or she’s waiting for the rain to settle so it won’t ruin her hair.”

“In her defense, not all of us can look good with wet hair like you can,” he remarked.

He watched her bite her bottom lip. “You’re quite the flatterer, Charlie.”

He shrugged casually. “I aim to please.”

Y/N snorted. His demeanor softened a bit. He’d never had a girl snort at him before.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re cute.”

In any other circumstance, he would have rolled his eyes. But with her, it was the highest praise he’d ever received in his life.

“So what is it you do when you’re not trying to woo women at bars?” she asked, leaning forward a bit.

He set down his drink, sighing softly. “I work in banking.”

“Doesn’t sound like you like it very much.”

He shrugged. “It pays the bills…and for drinks for girls I think are beautiful.”

“And if you weren’t worried about bills or paying for other girls’ drinks, what would you do?” she asked.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“If you could do anything -anything at all- what would you do?”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him that. He thought for moment.

“I don’t know honestly,” he finally answered, rubbing his chin. “Maybe travel. See the world. Or just play the saxophone professionally.”

Her eyes lit up with intrigue. “You play the saxophone?”

“Yeah. My parents forced me to play an instrument and basically forced the clarinet on me. I hated it and decided to try the saxophone instead.”

She grinned. “And how often do you practice safe sax?”

He nearly spit out his whiskey from laughing.

“Are you ok?” she asked, watching him cough.

Oh yeah. Just making an ass out of myself in front of the woman of my dreams, he thought.

“Yeah I just…wow,” he said, collecting himself. “Sorry. I’m not used to women making those kind of jokes.”

Y/N cocked her head back. “What do you mean by that?”

“A beautiful girl with dirty humor,” he explained with a smirk. “That’s my kind of girl.”

Her smile grew as she took another sip of wine. “What a coincidence. I like handsome men with a dirty sense of humor.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded her head and Charlie leaned on the bar. “And what do you do when you’re not charming men with your dirty humor.”

“I work at a hair salon,” she said.

“You must be very good with your hands then.”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” she purred, picking up on his tone. “In fact, I’ve actually had people tell me I have magic hands.”

Charlie leaned forward. “I might have to-.”

“Oh this is perfect!”

Charlie turned his head to see Izzie, Knox’s girlfriend, beaming at him and Y/N.

“Well look who decided to show up,” Y/N giggled. “Took you long enough.”

“It’s a long story but I see you found company.” Izzie’s eyes turned to Charlie. “Well, I was hoping to introduce you two during that double date that you refuse to go on.”

Charlie opened his mouth to respond when he heard Y/N snickering. He was relieved she wasn’t offended.

Izzie whipped her head. “Oh you don’t get to laugh,” she told her friend. “You’ve been putting it off too.”

The red head took a step back and said, “I’m gonna let you two enjoy your drinks and head home, but clear your calendars for Monday night because that’s when we’re all having dinner.”

With that, she turned away, her red hair bouncing with joy.

Y/N turned to Charlie. “So, you’re the friend I’ll supposedly be giddy over.”

“And are you giddy?” Charlie smirked.

She hummed lowly. “I don’t know.”

He put his hand on his chest. “You know how to kill a man’s ego.”

It was her turned to smirk. “How about I make it up to you?”

“How’s that?”

“You wanna get out of here?”

[trash-raccoon-boy]

More lmk warrior cats!

Starting with Pigsy, Pigsy was a loner from as long as he could remember. He kept to himself in a back alley of a restaurant, normally stealing from left overs in the garbage. Being a Sphinx didn't make it any less easier, he was always in risk during winter and getting hurt because of his lack of fur.

He was friends with Sandy before their big fight, that ended with a scar on his shoulder. But before that things were nice, hard but nice. Then he met Tang and his whole life was turned upside down, he met the kittypet cowering under a broken car after getting lost from his twolegs.

Not wanting to leave him to fend for himself he took him back to his Twoleg spot, during this time he got to know him and grew fond of him. After returning him, Pigsy could not stop thinking about him, and so the routen began. Every evening twice a week, he'd cross the whole city just to meet up with Tang. There where plenty of times Tang tried convincing him to stay and live with him, but he didn't want to. Well he did, but living as a kittypet didn't seem right to him.

This routen continues for a 2 years until one winter night. It was could, extremely cold and Pigsy was out trying to find food. This was risky because of his previous mentioned weaknesses to having no fur, but he needed food. He didn't have Sandy to keep him warm, and help him so he had survive on his own. Pigsy rummaged around, finding nothing and was about to head back to his alley when he heard something. A tiny mew.

He was going to ignore it, but it became more frantic. He forced himself to follow the sound and that's when he found a kit, a small brown kit in a box covered with a huge leaf, outside a apartment door. It seemed so small and pitiful, barely 2 months old probably. Without thinking he took the Kitten and made a dash to the outskirts of town just to get to the nearby country side on the other side of town. He ran to Tangs house and hurriedly ran up the fence mewing for Tang. The kittypet wasn't allowed out during leafbare, but it seemed he heard his frantic news because he showed up and upon seeing the kit let out a screech of alarm and got his twolegs.

These twolegs weren't mean like the ones he's met, no they were kind. Quickly bringing them inside and hurriedly helping the kit, while Tang did his best to calm him. Pigsy wanted nothing, but to leave. The kit was safe here, he could just leave back to his city the moment those Twolegs opened the door. But he didn't... He didn't want to leave the kit, and so he stayed. Against his better judgement, he stayed and let the Twolegs take him in.

He doesn't really like his collar, but he doesn't mind as long as he stays with his mate and kit, who was named Mk. He also loved going to work with his Twolegs, they live in a townhouse close to the end of the city and normal drive to work at a small noodle shop. He was content with his small living, and wouldn't change anything.

Tang(I changed his design before posting)

Anyways Tang is a Japanese Bobtail that's mixed with a tuxedo cat, his owners are lovely couple that opened up a noodle shop together. Tangs been their cat for a long time since they've been married.

He has always been interested with his twolegs stories on the journey to the west and kittentales about peachstar, he was always a shy yet happy kitty. Always affectionate and gluttonous.

When he was like 3 years old his two legs took him to the city so they can live their dream and open up a noodle shop, they lived in a quiet townhouse in the far end of the city. With a spacious backyard, it was kinda scary at first being a country cat out in the big city. Especially when he got lost.

He had been chilling outside the house when a dog all of a sudden ran towards him, it scared the shit out of him so bad he took off running. He managed to lose it, unfortunately he couldn't find his way home and after 10 minutes it's started raining. Not wanting to get wet or ran over, he decided to hide under a broken car just till the rain stops.

This is where he would meet Pigsy, a gruff and untrustworthy alley cat. Who despite being a stray seemed rather plump, the cat wasn't trusting off him it seems but decided to help him home anyways. During their walk to his twolegs he got to know Pigsy, and grew rather fond and curious about him.

After getting to his home the two shared their farewells, before heading off in separate directions. Despite enjoying his twoleg life he couldn't help thinking of Pigsy, and it seem he couldn't stop thinking about him either as the two would share regular conversations in his backyard often playing or joking around.

Everything was perfect, but nothing prepared him for being a dad. It was winter, he and Pigsy had a small argument about him staying since it would be cold, but nothing would tame that cat. It was nearly midnight when he woke up to the sound of his friends frantic Mews outside, upon walking out and seeing the kit in his mouth he let out a loud screech.

Tang didn't know what to do, but decided to get his twolegs. His humans were confused for his sudden yowls of panic, but upon seeing the two outside they were equally panicking. They had taken Pigsy and the kit in, and were busy tending to the shivering kit while he tended to Pigsy. The whole night was filled to him comforting his friend and whispering soft reassurance.

That was a long time ago, and is now the proud mate and father to Pigsy and Mk. The kid was a bit rambunctious and certainly kept the house and restaurant lively, he didn't mind tho since the kit was his and also he got to tell legends of peachstar to him.

Sandy! He's currently a kittypet and therapy animal, in the past he was Known as Tideclaw. A fierce and noble warrior, who was exiled after accidently leading a group of warriors into a ambush by mistake.

As a kit Tideclaw never got to know his parents, his mom died from Kittning and his father was the distant and cold ex deputy, that later died when he was a young warrior.

Tidekit had always been a rambunctious cat, he was the only surviving kit from his litter so he'd often play with his den mates or cousins. He was much larger then the other kits, being a maincoon and all. So by the time he was supposed to be a apprentice, he was already twice the size of a normal apprentice and getting cramped in the nursery.

He was named Tidepaw and was mentored by spiritlake. Tidepaw was taught everything by his mentor, he was taught to attack and fight no matter what. This ended with him getting sent to the medicine den, and always escorting the med cat. He lerny a lot of compassion for the medicine cat toadclaw, and how to better manage his anger.

Of course he soon gains the name Tideclaw, the name chosen cause of his readiness to fight and protect his clan. Everything was going well, he thrived as a young warrior and had an apprentice of his own, Swinepaw, by the time he was an full grown adult.

But everything changed when he was on patrol. He, his apprentice, and some other cats; where checking around the boarded because of recent reports of their being rouges. As far as they could find tho, there was no one around. The scent was still strong, yet no one could see them.

They thought of turning back and regrouping at camp, when suddenly a gang of cats ambushed them from above. The cats faught bravely but in the end, it was just Tideclaw left, able to escape.

Showing up, he was immediately met with harshness and cruel words from his clan mates as he told the leader what happened. Everyone was shocked and horrified, and a lot where pissed he abandoned his patrol and fled like a coward. Despite pleading he was kicked out, cause from everyone's perspective he fled the moment the fight got hard. Letting his clan mates die, and not properly defending the clan.

Tideclaw was devisated as he navigated the forest into the city, he was all alone, no clan mates or fresh kill. He was without a home, till he met Pigsy, a sphynx cat with a fierce attitude.

Pigsy was protective and fierce, he looked out for himself and no one, unless someone desperately needed help. This was who Tideclaw needed, who Sandy needed.

He hung around the cat for ages, the two gaining a bound. Tideclaw had only ever known clan life, but to see the life of a loner... It was incredible, that any cat could survive without clan mates, the two thrived together side by side.

Then Tang came along, don't get him wrong Tang was alright. He's met him a couple times and all that, but he never understood why he'd want to hang with these Twolegs. Who would want to be contained to one spot their whole life?

But he made Pigsy happy, so he didn't mind. But soon he could feel Pigsy pulling away, and any past fun would be spent with Pigsy looking longingly. It was clear that despite loving the loner life, Pigsy longed for that little kittypet... And Tideclaw couldn't do anything to stop him.

He tried tho, one night Tideclaw confronted Pigsy about his constant affiliation with the kittypet. He tried to convinced Pigsy that he can't have a paw in both worlds, which in turn had Pigsy snap that they're not a clan and those rules don't applie to him.

They had an argument, which led to a full fight. It rained hard as Tideclaw gave him a nasty scar on his shoulder, before pinning him down. Face in the Muddy streets, both panting and looking at each other. Tideclaws expression was angry before regretfully, as he stared at the mess he made.

He hurt his friend, not wishing to cause further harm, he ran away. Ran as far as he could till he passed out on the pavement.

When morning came, he woke up in a cage. But he wasn't in a shelter, it looked no where like how Pigsy describe it. As the days went by, he learned this was a sanctuary, a place cats without homes are taken, cared for, and trained to be therapy cats.

Honestly the whole idea was redecules, who would want to willingly help Twolegs? They're evil, destroying homes and taken cats. But slowly he relented and started cooroperating, even still he hated humans and only allowed the female handler near him.

That changed tho, when he met someone. During one of the many infamous days, where humans come to interact with the cats in hopes of better socializing them; as well as possibly signing up for a therapy cat. Tideclaw, now renamed Sandy, met him.

A young boy with ginger hair, sitting away from the others. He seemed isolated, around 12 or 14 maybe. It didn't matter, cause for some reason he was drawn to the kid. At first the kid was scaresld and a bit off put, but soon they warmed up. Of course when the day was over Sandy was not happy to be separated from the boy, who he learned was called Mo.

Days he wanted for the kid to comeback, it was clear he longed for him. Then one day, the usual schedule was changed. He was brought to a room and put in a mesh pet carrier, and taken into the Belly of one of the monsters he's seen on the thunder path.

It was terrifying especially when he was taken into a Twoleg house, he didn't know where he was or why he was here. The older Twoleg called someone, he couldn't make out much but he understood one word. Mo.

And as if StarClan could halear him, the boy came down the stairs very melancholy until he spotted Sandy. The giant cat meowed loudly in joy, as he and the boy where reunited.

And that's where he stayed, inside that little Twoleg house with Mo, unless of course Mo had to go out, then he was with Mo as well. Normally on a harness. Sure he misses his clan and old friends, but now everyday he's just excited to see his boy's face when he wakes up.

[tomhardystories]

Part 1

Jules had always been a dreamer. Leaving Poland to chase her ambitions in the bustling streets of New York City was no small feat, but she knew she was destined for more. With a suitcase full of plans and a heart full of hope, she arrived in the city that never sleeps, ready to carve out her place in the world.

Her dream? To create something meaningful. Within months, her determination and charm led her to open a language school on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. The school quickly became a hub for professionals and students looking to perfect their English or learn a new language. At the same time, she partnered with her cousin to launch a mental health clinic, offering a safe space for New Yorkers to seek support and healing. Though Jules wasn’t a teacher or a psychologist, she had a knack for bringing people together and ensuring her ventures ran seamlessly.

But it wasn’t all work. New York had a way of introducing people who felt like old friends, and Jules soon found herself in the company of Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte. They met by chance one evening at a chic cocktail bar, and what began as polite conversation turned into deep belly laughs, late-night gossip, and a friendship that felt like fate. They welcomed Jules into their tight-knit circle with open arms, each impressed by her boldness and relentless optimism.

The townhouse on the Upper East Side screamed wealth. Every detail, from the polished marble floors to the massive crystal chandelier dangling precariously above the foyer, radiated the kind of luxury that made Jules feel a little out of place. Samantha, of course, fit right in, gliding through the crowd in a figure-hugging gold dress, a flute of champagne in hand, leaving Jules, Charlotte, and Miranda trailing in her wake.

“Who’s the host again?” Jules asked, leaning toward Miranda as they passed a towering floral arrangement that probably cost more than her monthly rent.

“Some bigwig producer, James-something” Miranda replied, scanning the crowd with her usual air of detached interest. “Samantha says he’s richer than God and twice as single.”

“Great. So we’re here to feed her ego” Jules muttered, adjusting her black dress. She wasn’t dressed to impress. This was Samantha’s world, not hers, but she still carried herself with the confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was.

Inside, the air buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations. It was the kind of party where everyone looked like they belonged in a magazine spread, and Jules was already plotting her escape. She loved her friends, but networking with celebrities and billionaires wasn’t exactly her idea of fun.

“Don’t skulk” Samantha whispered, suddenly appearing at her side. “You’re gorgeous, you’re charming, and you’re exotic. Men eat that shit up.”

“Exotic? I’m Polish, not a tropical bird” Jules shot back, earning a laugh from Charlotte.

“Well, whatever you are, try to have fun.” Samantha winked and floated away, undoubtedly toward some impeccably tailored man she planned to charm into oblivion.

Jules lasted another half hour before she needed air. Grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter, she slipped out onto the terrace, grateful for the quiet. The city stretched out before her, glittering and infinite, and for a moment, she let herself breathe.

“Don’t tell me you’re hiding too” a voice cut through the silence.

She turned to see a man leaning against the railing, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. His face was shadowed, but there was no mistaking him. Tom Hardy. He was wearing a leather jacket over a simple black shirt, looking both perfectly out of place and exactly like he belonged.

“Not hiding,” Jules said, raising her glass. “Just needed a break from all the… razzle-dazzle.” She winced slightly, realizing too late she’d probably used the wrong term.

Tom smirked, the kind of lopsided grin that could disarm anyone. “Razzle-dazzle, huh? That’s a new one.”

“Oh, shut up” she said, laughing. “English is my second language. You’re lucky I didn’t call it ‘sparkle-bling.’”

That earned her a proper laugh, low and rich. “Fair enough. So, what’s your excuse for being here? You don’t seem like the type who gives a toss about Hollywood parties.”

“Friend dragged me. You?”

“Work dragged me. And my agent. Same thing, really..” he said, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “What do you do, then? Besides dazzling rooms full of strangers.”

“I own a language school and a mental health clinic” she said matter-of-factly.

“Ambitious. And what’s your role in all that?”

“Boss.” Jules grinned, leaning on the railing beside him. “Which means I get to tell people smarter than me what to do.”

Tom chuckled, nodding appreciatively. “I like that. Honest.”

She shrugged. “It’s a skill.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the hum of the city filling the space between them. Tom offered her a cigarette, which she accepted, lighting it with a practiced hand.

“So, is this the part where you tell me who you really are, or do I have to guess?” she asked, exhaling smoke into the crisp night air.

“You don’t know?” He feigned mock offense. “That’s refreshing. Thought everyone in this bloody town knew my face.”

“Oh, I know who you are” she said, raising an eyebrow. “But who you really are? That’s still up for debate.”

Tom tilted his head, intrigued. “Alright then. Let’s see if I can win you over.”

“I wouldn’t count on it” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk.

“Challenge accepted.”

And just like that, the first spark ignited, a meeting of sharp wit and guarded hearts against the backdrop of the glowing New York skyline.

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter 7

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 8

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I highly recommend reading it here, as I am more likely to post on ao3 and not update here in the future as the story progresses

Warnings: blood, gore, fighting

Word Count: 4509

Masterlist

Tired patrons meandered through the tavern, searching for breakfast before their hard days’ labor. The bustling and merriment of the night were traded in for half-lidded eyes and quiet exchanges. Jaskier, despite taking forever to wake up, seemed to be the most energetic of anybody else there. However, you were truly the most awake.

“So,” Jaskier said, “where to?”

“What do you mean?” You looked at him over the rim of your tankard as you took a drink.

Your expressions were muted; surrounded by strangers and townsfolk that could turn on you at any moment, you never gave anything away. Yet Jaskier could see the hints of emotion in your eyes, so adjusted to reading Geralt after so long. He knew your cold neutrality was a barrier, and through the carefully laid bricks he could see the curiosity in your question.

His fingers rubbed against each other as his nerves caught up to him. He wasn’t shy by any means, but since Geralt yelled at him, his mind seemed to always find ways to second guess himself. He wasn’t sure if he should be asking questions; if he could. But you didn’t shut him down. You didn’t give any hint at all that you may have been annoyed with him. He had to cling to that.

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to be traveling around, looking for monsters and things to kill, and, uhm,” his fingers fiddled with the handle of his tankard, “well, I need a guide to Oxenfurt. If you’re heading that way, that is. I don’t wish to…” He watched your eyes trail to the side, brow furrowing slightly as you thought. “Impose.”

“Are you looking to winter there?”

He nodded, emboldened by the question. “Yes! I have a little townhouse there, and usually the University hires me to lecture. Talk about my adventures and,” he gestured, “heroic deeds.”

You nodded slowly as you tried to picture a route from Hengfors all the way through Redania. “It’ll take a month to get there, if the weather holds up. We can follow the Braa river west until we hit Tridam and head south from there.”

“You’ll really take me with you?” His eyes lit up. Without even knowing it, he leaned forward over the table, as if being closer would reveal more truth in your slitted eyes.

“Of course, Jaskier,” you answered easily. You allowed yourself a barely-there grin, easily missed by the other patrons. “That’s why you’ve got Adhara; so you can keep up with me.”

He huffed a laugh, relaxing back into his chair. “You won’t regret this, Viper. I promise…” His shoulders fell. His eyes got a distant sort of look to them, and his smile dimmed, as if he only just realized what he was about to say. He swallowed. “Things will be different.”

-

Jaskier was nose deep in his journal, mumbling to himself as he scratched out words and rewrote descriptions.

On your way out of town that morning, you’d passed by the town notice board, and hidden under Gwent challenges and requests for eggs, lay a contract for a nest of Drowners. Simple work for good enough pay. Enough to make back for the cost of breakfast, anyway.

The fight with the Drowners had passed by so quickly - and the bard had never before been allowed to be so close to a fight - that he had rushed to get down every single thought he had in the moment. Unfortunately, now he was left with the terrible endeavor of translating his own words. He’d been at it for almost 30 minutes now. On the rare instances he wasn’t chattering away, you gave him silence to work.

Except, for the last 30 minutes, you’d had to keep Bayard at a steady pace right beside Adhara to keep her from trialing off the path. She was well-trained and obedient, but Jaskier barely had a hand on the reins in his eagerness, and the nearby river looked perfect for a dip.

You cleared your throat, and after a moment Jaskier realized it was to get his attention. Bright eyes stared at you like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You smiled. “How was your first Drowner experience?”

He chuckled airily and at last tucked the journal and pencil back into his pack. The question was rhetorical, he knew. It was obvious to anyone the event had tickled the artist within him, and he knew you’d been aware of his mad scribbling. Still, he grimaced playfully. “I didn’t realize they were quite that ugly,” he joked.

You huffed a laugh. You were free to do so, by now miles away from the judgemental eyes of townsfolk. Jaskier enjoyed seeing this side of you. It was a breath of fresh air after Geralt’s forever stone-cold exterior. “Wait ‘til you see a Rotfiend.”

His hands held tighter to the reins, eyes searching for an explanation. “A Rotfiend?” he enunciated. “What’s that?”

“They’re horrid,” you scowled. “Imagine a walking corpse, bloated, with skin sloughing off. Where one is found, more are sure to follow. They build their nests on old battlefields - anywhere there’s lots of death, really. The worst part, though, is when they die.”

Jaskier leaned toward you, trying to get as close as possible, as though it would provide him with even more information. He was always eager to learn, even as his face curled in disgust. “What happens?”

“They explode.”

He centered himself in the saddle, scoffing. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

“No, I’m not!”

“They explode?! Like-” He motioned his body exploding, starting from his chest and leaving him in an outward burst. “Explode-explode?”

You nodded.

He shook his head. He refused to believe something as vile as you were describing did something like blow up. “You’re messing with me.”

“They do! They explode and release clouds of poisonous gas!” A wide grin spread across your face as you tried explaining the monster to the bard. You couldn’t remember smiling like this since your time at Gorthur Gvaed. “The good news is one explosion can set off any others close by. One after another, all bursting into red clouds. I once had five of them die that way.”

Your head snapped to the side as a twig snapped. It was too far away  to have been one of the horses. Jaskier didn’t notice as you pulled Bayard to a sharp stop, trotting on ahead. “Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Jaskier. Stop.”

Like a flip was switched, you were a Witcher once again. Yellow eyes scanned the forest edge like a predator searching for lunch. The rippling of water was the only sound.

All at once, you realized what was wrong. The birds stopped chirping. How long ago had they fallen silent? You were so caught up with Jaskier- You cursed yourself for making such a stupid mistake.

Before you could absolve yourself, you were falling off Bayard’s back. You screamed as the harsh impact sent shock waves through your spine. Bayard startled and reared on his hind legs, scaring Jaskier’s horse into doing the same. The bard couldn’t get a hold of his mare’s neck fast enough. He swore as he fell on his back right beside you.

He turned, ready to help you fight off whatever was attacking, whatever was scaring your horses, but he was stopped in his tracks by the arrow sticking out of your shoulder. Bright red pooled around the wooden shaft. The archer had found a gap in your armor. The only barrier the projectile had to pass through was your undershirt, now somehow darker as the blood stained it.

You clutched at your shoulder, digging your fingers into your arm as your mind screamed for you to rip it out. Get the arrow out. Get it out of your arm. It took all your willpower not to listen. You writhed against the dirt road and fallen leaves.

Bandits poured from the forest edge. A few broke off to calm the horses and prevent them from bolting. Two dragged Jaskier up to his feet by his arms and held him there, no matter how much he wriggled or fought back. Another, possessing an air of power and control, chuckled as he leaned over you.

“It’s not easy to get the jump on a Witcher,” he cackled. A muddy boot pressed down on your shoulder. You cried out through grit teeth. “But getting the jump on a Viper? That is, truly, something special.”

You grabbed the dagger at your hip, covering the handle with blood. The end of a longsword met your throat before you could drive it into him. He tsked, shaking his head. “Drop it, or we start breaking that one’s fingers.”

For a moment, Jaskier wasn’t sure what you’d do. He watched with a racing heart as you glared up at the bandit. Your fingers tensed around the hilt. One of the men holding him wrenched his hand free, grabbing hold of his fingers. And for a moment, you stared at him. Only for a moment. As brief as a whistle. And the dagger was dropped to the ground.

“A wise choice,” the bandit commended. He removed the blade from your throat, but pressed harder on your shoulder. You squirmed under his boot, a scream ripped from your throat. “Nilfgaardian scum.”

-

Anger boiled in your soul, like a bubbling pot of stew over a fire, ready to overflow. When the adrenaline subsided, all you had left was your rage.

Bayard and Adhara anxiously stamped their feet across the camp as gruff men pulled off their packs and saddlebags. You could practically feel the way Jaskier tensed when they grabbed his lute. Thankfully, they did little to harm it aside from tossing it onto a pile of potion ingredients they had no use for.

Blood dripped languidly down your arm, leaving a warm, sticky trail in its wake. The arrow held back the majority of it, like a dam holds back water. Having to keep your hands behind your back, clasped in place with no doubt stolen shackles, however, pulled at the wound, allowing enough to slip through to worry Jaskier. 

He glanced around the camp. The leader of the group watched his underlings ransack your stuff, searching for anything valuable. They wouldn’t find much other than your money. Jaskier didn’t know whether to be grateful or worried for this.

When he determined the bandits were far enough away, he ducked his head closer to yours. Your snake eyes hadn’t left the leader since you were captured.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

As though snapped back to reality, you blinked and finally looked at him. It was not in a casual, carefree way. You did not look at him like he’d just come back from a night bar-hopping and performing for coin. There was so much fire behind your eyes. When you scanned him over for any hint of injury or harm to his person, all he could think of was the way you defended him atop the mountain. When you turned from yelling at Geralt and ushered him away; the way the anger had taken several minutes to actually fade from your body, despite the soft smile you wore. You did not answer his question.

“Did they hurt you?”

He shook his head. Where relief should have been was a hole, filled to the brim with guilt. He wasn’t hurt. He was perfectly fine, aside from the fear that spiked his heart rate and picked at his fingers.

But he could have been. He could have been hurt. And it’s all your fault.

“Hey!” The sharp shout startled Jaskier into leaning back away from you. The leader crossed the camp quickly, sneering down at you. “No talking.”

You stared silently up at him, defiant. He began to step away, foot turned toward the horses, but he stopped. A wicked grin pulled at dirt-covered cheeks. He chuckled, all too pleased with his realization.

“Boys, we didn’t just catch a snake,” he beckoned. The others stopped what they were doing, dropping your things and gathering around to hear what their leader had to say, like sinners in church hoping for their priest to provide them with salvation. The leader knelt down in front of you. His face was inches away, and his breath reeked of tobacco and ale. His voice changed to a low hiss. “You’re Nilfgaard’s prized Viper.”

A murmur arose between the underlings.

“You’ve got a pretty price on your head.” A gloved hand reached out and touched your cheek. You jerked away from the touch. “Just the head, mind you.”

The hand trailed down your throat until it brushed against the silver of your medallion. The snake engraved on it seemed to pull back, prepared to bite the finger, but it was only a trick of the light that scattered through the canopy overhead. He stared into your eyes as his hand wrapped around the metal, and in one quick tug, the string broke. An emptiness replaced the ever-present weight.

“Of course, you won’t be needing this anymore, eh?”

He chuckled as he stood up, briefly scraping the edge of the medallion across your cheek just to see you flinch away. His eyes only glanced over Jaskier. The bard’s popularity was lost on the bandit. For that, you were grateful. To them, he was just another bard, not one of the most famous, who traveled with the White Wolf and sung songs of Witcher glory.

The leader turned. With a wave of his hand, the rest of the men went back to work. Wood and grass was piled up in the center, and soon enough a fire was crackling away. They pulled out the dried meats from your bags and they tore sections off of a loaf of bread, and they sat laughing amongst themselves around the fire as the sun grew lower in the sky.

Jaskier sighed mournfully. He scowled as he watched them rip chunks from the jerky with their teeth and slosh ale between bites of bread. He only looked away when he heard your cuffs clinking together.

Your fingers felt around the metal, feeling out where it was locked, where the chains attached, and which was weaker of the two. You watched the group, but you weren’t staring at food like he’d been. When a bandit glanced over, your fingers stopped moving. As soon as he looked away again, you felt around more.

Jaskier, as soon as he realized you were trying to be sneaky, looked away. His eyes darted between the group.

Ducking your head, you whispered to the bard, “I need a distraction.”

“What kind of distraction?” The question came out more anxious than he intended. He didn’t fancy the idea of being bait, but you’d both been stuck here for hours and he was more than ready to get as far away as possible.

You ran your fingers along the chain again. It was sturdy, but all you’d need is one broken link. The real issue came with the execution. “I need 2 minutes.”

He sighed. He didn’t fancy getting beat up for an escape, either. But he nodded anyway. He’d entertained worse crowds, surely he could draw their attention long enough.

With some effort, he pushed himself up to his feet. His legs were numb from sitting on his knees so long, pricks and pins sticking him every stumbled step over to the fire. He grinned widely despite the situation.

“Gentleman!” All conversation died, replaced with glaring eyes and grotesque sneers. “You seem to have done quite well for yourselves out here. It would be my honor, as Jaskier the bard, to sing a song to your greatness!”

Some of the thugs chuckled. “You’re gonna sing us a song?”

He nodded. Their eyes all followed him as he circled around the group, pulling their attention further away from you. As soon as they were no longer faced that way, a dim orange light emitted from behind you. “I could sing for you all through the night and morning! Or until that one,” he gestured his head to one of the thugs that swayed in his seat from ale, “falls over, leastaways.”

They all laughed. The ones closest nudged the drunkard playfully. They all fell quiet when the leader uncrossed his legs and sat forward. Cracked lips curled around browning teeth. “Go on, then,” he encouraged. Yet something lingered beneath the words, as a snake slithers unseen under bushes. Something dangerous. He stood and paced around Jaskier, standing too close behind him. The bard swallowed as hot breath touched his ear. “Sing for us, little bird.”

With little time to think of all the songs in his repertoire (most of which revolved around a Witcher), the first song that didn’t deal with a White Wolf slaying beasts heroically was the song he sang. And though without a backing instrumental or the assurance that they would know the song and join in, Jaskier endured. For the few seconds he got to sing it, that is.

“Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger. Come quell-”

A gloved hand grabbed his hair and pulled hard enough he almost fell to the ground. As it was, he was bent over backward trying not to have his hair ripped out. The leader leaned over him. “Not that fucking tripe.”

With another sharp tug to his hair, Jaskier was flung to the ground by the horses. He winced as he landed hard on his shackles.

From across the camp, sharp yellow eyes watched helplessly.

“Try again.”

A rough sigh passed the bard’s lips like a huff. He was just as powerless as the Witcher he traveled with. The thugs watched as he floundered. His lips formed half-thought lyrics, before he stopped himself. His heart raced as he sang the next song.

“The fairer sex, they often call it-”

You watched as though in slow motion as the leader swung his leg in an arc, rubber sole catching Jaskier across the cheek. The momentum sent him to the ground. Their laughter burned your ears as they watched on. With his hands still clasped behind him, Jaskier fought to get away from the crowd. His cheek was pink, though not twinged by the humors of alcohol. And from a small cut beneath his eye fell a drop of blood.

You saw red.

In one final burst of Igni, you felt the chain break apart. It glowed red as you forced yourself to stand. For a moment, everyone was too distracted bullying Jaskier, until you cut off one of their heads with their own sword.

The fear in the leader’s eyes was worth all the pain. Had you been a wild beast, you would have relished in their terror. Soaked in the way they stepped back, tried to find a way to get their weapons, try to figure out an escape. But you weren’t. And all you could think of was getting Jaskier out of there.

“Touch him again,” you hissed, “and I will ensure no god will recognize you when I am finished.”

Clinging to the last of his confidence, the leader scoffed. You could hear the waver in his voice. “You’d kill us all, for what? A bard?”

“In a heartbeat.”

All color drained from his face. He shoved his men forward to fight while the coward grabbed Jaskier and dragged him backward into the trees for protection.

Truthfully, you didn’t remember most of the fight. You recalled your injured arm becoming useless halfway through. And you distinctly remember a sharp, burning pain along your spine the more blows you took and the more men you felled. By the time the last grunt had fallen to your stolen sword, you were covered in gore and viscera.

You stepped lazily over bodies as you crossed the camp, one arm limp and the other hanging from exhaustion. The sword was heavier than your daggers, and required a completely different fighting style than you were trained in. Even at a disadvantage, you’d wiped out the entire camp so quickly you would have been praised back at school.

“Not one step closer!”

Your feet stopped at the edge of the campfire’s glow. Just beyond, back pressed up against a tall oak, was the bandit leader. Jaskier was trapped in his hold with a knife pressed to his throat. He tried not to squirm under the threat to his life, but the fear radiated off of him so thickly you could smell it through hints of vanilla.

“No closer or the bard gets it!”

You almost chuckled. “You’d kill your only bargaining chip?” You took a step forward. “Really?”

The blade pressed tighter against his neck. “I’ll do it, I swear!”

For a long moment, you both stared, studying each other. You watched the way Jaskier swallowed his whimpers down. The way the bandit’s gloved hand trembled. The silver glistening in his pocket.

“What do you propose?”

He blinked. “Drop the sword.” Your fingers tightened around the hilt. “Drop the sword and I’ll let him go.”

Jaskier thought for a moment you would refuse. The blade caught the firelight as you contemplatively shifted its weight in your grasp. He hated how shocked he felt when you did finally drop the sword. And the relief as you kicked it away from yourself.

The bandit waited a moment to ensure you weren’t trying to pull a fast one over him. Then, he lifted the knife from your bard’s neck, and shoved him forward. You grunted as you caught him, as he stumbled into you roughly. You held onto his sleeve when he gathered himself, stepping away from you, and watched over his shoulder as the cowardly leader ran away.

Jaskier sighed. It was shaky, filled with relief and disappointment. “You’re going to let him go?”

“That wasn’t part of our deal,” you answered lowly. Jaskier felt untethered when you released him and swept up the sword you’d kicked away. At the edge of the treeline, you used your whole body to gather the momentum, and threw the sword at the retreating figure. It spun through the air and landed on its mark. The bandit collapsed to the forest floor. “Stay here.”

The command was quiet and held no real power behind it, but Jaskier complied nonetheless. He watched from afar as you stepped clumsily over protruding roots.

The leader, gasping in agony, clawed his way along the ground. His gloves were hastily removed and chucked aside in hopes of gathering more traction. He screamed as the sword in his back was ripped out carelessly. A boot kicked him onto his side, and another forced him to lay on his bleeding, gaping wound. Blood stained orange and brown leaves indiscriminately.

“Mercy!” he cried. His face contorted into a gross facsimile of the man he once was. Tears clouded his vision and poured down his dirty cheeks. His hands clasped in prayer. “Mercy, please!”

You aimed the tip of your blade at his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed against it. “You hurt my bard,” you reminded him. Your voice was quiet; a mere croak of what it usually was. But the threat it carried remained as powerful as if you screamed it. “You ransacked our horses, ate our food, stole my medallion.” You twisted your grip on the blade so your palm faced you. The sword stood straight up against the hollow of his neck. “I have no mercy left to give.”

Steel sheathed itself within his neck. You watched remorseless as blood pooled in his mouth, and as he coughed and choked on it. Taking his life was all too satisfying.

With a groan, you reached down and plucked your medallion from one pocket, and the key to your cuffs from the other. You used the trees for support as you stumbled back to the camp. Jaskier met you at the treeline and pressed his body into your side to keep you upright. You held onto his sleeve again.

“Are you alright?” he whispered. He didn’t wish to take his eyes off you, even as you turned him away so you could free him from his shackles. As soon as they were off, he was facing you once again and holding you by the arms to support you.

You couldn’t find the words to answer him. Were you? Half your body was numb; the other half burned something fierce. You felt no remorse taking so many human lives, but guilt festered like an open wound when you spotted the blood on his cheek. Without thinking, you raised a hand and brushed it away.

Jaskier stayed by your side, holding you up, as you shambled toward the horses. “Need to move on,” you muttered. Were those spots in your vision? “We can get a few more miles down the road if we-”

“You’re bleeding, Viper.” He pulled you to a stop. “You’re covered in blood - I’m covered in blood.”

“You barely got a splatter on you.”

“The sun’s already beginning to set and there’s fire and food aplenty here. We should stay and rest, not charge off into the night!”

You shook your head. “Monsters’ll smell this blood. Ten minutes, tops, we’ll be fighting off rotfiends and- and everything else.”

Irritated, he looked around the camp. He really didn’t want to sleep surrounded by corpses, but you! He’d watched the fight. It was messy and sloppy, and you’d definitely be bruised in a few hours. He wasn’t entirely certain you hadn’t broken anything. Surely it would be best to patch yourselves up first?

You didn’t wait for him to argue any more. Bayard saw you approaching and met you halfway. Without a command, he laid down so you could easily mount him. Jaskier begrudgingly helped you settle in the saddle the bandits neglected to remove, and he watched as Bayard stood as carefully as he was able to avoid flinging you out the seat.

You fought to keep your eyes open as you watched Jaskier find something to step on so he could mount Adhara. Your body screamed and begged for rest. For the pain to end. But you couldn’t sleep. You refused to, when Jaskier could still be in danger from the monsters that lurked in the dark woods. No. You’d ride a while longer, and then you could rest.

Barely tugging the reins, you guided Bayard from the wooded clearing. Low hanging branches scratched against your face, but you couldn’t find any part of you that really cared. You could hear Jaskier grumbling as he pushed the branches aside.

As you neared the road, the sound of trickling water returned. Oh, the things you’d do to slip right into that cool river. Horse hooves clopped mutedly against the dirt road. Every step rocked you gently. Dark spots overwhelmed your vision, and finally your eyelids closed. Jaskier screamed your Viper moniker as he watched you slide limply off your horse once again, and collide with the hard ground below.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

@cool-ontherun-world

[corner-stories]

the little artsy speedster

Irey West. Donna Troy. Babysitting. Sketchbooks. Polaroid Photographs. 2353 words. (ao3.)

The Troy Photography studio was located at a townhouse in the Upper West Side, up a short flight of stairs and inside a bedroom that had been converted into a work space. On one end was a backdrop and numerous light stands, and on the other was a computer desk, a couch, and several shelves cluttered with nothing but photography equipment. 

Evidently, Auntie Donna had a strong preference for Fujis. 

As the photographer sat at her desk and meticulously edited photographs for her client, Irey West sat on the nearby couch and made an attempt at her science homework — attempt being the operative word. Sure, learning about the anatomy of the human eye was probably the more productive thing to do, but doodling flowers in the margins of her textbook was much more fun. 

Plus, after getting into trouble for spacing out in class on three separate occasions, there was probably no way that Irey could get into any more. 

After decorating a page with roses of varying colors, Irey closed her book and decided she had enough “science-ing” for the day. 

She got up from the couch and stretched her shoulders, her eyes catching sight of the studio window, and the view of Manhattan outside. 

Curious, she stepped through the studio and arrived at her babysitter’s desk. She stood by the chair as Donna affixed her eyes to her monitor, utilizing the finest image editing software available to properly finish her project. 

Irey peered over and took in the photograph on the monitor. The image depicted a grown man with a head of neatly combed brown hair, a pair of blue eyes, and a kindly smile on his face.

Auntie Donna had already explained that she was editing headshots for her various clients, most of which were working actors. The photos on the screen now looked exactly the same as the ones before, except the current guy had a chin shaped like a butt. 

Noticing the young redhead, Donna turned her head to the side and smiled. “How’s that homework coming along?”

Irey looked down to her shoes. “... it’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” asked Donna, smirking. She turned in her swivel chair to face her little niece. “Because you’ve been doodling more than studying.” 

Irey let out a sigh. “Doodling is all I’m good at.” 

Donna tilted her head to the side just slightly, then spoke in a soft tone. “That’s not true.”

Irey was unconvinced, especially if her last report card was anything to go by. If it wasn’t the dyslexia making it difficult to put words to paper, then it was the ADHD making her space out during class and missing the lesson entirely. At least doodling on her notebook, sketchpad, and textbooks helped her feel grounded, like she was actually okay at something for once. 

It helped that her art teachers seemed to tolerate her more than the others. 

Sensing the distress in her young niece, Donna decided to speak up again. 

“I have an idea — how about I finish up here and we get an early dinner?” she suggested. “I need a break, anyways.” 

Irey couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that.”

Donna gave a quick nod, then turned towards her computer screen once more. “Great, just give me a few minutes.” 

As the photographer went on to tinker with her client’s headshots just a little more, Irey turned her head towards one part of the studio that she was particularly interested in. 

That part being the shelf of trinkets near Auntie Donna’s desk. She had seen it a handful of times before and every time she was utterly intrigued by the collection of cameras put on display. The actual equipment used for photo shoots were kept in thick plastic boxes, while the shelf appeared to be a place for Auntie Donna to display her camera collection. 

The contraptions Irey saw were unlike the mirrorless digital camera her parents had at home, or even the medium format workhorse Auntie Donna used for her clients. The cameras were much older, yet managed to stand the test of time. All of them used film, which meant that every shot had to matter. 

There was one camera that was made of black plastic, felt like a toy, and was called a Holga. There was another that was made of metal and built like a tank — it was called a SLR, which meant single-lens reflex. According to Auntie Donna, back in a certain day and age most cameras had a mirror inside of them to reflect the image from the lens and into an eyepiece for the photographer to see. 

But then there was one that Irey just couldn’t keep her eyes off of. On the bottom right shelf there was a blocky camera that was most definitely older than herself. Irey had seen Donna use it before, and everytime she did the camera would make a whirring sound as it dispensed a square-shaped photograph out the front. It would only take a few moments for the image taken to appear on the thick, plasticky material. 

Curiously, Irey reached for the camera and took it gently in her hands. She had witnessed Donna being very precious with the thing and made sure to do exactly the same. 

Back at the computer desk, Donna looked over her shoulder to see her young niece toying with her prized Polaroid Supercolor 635 CL. Unsurprisingly, she was quick to speak up. 

“Be careful, that’s-”

Immediately, Irey’s finger put pressure on the shutter button, causing a flash of light to emit from the camera and for Irey to start stumbling backwards. By the grace of a higher power, she didn’t drop the device and have it shatter into a million little pieces. 

Irey let out a grumble as she put her arm over her now overstimulated eyes. 

“Aaaah! I flashed myself!” 

Donna stepped out of her chair and approached Irey, reaching out to steady the girl and gently taking the camera away. As she placed the whirring device on her desk, she just had to wonder if there was a much less concerning way for Irey to phrase her thoughts. 

…

…

…

Donna didn’t consider herself a great cook, but she was well-versed in the art of scrounging around one’s kitchen and making a meal out of whatever she could find. 

Fortunately, there was enough groceries left in her fridge and pantries to constitute some kind of dish. Though she wondered exactly how old the frozen shrimp in her freezer was.

Nonetheless, Donna busied herself over a hot stove as Irey sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen. It was nice to occupy her mind with something that didn’t involve a camera or punching a supervillain for a change. 

As Donna boiled fettuccine and fried shrimp, she would look over her shoulder just to check on the speedster at the counter. 

Every time she looked over Irey was in the same spot. On the counter was a sketchbook and in her hand was a pencil, and on the paper Irey drew to her heart’s content on a surface that was actually made for it. 

After slicing a few lemons on a cutting board, Donna put her knife down and walked over to the sketching speedster. 

“What are you drawing, Irey?”

Irey put down her pen and slid her sketchbook.

As Donna looked towards the moleskine on the counter, she expected the usual abstract scribbles that most kids would make when doodling, or even the flowers Irey had placed in the margins of her textbook. 

But to her surprise, the illustration that Irey had made could only be described as a winged eldritch abomination with two dark, beady eyes that had been drawn with so much pressure that the paper was slightly warped. 

“It’s mothman!” Irey exclaimed in a cheery voice. 

Had it not been for the girl’s utter enthusiasm, Donna would have been concerned. But instead she couldn’t but smile at her little niece’s rather amusing — albeit slightly unpredictable — imagination. 

“Oh, how macabre,” Donna said as if a thirteen-year-old would know exactly what that meant. She flipped through the pages of the book and found a handful of similar pencil drawings depicting the same creature. 

Either kids were super into urban legends nowadays, or Irey had a really strong appreciation for the cryptid of West Virginia. 

Irey quickly took her sketchbook back and flipped a few pages forward. What awaited Donna on the other side was an illustration of a window, one seemingly in front of a city skyline that looked somewhat familiar.

Donna blinked for a few moments, her interest very much piqued, then realized that what Irey had drawn was a recreation of the view outside of her photography studio. 

While the lines were uneven and the shading was spotty in some places, the fact that Donna could actually recognize it as her little corner of the Upper West side was impressive. Irey even managed to depict the rooftops of various brownstones and the few tree branches of Central Park. 

“I also tried to draw the view outside your office,” Irey said in an almost timid tone. 

“Did you do this by memory?” asked Donna, gently grazing the surface of the drawing with her fingertip. 

“Yeah, so it sucks, but I tried,” Irey confirmed, shrugging. “But Mom said that trying something and sucking is the first step in trying something and not sucking.”

Amused, Donna gave the young budding artist a smile. “Your mother’s a very wise lady, Irey.” 

Stepping away from the kitchen island, Donna walked towards one of the drawers in the room and pulled it open, said drawer being one of those spaces that a person would fill with whatever clutter they needed out of the way. 

After rifling through the fast food napkins, numerous rubber bands, and brochures she took but never read, Donna emerged from the mess with a single fine-tipped pen in her hand. 

“Here, try this,” said the Amazon as she handed it over to the little artsy speedster. “You won’t have to use as much pressure for the details.” 

Irey looked apprehensive as she accepted the pen. Perhaps all her time drawing with her school supplies had led to unfamiliarity with anything else. 

Nonetheless, Donna noticed Irey testing the fine-tipped pen as she turned back towards the meal on the stove. 

After testing if the pasta was done, Donna drained and added it to the pan with the shrimp. She squeezed a healthy dose of lemon juice onto the food, then added a few pats of butter to ensure that all the ingredients were able to truly mingle. 

For a meal that she was partially bullshitting, it turned out remarkably well. 

Donna placed the shrimp scampi with fettuccine onto two plates and garnished them with celery leaves, pepper, and grated parmesan. As she brought it to the kitchen island she could see Irey putting the final touches on her masterpiece. 

“How’s it looking?” asked Donna as she placed the meals on the counter. 

Irey put down her pen and showed off her not new, but improved illustration. “It’s looking less sucky,” she admitted, shrugging once more. 

“It was never sucky to begin with, trust me,” Donna assured as she peered towards the sketchbook. With a smile on her face she slipped into the role of art critic. 

Unsurprisingly, Irey managed to enhance the details of her recreation of Donna’s studio window, adding darker lines wherever it was necessary to highlight the details outside of the Troy brownstone. She even made sure to properly detail every window of every building that she depicted. 

“Excellent work, Irey,” Donna lauded with a grin. “Top marks.” 

Irey looked as if she was trying not to blush. “You know a lot about drawing,” she said sheepishly, perhaps trying to deflect the complement. “But I thought you were a photographer.”

“An old friend of mine used to draw a lot,” Donna explained easily. She took a seat next to her young niece and placed the sketchbook down. “I like to think I picked up a thing or two.”

Irey let out a hum, then suddenly her attention was caught by the steaming plate of pasta in front of her. With a grin, she grabbed the nearest fork and began digging in.

“Thanks for dinner, Auntie D,” she managed to say before taking her first bite. 

In the span of a few seconds Donna saw nearly every bit of Wally West in the little girl in front of her — everything from the shade of his hair to his signature speedster appetite. 

“You’re welcome, Irey,” Donna said. Before she picked up a fork, she suddenly remembered something that she had brought with her from the studio upstairs. 

Reaching into the pocket of her cardigan, Donna soon pulled out the polaroid photograph that had been taken during Irey’s little camera incident. 

She leaned over the counter slightly and held the photo towards the little redhead. 

“Oh, let’s see how this turned out.” 

Irey’s mouth was half-full with pasta as she peered over. The photo immortalized on the material was nothing special, essentially an analog selfie of a curious redhead who didn’t realize that the camera she was holding was full of film. 

Donna thought it was a good first shot, but Irey was thinking otherwise. 

“Ugh, even my photos suck,” said Irey, crinkling her nose. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Donna promised. “It’s just your first, and if you try to take more than I can assure you that they’ll get better with time.” 

Irey shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m a drawer, not a photographer.”

Donna tilted her head to the side just slightly. “Some people could be both.” 

For a moment, Irey blinked in shock as she took in the news, and in her little niece’s eyes Donna could see a certain revelation settling into the girl, one that clearly had not been realized before. 

With a sly grin on her face, Donna dug into her pasta and wondered if this — of all things — could be a day that would change Iris West II’s life forever. 

[fvlmincre]

[  riley  keough,  cis  woman,  she/her  ]  —  whoa!  AUDEN  MONROE  just  stole  my  cab!  not  cool,  but  maybe  they  needed  it  more.  they  have  lived  in  the  city  for  HER  WHOLE  LIFE,  working  as  a  GHOST  WRITER/CONCEPT  ARTIST.  that  can’t  be  easy,  especially  at  only  32  YEARS  OLD.  some  people  say  they  can  be  a  little  bit  MERCURIAL  and  JUDGMENTAL,  but  i  know  them  to  be  GENIAL  and  ASSIDUOUS.  whatever.  i  guess  i’ll  catch  the  next  cab.  hope  they  like  the  ride  back  to  BROOKLYN!

STATS

FULL NAME: auden grace monroe

BIRTHDAY: february 3rd, 1991

BIRTHPLACE: upper west side, manhattan, new york

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual / biromanitc

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: english ( fluent ) & french ( fluent )

HEIGHT: 5'7"

HAIR COLOR: copper red

EYE COLOR: blue

OCCUPATION: ghost writer / concept artist

BIOGRAPHY

auden  was  born  into  a  family  invested  in  literature  —  her  father  a  longstanding  editor  for  random  house  before  its  big  merger  with  penguin  in  2013,  while  her  mother  is  a  beloved  gothic  and  victorian  literature professor  at  columbia  university.  it  came  only  natural  that  the  monroe  children  would  be  born  with  names  to  reflect  such  a  shared  love  for  the  written  word.  atticus  (  named  after  their  parents’  mutual  love  for  to  kill  a  mockingbird,  age  37  ),  emerson  (  named  after  one  of  their  mother’s  favorite  poets,  age  34  ),  auden  (  named  after  her  father’s  favorite  poet,  age  32  ),  and  matilda  (  named  after  the  shared  love  for  the  ronald  dahl  novel  of  the  same  name,  age  28  ).  it  became  less  a  matter  if  auden  and  her  siblings  would  enjoy  reading  as  a  hobby,  but  when.  especially  since  books  were  oftentimes  scattered  around  the  brownstone  townhouse  the  bustling  family  lived  in,  from  the  novels  being  discussed  in  her  mother’s  courses,  to  the  manuscripts  in  her  father’s  office  that  auden  would  more  often  than  not  sneak  into  to  read.

creativity  was  embraced  in  the  monroe  household,  but  not  to  an  extent  that  should  auden  or  her  siblings  find  more  academic  holding  in  stem  that  it  should  deter  them.  auden  herself  would  discover  her  dual  love  for  art  and  writing  at  an  early  age,  oftentimes  drawing  illustrations  to  work  alongside  the  short  stories  she  would  write.  she  remembers  the  encouragement  of  her  parents,  even  going  to  show  her  how  her  passion  for  her  two  skills  can  be  applied  to  many  creative  forms  whether  that  be  children’s  books,  comics,  or  even  graphic  novels.  to  auden,  her  artistic  ability  shined  brighter  than  her  storytelling  abilities.  for  this  reason  she  would  sharpen  her  focus  on  her  drawing  skills,  practicing  enough  and  enrolling  in  extracurricular  classes  that  would  allow  her  to  hone  in  on  her  craft.  her  parents’  income  allowed  for  auden  to  be  tutored  privately,  keeping  her  grades  up  across  the  board  so  she  could  later  on  apply  to  the  rhode  island  school  of  design  for  drawing. 

high  school  fades  into  college  where  auden  does  go  on  to  pursue  an  illustration  degree  from  rhode  island  school.  during  this  time  she  still  writes,  dabbles  in  her  journal  with  short  stories  and  ideas  for  potential  future  writings,  but  that’s  all  she  ever  really  views  it  —  dabbling.  for  as  much  as  auden  would  like  to  write  her  own  book  and  have  a  finished  manuscript,  like  the  ones  that  look  at  home  on  her  father’s  desk  in  his  office,  auden  struggles  putting  the  pieces  together  to  form  a  full  and  cohesive  narrative.  or  so  she  tells  herself.  it’s  with  that  in  mind  that  she  decides  her  future  holds  best  a  career  that  showcases  her  art.  her  undergraduate  years  are  filled  with  hard  work  and  fun,  before  auden  is  walking  across  the  stage  with  her  degree  in  hand.

auden  takes  up  odd  jobs  here  and  there  in  the  first  three  years  post  college  when  she  moves  back  home  to  manhattan,  not  quite  feeling  fulfilled  at  what  she’s  doing  with  her  art  when  she  knows  she’s  capable  of  so  much  more.  it’s  on  a  whim  that  auden  decides  to  apply  at  video  game  company  for  their  open  concept  artist  position  despite  not  being  much  of  a  video  game  person  herself.  her  flair  for  details  between  conceptual  character  art  and  landscapes  is  what  earns  her  the  job  and  as  she  settles  in,  auden  comes  to  realize  that  she’s  found  her  place.

as  the  years  progress  and  auden  enters  her  late  twenties,  she  meets  her  partner  where  the  two  would  eventually  go  on  to  become  engaged.  auden  settles  into  her  career  with  a  promotion  and  pay  raise  before  slowly  dipping  her  toes  back  into  writing.  she  may  have  stopped  writing  in  her  journal  as  much,  but  it’s  with  the  insistence  of  her  father  that  she  doesn’t  bury  her  voice  and  somehow  finds  herself  in  the  side  gig  of  a  ghost  writer.  her  parents  both  think  auden  is  more  than  capable  to  fully  devote  herself  to  writing  her  own  book  and  it  being  successful  on  its  own  merit,  but  for  now,  auden  is  happy  to  write  out  the  inner  machinations  of  someone  else's  mind.  auden  pushes  her  own  self  doubts  regarding  her  creativity  to  the  side  and  enjoys  the  budding  collection  on  her  bookshelf  of  books  she’s  technically  written,  but  have  the  name  of  someone  else.  the  books  act  as  a  physical  reminder  that  her  writing  is  good  enough  to  be  published  even  if  she  hasn’t  ever  taken  the  plunge  with  her  own  ideas.  auden  is  content  with  where  she  is  in  both  her  art  career  and  her  writing  pursuits.

in  terms  of  her  romantic  life,  auden  wishes  she  was  as  thriving  as  she  is  in  her  career.  she  and  her  partner  were  together  for  five  years  and  engaged  for  a  year  and  a  half  when  the  two  made  the  mutual  decision  to  part  ways.  each  claim  a  differing  reason  as  to  why  they  grew  apart,  but  the  only  agreeable  bit  of  information  is  that  the  two  are  stuck  together  in  their  lease  for  another  few  months  since  whoever  breaks  it  is  responsible  to  pay  both  halves  of  the  rent  until  the  end  of  the  lease.  never  one  to  retreat  with  her  tail  between  her  legs,  auden  keeps  her  complaints  to  the  confines  of  her  family  and  is  sticking  it  out  in  hopes  of  moving  onto  the  next  chapter  of  her  life  soon.  sharing  an  apartment  with  your  now  ex  is  less  than  desirable,  but  auden  is  hoping  that  it  at  least  builds  character.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

childhood friends pls !!! auden grew up in nyc so perhaps they lived in the same neighborhood or met in the park or any other way !!

general besties

most recent hinge date or blind date ... could have ended horribly or a hook up or even just on friendly terms

someone that auden frequents the dumbo flea market with

bookstore buddy who auden likes to drag w her to buy books bc they have a nice routine of coffee and reading

apartment neighbors !!! tho bear in mind that auden lives in williamsburg, brooklyn

maybe a frequent hookup that auden is seeing as she's trying to get over her ex that she has to continue to live with

someone who frequents the same estate sale listings as auden and the two have the same taste and often have to duke it out for the vintage candelabra

drink buddies bc everyone needs a solid call up when you need a martini

[teamhilson]

Discover Your Dream Home: Navigating the Milton, Ontario Real Estate Market with Team Hilson

Introduction :

Milton, Ontario, is a thriving community nestled amidst the natural beauty of the Halton Region. Known for its excellent schools, abundant green spaces, and a strong sense of community, it's no wonder that Milton has become a sought-after destination for homebuyers. In this comprehensive blog, we'll delve into the dynamic Milton, Ontario real estate market and explore why Team Hilson is your trusted partner in finding the perfect home in this vibrant community.

Milton, Ontario: A Place to Call Home :

Milton, Ontario, is more than just a city; it's a place where quality of life meets modern convenience. Situated just 40 kilometers west of Toronto, Milton offers an ideal blend of urban amenities and natural beauty. As one of Canada's fastest-growing communities, it has earned a reputation for its excellent schools, recreational facilities, and an attractive lifestyle that appeals to families, professionals, and investors alike.

Why Choose Team Hilson for Your Milton Real Estate Needs :

Team Hilson is not just a real estate agency; we are a dedicated team of professionals committed to helping you achieve your real estate goals in Milton. Here's why you should consider Team Hilson for all your Milton real estate needs:

Local Expertise: Our team possesses an in-depth knowledge of Milton's neighborhoods, schools, and market trends.

Years of Experience: With decades of combined experience in the milton ontario real estate industry, we have a deep understanding of the local market and a proven track record of successful transactions.

Client-Centric Approach: Your satisfaction is our top priority. We take the time to understand your specific needs and work tirelessly to exceed your expectations.

Strong Negotiation Skills: Our skilled negotiators ensure you get the best possible price and terms, whether you're buying or selling a property in Milton.

Diverse Milton Real Estate Options :

Milton offers a diverse range of housing options to cater to various preferences and budgets. Whether you're looking for a spacious family home, a modern townhouse, or a cozy condo, Milton has it all. Here are some popular housing types in Milton:

Detached Homes: Ideal for families seeking spacious properties with yards and ample living space.

Townhouses: A great choice for those looking for a balance between space and affordability.

Condos: Perfect for singles, couples, or those seeking a low-maintenance lifestyle.

Luxury Homes: Milton also boasts luxurious properties with premium amenities and features for those looking for the finest in living.

The Milton, Ontario Real Estate Market :

The milton ontario real estate market is dynamic and competitive. Strong demand, coupled with limited inventory, has led to a seller's market, making it crucial to have experienced real estate professionals by your side. Team Hilson has a proven track record of successfully navigating this market, helping clients find their dream homes while securing the best deals.

Client Success Stories :

Our clients' testimonials are a testament to our commitment to excellence and client satisfaction. Their stories highlight the positive experiences they've had working with Team Hilson, from successful transactions to personalized service that exceeded their expectations.

Conclusion: Your Milton Real Estate Journey Begins with Team Hilson :

When it comes to buying or selling milton ontario real estate, Team Hilson is your trusted partner. Our local expertise, years of experience, and unwavering commitment to client satisfaction make us the top choice for real estate representation in this flourishing community. Contact Team Hilson today, and let us help you navigate the Milton real estate market with confidence and success. Your dream home in Milton awaits!

[college-girl199328]

B.C. will overhaul municipal zoning rules to allow missing-middle housing, such as townhomes and multiplex homes. It will also introduce a flipping tax and legalize all secondary suites as part of Premier David Eby’s refreshed housing plan, announced Monday.

Critics said the plan lacks specific details and a sense of urgency since most of the required legislation won’t be introduced until the fall. Some are concerned that upzoning single-family lots could attract developers at the highest price.

“Simply put, we need to build more homes for people faster,” Eby said during a news conference, in Victoria, in front of a row of new townhouses on Wilson Street. Later this year, the NDP will introduce legislation allowing three to four units on a traditional single-family detached lot and even higher density in areas close to transit hubs.

“Single-family detached homes are out of reach for many middle-class people. And one- or two-bedroom condos often don’t meet the needs of growing families. Family-friendly neighborhoods need more small-scale, multi-unit homes.”

The debate over missing middle housing has been divisive in many communities, with proponents calling for creative solutions to make owning a home more attainable. Opponents cite parking concerns and fears that higher density will destroy the character of neighborhoods.

Eby said it makes no sense that a homeowner can easily tear down their home to build a bigger one without a complex rezoning process, but a multi-unit home where several families can live takes up to two years to get the green light.

Vancouver city council is considering buildings with up to six units on a single-family lot on low-density residential side streets. The City of Victoria in January passed its missing-middle housing policy, which will allow up to six units to be built on a single-family lot.

Luke Mari of Victoria-based Aryze Developments said the policy will create a new type of real estate developer who builds a triplex in their backyard without a lengthy rezoning process.

Port Coquitlam Mayor Brad West applauded a “substantive” housing province that worked with municipalities to ensure adequate infrastructure services were added to support increased density.

B.C. Liberal housing critic Karin Kirkpatrick worries the upzoning policy could increase speculation as single-family lots could rise in value based on their development potential.

Andy Yan, director of the City Program at Simon Fraser University, said the danger of province-wide up-zoning is that it could result in land speculators and investors suddenly rushing in to purchase real estate at sizable markups in anticipation of the idea that they can build more.

Yan praised the overall plan, saying it "touched upon not only one aspect of housing policy but several with supply and demand, will also legalize all secondary suites in British Columbia, taking the choice away from municipalities in some B.C. communities, secondary suites are still illegal, a policy that Eby says chokes the supply of affordable rentals.

Starting next year, the province will offer loans up to a maximum of $40,000 for homeowners to build and rent secondary suites. The loans will be forgiven if the homeowner rents the unit at below-market rates for at least five years.

A pilot program will initially open the loan program to 3,000 people who buy a home just to flip it for a profit and will also be hit with a flipping tax that will be introduced later this year.

"If your lifestyle depends on flipping houses, you're going to be upset by this tax," Eby said, adding that homes should be done without including details about the tax against those who hold a residential property for two years or less, with the tax rate edging higher the shorter the time the owner has the property.

The plan calls for another 1,750 homes to be built for Indigenous people living on and off reserve, and another 4,000 homes are mentioned in the announcement that the province will create a streamlined provincial housing permit system that will bring approval times down to months instead of the current wait time of two years.

The NDP in 2018 promised to deliver 114,000 new homes over 10 years. It has funded 18,695 homes through B.C. Housing or its student housing program. Another 21,000 government-funded units are under construction or in progress.

The government says another 20,000 units have come onto the market thanks to speculation and the vacancy tax. The Housing Ministry also claims to have added another 2,000 rental units by banning strata rental restrictions.

[terrahillsposts]

Why Living in Toronto's Forest Hill Neighbourhood Is A Great Idea

The Timberland Slope area as seen today in Toronto, comes from a profound history beginning back in 1860. The main home inherent the Backwoods Slope region was situated on top of the slope inside the woods, but while the slope actually exists today, the timberland doesn't.

ALSO VISIT:-Terra Cotta Warriors

In 1923, the Woods Slope region was formally consolidated as a town. Further advancements occurred all through the 1920's and 30's, and the southern portion of Woodland Slope was finished improvement by 1940. Most of improvements in the northern portion of Backwoods Slope were industry and rail lines.

In 1957, Woods Slope authoritatively joined the City of Toronto. This area and Swansea Town were two of the last free towns to be attached with Toronto. The area is presently addressed by a seal that shows a deer scratched in the stone window crown on the forward looking peak over the entry to a station.

Today, the Woods Slope area is one of Toronto's esteemed areas. It's notable for it's tenderly inclining slopes, winding streets, enormous block and stone homes, roomy parcels, and numerous wonderful normal parks. A construction regulation that has been continued in the neighborhood since the 1920's is that all homes are expected to have a tree planted at the front of every property. This has worked superbly to assist with upgrading it's standing as one of Toronto's three most restrictive and wealthy networks!

The houses presented here are a portion of Toronto's best land, and the genuine neighbouthood is isolated into lower and upper parts of Backwoods Slope. The lower part offers glorious block and stone chateaus that were worked in the prior 1900's, the vast majority of which are effectively worth more than 1,000,000 bucks each. The upper part offers present day bequests worked somewhere in the range of 1940 and 1960. These houses are as yet promoted towards the prosperous, however are regularly more affordable than the manors found in the lower part of Woods Slope. You can likewise track down various extravagance townhouse high rises, situated on the western side of Backwoods Slope. Concerning styles, well the greater part of the bequest in Backwoods Slope is Tudor or Georgian design, but there is likewise all that from French Frontier with earthenware tiles to English country estates with clearing yards!

In 2007, the normal deal cost (not asking cost) for a southern Timberland Slope bequest was $4.3 million Canadian dollars. An as of late sold home included:

a 10,000 square foot home

six rooms

six washrooms

finished part

creator kitchen

individual library

pecan, cherry and oak framing

soundproof amusement room

practice room with spa

To assist you with envisioning a sticker price for the houses situated in southern Timberland Slope, this enormous Toronto domain with every one of the above highlights, sold for $5.5 million Canadian dollars.

Shopping is helpful for occupants, since there're two shopping locale to browse. The fundamental shopping area is situated on the crossing point of Spadina Street and Lonsdale Street, which caters towards the princely Toronto home. The other close by shopping region is situated on Eglinton West Town, and offers many fine eateries, as well as food stores to suit each taste and spending plan.

Instructive open doors are accessible to all Woods Slope inhabitants. There's numerous extraordinary close by rudimentary and optional state funded schools, as well as two of Toronto's best non-public schools found locally inside Woodland Slope! For school and college understudies, there's a couple of choices found right in Toronto, you'll need to glance around to find the best for you relying upon your major.

Transportation is effectively available to the general population. This region is strategically placed between various bus stations, and even better, the transport administration associates with Toronto's metro lines. This permits very fast transportation to any place you should be in Toronto!

Aeriol Nicols is a Land and Home loan Dealer in the More noteworthy Toronto Region. She has some expertise in the offer of extraordinary properties, for example, Lofts, Victorian and Georgian style homes. Aeriol likewise works with experienced land financial backers to assemble their pay delivering portfolio. Aeriol has helped many families throughout the years to put resources into Toronto and York Locale Land.

[hakesbros]

Homes For Sale: El Paso Tx

Use our state-of-the-art property search, including an interactive map search, to find homes for sale in El Paso, TX. These listings are updated daily from the MLS. Residents will get pleasure from close entry to parks, strolling trails, open space preserves, and a town middle. As with most of the Lone Star State, El Paso’s housing market is on the rise because of the influx of consumers shifting to Texas. Real estate in El Paso may be found, on common, at round $174,000. Though El Paso actual property costs are rising on this border city, it’s nonetheless well under the national average of round $405,000. El Paso is the county seat of El Paso County, Texas, United States, and lies in far West Texas.

With CENTURY 21 Haggerty, you presumably can enjoy the benefits of being a property owner with out the complications. We deal with the challenges that accompany the management of your investment. Are nonetheless stuck in the past, using outdated management methods to attempt to hold their heads above water. We do issues new homes el paso tx in another way, with cloud-based management techniques and online account portals which allow us to work quickly and if ever needed, remotely. We additionally make the most of advanced advertising instruments corresponding to video and virtual 3D tours.

Also, recognized by the actual estate neighborhood and common public, as MLS Listings. THEPURPLEHOUSEREALESTATE.COM will allow you to discover the right home for you and your beloved ones. Find the right new home at Paseo del Este, an east El Paso group featuring family-friendly facilities, local outside recreation, and fascinating Socorro ISD faculties. Situated throughout homes for sale el paso tx the popular Mission Ridge master-planned community, the neighborhood is especially popular among households with school-age youngsters. This two story Carefree home constructed on a corner lot and situated in the heart of Eastlake provides quick and quick access to I-10 shopping, entertaining, colleges and parks.

Northwest El Paso, also referred to as West Side or West El Paso, is a fast-growing space of the town and may be found sprawled on the mountains of the Upper Valley. Some neighborhoods here are Three Hills, Country Club, and Coronado hills. Please contact the college district to determine the colleges to which this neighborhood is zoned. An Enchanting Tropical Paradise setting with a beautiful pool & spa , firepit & giant pergola outside space showcase a versatile and beautifully constructed custom home within the fo... They took care of me past expectation, they installed and crafted features in each nook of my bone structure. Check out this newly remodeled northeast home nestled in a cul de sac waiting for its new owners!

Residents enjoy fast entry to I-10, community parks, walking trails, shopping centers, and eating options. I-10 is a major thoroughfare in El Paso, wrapping throughout home builders in el paso the expansive metropolis. The metropolis bus system, SunMetro, presents several routes operating all through town along with month-to-month bus passes.

View lately listed homes for sale and El Paso homes for rent, trending real property in El Paso, just lately sold homes in El Paso, home values in El Paso, colleges in El Paso and neighborhoods. You can also slim your search to find El Paso single family homes, townhouses / condos in El Paso, residences in El Paso and extra. ERA has the most recent MLS listingsin El Paso, TX - including new homes for sale, condos for sale, townhomes for sale, foreclosed homes for sale, and land for sale. Whether you're houses for sale in el paso tx here on ERA's website or searching on our mobile app, you possibly can tailor your search standards to suit your distinctive tastes - inform us your perfect home's location, the proper measurement, and more. You can even use key phrases that can assist you find simply what you're looking for.

Our telephone consultant simply needs to gather the home’s information and your reason for selling. This information will make developing with the perfect home gross sales solution a lot easier. We buy houses in “as is” situation so you'll never should spend ANY extra cash.

El Paso has seven public golf programs, together with highly-acclaimed Painted Dunes. Across the New Mexico state border are a number of getaway spots offering excellent situations for climbing, searching and fishing. The sun shines in El Paso approximately 302 days per 12 months el paso homes for sale, earning it the nickname “Sun City.” The excessive desert community was established in 1850. El Paso is a border city, sitting within the westernmost level of West Texas and straddles the Rio Grande on the U.S.-Mexico border. El Paso has many faces and on one hand it’s steeped in wild west historical past.

[chooseyourownavenger]

[START] [ABOUT AND WARNINGS] [FAQ]

IRONHAWK/ The townhouse on the west side that needs all the work

The three of you opt for the townhouse on the west side.  Yes, it’s further from anyone’s work than any of the other houses, but the fact it’s a stunning building with views of a park and is open for you to set up exactly how you want it is very appealing.

It is a lot of work.  The eight-story townhouse has been completely gutted, the previous owners had big dreams but small pockets.  All that remains is the framing and staircases, and both need work to stabilize and beautify them.

It takes almost a year to finish and in that time the three of you end up staying with Tony in the tower.  It gives you time to deal with the public and your work so that there’s no conflict of interest.  By the time the house is finished, you’re already well into the rhythm of your relationship and have dealt with all the issues that living together means.  The gossip. Learning to cohabitate.  Crazy fans.  Everything that might have been too hard to deal with is made easier by the fact you’re still waiting for your perfect home to be ready.

There is no denying that it is your perfect home.  FRIDAY is installed throughout.  She can tell who is at the front door and acts as both a security system and messenger service.  The house runs on its own Arc Reactor, meaning it’s completely clean, self-sustaining, and creates enough energy to power the Upper Westside even on such a small reactor.  It’s on the same basement level as his newly installed underground garage with a hidden entrance.  It’s not enough to house more than two cars, but a home with its own parking in the city is almost unheard of.  The same level also has the laundry and storage rooms.

Below that is the pool and Tony’s new workshop.  The workshop isn’t as big as the one at the tower, but it’s big.  Big enough that he can get actual work done without needing to go in every day.

The first floor is the entertainment area.  There’s a sitting area by the windows that overlook the park, a bar, tables and chairs, an entertainment system, and Tony’s grand piano.

The second floor contains the kitchen, with a breakfast nook at the parkside windows, and an outdoor terrace that shares the same view.  It also has a formal dining room out the back and a media room for watching movies and TV shows.

Floor three is the master bedroom.  It’s so big it makes you feel a little guilty.  The closet space alone is bigger than your old apartment.  The bed overlooks the park and the entire back end of the floor is the bathroom which contains a hot tub, a bath that’s big enough for all of you, and a shower that takes up a whole wall with more showerheads than you know what to do with.

The fourth floor is what you start thinking of as yours and Clint’s floor.  There’s a library with views of the park, and a daybed by the window to snuggle in and read.  There’s an outdoor terrace just to sit in with a small garden.  Down one side is Clint’s training room.  Long enough to practice archery.  Wide enough to practice his swordsmanship.  The room at the very end is set up with game consoles and an arcade machine.

The fifth floor contains three guest bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.  And finally, there’s a rooftop terrace and gym.  There are bathrooms on every floor and an elevator runs from the sub-basement to the roof.

It’s a huge house, and one you need cleaners to come through regularly to help stay on top of things, but it never feels like it was too big or empty.  There’s usually noise coming from somewhere and all the floors are used regularly enough that you don’t feel guilty about the space.  There’s also room for your family to grow into it if that’s what you choose.  The secret entrance and FRIDAY’s cloaking capability means you can get in and out unnoticed and the three of you spend a lot of time in the park.  Taking runs, lying in the sun reading, or having picnics.

After a couple of months, Clint convinces you and Tony to get a dog.  A few months after that, Tony brings home a ginger kitten.

The house is your home and it helps you move from three people dating, to a family.  The future looks bright, and you can’t wait to see where your choices will lead you next.

~ END ~

[duchesschameleon]

never planned, but not unwelcome

part one of kazansky for america, a top gun west wing au summary: Tom Kazansky never planned on a career in politics. pairing: tom “iceman” kazansky/pete “maverick”mitchell warnings: none! this is teen & up find this fic on ao3

Tom never planned on a career in politics.

His career in the Navy had been a good one. It could have been better, truly legendary as he climbed the ranks, but he wasn’t “the right fit” to become a commander and make his way to admiral.

So into politics he went, shifting his focus to make a difference through public service instead of military service. It wasn’t everything he dreamed of, but if he could change the world and make a difference in an F-14 why couldn’t he do it from the California State House? He took an honorable discharge, made sure Maverick got one too, and they made good on their promise to always be each others’ wingmen.

Tom was the face of the campaign. The candidate, the one in front of the cameras. Maverick was largely the brains, the one who ran the show behind the scenes. He had some experience from old friends who chose politics over the Navy and learned from their friends who’d traded their wings for suits. And so the California State House became their battlefield.

Goose and Carole were there to help, Goose having left the Navy before Tom and Pete, and their little hodgepodge family made the transition from Naval deployments to time spent in Washington when Tom got himself elected to the House after a few years.

The Bradshaws came out and visited when they could, around Goose and Carole’s work schedules, and Bradley was a staple in the offices Tom had been assigned, running around and making friends. Taking everything in with wonder in his eyes, even as a teenager. They filled the townhouse Pete and Tom shared with noise, laughter, and love, making it feel more full than when it was just the two of them sharing space because it was convenient. 

With the Bradshaws in town, that townhouse felt almost normal and like it fit Pete and Tom. Otherwise, it rattled with emptiness and too-little noise. A place to stay while they worked in Washington, not a home.

There couldn’t be anything more.

Tom was the candidate. Pete the chief of staff. At every level when they won, Pete was there by Tom’s side to aide the transition and make sure the offices ran smoothly, or at the least make sure the chaos of them was organized. Carole could only come to Washington and help them get set up for so long before Bradley and Goose needed her back in California.

Pete kept Tom on task and focused on the issues. Pete’s presence allowed Tom to be the best representative he could be for his constituents. And that’s really all that mattered. All that their relationship could be.

Didn’t matter if Tom wanted more from their relationship. The issues, the campaign, his career mattered more. Took up all their time so there wasn’t any opportunity to look elsewhere for a date. For all that Tom couldn’t have Pete the way he wanted, Pete was his most consistent partner those early years of their political careers.

That level of proximity, the late nights spent brainstorming and working on policy, the way Pete always seemed to know what Tom was thinking and found ways to make it happen didn’t help his feelings. They persisted and seemed to only get worse through the years.

“Y’know, Maverick’s not seeing anyone.”

Tom looks up at Carole, an eyebrow raised in question.

She rolls her eyes at him, “Oh, Ice, you know what he’s usually like. A woman in every city, usually multiple, and never alone. The only other time I’ve seen him look like this is with Charlie.”

Tom sighs and puts down the stack of folders he was attempting to organize. “What is that supposed to mean, Carole?”

She smirks at him and doesn’t say a word. Which was definitely infuriating. Tom hadn’t planned on a political career, but he definitely hadn’t planned on or expected the Bradshaws being a staple in his life. And since he got the political career, the Bradshaws followed. He’s just starting his second term in the House of Representatives and as per their agreement, Carole moved the family to DC so she can run his offices here like she had in California.

And apparently she’s trying to run his love life as well.

“Carole, c’mon what are you trying to say?”

She puts her files down and levels him with a look, the same one she gives Bradley when she’s telling him something important. “Ice, if you can’t tell that man is prime-time in love with you. All you gotta do is tell him you feel the same and he’s yours forever. And you don’t even have the US Navy to argue with anymore about it.”

“No, we just have the House Judiciary Committee.”

“It’s not like he’s your assistant.”

“He’s just my chief of staff. There’s still an imbalance-“

“Bullshit Tom, there’s no imbalance. You’ve never considered or treated Maverick like he’s lesser than you just because you’re the candidate and he’s the chief of staff. You consider him an equal and everyone knows it.”

“It’s just, it’s complicated, Carole,” Tom sighs. “Even if he did feel the same, everyone would look at it sideways.”

“He does and if they look at it sideways, you’ll set the record straight. You always do.”

Tom couldn’t argue with that. He definitely had a reputation for not letting rumors or lies linger, preferring to nip them in the bud and show his constituents he was honest and could be trusted. It had gotten him in hot water at the beginning of his career, but six years in people expected it from him.

“You know,” Carole says slowly, pulling Tom from his thoughts, “given your reputation for truth-telling and that rumor you dispelled about us in California…I don’t think people would be surprised if there was something between you and Maverick. Or they would take your word at face value. You know that, Ice. People like you. They trust you.”

He sighs and wipes a hand down his face. The rumor that he and Carole were sleeping together plagued his first term in the California State House. It was his second year in office and everyone knew Carole was the one who ran his office and knew the whole schedule. Knew everything about Tom, about Pete, their schedules, policy, and initiatives they were working on. If you needed anything from Representative Kazanksy, Carole Bradshaw was the person to call.

And so people started making assumptions that the young, pretty blonde running the office who knew more than most secretaries was having an affair with the candidate.

The rumor gained traction and legs, winding up in political publications and following them to public events and press conferences. Carole continued to insist it meant nothing and didn’t bother her. Goose just laughed it off and told Tom it didn’t bug him, he knew it wasn’t true. Pete felt the same way. But no matter how much they insisted the rumor meant nothing to them, it had a life and it made Tom’s skin itch.

The next time he was asked about it, he killed the rumor. Said it was impossible given Carole was married, with a son, and absolutely in love with her husband. And even further, Tom himself was gay. He had zero interest in sleeping with Carole, let alone any woman.

It was a move that caused a number of headaches for Tom, Pete, their offices, and subsequent campaigns, but Tom stood by his actions. If his coming out ended that insidious rumor, it was worth it. And in the end, it made Tom a more trustworthy representative and won him points with his constituents. Sure, he lost supporters who didn’t agree with his “lifestyle”, but he gained a lot of respect and a reputation as someone who could be trusted to tell the truth.

“That was different though, Carole.” Tom sat on the edge of his desk and ran a hand through his hair. “When I came out, people were slow to accept it. And even then I got so many comments about needing a trophy husband. Or to just keep it out of the news next time. People, voters, don’t want to know about relationships unless they are heteronormative. I can be the gay representative from California, but I can’t be the gay representative who’s dating his chief of staff.”

“Who says they have to know?”

“Carole.”

“Ice, come on. You and Maverick already share a house and everyone knows you two are best friends. You’re always together and no one says a word about it. You two could date and no one else would be the wiser.”

Tom knows she’s not wrong. Knows that there are occasionally whispers about Tom and Pete, but they always get snuffed out when Pete meets up with some woman in a high-profile bar near the Hill. Their closeness always ends up being chalked up to a long friendship, a shared Naval history, and nothing more.

It would be the perfect cover. Except for one thing.

“Carole, none of this changes the fact that Pete doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

“The same way as what?”

Tom freezes and Carole’s jaw drops open. Ice floods his veins, and for once it’s not because he’s focused on the target as his Naval callsign suggests. This isn’t happening to him. He’s not prepared for this. He’s not ready to lose Pete in his life because he can’t get his feelings in check.

“Ice, I don’t feel the same way as what?” Pete repeats.

Carole looks over Tom’s shoulder at Pete and closes her mouth, choosing instead to leave the room, patting Tom’s shoulder as she passes him.

“Ice,” Pete says again after Carole closes the door.

Tom takes a breath and stands up. He takes a second, braces himself, and turns to face Pete.

“Maverick,” he starts, and has to swallow to wet his mouth. “I-it’s nothing. Just forget what you heard. Carole was being-“

“No.” Pete’s interruption, his refusal to let this go, is loud and commanding. “Don’t do this, Ice, don’t shut down or blame Carole. Just talk to me. What do I not feel the same about? Is it, is it the bill? Do you not like it, not like…working with me? Talk to me.”

Tom clenches his fist, tries to think of how he can get out of this, but his mind comes up blank. And Pete is standing there, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“It’s not the bill, Maverick,” he says softly, unwilling to lie to Pete about something like this. “It’s not the bill, or anything work related. Or well, not directly work related.” He takes a steadying breath, tries not to notice the harried look on Pete’s face as he tries to figure out what Tom could mean. “I was telling Carole that you don’t feel the same way about me as I feel about you.”

“What does that mean?” Pete asks. “I thought we were on the same page, wanted to keep working together. Did something change during the campaign? The election?”

“No, Maverick, nothing happened. Like I said, it’s not a work related thing. Not really. It’s.” Tom takes another breath, tries to summon the ice-cold nerves he had in the cockpit years ago. “I’m in love with you, Maverick. With the way your brain works, the way you always look for solutions and the way you are with Bradley, I’m in love with all of it. All of you. I want…I want more than friendship with you but I know you don’t feel the same way and I was trying to tell Carole that and she wouldn’t listen.”

“She wouldn’t listen because it isn’t true,” Pete says.

The gears in Tom’s head screech to a halt. He furrows his brow, processing Pete’s words. “What?”

“Ice, it isn’t true. I, I’m in love with you, too,” Pete says, one hand ruffling the back of his hair.

“You do?”

“Yeah, have for some time.”

“But, you go out with women? Anytime someone starts talking about how much time we spend together you go out and are seen with women at bars. I thought you didn’t like the rumors and were trying to get rid of them?”

“The rumors don’t bother me. They pull focus from the campaign though, the issues, and I want that to be the focus. I do it so people stop talking about your personal life and get back to the issues at hand. You never should have had to come out in California and you shouldn’t have to deal with those rumors now. So yeah, I call up Charlie or Penny or someone else we’ve worked with to meet up for a drink. But it’s just a drink. I make sure I’m seen so people drop the talk. You don’t need that,” Pete explains with a shrug. “But that’s not important. You, you love me?” Pete’s face is a little hopeful, awed like he can’t believe it’s true.

“Yeah, Maverick, I love you. Have for a long time now,” Tom says.

Pete steps closer to him, closes the distance between them until they’re toe to toe. “So, we gonna do this? What about what everyone will say?”

Tom reaches for Pete’s hand, takes it in his. Files away how good, how right it feels. “They don’t need to know. Not now. Not yet. We already live together, spend pretty much all of our time together. I think we just. Continue on as we are. For now anyway.”

Pete nods and lifts his head to meet Tom’s eyes. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

“I’m surprised you’re asking and didn’t just plant one on me-“

Pete kisses him, presses his lips onto his, chaste but forceful. Conveying the depth of his feelings, how long he’s waited for it. And god, they’d waited enough.

So Tom kisses him back, deepens the kiss by running his tongue along Pete’s lips. They kiss like that for a moment, a minute, five minutes. Tom loses track of the time, lost in the feeling of kissing Pete and having him return the favor enthusiastically. Pete kisses the way he used to fly, the way he attacks policy now, full force and giving it everything he has.

After some time, Tom breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Pete’s. “Maverick, I love you.”

“I love you, Ice,” Pete whispers back.

Tom never planned on a career in politics. He never planned on taking advice from Carole Bradshaw or convincing her to move across the country. He never planned on falling in love with his best friend, his wingman, his chief of staff.

He never planned on any of it. But he can’t be mad that it all happened.

[thetomorrowshow]

poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 6

Masterlist - Previous - Next

i spent like days struggling with one scene near the end of this fic only to finish writing it and realizing that it doesn't flow right for the main fic. rip me but hey at least now i've kicked that writer's block! it's a very sizable chunk to cut but it's still a good scene so it'll be repurposed into a post-story one shot :)

cw: past minor character death, violence, blood, dehumanization (the usual)

~

 “You’ve fought the Canary?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s Solidarity. And I think he’s being mind-controlled.”

“Right. Sure. Major, would you be able to come with me to meet someone?”

The streets are dark.

It’s nighttime when Mythics, villain of Empires City, wakes. He’s lying on the ground in a tucked-away alley, staring into nothing, when he suddenly sits up and looks around.

He’d stumbled there earlier that day, clutching his head and groaning in pain, had collapsed on the ground and laid there for hours.

Now he heaves himself to his feet, glances around again, and limps out into the city, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other shading his eyes.

He follows a path that is clearly well-known to him, doubling back at points to ensure that there is no chance of any tails. The walk is two hours, two hours that might have been expedited by the use of his powers, but he never uses them. He walks and walks, pace growing slower and slower, on his own two feet until he reaches some dingy townhouses on the outskirts of the west side rundown part of town. Once there, he loses all sense of stealth (which, admittedly, had not been much) and directly approaches one of the doors. He knocks seven times.

There’s a few moments of waiting, waiting that Mythics does not do patiently. He taps his feet, looks around at the neighborhood, runs his hand up a seam of his costume nervously. Right as he reaches to knock again, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

“Hey, Sausage!” well-known antihero fWhip exclaims, spreading his arms wide. Despite the late hour, he’s still fully dressed, leather coat rustling and creaking with his movements. “Long time, no see! How’re you doing?”

Mythics shifts, looks around again. “Can I come in?” he whispers, leaning in close. fWhip frowns, looks past his shoulder.

“Is everything . . . good?” he asks cautiously, adjusting the goggles that serve as his mask. Mythics hesitates, before leaning even closer.

“Something’s wrong. Xornoth’s planning something bad. I’m in too deep. I—I need help.”

-

“You’re—you’re going to what?”

“I’m going to kill him,” Lizzie repeats simply, eyes daring Scott to oppose her. “I’m going to hunt him down and fill his lungs with water and watch as he chokes to death slowly.”

Scott blinks.

He opens his mouth, closes it again.

What?

“I’m—” he starts, but Joel cuts him off.

“Yeah, he’s your nemesis,” he says, “but Liz has got personal history. I think you ought to work together to kill him, but it’s not me doing it.”

Kill—kill Solidarity?

“Ex-explain to me, why, exactly, we’re killing him?” Scott asks, voice faint in his disbelief. Lizzie looks down, then back up, glare steely but eyes far away.

“I can’t remember much,” she says, her voice smaller and more unsure than anything she’s said so far, a stark contrast from her stormy appearance. “I lost my memory. Years ago. But I remember this. When I was young, I lived in a city. Maybe this one, I don’t know. I don’t remember. But. . . .”

She sits down in one of the folding chairs, rests her head in her hands. “I was young. I don’t know. I came home. Solidarity was there. He was—he was standing over their bodies. He saw me, and—and the house went up in flames. He ran. I don’t—I don’t know how I survived. I only remember flashes. But he killed them.

“I don’t remember anything else. I woke up underwater, no idea who I was or how I could breathe. Swam until I found land. Started a life. I didn’t start remembering anything until he started appearing on the news.”

Scott blinks again, looks away when Lizzie’s shoulders start to shake. Joel kneels beside her, rubs her back.

“Sometimes—” she chokes out, “sometimes I wonder if I forgot these things on purpose. With my water powers, I—I could have just taken them away. Saved myself the pain I feel now.”

Scott’s been close to just driving ice through her ankles for the past three minutes, but those words give him pause. “I—how would that work?”

Lizzie shrugs. “Memories are fluid.”

“No—”

“Shut up, Major,” hisses Joel. “Are you with us, or not?”

He’s definitely not with them, thank you very much. How can he be? They want to kill Solidarity, and Scott has found himself inexorably in support of the man. But some of the things Lizzie had said. . . .

Unfortunately, Scott can relate. Solidarity had killed his own father, even if it wasn’t by blood. He knows where her anger, her grief, is coming from. Just thinking of Aeor makes his chest ache, even after all this time.

But judging by the admittedly very brief and confusing conversation he had with Solidarity, no harm he does is on purpose. He can’t control his powers. And right now, no matter what the Mad King says, he is not in control of himself.

These two aren’t going to sway from their task. The revenge Lizzie seeks is what’s pushing them forward, and she won’t believe anything Scott tries to tell her.

And as much as he hates it, he needs them. He’s been searching for Solidarity for months with no results. He can’t keep going on alone.

They’ve set up a plan already. He just needs to follow along with it, then double-cross them later and save Solidarity.

Or maybe he can convince them that Solidarity deserves a chance.

Strange bedfellows, he thinks to himself. Now lie in it.

“I’ll help,” he says aloud. Joel shoots up, shakes his hand, telling him he won’t regret it and the like. Scott waits until he’s led back out of the building and until he’s skating home to call the mayor.

“Xornoth’s getting dangerous,” he says. “They’re my responsibility. I’m going to be doing some strange things, all right? Just know that whatever happens, it’s all part of the plan.”

-

Gem waves her staff, sends a bolt of purple lightning out, but Jimmy sidesteps it and keeps stalking toward her, his bad leg making his limp prominent.

His master is just watching. They'd pointed at Gem, they'd said "Attack," and they'd left Jimmy to it. He's not sure how far they expect him to go. He finds he doesn't care. He's being good. He's being a very good boy.

Gem's on the ground, scrambling back and away from him, and she looks scared. Good. He needs to be feared.

There's people watching this fight, a small crowd and a news van, but they're silent, holding a collective breath.

Then a couple of younger guys join the crowd, and as Jimmy is closing in on Gem, one of them shouts out in an annoying, high-pitched voice, "Canary! Step on me!"

Jimmy's head whips to find them in the crowd, their obnoxious floral button-up, and it's barely a moment and barely a disaster (it's just their shoes catching fire, it's really not much at all), but Xornoth hisses in his ear.

"Pet, your task," they tell him through the crackle of his comms, and Jimmy turns away from the panicked shouts and stamping and back to Gem, who has regained her feet and is holding her staff out threateningly.

"Stay away," she says shakily, taking a step back for every one of Jimmy's steps forward. Jimmy gathers what adrenaline he can, feels it thrum through his veins, and directs it at her.

It's one of his more powerful hits, and Jimmy takes a couple of steps away as leaves swirl down, faster and faster, the wind picking up around Gem as she cries out and is suddenly surrounded by a mini twister. It manages to pick her up and carry her several meters before she breaks it apart with a purple blast of energy, stumbling out and to her knees.

"What on earth is your power?" she gasps, brushing her hair out of her face. Jimmy doesn’t respond, just keeps pushing toward her.

He’s tired. He’s not sure he has the energy to do much more power-wise. He’s flagging fast, months of the bare minimum amount of food and sleep catching up. He doesn’t stumble, though. He’s better trained than that.

He doesn’t mind physical combat, he supposes. Anything to keep fighting.

Gem’s again scrambling back, eyes flicking back and forth between the staff that had been torn from her hands with the twister and Jimmy. 

Jimmy flicks a knife out of an inside pocket, grips it tight in his trembling hand. He’s winning this fight.

Or not, because just as he’s about to leap onto Gem, a blast of ice knocks him aside. Great. Incredible. Just what he needed.

Jimmy struggles to his feet, wincing as his bad leg shifts a bit in its socket. He checks on Gem—she's gotten her staff back—and then looks up.

Major's up there, coming down an ice slide from a high window. He lands with a flourish in the middle of the intersection where Jimmy and Gem fight, waves cheerily to the now-growing crowd.

"Hey, Xornoth. Hello, Canary. Good to see you, Gem," Major says loudly with a nod to each of them. Jimmy steals a glance at Xornoth, sees their thunderous expression, and turns back toward Gem. Xornoth told him to fight Gem. He can do that.

Major's saying something, and Xornoth is spitting something back, but he doesn't hear any of it because he has to focus on Gem. He has to take her down. His master told him to attack and he can’t stop, he can’t disappoint them, he can’t be in trouble. . . .

Something hits him from behind and Jimmy crumples, his forehead smacking against asphalt. There’s a weight on his back, and even as he flails he can’t become free—this isn’t good, something’s on top of him and he needs to get back up—

What are you doing? a voice whispers in his head. Jimmy bucks at the sound, foreign and unasked-for and intruding. It’s terrifying—there’s something in his head and he doesn’t know what and he wants it gone. “Master,” he whispers, hoping his comms pick it up. The feeling of something pushing at his brain, the voice, rears back for a second before pushing again.

Why do you follow them?

Unbidden, unwanted, images flash through Jimmy’s mind. The beeping of a machine as skin is grafted from him by faceless scientists. Feeling the stitches behind his ear. The cage. Xornoth fixing the collar around his neck. The cage. Xornoth holding him as he sobs, soaking wet. Underground as he raises his arms. Xornoth’s steady hand guiding his knife maneuvers. The cage. His leash. He’s a pet. He does what he’s told.

“Oh, no,” someone says out loud, but before Jimmy can move to throw the weight off his back, there’s a hand reaching around to his face—he shakes his head, but it presses over his eyes—

There’s a pop and a burst and the weight—a person, he knows now—goes flying.

Jimmy rolls onto his side and takes a short breath before stumbling up, shaking out his glider. Some part of it is bent; he’ll have to make sure to straighten it out and give it to Xornoth before the next battle.

On the ground about twenty feet away to the right is the Mad King, groaning as he sits up. On the ground about ten feet to the left is Gem, staring fearfully at her own staff, which lies on the road before her.

Jimmy stares between them. He’s been commanded to attack Gem, but the Mad King is clearly a threat. He can’t keep his back unguarded. He can’t disobey his orders.

His comms crackle, and Jimmy glances up to see Xornoth held by a tentacle in the sky, Major creating spike after spike of ice to leap up to them.

“Incapacitate the wizard,” Xornoth tells him. “I need her. Get rid of the Mad King in any way you see fit, but do not focus on him. The wizard Gem is your main focus, pet.”

Jimmy nods, turns toward Gem. The Mad King shouts something, but he ignores it. He limps forward, straightens his glider straps. 

Gem looks up at him, eyes wide, opens her mouth—

A stoplight above her bursts, an entire bulb falling out. It falls, quicker and quicker, and Jimmy has a moment of thinking that it’s larger than he expected before it slams into Gem’s head and shatters. She’s limp on the ground in barely a moment, eyes closed, blood streaming down her forehead, glass shards around her.

Right. That’s that taken care of. He turns to the Mad King, only to see the man standing, arms outstretched defensively.

"I won't hurt you if I don't have to," the Mad King says, backing away a little. "You can come with us, Solidarity. Make it easier."

For a moment Jimmy doesn't even register the use of that name, but when it processes he stumbles. Do people know who he is? His eyes flick up to Major, who is hand-to-hand with Xornoth.

"It wasn't Major who told me," the Mad King says, calling Jimmy's attention back to him. “I figured it out on my own. Come with me, and I won’t hurt you.”

Jimmy’s mission isn’t to go with the Mad King. It’s to get him out of the way by any means possible.

He’s tired, maybe too tired to use his powers, but he can’t get in close combat with the Mad King at risk of losing his senses. He shudders, recalling just moments ago when the foreign voice had pulled at his brain. His best bet might be to collect Gem and run. The van is waiting not too far away, surely he can get there if he causes something small to happen?

He throws his arm out wide in the Mad King’s direction, hoping for anything to happen. Thankfully, there must be something left in his steadily draining energy reserves. The scar behind his ear buzzes with heat, sparks traveling down his arm, and the Mad King is bowled over by a runaway trash can.

Jimmy blinks back the fuzzy blackness that encroaches on the edges of his vision, turns back to Gem. He doesn’t think he can lift her. He hasn’t done any sort of weight training since . . . well, he’d only just restarted his workout regime after . . . before. . . .

It doesn’t matter, anyway, because a tentacle picks Gem up and drags her unconscious body away. Jimmy nods, begins to follow, when a small chunk of asphalt whizzes over his shoulder.

He spins around to find the Mad King standing, another rock in hand. “You can’t just leave!”

It’s all Jimmy can do to not roll his eyes before waving his arm again. The exact same trash can, which had happened to rebound off a spontaneous ice spike, rams into the Mad King from the other direction and again sends him to the asphalt. Again, Jimmy blinks away darkness. He needs to get out of here.

The crowd is so very, very loud, the fight itself full of shouts and crashes, and Jimmy’s already so tired. . . .

Before he can begin to limp back to the van, though, a tentacle grabs him around the waist and lifts him into the air. For a moment panic seizes his throat, certain that he’s going to be dragged up to fight Major (he doesn’t have enough energy he can’t do it but he’ll do it if his master commands), but it only carries him to the van and sets him down gently beside it.

He clambers into the back of the van, holds his hands out for the guard there to cuff them together. Gem is in his usual place on the floor, blood drying on the bright red hair splayed out around her. Jimmy looks down at her impassively, squished to the side, while the van starts up, then pulls away jerkily.

Xornoth isn’t back when they arrive at the manor, so the guards lead him directly to his cell, dragging Gem in with him. They leave her there, on the floor, while Jimmy takes a seat on the bed and lets them uncuff him.

They bring him half a loaf of stale bread and leave.

Jimmy stares down at Gem.

There’s another person in his cell. That’s not right. This is his cell. This is where he sleeps and eats and drinks and stares into space to contemplate death and eternity, not where people intrude to lie on his floor.

Is Xornoth getting another pet?

Jimmy feels his chest puff out at the idea, the idea that Xornoth would even consider it. He’s Xornoth’s pet, Xornoth’s perfect bird. They don’t need anyone else.

And Jimmy wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone else.

He knows what’s expected of him when Xornoth isn’t here, so Jimmy stands and strips off his gloves, followed by his musketeer hat and his glider and coat. He pauses, glaces at Gem, still motionless on the floor. He shouldn’t undress in front of her, right?

He flinches as he feels the phantom crack of a cane across his shoulder blades. He knows the punishment for not complying. He quickly pulls off the rest of the costume, leaving the Canary mask for last, for which he covers his face with his coat to hide until he can replace it with his plain black mask. Then he’s left in a mask and his collar and shorts, and it’s right. This is how he’s supposed to be. He gathers up the heavy bundle of clothes off the bed and places them in a heap by the door. Someone will come in while he’s asleep to take them.

He stretches a moment, feels rather than finds a sore patch on his chest that will certainly become a bruise soon. Then he lays back on the bed, eats a slice of bread, and promptly falls asleep.

-

“Wake up.”

Jimmy rolls off the bed, is on his knees before he even has opened his eyes. When he does, he finds that the person standing over him is neither a guard nor his master. It’s—right. Gem.

She watches him, eerie with the dried blood still coating her hair, waits until he meets her eyes to begin speaking.

“Where am I?” she demands. “What’s going on? If you tell me where we are, Solidarity, I promise I’ll try and get the judge to be lenient with your sentence.”

Oh, great. More people who know who he is. Jimmy doesn’t reply. She isn’t Xornoth and she doesn’t get to have his voice.

He rises from creaking knees, glances longingly back at the bed. He needs some water, though. His throat feels like it might just crack apart.

He limps over to the sink, jiggles the knob until it turns on. Gem follows him, undeterred.

“What are we doing here? Where have you been? Why . . . why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

Jimmy cups his hands, drinks a bit. The handcuffs are back on. Someone must’ve come in while he slept.

He shouldn’t have slept through that. He must be more tired than he thought.

Gem’s got cuffs too, he notices out of the corner of his eye. Maybe she is a pet.

He splashes some water on his face, shuts the sink off. Gem is tapping her foot, glaring at him pointedly. He’s not sure what she expects. He’s just a pet. He’s a pet. He has to be a pet.

He should probably give her the bed. He really doesn’t want to, but he’s used to the floor and she’s a girl, so he can let her have it. He’s just a pet, after all.

He points at her, then gestures to the bed, before moving to the middle of the room and easing himself down to the floor. The sack of bread is still there. He digs a slice out of it, tears a piece off and pops it into his mouth. Gem doesn’t move from by the sink and toilet, eyes narrowed.

“Why am I handcuffed?” she asks. Jimmy doesn’t know. He tears off and eats another piece of his bread slice. He’s tired. He’s always tired. He can’t have slept long if he’s still this exhausted.

“How long was I unconscious?” Gem seems to read his thoughts, and Jimmy would be scared if he didn’t already know her powers. He doesn’t know, anyways. Long enough that he’s handcuffed and the Canary costume is gone. Not long enough for him to feel properly rested.

He finishes eating the slice of bread and takes another before Gem speaks again.

“Why won’t you talk?”

Jimmy hunches his shoulders, stares down at the bread. He doesn’t want to talk to her. His voice is for Xornoth.

But they’re going to hurt her, aren’t they? There’s no other reason for her to be here, in his cell, handcuffed. They’re going to experiment on her and hurt her and chain her to the table leg. That’s—that’s not good.

He has to help her.

Gem sits carefully on the edge of the bed, fingers tapping on her knee. “I don’t understand,” she admits. “Have you been here the whole time? Where’s the Canary?”

Oh, so she doesn’t know that he’s the Canary. Jimmy’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. He glances at the door, then back at her.

“Is Xornoth keeping you prisoner?” she asks quietly, gesturing to Jimmy’s wrists. 

Prisoner?

Maybe once upon a time, long ago. Jimmy’s not a prisoner anymore. Not really. He belongs here.

He hates it he hates it he hates it.

“Are you . . . able? To talk?”

It would be so easy to shake his head. Instead he twists his bread between his fingers and nods jerkily. Gem huffs.

“Then why don’t you?”

Because he doesn’t want to. Because he only speaks when Xornoth commands it. Because speaking never gets him anywhere except in more pain. Because he can’t stand the sound of his own voice.

He shrugs.

Gem sighs quietly, looks around the room. Her head hurts, Jimmy can tell. He can tell in the tenseness of her jaw, the way her eyes move slowly and blink frequently, the way her fists clench. He’s had bad headaches before.

“I don’t understand what they want with me,” she mutters, her gaze falling back to Jimmy. “Major’s the one who’s been looking for you.”

What?

Jimmy snuffs that hope out before he can even feel it. He’s here. He lives here. He is here. He’s a pet. He doesn’t have hope, except hope to go outside and hope that Xornoth will be kind. He’s good for the devil and he doesn’t dream of anyone rescuing him from Hell.

Gem goes quiet then, and after a couple of minutes, she cautiously eases her legs onto the bed. Jimmy finishes his crumbling bread, crawls to the corner and curls up the best he can. He doesn’t take his eyes off Gem, who doesn’t take her eyes off him.

She’s not supposed to be here. This is his cell. He’s always been alone here, he’s supposed to be alone here. This is where he’s safe, safe to sit by himself and breathe and maybe think a traitorous thought like how much he hates his master—

He shakes his head, as if that’ll push the thought away. He can’t. He can’t think those things. He’s a pet. Those are dangerous, bad thoughts to be having.

He hates them so much.

He pushes that thought away, too, and the next one. Jimmy falls asleep like that, Gem watching him, trying not to think such horrible things about his master.

He wakes when the door slams open, and Jimmy shoots up onto his knees with his head bowed submissively and his hands down. Gem doesn’t do that, only stirs a bit and groans. A sick feeling washes over Jimmy. They’re going to hurt her so very badly for disobeying.

They don’t, yet. The guards hit the bed, yell at her to get up, and Gem does, slower than Jimmy ever would. A guard smacks the back of his head and he turns his focus back on his hands.

Once Gem is fully up, standing between two guards, Jimmy is dragged up by his collar, his leash clipped onto it. Only then do they release him, keeping a hold of the leash and Jimmy steals a glance in Gem’s direction to find her mouth curled in disgust. He bites his lip. He knows he’s disgusting.

His bad leg is stiff today, leaving him limping as he’s dragged down the hallway, then a left turn to a different hallway that disorients him because they don’t go this way ever, but then his eyes catch on a familiar stone bust and he realizes.

They’re going to the ballroom.

The place with the cage.

Jimmy’s halted in his steps before he even knows it, blood rushing in his ears. The guard leading him yanks on the leash, pulling him back into a stumbling walk. He can’t—he didn’t do anything, he didn’t disobey any orders, he’s been good—he’s not going down without a fight—

He braces himself as they enter the room, as he sees the cage beside the throne, the throne where Xornoth currently lounges. He gets ready to dig his heels in, to pull at his leash, but he’s taken by surprise when a guard behind him shoves him and he windmills forward until he reaches Xornoth, who gestures to their knee.

Jimmy stares blankly, even as the guard holding him loops the leash around the arm of the throne. His eyes linger on the cage, then turn back to Xornoth, who coos sweetly and pats their knee again. Slowly, carefully, Jimmy lowers himself to the ground, rests his head on their knee.

“What kind of kink—” Gem starts to say behind him, but she cuts herself off with a grunt. Jimmy readjusts so that he’s facing her, on her knees before the dais, guards all around her.

He closes his eyes briefly, presses into Xornoth’s leg. He’s not going in the cage. Xornoth isn’t putting him in the cage.

“Good boy,” Xornoth murmurs, scratching at Jimmy’s head for a moment. His master has rested since the battle. That’s good. Xornoth is angrier when they’re tired.

“The Wizard Gemini, am I correct?” Xornoth says, voice silky smooth. Gem says nothing, just glowers at them. They slowly run a hand through Jimmy’s hair, rolling strands between their gloved fingers. Jimmy lets his eyes flutter shut, but he doesn’t relax. Not when the cage is right there. 

“You could prove quite useful to me.”

“I don’t want to be useful to you!”

A laugh, a light tug on his hair. “She’s feisty, isn’t she, puppy?”

Jimmy swallows, manages a whispered, “Yes, master.”

Xornoth’s hand vanishes, and Jimmy doesn’t move. “In one way or another, Wizard Gem, you will comply,” Xornoth says, voice booming. “You could join me willingly, enjoy all the comforts of my usual associates.”

Gem snorts. “What, and end up like him?”

Jimmy doesn’t need to open his eyes to know she’s talking about him. Xornoth lays a hand on the back of his neck.

“Oh, my little bird is a special case,” they croon, and Jimmy just knows they’re giving him that terrifyingly possessive look. “He didn’t have the choice I give you. His pitiful dreams of escape have been fun to train out of him. Isn’t that right, pet?”

Jimmy can’t help the full-body shudder that seizes him before he croaks, “Yes, master.” Xornoth hums, turns their attention back to Gem.

“You won’t be my pet, I assure you,” they say, and relief washes over Jimmy, filling his throat with a sickly feeling.

He’s not relieved that she’s escaped this fate. He’s relieved that he’s going to remain his master’s only pet. He’s relieved that there will be no one to take Xornoth’s attention from him.

He wishes he’d done it then, when he could, when he had the leash and was alone in his cell. He can’t help but wonder if they would’ve stopped him in time, if they would’ve noticed.

“So, what will it be?” Xornoth says, and Jimmy tunes back in to the conversation. “Join me willingly, or be forced to?”

“I’ll never join you!”

Jimmy almost scoffs when Xornoth does. Everyone joins them eventually.

“Take her away—and not to my pet’s cell. The cellar, perhaps.” Their hand finds Jimmy’s hair again, toys with it gently. “I don’t want her putting any sort of ideas in my pet’s head.”

Jimmy sighs, quieter than quiet. He hates them. He needs them. They keep him safe. They hurt him. He’s fine. He’s—

Gem screams, and Jimmy’s eyes shoot open. The guards are dragging her away, and she’s lashing out—with a blast of purple from her fingertips one gets blown to the other side of the room—Xornoth watches passively as the other guards leap on her, their tasers crackling. She screams again, louder, filled with pain, and all Jimmy can see of her is her red braids, but the ropy scar plastered down his side burns in sympathy. Those stun batons hurt.

Once she goes limp, they drag her from the room. The guard who had been thrown across to hit the wall is sitting up, groaning, another guard helping him. Xornoth’s fingers curl around Jimmy’s ear.

“Such a perfect bird, aren’t you, darling?” Xornoth says absently, and Jimmy can’t help but rest his head a bit more comfortably on their lap. He’s a good pet, and Xornoth seems to think so too. He’s behaved himself so very well lately, hasn’t had any punishments in a little while. He’s been so good.

He settles in once it becomes apparent that Xornoth has no plans on moving, resting his entire body against the throne and his head still propped up on Xornoth’s knee. It’s quiet, still but for Xornoth’s occasional adjustments as they type something up on their tablet.

Jimmy doesn’t exactly doze, but he shifts into a lower state of functioning, unmoving and barely-there, even as the touch in his hair grows tenser and pulls harder.

"Pet," Xornoth says, rousing Jimmy from not-sleep. "You belong to me."

Jimmy's silent until Xornoth yanks hard on his hair, prompting a squeaked, "Yes, master!"

"Hm." Xornoth is quiet again, for long enough that Jimmy feels secure in letting his eyes close.

"How long since your last punishment, pet?"

He doesn't know. He really doesn't. It's impossible to keep track of days here, in his windowless cell with no clock. But Xornoth is waiting on an answer, and Jimmy can't disappoint.

"A—a week, master?"

The fingers move from his hair to caress his cheek, pressing into his face a bit harder than expected.

"I have a choice for you, puppy. Look at me."

Jimmy turns, his leash jangling. It's cold in here, he realizes as his head leaves Xornoth's leg. He holds back a shiver and faces them, not quite meeting their eyes but very clearly paying attention.

"The first choice is a public example," they tell him. Jimmy instantly wants to vomit. Not that choice.

A smile curls those blackened lips. "The second is the cage."