#and in that moment i felt like a crow who wanted to round up the gang

[feijoaaas]

i just.. really fucking feel a massive need to own a tv so that it can be on in the background at all times and while i am on the computer or phone, so that my dopamine can get dopamine

y’know?

[swanimagines]

CONFESSIONS OF A CROW | WESPER + KAZ

Summary: Wylan thinks Jesper doesn't care about him, and you try to comfort him. For your surprise, Wylan has something to tell to you too.

The Crow Club’s game nights were loud and cheerful events, and Jesper was all over the tables, building the spirit in the room. Scent of alcohol and cigars floated in the air, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the downstairs as a whole.

Wylan and you sat at the farthest corner from the entrance, just spending time. The wooden table was slightly sticky, apparently someone had spilled alcohol on it at some point. The candle flame flickered slightly as Wylan played with it while staring at it deep in thought, and you were just about to ask what he’s thinking when he flinched upon another round of cheers and crooned his neck to look at one of the game tables. Jesper had once again won another round, making you turn your head to your friend and raise a glass for him once he caught your eyes. Then you turned your head back to Wylan, who sighed and returned to staring at the candle. You frowned, knowing to read people enough to know something was wrong. So you touched his hand to get his attention.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” you asked, and Wylan stared at you for a moment before laying his gaze down on the table.

“It’s nothing. Nothing important,” he mumbled, and you sighed, raising your eyebrows at him. He squirmed a little and then let out a sigh of his own. “I slept with Jesper.”

Your eyebrows shot up at that; sure, Jesper was sleeping around with people he met at bars and restaurants to have fun, but for this short time you had known Wylan, he didn’t feel like such a person. But you weren’t judgemental by any means, Jesper was a charmer and you could see that he’d be dragged along by Jesper after some flirting. Hell, Jesper had gotten you to blush a few times with his flirts when you first joined Dregs.

“Really? When did that happen?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“It’s been a while. Two months? Or three maybe? But… he managed me to grow feelings for him, and knowing who he is… I don’t think he’d like me back. He doesn’t even remember me.” His voice trailed off at the end, and he laid his gaze back to his hands. “I know it’s stupid.”

You shook your head, squeezing his hand. “It’s not stupid, Wylan. A lot of people have been in your situation at some point. But you can’t let the fear of heartbreak to get in your way, you deserve to be happy and even if Jesper doesn't return your feelings, at least you know then. You won't stay in it welling and cursing yourself over not speaking up if he ever ends up being serious with someone else."

He scoffed. “Easy for you to say when you hold the heart of the Bastard of the Barrel himself. Do you even realise how I envy the way Kaz looks at you, how I would wish somebody would look at me like that? Kaz is closed off, cold and guarded, someone you wouldn’t think would like anyone, and still you have managed to catch him without even trying to win him over. Jesper is everything but like that, and still he thinks I’m nothing but a fling, just an asset for pleasure. I’d be a fool if I went to him and tell him how do I feel.”

Your heart skipped a beat at him mentioning about Kaz’s feelings for you, making you freeze up - it was true that you had been teased about it, and Kaz did have odd reasons for why he suddenly didn’t want to assign you on scouting missions anymore if the building was heavily guarded. But it wasn’t like he had feelings for you. Even when you wished it would be the reason for that.

“Kaz? What? He isn’t… no, he doesn’t, you’ve misunderstood something. And he’s my boss, it would be weird, he sees me only professionally and… I see him only professionally too,” you denied it, trying to contain your voice squeaking. Wylan raised his eyebrows at you, and you felt your face heating up when you realised he’s not buying it.

"He basically admitted it to Inej. Inej told him to let his guard down for you if he wants you to see him as anything else as your boss, and he told her that he doesn't want to drag you into his life, that you'd only get hurt when you'd see how he really is," Wylan mumbled. "Then they sensed someone is listening in so I dashed away before they caught me."

You didn't reply, just tried to calm your racing heart. You were quiet for a few seconds before you cleared your throat, trying to quickly jump away from the subject before anyone would hear you. “Anyway, Jesper is not Kaz. He’s not gonna smack you with his gun if you go and ask him if he’d be willing to talk with you. Or go on another date. If I went to Kaz’s office and asked him to come down to have a dining date with me, even if he did have feelings for me, which he doesn’t, he’d look at me as if I was crazy and either ignore me or tell me to get out his office.” 

Wylan chuckled weakly at your words. “I guess you’re right about that.”

You smiled. “You should talk to Jesper. Maybe he feels the same way about you. And even if not, at least you won’t have any regrets. You won’t watch him get together with someone else and wonder why didn’t you ever say anything.”

Wylan nodded slowly, his eyes shifting back to Jesper, who had just finished playing and had made his way to the bar counter. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I should try to talk to him.”

Your smile widened as you jumped a little bit in your seat, gesturing him to go on, gently nudging him forward when he passed you. Wylan walked to Jesper slowly, talking with him for a moment before sitting down beside him, and you almost felt the connection they already had. You turned your back on them, and continued sipping on your drink as you dug up your ongoing book from your bag. 

And just for a moment, you wondered if you’d ever really have chances with Kaz. If everyone pointing how Kaz looks at you and how ridiculous his reasons for taking you out from all the dangerous jobs are were actually onto something, what could it carry? Would Kaz shut it down, force himself not to feel, or would he let himself feel? Would you be there with Wylan and Jesper as a couple?

You hoped you’d get the answer for that sometime in the future, but for now, you were only happy that you had potentially helped Wylan and Jesper to get to know each other better, and maybe get together. They both deserved happiness, and you were happy if they found it within themselves.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[stray-kaz]

Love is a Battlefield : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader drabble

Summary: Kaz and reader get mad and get...even?

A/N: In this, Kaz has had some healing from trauma and is okay with his Crows alone touching him. 

18+ elements, but nothing overt.

“You’ve been doing that a little too often lately” you commented, waltzing easily into Kaz’s office to see him swigging from a metal flask.

He cast you a calculated side eye glance, upper lip curled.

“What of it?”

You shrugged, leaning on the desk in front of him.

“Do you have a drinking problem, boss?” you asked coolly.

The flask was slammed onto the desk, a little of the clear liquid sloshing over the narrow rim. He glowered at you.

“I have a you problem” he shot back. 

You raised your eyebrows, askance.

“Seriously?” you demanded. “A me problem? What have I ever done to you, Dirtyhands?”

He scoffed and stood up, nose to nose with you for a moment and then taller.

“You run your mouth worse than Jesper, you hug everyone, you just love who you want, it’s ridiculous. You throw yourself into situations that are too dangerous for you to handle adequately -”

You cut him off then, fury rising.

“Adequately?” you repeated. “Too dangerous for me, Kaz Brekker? I am a healer. It’s my job to be in the warzones so I can heal. I do the opposite of what Nina does.”

Kaz seemed to stop breathing for a moment before he focused his formidable gaze on you again.

“You are not Nina” he said very quietly.

You stared back at him, suddenly aware of the snappable tension in the office. Pity you didn’t carry a knife.

“Well, of course not” you said lightly, trying to defuse. “Nina breaks hearts, I fix them.”

“You. Are. Not. Nina” Kaz repeated, enunciating every single word with the utmost care. “The danger is not for you. I am not for you. Stop trying to fix my heart.”

You just looked at him, quizzical. Kaz was authoritative, strong willed and hard headed, but never vulnerable, not with you.

“I have never tried to fix your heart” you said slowly.

He glared.

“Then what are you trying to do?” he asked harshly.

“Love it.”

You said the words so quietly, half hoping he hadn’t heard, but he had. The fine line between you snapped as Kaz rounded the desk and kissed you, hard. His gloved fingers gripped and slipped over your jaw, the other arm wound around your waist like an anchor. Not that you needed one.

You looked up at him when you broke apart at the mouth, chest heaving against his. His pupils were wide and blown, the blue a narrow ring around each. He breathed your name, shocked, and that was all it took for you to drag him back by his collar, his mouth hard on yours and all consuming.

Outside the office, Jesper and Nina hovered, both having been aware you had gone in there earlier, perhaps even looking for a fight. Now, they could hear pens and paper falling to the floor, the clang of something hard and metallic. They could hear loud banging and felt the thin wall shake as bodies thudded against it from inside the room.

Jesper raised his eyebrows at Nina when they heard the desk legs move, screech across the wooden floor.

“Do we need to intervene?” she asked anxiously. “They sound like they’re killing each other in there!”

Jesper pressed his ear to the closed door, concentrating, and heard a gasp, a tearing of fabric, and then a moan. He straightened up, looked wide eyed at Nina.

“Nope! Definitely not killing each other!”

[radioactivesweet]

Could I request HCs where Hades and Qin Shi Hunag from Record of Ragnarok fall in love with the same person/reader. Also could the reader be human & female? Ty!

honestly managing to make these two fall in love with you sounds a lot better than winning the lottery

Btw I don't think I've actually described them as being in love but more something like being interested in the same person??? I wanted to fit it in the RoR narrative but probably it wasn't such a good idea----

Too dazzling for an average human, you managed to catch the attention of those you walked onto quite easily, humans and gods alike. This included the God of the Underworld and the First Emperor of China.

You did not really realize you were talking to when you had bumped into them on different moments before the start of the seventh round. You were just strolling around between one match and the other when you made a couple of interesting encounters.

Qin Shi Huang got lost among the numerous corridors which surrounded him, so he really felt grateful to you when you stopped to talk with him and gave him the directions he was looking for - he did not admit he was lost though, he had a reputation to protect. You were nice - he could almost see your smile despite the blindfold he was wearing. Nicer than the gods who were shouting against humanity and whom he was going to fight too soon. You were a far more pleasant company, way more lovely too. "I thank you for your patience." he thanked you, bringing your hand close to his lips and leaving a slight kiss on it. "I hope you will be rooting for me. When I win, I wish for us to celebrate together." It was not after much that you met the second man, more composed and serious than the first - a completely different impression, the first was brighter, warmer, more lively, whereas this one was colder, detached and had an overall more elegant demeanor. Both had a natural charming aura though, which someow attracted too - prideful, almost divine. You didn't know yet the one in front of you actually was divine. Hades' only aim was to avenge his younger brother, not to make friends with a human along the way. He couldn't really tell how he ended up spending some time talking with you after he had left the Gods' VIP room, but he didn't consider it a waste of time. Usually humans avoided him - gods too. So having someone to talk to was an appreciated change. It made the atmosphere lighter, despite not having the chance to prolong the conversation. "I'm looking forward our next encounter." he said, finally letting out a smile, before you parted ways. When the match started, you recognized both of the men you had met as the fighters - and you were sure they recognized you too among the crow who was cheering for them. Only then you noticed how unfair it was. Only one of them was going to meet you after the fight - before you could even have to chance to know them.

[jerreeeeeee]

It was only a blur. A flash of a face. A familiar silhouette. The way the man moved as he walked away down the street. Barry almost hesitated, almost didn't turn around. It was hard to see in the waning evening light, and he could nearly remember someone teasing him about his bad eyes. A voice he couldn't hear. It slipped from his mind as soon as he tried to grasp it.

The man went into a tavern. Barry followed him. It was a loud and crowded place, swanky, not what he would've chosen. There was a big stone hearth with a roaring fire that lit the place warmly, a nicely polished bar, tables full of people. There was a pool table in the back, in a way that made a kind of sense to him, even though he didn't know why it felt right, like weird, comforting, and deeply unsettling deja vu. The man he was following hadn't gone back there yet, but he was eyeing it from his seat. Barry went to the bar, put down the gold for a room and a drink, and before he could think better of it, sat right next to him.

The man hardly spared him a glance, focused on tearing apart the meal in front of him. He ate like he was starving. Barry tried not to stare, but kept looking at him out of the corners of his eyes. His face was fuzzy and out of focus and almost seemed like someone Barry should know. His ears flicked back and he shot Barry a look. Caught, he tried to pretend like he'd been looking at the pool table.

The man finally looked up. He followed his gaze to the table. Looked back at him, up and down. Especially down. At his shoes. Then back at the table, and then finally met his eyes. "Hey," he said. "What's your name?"

"Barry," Barry answered. "What's yours?"

"Taako," he answered. The beginnings of a grin tugged at his face. "How's a game of pool sound?"

-

Barry wiped his mouth and set down his fifth beer. "This is it," he said. "I'm gonna- I'm gonna get this one."

"You're more fun than I gave you credit for, Bluejeans!" Taako hollered. He'd had just as much to drink as Barry, who, despite appearances, could apparently party. "But still not good at pool. Let's see it." He leaned back in his chair and smiled easily, and rested his feet on the edge of the pool table. Barry eyed his own boots enviously. He'd lost the first round. And the second. That was two chances for the two boots—no one ever said Taako was uncharitable (well, actually, many people had said that). But Barry was doing better this time, with his glasses on the line. And Taako was having fun.

There was a gaping hole where his heart should be, as long as he could remember. It wasn't filled now, certainly. It still hurt if he thought about it. But there was a small, fluttering warmth there that grew hard to ignore the longer he laughed with Barry. It had been a long time since he'd really talked to anyone. The banter between him and Barry was comfortable and easy. His laugh was rusty, but he couldn't stop it from bubbling up out of the warmth in his chest.

Barry aimed his cue, and in a rather impressive and familiar maneuver, the ball sunk. "Ha!" Barry crowed, and finished the beer. "Guess I'm not so bad!" He turned around to face Taako, who had, just a moment before, had every appearance of enjoying himself.

Taako was no longer laughing. "Who taught you how to do that?"

"Huh?" Barry asked, looking back at the table like it'd tell him what he'd done.

Taako rose angrily. "Hey, who the fuck do you think you are? Have you been following me or something?" That was his move. He'd invented it as a kid... at least, he thought so. He'd been using it for a long time, anyway. But he hadn't tonight. Now that he thought about it, Barry had been playing just like he usually did.

"What?" Barry asked stupidly.

"I'm done, man," Taako replied. "I don't—I'm leaving." Whether Barry was an overzealous fan or a family member priming him for a revenge murder, Taako didn't want anything to do with it. He'd thought he was far enough away, somewhere he'd never been before, halfway across the continent, but this just kept following him—

"Hey, what about my shoes?" Barry asked, starting to get angry as well.

"I won them, asshole!"

"We're in the middle of a game!"

"Too bad!"

"W-At least let me—look, I-I already spent all my gold on a room, but you can have it if you give me my shoes back," Barry said wretchedly. "I can't—I need shoes."

"Then you shouldn't have bet them," Taako said, but his anger dampened. The guy seemed genuinely bewildered, and anyway, Taako couldn't afford a room here. Or anywhere else. It'd been a long time since he'd slept in a bed. It wasn't nearly as good as gold, but a night's sleep... Couldn't hurt to leave it to chance. "Tell you what," he said, "we'll finish the game. If you win, I'll take the room, and you can have your shoes back."

Barry grinned. "You're on."

-

Barry eyed the ball, drinks forgotten. He kind of desperately needed a win. "So," he said, trying for conversational, "what'd you even get mad about?"

Taako, also, had given up on flippancy. "You were playing just like me. I thought you'd been watching me or something."

"I have been," Barry answered, and noticed Taako's shoulders stiffen. He blushed. "Not- not like that. We've been playing all night. And, I mean, not to say I'm giving up, but you're a lot better than me. I kinda need any pointers I can get."

"Yeah," Taako said. "That is true. Maybe that was it."

The balls clattered and the one Barry had aimed for bounced away from its pocket. "Fuck."

Taako took his place and aimed his cue. The table scattered and two balls sunk. Barry was facing down a tomorrow without shoes. The coin'd told him he only needed enough gold for the night, with extra just in case—but that was extra before all the beers, and the chicken wings, and the room at the nice, expensive inn with the pool table he'd followed Taako into on a whim. He didn't even really know why he did it. There was just something about Taako... something that made his chest ache less, just like the coin said.

The game went on late into the night. The other people in the tavern slowly trickled away, upstairs or out the door to cheaper inns, until the room was left dim and quiet. Barry's turns always took too long, but Taako never told him to hurry up. The balls clinked together and sunk into their pockets one by one, until Taako took his last shot, and his last ball disappeared. Barry stared despondently.

Taako stretched his arms above his head and yawned loudly. "Well, guess that's it," he said with finality, still wearing Barry's boots. "See ya."

"Good game," Barry said hollowly, and walked to the stairs on socked feet. He made it about halfway up before he realized Taako wasn't moving that way either, or leaving.

Taako sighed. "Hang on, Bluejeans." Barry stopped. "Alright, here. Take your shoes. I don't need them. It was enough just to kick your ass."

Surprised at the offer of mercy, Barry came back down, and Taako handed his boots back, looking away, toward the empty bar.

"Thanks," Barry said.

"Sure," Taako said. "Whatever. What the hell am I gonna do with your boots? I have to be nimble, dude, and they're clunky as hell."

Barry went to go back up the stairs, but something stopped him. Taako still didn't make to leave. His clothes were awful ragged, threadbare and patched. He was still looking out at the room, and his eyes rested on the fireplace, where the fire had burned down to warm embers. It was cold at night this time of year, wasn't it?

"You can stay in my room if you don't have anywhere else to go," Barry blurted before he could think.

Taako looked back at him. "What?"

Barry flushed. He might still be a little drunk. "I-it just seemed like you weren't leaving... If you have a room somewhere else, sorry, but I was-"

"Inviting me to your room?" Taako asked incredulously. "What, are we gonna cuddle? Or are you coming on to me?"

"No," Barry said, embarrassed, even though he could tell Taako was fucking with him. Somehow, he could tell. "I just—look, you don't have to, I just thought it'd be nice to offer. Better than nothing. And you gave me my shoes back, so fair's fair."

Taako glanced back again toward the door, and the fireplace. "Alright," he said slowly, like he was surprised at himself. "You know what, why not."

-

Taako wasn't all that impressed. For a nice inn, it wasn't much. The bed was large, but other than that the room was mostly empty, and still chilly. Drafty window. Bare wooden floors. Well, he had a decent bedroll, at least, and it wouldn't be nearly as cold in there as outside. Even so, for a moment he stared longingly at the thick blankets on the bed. Then he started unfurling his bedroll in the clear space on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Barry asked.

"Going to sleep, dude. Gotta get a full eight hours." Elves were supposed to meditate, but he wasn't able to. He didn't know why. He just knew most of them did it with other elves nearby.

"On the floor?" Barry asked. Taako looked at him quizzically and he stammered, "I-I mean, it's a nice place—the bed's pretty big, y'know? I wouldn't mind."

"Thought you said you weren't coming on to me," Taako said, half joking and half uncomfortable. Not for any reason, really. He was far more comfortable than he ought to be.

"I'm not!"

Taako opened his mouth to say, I'm not spooning with a stranger, but something deep in his subconscious told him that wouldn't be quite accurate. Some part of him felt at ease. Something about this guy had compelled him to give the shoes back. He’d never given the shoes back before. He couldn't imagine why he did this time. Someone who seemed kind wasn't to be trusted. And yet...

"God," he muttered to himself, "what the hell am I doing?" Then, out loud, "Fine!" And before he could think any more about it he crawled into bed. Well, he crossed from where the bedroll on the floor was laid out, over to the left side of the bed, against the wall. Barry sat down on the right. He was between Taako and the door. No easy escape. Why the hell had he gone to a particular side at all? It wasn't like he was used to sharing. It wasn't like he'd ever had anyone to share with, enough to have a side. Whatever. He blamed it on the alcohol. Actually, he was just gonna blame all of this weird situation on the alcohol. All this warmth spilling over inside his chest. Well, what was done was done. Even if he couldn't understand why he'd done it.

Besides, Barry was a heavy sleeper. Something made him certain of that.

"Touch me and I'll curse your ass," Taako warned.

"My ass is already cursed," Barry mumbled, face buried in a pillow. "'M lactose intolerant."

That sounded right. That sounded exactly right. He didn't know how he knew these things.

Taako laid back cautiously, more out of habit than anything. He should be expecting something. He didn't have anything worth stealing, really, but there were definitely people who'd want to kill him. He should be falling asleep expecting to have his throat cut in the night.

But Barry was already snoring, and for some reason that sound made his eyes so heavy. Barry was a solid presence at his back, between him and the door, and for some reason, that made all his tensed muscles relax for the first time in a long, lonely time. Partly from the shared blanket and partly from this other, confusing feeling, Taako felt warm. The last thing he thought before he drifted off was that there was a space between them, a space that Barry had very carefully left at his request. And he wished there wasn't.

-

When Barry woke up to midmorning sunlight streaming through the inn room's window, for a moment the weight in his chest was light, and he felt, for the first time in years, that maybe he'd finally found a piece of his shattered self. Then he looked beside him, and the space there was empty and long cold. The ache came thundering back.

But the sheets had definitely been slept in.

[writing-havoc]

Both

♡ Summary: You have a nightmare about Kaz. He helps a little more than you thought he would

♡ Pairing(s): Kaz Brekker x GN!Reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows

♡ Warning(s): Blood

♡ WC: 2.5k

Just a small moment between Kaz and the reader. It's a little rushed, written in about 45 minutes (save for grammar corrections) but I like it.

While I did edit it, please excuse any grammar and spelling errors. Hope you like it <3

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shoot out of bed, gun drawn as you look wildly around. Flashes of figures and people flicker in your eyes and disappear as you blink. Your hands are dripping with blood and yet there's not a single speck of red on them.

Sweat drips off your eyebrow and onto your cheek, but as you hurriedly wipe it away you realize your cheek is drenched.

With a start, you remember you had a nightmare. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, ramping up your heart and shortening your breathing. There still people in the corner of your eyes, your hands feel sticky with what you now realize is sweat and you can't stop shaking, gun clattering to the floor.

You wait for a round to fire off, but thankfully nothing happens. Thunder cracks in the distance and you hate with every fiber of your being how you jump at the sound. Who jumps at thunder?

Your eyes drool with tears, spilling them down your face faster than you can clean them. Without a notice from your brain you begin to pace, trying to think and yet /not/ think.

Sweat plasters your shirt to your body, and you peel it off- actually, damn near rip it off as the frigid air begins to cool your slick bare skin. But it's not enough because it's still too damn hot and freezing at the same time.

You try sticking your arms in the air, giving your skin room to breathe instead of crushing it together. You can hear yourself talking, feel the muscles in your jaw moving, but there's not a single coherent syllable tumbling from your lips. You want to scream and throw your nightstand through the window.

But you have to be quiet. You have to be quiet because if you start breaking shit you'll wake up Inej and Nina and Pim and-

Kaz.

It's like your heart leaps directly out of your chest when you think of him. So much so an audible sob escapes your lips and your knees nearly buckle.

That's what the dream was about. That's what you're crying over.

But he's fine, right? He's Kaz Brekker. Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. A fucking monster among men. Secret sweetheart. He's fine he's fine he's fine.

Yet you can't think of anything but the blood and the people and his body drowning in its own crimson lake. There's always so much and it just spills everywhere. Sticky and dark and metallic.

You grab your discarded shirt and wipe your body down, soaking up as much sweat and tears as you can and lunging for a clean one on the foot of your bed. Tugging it on, you had just barely the mind to check your pants and socks before opening your door.

The dream itself didn't make sense. There's no way you and Kaz would be on a mission alone without backup, surrounded by his enemies, and practically defenseless. But the feeling you got, the way everything sounded and the texture of his shirt and blood were all real, all things you've felt and heard before. And that was enough to send you hurtling over the edge.

You don't even know you're going to him until you see the light shining underneath the door to the attic.

There was no thinking as you opened the door to his office, stepping in and searching wildly for the man from your dream. There was a candle lit and a cup of his day old coffee on the corner of his desk. You shut the door behind you, jumping when you bump into his coat rack. His hat and coat were here, so he has to be home.

It didn't take long at all for him to appear with an annoyed expression on his face from the bathroom. The expression morphed, however, when he saw the state that you were in.

It took everything in you to not run up to him and just touch him. That wasn't allowed. But you wanted to. You wanted to feel the warmth in his body and the blood pumping in his veins. You wanted to feel something that would tell you he was alive.

He was upright and walking, eyes full of as much life as they could be with the job he works and his past, but looks are easy to deceive. His voice was like gravel, tickling your ears in a way that is wholeheartedly and completely familiar, but that could be faked too.

"... you doing here?" You only just registered the words coming out of his mouth, his form now closer to yours. You were both in the middle of the room, you staring tearfully at him and him looking you over while keeping a distance. It was startling to see that his hands were bare, the pale white skin of his slender fingers on display.

That definitely wasn't like Kaz at all.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, staring at his chest. It was covered by a white button up shirt with faint, thin blue stripes going vertically on the torso and horizontally on the arms. If you reached out you could touch him and check his pulse. You wringed your hands together.

Saints, what could you even say?

'Sorry I busted in your room at an unholy hour of the night. I just had a horrible nightmare of which its focal point was you dying right in front of me and I woke up inable to distinguish reality from my hallucinations and I'm genuinely not sure if you're alive right now even though you're standing right in front of me.'? He'd probably have you kicked from the Dregs for being a fucking lunatic.

So instead you just went with, "Bad dream."

He was silent as he seized looking you over, now truly noticing your glossy focused eyes and roughed up appearance. You don't doubt there was little white streaks all across your face, smudged from your shirt and newer ones tracing your rough edges.

"I'd say 'bad dream' is a bit of an understatement, dove." He looked around his room. "Considering you barged in here at a little after 3 bells and your shirt is inside out, I'd lean more towards nightmare."

You looked down. The seams were showing.

Fuck.

This was all wrong.

You nodded, shuffling on your feet. You chanced a glance up at his face and found him staring directly at you. As tired as he appeared to be, you could tell he wasn't planning to sleep anytime soon.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, explain yourself maybe, but nothing came. Its like your throat was closing in on itself. You took a step backward and began pacing, just like before. What could you even do?

Kaz was silent as he watched you. From the corner of your eye you could see him begin to retreat back to the bathroom. Bright red panic flashed in your body at the thought of him disappearing from your sight. There was too much red. Everything was red.

The rapid pattering of your feet stilled on the ground, his own turning to see what happened. Shock was evident on his face. You gripped your hand harder, etching crescent moons into the back of your hand.

Why were you being such a baby? He can handle himself. You know he can. You went over this.

But the blood.

"I'm just going to get my gloves." He stated calmly, continuing into the bathroom slowly. You moved to the left, watching him every step of the way but never moving closer. True to his word he grabbed his gloves and left the room, walking back towards you with that familiarly uneven gait.

It eased your heart a little.

He came back to a stop at just the same distance in front of you as before, his slender fingers sliding back into the confines of his gloves. He was starting to look a little more like himself.

But still.

"Are you-" You began in a whisper, clearing your throat to speak up. "Are you alive?"

"I should hope so, otherwise we'd both have a little bit of a problem on our hands."

You stared at his chest again. If you looked more closely maybe you could see his heart beating through his shirt.

Kaz shuffles on his feet, leaning towards his good leg.

"This nightmare of yours... it was about me I reckon." His tone was calm, and surprisingly soft. Not guarded and grating like usual.

There were so many mixed signals.

You nodded, looking away but keeping him well within your peripheral.

This was horrifically embarrassing. But nothing was working. Him standing in front of you was helping a little, but not enough. Nothing was enough.

You flapped your hands, trying to shake the electricity out of them. Your wrists protested at the jerking and bending, but you ignored them.

"You..." You sucked in a breath. "You died, right in front of me. And you just... you laid there and there was so much blood." Your breathing became ragged, the images flashing in your mind once again. "It was like a fucking lake and it wouldn't stop. It was on the ground on my shoes on my hands-" you them on your shirt, the sweat on them feeling much too similar, "and everybody was angry and they just killed you and they- they almost got me too but-"

A sob broke from your throat. "But you just got up and stared at me and I touched you and you were cold as ice even though you were only dead for a few seconds and your voice-" you shook your head, hands grabbing at your hair as fresh tears streamed down your face.

"It wasnt yours." You couldn't manage more than a whisper, a whine even as you just repeated it over and over. Kaz wasn't saying anything and you're not even sure if you wanted him to say anything at all. What would he even say?

You sniffled, trying to clear your throat. "And I know you can handle yourself and it wasnt real but saints Kaz it felt so real." You dried your eyes with your hands, wiping them off on your pants as you did so. "Hell, I woke up standing in the middle of my room with my gun drawn. I don't know why I'm so freaked out and I'm so sorry for just coming in here but I just needed to know you're at least here but its not enough-"

A glove was held toward you, pale skin shaking ever so slightly.

The shock of the action was enough to ground you temporarily. You looked up at him and saw his eyes looking right at yours already, like they never moved from before.

"Kaz what-"

"Put it on."

You had to have heard him wrong. You had to have.

"What do you-"

"I need you to put the glove on for this."

For... oh, fuck.

Hesitantly, you took the glove, taking care not to touch his bare hand and slipped it on. It was big, a good half inch of glove left over on the fingers. The inside felt nice, though. The material wasnt uncomfortable and definitely felt like they were made for long term use.

"I'm not sure you'll be able to feel warmth right away, or at all." You could tell he was trying to keep his tone even, teeth a little gritted, but he reached for your hand. You pulled away slightly, just out of reach.

"Kaz you don't have to do this. I know how uncomfortable you are- well, I don't know, but I know how you get. You don't have to force this on yourself if you don't want to, really. Im just being a big baby-"

He let out a sigh, but you caught the whispers of a smile on his lips. He waited for you to calm before speaking. "I know more than anyone that I don't have to. Now give me your hand. The gloved one, preferably."

Well... okay, then. You cracked a smile and stepped forward, placing your hand (the gloved one) in his. With a gentleness you hadn't seen on him before, he brought your hand forward, placing your palm directly to his chest.

Immediately you could feel his heart. It was fast, faster than a heart should be. But it was there, and that's what mattered.

Very quickly heat began to seep through the leather, flanked by Kazs hand still holding onto yours and pressing it harder onto himself.

You took a deep shakey breath in, your bubbling anxiety trickling away.

He's here. He's here and he's alive and he's okay.

The people in the corner of your mind fell away, the sticky blood runs clear, and Kaz Brekker stands before you. Warm, snarky, and alive.

You sit here for a little while, feeling his pulse continue its steady high rhythm as your own syncs to his. It was a little rushing, to feel your heart beating so fast, but it helped you feel alive and present, grounded. Because it was his you were sharing this beat with.

The shaking stopped, but you could see the way his temple flexed as he grinded his teeth, a very very fine sheen of sweat plastering on his forehead. Distantly, you wondered just how long he'd be willing to put up with this.

Eventually though, you needed to give him his space. You pulled your hand back, gently taking it out from beneath his. Your fingers dragged along his chest.

He shuddered under the touch.

It felt strange, not having the thumping against the palm of your hand, but it wasn't going to kill you.

You pulled at the fingers, sliding the glove off and handing it back to him. He would need it. And that much was clear as he gave you a grateful nod and slid his hand back into it. He flexed his hand, comfortable to have a solid barrier between him and the world once more.

"I want to apologize, again, for barging in here. I promise, or at least hope, this doesn't become a regular thing." You rubbed your thumb into the palm of your hand. "I'm more than aware you can take care of yourself-"

"Y/n."

"Yes?"

"Dont hesitate to barge in."

You swallowed the spit collecting in your throat. "You sure?"

He flicked between your brows, earning a hurt chirp from your mouth. "Im sure."

"You're gonna regret that one day." You rubbed your forehead.

"Which one?" He asked, walking to his desk. "The offer or the flick?"

"Both."

"We'll see about that." He opened the window behind his desk, dusting off the surface with his hands. "For now, I do not regret it."

You walked over as he patted the rest of the dirt away, hopping up onto the sill as he brushed his hands together. "Not even a little?"

Kaz looked at you, and smiled genuinely. "Not even a little."

"The flick? Or the offer?"

He smiled, a private smile meant only for you. "Both."

This was definitely Kaz Brekker.

[savethegrishaverse]

We’re back with our next round of prompts Third Army! This week (January 14th to January 20th) we want to talk all about “resilience”. The theme of always coming back, the theme of making things our own.

We will never give up, we will never die out. And to aid that we are going to give out prompts and boost content about our Grishaverse, and we need your help! Come join us, send us your fanfics, post your art, and make sure to use hashtag #Third Army so we can see each post!

Writing prompt: "Genya felt like a statue as she sat at the head of the council room's table. She felt marble and cold and distant, but David's hand was across the table and out of her reach. She was alone here as she prepared to give her speech, but she had to do her best. She had to make the Triumvirate proud and win over the councilmen of Ravka, lest they continue to claim Nikolai a monster."

Writing prompt: Why not make an “incorrect quotes” post for Shadow And Bone! It can be a modern social media AU or a text post from the canon era, whatever you prefer!

Writing prompt: It’s a staple in the fanfiction community, but for good reason. Take your favorite ship and throw them in a “flower shop right next to tattoo parlor business rivals” AU! 

Art prompt: We've seen Dan Zollinger's art of the Saints, now draw your favorite Saint in your own style.

Art Prompt: Kaz says he will tear Pekka down “Brick by Brick” - let’s see that again, but with literal building bricks! Reenact a scene from Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows in lego form!

Photoshop challenge: Jesper says that maybe he likes Wylan’s stupid face - let’s photoshop that “stupid” face on all sorts of different things! The more bizarre the better!

Photoshop challenge: Let’s practice tailoring with Genya! Give the Shadow and Bone characters makeovers - maybe the Darkling is going through an emo/punk phase (it’s not a phase Baghra) or how about giving Alina a nice cottage-core makeover. Maybe even give Inej a kpop idol dream aesthetic!

Mixed Media challenge: Some of the iconic Crooked Kingdom book parts made it on screen, but not all of them! Why not draft up a gifsets/art/edit to show a Crooked Kingdom scene we haven't had on screen yet?

Video edit prompt: Compile together your favorite highlights and quotes for a "the Shadow and Bone cast once said…" video edit!

Question/Answer prompts: In the Lives of Saints, we learn to apologize and forgive - among other things. We also learn to stand our ground. Never apologize for campaigning for what you love, but maybe we should at the very least send an apology message to the poor Netflix social media managers who got caught in the crossfire of campaigning?

Every week I want to ask people to share happy/hopeful stories about Grishaverse and the campaign. Let’s talk about the friends we’ve made, the kindness in the fandom, and any moments of hope we can share to keep our spirits strong!

[the-faceless-bride]

Love Me, love me not...

This is the third chapter before the big and final chapter!! This one will show some more light on how relationships were with the boys... Well, the good times at least... This chapter has some Micheal!!!

Tags: @thelostboysbutterfly @thelostone91 @charlizekkelly @star583 @poketnife69 @pinkchocolatcat @p1×1ebby @yor72 @mushrooms444 @bespinnn @patient1666074 @sharksarebeautiful @iloveslasher @shiningdyingmoon @vixen2383 @star583 @poisonprincess82

<- part 2

The last few days have been hell, you've done nothing but lay in bed and cry... You just wanted to wake up and this all be a bad dream.

You walked down the light-up boardwalk looking for the man you've been distracting yourself with...

You missed them...

You missed Paul and the silly jokes he would make when you both danced and laughed...

You laughed as Paul jumped up onto the dried-out fountain as he dramatically lip-syncs to the words.

You smile up at him from your spot on a blanket next to the boombox that loudly played his favorite song, he puts his hands out toward you but you can only bashfully turn away from him,

"What's the matter babe? Can't dance?!" He jokingly yells to you over the echoing music, he hops down before launching himself over you he pulled your head to him until your nose was touching his, still whispering the words, the both of you now giggling before sharing a sweet kiss...

You missed Marko and the way he somehow always pulled you into his mischief...

You didn't have time to process what was happening, all you knew was yelling and hurried footsteps before you felt two glove-covered yet rather chilly hands land on your shoulder before jotting down your arms to you hands and pulling you along, "com'on baby! Run!"

You let Marko drag you down the boardwalk and through alleyways.

The sound of a large group of angry and loud surfers yelling and cursing at Marko, but Marko only laughed.

He looked back to you with his round for-like eyes, a smile across his face as he laughed at what he had gotten the both of you into.

It wasn't until he had cut a corner and picked you up, you both levitated and were shrouded in shadows as the group ran past you both ranting about finding you both.

After a few more moments he let you both drop, he looked around your shoulder and behind him before looking back to you.

He pressed a quick and nippy kiss to your lips before pulling back and finally pulling a stuffed animal from nowhere and handing it to you.

Seems you found out why they were chasing him...

You looked around, the loud music playing and dancing crowed only making it more difficult to find who you were looking for in the crowd...

You missed your quiet nights or endless chatter with Dwayne under the boardwalk...

You laid on the sandy beach, your body on top of Dwaynes' you couldn't hear any heartbeat but you could feel the vibrations of his voice as you listened to him endlessly rant about the thing the terror twins did that put David in a pissy mood that night.

"I swear, sometimes those two make me want to walk out into the sun." He huffs in amusement and you giggle, looking up at the handsome brunette.

"Don't worry princex you won't have to worry about the sun for a while."

You hummed at the thought, you had thought about becoming one of them. To never grow old, to party all night and sleep all day, to spend the rest of eternity with them.

They never offered to turn you- Dwayne lifted himself, being sure to hold you up to not end up in an awkward position before leaning down and giving you a slow and loving kiss- but if they did, you would say yes...

Finally, you spotted him. The black curls that sat on his head always made you want to run your fingers through his hair...

You missed David...

You sat on the bike facing David practically in his lap, his left hand on your hip and the other holding his cigarette.

"Those are bad for you, y'know?" You teased the bleach blonde and he rolls his eyes.

"Thanks, Dollface but I'm not too concerned." He smirks before he buries his face in your neck giving you a small nip.

You let out a small squeal and hit his shoulder before he pulled back and placed a kiss on your forehead...

You loved when he was in a good mood.

You had made your way to Micheal only getting halfway before your heart skipped a beat, and not in the good way you had grown addicted to feeling...

There he was, the one thing you were holding onto. Practically drooling over the same girl your- err, the boys had been suddenly interested in...

Why. Why was this happening to you? Were you really that bad of a person that the universe felt the need to torture you?

You just wanted to love and be loved, the boys didn't like that and left you for this girl. You are trying again and now he is leaving you for the same girl... What did she have you didn't?

It wasn't Micheal who noticed your presence it was the girl, she looked at you and then Micheal before switching back to you.

"Hi, i- I'm Star." She said with an awkward smile holding out he hand for you to take, you took her hand... But didn't smile back.

You told her your name, nothing more.

And it didn't take long for your night to go from bad to worse.

The boys had shown up, making a show of not only Micheal but also of flirting with Star...

You didn't notice but they were looking at you.

When they touched Star, held her, laughed with her when David challenged Micheal, and held his hand for Star to take, they were all looking at you.

Wishing for a sign, a look, a movement, a comment.

Anything!

Anything that could tell them, you wanted them.

You hadn't just forgotten about them being with Micheal...

That you felt something for them...

But you had only looked at Micheal...

Not because you loved him, not because he was looking at only Star... But because you know if you looked anywhere else you would cry.

You didn't want Micheal to go so you wouldn't have to go home and lay with your thoughts of rejection and sorrow.

But all the boys saw was a statement of loyalty to Micheal... That's who you wanted now. And Marko wanted nothing more than to rip his head off so you would only look at them... At him...

But Micheal wanted Star, that's all he could think about.

He took to David's challenge and while the boys didn't want you and Micheal together it pissed them off that it took something so small and easy to get him to ditch you... If it were them they would've spent all night with you even if it meant missing out on hunting that night.

But the boys couldn't dwell on it for too long, for they had a job to do.

And just like that; Star, The boys, and Micheal had driven away leaving you on the boardwalk, with nothing to do but go home, take a bath, and lay in bed with nothing but your thoughts...

Alone again.

Final part ->

[blazethecheeto]

ATLAS PARADOX RAMBLING

dude this book. i need to talk. about it. im going insane.

everyone who hasn't read it, PLEASE DO!!! it's a dark academia book about a bunch of gay silly magic people that join a society and try to kill each other. there's time travel, a big ass polycule, aesthetic scenes, the prettiest writing style in the world, science, philosophy, and fucked family. (opposite of found family).

(extremely chaotic unorganized long rant below, with spoilers. click at your own risk)

FIRST OF ALL WHY WAS THIS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE FIRST ONE?!!?!?

i had to power through the first one, it felt long, and unnecessary and like trekking through a JUNGLE with the thickest and most intricate ecosystem that i had to peel back and unravel for hours and hours. only to like move the plot by an inch.

BUT THIS. olivie blake found her footing because this was so good. i am aware the reviews hate on this book and some people don't like it, but personally i adore it and it's really well written.

CHARACTERS

bro they all had such wonderful voices, like they were distinct and unique from each other but not drastically, noticeably different I NEED TO LEARN FROM THIS. six of crows and the atlas six do multi povs so well <3 its like this book was made for me, each character was perfect and incredible and gay and silly and-

reina. love of my life. i look forward to all her povs because the plants are so silly and she's the best character. i said it. she's canon asexual now too YEES. i needed more of her because she was barely in the first one, and they DELIVERED. the juicy plot with her 'god complex' (ily callum) and her feelings getting hurt and learning she actually is lonely and wants friends? she's so wanda maximoff. next book better have her opening up and learning to love people or i riot (and also her killing people and being the badass she is)

parisa always my fave too, i do wish her character wasn't always talking about sex or romance, there were some great moments in this book where she showed off her telepathy powers (the prince in the tower!!) it was awesome. i'm glad they acknowledged that side of her with reina, (oh my god i ship them so much wait till i rant about them-) but dude i still HATE DALTON. SO MUCH. OH MY GOD. every time it's her pov i dread seeing dalton, i wish she could give that up. generic white men should die.

CALLUM. whatever turned him from complex, daunting, and a psychopath last book to janus from sanders sides this book- beautiful choice. he's literally the one sassy wine-sipping gay aunt that feels nothing and everything at once, also extremely mentally ill and depressed. he's SO FUNNY. his povs are fucking hilarious to read, and he quickly became one of my faves bc of how complex he is. i'm not smart enough to decipher and psychoanalyze him but god i LOVE CHARACTERS LIKE THIS.

i don't know what happened but nico is literally one of my faves now too, he's so silly and sweet and kind and i loved his relationships with everyone this book. like him trying to murder tristan in multiple different ways oml. he's my bbg. tristan was hit or miss for me, i did find him interesting but he's not my favourite. doesn't mean i hate him, he's so very british, i feel it radiating off the page. libby my queen my icon, her dream povs were so trippy i loved it- so so realistic to a real dream, that was the most surprising and unique part. also my bisexual queen seducing belen??

i did not like ezra and atlas was a little iffy here and there but tbh the cast was so well rounded and interesting and unique but paralleled each other so well?? THE RELATIONSHIPS. I DONT THINK ANY BOOK HAS THIS INTRICATE WEB-LIKE RELATIONSHIPS WITH EACH OTHER. they're one big polycule.

RELATIONSHIPS

nico and libby <3 i love them so much as siblings/queerplatonic partners. i don't ship them romantically, because i LOVE how they subverted the eye-rolling predictable ' YA academic rivals enemies to lovers' trope. when i started TAS, i immediately thought they were gonna get together and assumed the worst. but no, they still had the banter and importance in their relationship but without the romance? instead both of them were gay af. it's beautiful. i love subverting tropes so much. they're each other's 'other half' and they're hilarious together.

NICO AND TRISTAN. they were such a highlight this book, it was unexpected but so funny. nico trying to murder tristan and their little talks because 'they're not friends...just coworkers' yeah right, the best friendships start with creatively murdering each other. tristan being droll and chill af, and then nico bouncing off the walls my adhd king.

reina and nico broke me?? like that one chapter where they sparred and caught up with each other and reina was guarding her hurt feelings. DUDE THAT KILLED ME. made me stare at the ceiling for a good minute. their friendship is everything to me, they contrast each other so well. she deserves to be treated better- when they had that projection chapter and she saw that nico downplayed her skills...like she was good, but not good enough for him to care about her. AGGHGH.

REINA AND PARISA. NOW THIS. THIS HOOKED ME INTO THE BOOK. i ship them so bad guys. they parallel each other and are both hot and enemies to lovers and wlw slow burn and- look. reina is asexual, therefore the only person to truly see and understand parisa for who she is, and not be influenced by her body. like that one projection. she can help parisa understand HERSELF and who she is past her sexual desirability. how to love someone again. romantically. then, on the flip side, parisa can help reina see and understand OTHERS. reina only sees people as one trait, cut and dry- without any of the complex feelings. parisa is a telepath, she knows how to read others. THEY CAN BOTH HELP EACH OTHER AND LOVE EACH OTHER IN WAYS THEY NEVER COULD HAVE OMFDADJFLSKJADFL- also reina pinned her against a wall and they want to kill each other and every time they interact i scream into my pillow-

-

'You can't love anyone right?"

"I've met very few people worth loving."

-

*throws myself off a building*

now we just gotta play the familiar game "IS IT DELUSION OR IS IT JUST SLOW BURN" and find out whether their insane chemistry pays off in book 3.

the nico parisa scene was actually sweet ngl, even though i don't ship them. the whole callum and tristan thing was so bitter exes situationship coded and i ate every second up. especially that last conversation. AND OFC. GIDEON AND NICO?!!! AAAAA THEY WERE SO CUTE THEY'RE ENDGAME I SCREAMED WHEN THEY KISSED DUDE THEYRE SO-

PLOT

now for the actual plot. this book has so many interesting subjects and philosophies and debates i'm not smart enough for this. but past all the aesthetic glamour, it's science, time travel, dreams, multiverses, fate, reality, and the complexities of the human mind. and my god it's fascinating as fuck.

do i have any idea what they do in this society?? NO. am i entertained? YES. especially that whole explosion paradox to bring libby back to the future. the whole powering the connections via aurora borealis? the whole debate about being gods? i love it. i love it.

alright im so sorry for that rant, i gotta go now but DUDE I LOVE THIS BOOK NO MATTER HOW WEIRD IT WAS

[high-functioning-fang1rl]

Well I’m already exhausted and it’s only Monday, and there are NO WORDS to describe how TERRIFIED I am of what’s to come on Wednesday, so what better thing to distract myself with than some writing? So here’s Part 2 of my AU, where Chucky manipulates Nica into thinking she’s his daughter at the end of Cult!

One Side of the Knife! AU PART TWO!

The sound of a drill and cackling laughter pierced the air eerily as Nica rolled her chair through the empty asylum hallway. Not sure she wanted to know what she’d find, she hesitated before she rounded the corner, stopping at the bizarre scene before her.

The one-armed Good Guy was holding a drill that she noted was shiny with blood, laughing shrilly with the other doll she had followed. Malcolm lay on the ground beside them, blood pouring from the fresh hole through his head, his face frozen and blank with death.

Dizzy and queasy, Nica spotted yet another body, her heart sinking when she recognized that it was Nurse Ashley.

She’d had kids, Nica thought with a pang. Kids who wouldn’t ever know what happened to their mother.

Unable to stop her gasp of horror, the two dolls turned their attention on her.

“I knew you’d make the right choice!” The Chucky she’d followed crowed, his arms spreading robotically in victory.

But she leaned back, recoiling. “What did you do?” She demanded anxiously.

The doll holding the drill shrugged, lowering the weapon to his side. “The guy was certifiable! He killed the nurse pretending to be me and got himself killed for it! He was on borrowed time anyway.”

Nica recalled Malcolm claiming to be “Charles” the last time she’d spoken, but she couldn’t stop the pang of regret coursing through her as she remembered the relief she’d felt meeting him, the feeling that she finally had an ally again when she’d felt so alone and helpless in the cursed walls of Harrogate.

“It couldn’t be helped, kid!” Chucky tried to assure her. “Now we can get out of here no problem!”

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Nica nodded, rolling the chair after him, doing her best to ignore the bodies and how they basically made a trail toward the office she’d been in as she passed. The two dolls split up, Nica immediately following the intact doll down the longer hallway toward what she knew was the exit. She only paused when he did, looking into an empty room.

A young man, his back toward her, stared down at what she guessed could only be the third Good Guy doll Nica had seen in Dr. Foley’s office, though it was so smashed under the person’s boot that she couldn’t be sure.

As if sensing he wasn’t alone, the figure turned, immediately pointing a gun in their direction.

It felt like a jolt of electricity ran through her as she faintly recognized that the man in front of her must be Andy Barclay, all grown up.

For a brief second he seemed just as surprised by Nica’s presence, his lips parting slightly and eyes widening a fraction. Then his eyes went to the doll and without hesitation, his handsome features determined, grim, he trained the gun forward the doll and pulled the trigger, and Nica tensed in her chair as an empty click indicated he was out of bullets.

“Tag you’re it, Pal!” Cackling, Chucky suddenly swung the door shut. “Lock it!” He barked at her as Andy ran to the door.

Only hesitating for a brief moment, Nica obeyed, her wrist flicking out quickly to shut the young man in.

“NO!” Fists pounded on the door, Andy howling and cursing Chucky behind the door.

Against her better judgement, Nica looked at Chucky, hoping to assuage the guilt she felt at leaving the attractive stranger locked in Harrogate. “Why is he here?”

Chucky awkwardly clambered up onto her lap, his eyes big blue and earnest. “The kid’s got issues! He’s stalked me for years- he heard I was coming here to free you and thought you were working with me. He wanted to keep us both locked in here, but the joke is on him! Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

With one last glance to the locked door, still unsure she was doing the right thing, she continued toward the exit obediently.

*****

The cold was the first thing she noticed, and she began shivering immediately as the air hit her.

Snow was falling gently, and despite the circumstances Nica couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it, couldn’t stop herself from taking a deep breath of fresh air, the feeling of freedom making her body sing.

Carefully wheeling around the steps, she made her way toward the gates, where a red car sat waiting for them.

The gorgeous blonde- Tiffany Valentine, she recalled- stood waiting beside the car patiently, her eyes fixed on the doll in Nica’s lap, a smile fixed on her expertly painted red lips.

She addressed Chucky, her voice as distinctive and unforgettable as it had been when she’d met with Nica to tell her about Alice and leave Chucky with her. “Hey, Sweetface. ‘S good to see you.” She said playfully.

Nica was surprised, however, when the doll replied, a fondness she’d never heard before evident in his voice. “You look great, Tiff.”

Tiffany smirked, her big eyes moving up to regard Nica curiously.

Chucky read the question in her eyes and quickly offered “I believe you’ve already met but, Tiff, may I properly introduce Nica Pierce? Nica, meet my wife; Tiffany.”

“Hi.” Nica shifted shyly, uncomfortably, trying for a smile.

It felt like there was fire in her gaze as Tiffany smiled back, offering a pleasant “Hello.” in return, and Nica got the impression Tiffany was not thrilled by her presence.

“Nica here decided she wanted to know more about where she came from, so she’ll be joining us, just like we hoped!” Charles said authoritatively, reaching up for Tiffany.

Seemingly more pleased when holding him in her arms, Tiffany grinned. “Let’s go, SweetFace!” She cooed, bringing him around and placing him in the passenger seat. Then she returned to the driver’s side, opening the door to the backseat and opening her arms. “Nica…” she politely waited for permission before lifting Nica out of the chair, carefully putting her in the backseat and helping her buckle.

Nica noticed the car wasn’t big enough to fit the wheelchair, and she paused, her body going tense.

“I…um, I’ll need my chair…” she told them apologetically, embarrassed, years of conditioning making her cheeks heat red.

But Chucky looked back at her from the front seat as Tiffany slid into the driver’s seat, his voice gravely but unbothered. “Not a problem! We have a chair at home for ya- I told ya, we planned on this! Well, hoped on it, at least!”

Despite herself, something small fluttered inside of her chest; the ease of her disability being accepted foreign to her, a tiny part of her preening, grateful for the kind treatment.

“Thanks.” She said softly.

In the driver’s seat, Tiffany sighed.

“What.” Chucky demanded.

Meeting Nica’s eyes in the rearview mirror, Tiffany said with a pout. “I was just thinking about Alice...”

Nica’s heart constricted, tears immediately burning behind her eyes as she looked away, pain lancing through her heart.

The blonde continued, “And how much I miss her and how sorry I am that she’s gone… but maybe having you here will help us all feel close to her.”

Sniffling, Nica nodded, wiping at her eyes as she attempted to swallow the grief. “Yeah…yeah, maybe it will.”

“Good point, Tiff. Now let’s get the hell out of here!” Chucky waved his arm.

Smiling, Tiffany turned the engine on, and settling back into the seat as the car started, Nica finally saw the blonde, female doll in the seat beside her, jumping in shock when it turned to return her curious look with one of it’s own.

Seeing her surprise and momentary fear, the doll laughed, the shrill sound unmistakably a duplicate of Tiffany’s. From the front of the car, the human Tiffany and Chucky joined in the laughter, as if sharing an inside joke.

In between bouts of uninhibited cackling Chucky apologized for the surprise. “Boy, do we have a lot to catch up on!” He told her as the car pulled away.

Feeling lighter as the car left the facility she’d been contained in for too long, a place of nightmares, Nica began chuckling at herself too, the car growing loud with the sound of their mirth.

She didn't even notice the body left discarded on the pavement, the red blood soaking into the white blanket of snow around it.

*****

Well, we’re on our way now! Thanks for reading!

When it comes to future installments, there are MANY ways this could go, and I’m curious what you all would like to see/read! How dark should Nica go/how deep into Chucky and Tiff’s claws should she get? I’ve got a few ideas for many scenarios, so I’d be happy to hear what you all want to read!

I’m slowly loving this AU more and more so I’d love to hear any input/thoughts you may have! :)

*Hope you all are having a great week already! 🥰*

[laurenairay]

it’s a dangerous thing - C. Cizikas

Summary: Casey’s relentless flirting is the bane of your existence (or is it?).

Warnings: flirting, implied smut but no actual smut, casey cizikas being seductive af

Words: 1.7k

A/N: Happy birthday my dear @texanstarslove​! I had an absolute blast writing for Casey for the first time, Em, so I really hope you enjoy this flirty little fic.

Title from Hide the Wine, by Carly Pearce

*

Casey Cizikas was a pain in your ass. There was no other way to describe him. He was the epitome of Trouble with a capital T, and by the way he smirked whenever he saw you, he knew exactly the effect he had – on you, on women in general, on every damn person in the room. There was just something so infuriating about the way he flirted so casually, relentlessly charming, knowing how it stirred you up and carrying on with it anyway. The man was a pest, and it took all your self-control to keep yourself from crossing the invisible lines you had drawn, right from the moment you’d met him all those years ago.

Personally, you thought he enjoyed how much he could push your buttons, how close you came to unravelling, how your heart raced faster and your breath came shorter. Trouble. Casey was Trouble and he damn well knew it.

“Now the party’s here!”

You rolled your eyes fondly at the crowing of Matt Martin as you sat down at the large booth, kissing Syd’s cheek in greeting and waving across the table to the familiar faces. “Excuse me, some of us take time to look this good.”

“And damn do you look good.”

Starting off strong tonight, apparently.

“Hello to you too, Casey,” you mused as he sat down on your other side, effectively trapping you in the booth.

You kissed his cheek in greeting too, Casey just winking at you as you settled back into your seat, leaving you to hide your heated face behind the large glass of wine that you’d picked up on your way across the bar. Being able to meet up with your friends like this wasn’t as often or as easy as you would like, with their schedule and with your own work, but nights like this with the full crowd around made up for everything. This evening was going to be a good one – you could already tell.

Time seemed to slow down as everyone started talking to each other, catching up, telling dumb stories, teasing the rookies, laughing at Mat for spilling his drink. Nothing out of the ordinary but it just felt so right to sink back into the swing of things, sipping at your wine as you let the stress of the week drain out of you.

“Alright, this round is on me.”

Casey’s voice rung out across the table, Anders in particular tilting his mostly-empty bottle in acknowledgement, people calling out their orders with enthusiasm.

“Shitty beer for Marty and vodka soda for Syd…” Casey listed, earning a middle finger from his friend, “And you…yeah you definitely need another glass of wine.”

As valiantly as you tried to ignore the way his murmured voice sent butterflies through your body, you knew he could sense something in your expression, in your eyes. He always could. It was a ridiculous super power.

“You trying to get her drunk?” Matt teased.

“Don’t need to get her drunk to have a good time,” Casey shot back.

Oh fuck. The smirk he sent you only made Matt laugh harder, earning both of them an unimpressed glance as you fought to hide the tingles that ran down your spine. Casey really was on a mission this evening, wasn’t he?

“So, wine?”

His soft words, murmured directly into your ear, made you break out of your thoughts with a soft gasp, and it took all your strength not to shiver when you realised how close he was leaning to you.

“Seeing as you’re paying, sure,” you nodded, smiling up at him.

“I like a girl who knows want she wants,” he grinned, standing upright, “Good thing I have the credit card to match.”

Oh fuck him.

“You are such an asshole!” you called out to his retreating back.

“And you love it!” he yelled over his shoulder, that familiar smirk on his lips.

You rolled your eyes as his teammates laughed, unable to stop yourself from smiling at his ridiculousness. There was something different in the air tonight, the bar crowded but not heaving, creating an atmosphere of absolute intensity that felt so incredibly electric – and you knew you weren’t the only one who felt it, by the glints in your companions’ eyes, let alone Casey being on fine flirting form. But you weren’t going to complain; something was telling you that the evening’s fun had only just begun.

Soon enough Casey returned to the table, having roped a few rookies into helping him carry the drinks back, and as always the attention turned right back to him.

“Baby, here’s your wine,” he said loudly, sitting down next to you once more.

“Oh my god, don’t call me baby, people are going to get the wrong idea,” you groaned, Syd just giggling.

“Maybe I want them to, ever thought about that?” he grinned.

“You are an insufferable flirt,” you said dryly, earning laughter from the group.

Casey just shrugged, unashamed. “Gotta do what I can to keep your eyes on me, no? Can’t say I like the thought of other guys having your attention.”

What?

His blue eyes blazed as they stared down into yours, sending your heart racing, and you bit your bottom lip briefly, steeling yourself as his eyes flicked down to watch. This flirting was different – more personal, with more of an edge. You could fight fire with fire, right?

“You don’t like the thought of other guys flirting with me? Buying me drinks? Making me smile?” you said softly, eyes wide and innocent as you took a sip of your new glass of wine, your words only audible enough for him.

His eyes flashed with an intensity that made you shiver. “You know I don’t. And even if you didn’t know…don’t play with me, baby.”

“I should’ve known you were the jealous type,” you murmured, pushing even further.

Casey’s hand slid onto your thigh, squeezing gently, making your lips part in a gasp.

“You have no idea,” he said lowly, “I don’t share.”

Oh fuck.

This had crossed the line that the two of you always danced around, never getting as close as this to tearing apart the fragile balance his flirting always left you on. What were you doing? What was he doing? Were you really going to fall into his arms and his bed like he’d always wanted?

As his hand squeezed your thigh again, you found your cheeks heating up at the intimate contact, Casey just smirking as you cleared your throat to clear your head. You didn’t know when his arm had slid over the back of the booth behind your back, but now it had inched down to rest across your shoulders, bringing you ever-so-much closer together, his chest pressed against your arm. To anyone around you, to any strangers glancing your way, it would just look like close conversation, two people talking intimately over the noise of the bar. But to you, you knew it was so much more; the way his thumb ran back and forth over the skin of your inner thigh showed that much. But the fact that you were willingly letting him break down those carefully crafted boundaries, his breath dusting across your cheek as his heated gaze watched you? Well, that was a whole new level that left you not knowing quite where you stood.

“Are you trying to flirt with me for real this time? Like, not just your dumb flirty banter you do with everyone?” you asked.

You had to know. You needed to know, because if he was just playing around you didn’t know if you could handle that. Not now. 

He tilted his head slightly, looking at you as if he was trying to figure you out, before his smiled softly.

“Yes, is it working?” he said simply, seriously, telling you everything you needed to know.

Casey Cizikas wasn’t just flirting with you. He was seducing you. And it was absolutely working.

“Damn it Casey.”

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he added, leaning a little closer to you.

Your breath hitched in your chest at his words, voice so soft it was practically a purr, and you knew he noticed by the way his grin sharpened. You were falling, hook line and sinker, and he was ready to catch.

“You’re very lucky I have questionable taste,” you managed to say.

“So my flirting is working,” he grinned.

“Don’t celebrate too hard. It’s a slow night and there’s literally no-one else available,” you said, pursing your lips to hide your smile.

“Oh baby you won’t be thinking about anyone else when I’m through,” Casey murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Oh fuck, how was that so hot?

“Do you two maybe want to get a room?”

Matt’s dry teasing broke you out of your little bubble, your cheeks heating up again as Casey just laughed along with everyone else that you’d honestly forgotten were still around you.

“That’s a great idea, Marty,” Casey shot back, eyes flitting down to yours as his smile softened, “Your place or mine?”

You ignored the hoots and catcalls as Casey moved his hand from your thigh to your waist, beautiful blue eyes searching your face, questioning, giving you an out if you needed one. It was that gesture that made your decision for you.

“Yours,” you said simply.

His gentle expression shifted into that all-too-familiar smirk, making you shudder in anticipation, even as he linked his fingers with yours and flipped his cackling teammates off with his free hand.

“I’m going to give you the night of your life, you’ll see,” Casey murmured into your ear as the two of you weaved through the crowd.

Of that you had no doubt.

*

“Alright, you win, four times in one night is a record,” you laughed, panting as you ran a hand through sweat-damp hair.

Casey just smirked, sending fire through your blood. “Records are meant to be beaten.”

What had you gotten yourself into?

[emhm]

Eclipse rippled the slack of neatly folded fabric like a deck of cards. He'd allowed Sun and the clerk to convince him to add two more colors, orange and black. But there was still no real harmony to the subject matter. Slices of oranges in a graphic style, swirly koi fish with ribbons of shiny gold, Halloween fabrics with pumpkins, skulls and crows. He had floral prints and abstract blenders and even one with tiny stars on a charcoal sky. His fingers curled into the folds of the fabric like a cat protecting a favorite toy. Sun was cheerfully discussing his own cats with the clerk. Who by the tiny white hairs on her shirt; clearly had at least one of her own. She folded up Sun's last choice; a repeating pattern of bookshelves with fairy-tale names on the spines. The two stacks were equal in number and volume and tidy next to one another, the edges crisply folded. Sun's stack was mostly yellow and blue. Tropical fish and sunny skies, flowers, geometric shapes and smears. He had three different prints with cartoon cats and a single one with woodgrain to match the bookshelves. Eclipse noticed a scrap peeking out from under the stack of fat quarters the clerk had been cutting. He pulled it out delicately and held it up. A creme colored fabric with a pattern of round black berries on leafy branches with delicate plum colored flowers like tiny trumpets. The clerk looked up, "we had several bolts of botanical illustration fabric. That's the very last piece. Not the nicest plant but it looks pretty. Deadly nightshade." Eclipse held the small piece and stared at it, lost in thought. Sun smiled at him. "I think we'll take it off your hands. Now I just need two spools of black and white thread for the machine and we can go." The lady put her cutter in the pocket of her apron. "I'll get it for you." She could see that the two anamatronics needed a moment alone. The dark sun considered the tiny square of fabric on top of the larger pieces. In that moment he almost pitied it and the burst of empathy for the rumpled scrap left him reeling with the strangely intense emotion. He felt Sun's fingers nestle in between his own. "It can kill people yeah. But it's also used to make heart medication for humans and it's related to potatoes. Which are wonderful." He gave his shadow a soft look. "Are you feeling any better?" "I guess… it's calm here." Sun squeezed his hand. "We need to find you a hobby of your own." He picked up the two piles of cloth and followed the clerk to the counter. "You should be here when they're doing classes in the back." She said softly. "I've always enjoyed the ambience of everyone's different machines all clacking and humming along. People bring their own and there's always a big range from fresh-faced kids with brand new plastic things to grandmas with old metal heirlooms lovingly maintained and oiled. "I see you thinking Sun." Eclipse ventured. "I'm not taking a quilting class. Even if you wanted to lend me your machine; I don't think yours is something that should be drug around. If I wanted to do anything it, would be to make some more clothes." Sun and the clerk exchanged a knowing look. "Okay Eclipse. As you wish."

[needfantasticstories]

DAY 6: YOU LIED TO ME 

[Mild on whump. Trying my hand at a Warrior’s Hyrule trope I love]

Stalls crowded the streets in Warrior’s Hyrule. People moved in unpredictable tides, going wrong ways and in eddies instead of flows.

Wind wasn’t sure how he got separated so quickly from the others. He’d only been looking at the food a little bit. One moment he was walking behind Legend, the next he realized the person ahead of him was a lady in a red tunic with blue hair, her face nearly buried in a book. 

Wind stopped in the middle of the crowd, looked around, and groaned. 

How long have I been following this lady? He searched the crowd for his brothers, but they must have been long gone by now. 

How was he supposed to find them in this crowd, anyway? He needed a crow's nest. There were stairs that led to a tall building ahead, a guard at the top. Maybe he could get up and get a better view. 

Towering turrets came into view as he rounded the corner. The castle! He didn’t even need to climb to see it. 

Wind made his way to the breathtaking structure until his path led to the gates. Off-duty guards milled around at a tavern near the entrance.

“Excuse me, um, Sir…knights? Have you seen Captain Link around? We got separated, and I really need to get back.”

“Oh!” The knight replied, handing his drink to a friend who stared at Wind as if seeing a redead. The first soldier seemed unfazed, so Wind ignored the other. “Yeah, I remember seeing you with him. I just saw him, actually. Let me send word with some messengers in case they find him first, but I saw him come this way,” the guard smiled warmly. 

“Thanks!” How cool to have a whole crew to help defend Hyrule. Wind felt a little jealous of the knights among the heroes, who didn’t have to face Ganon alone, who had skilled fighters at their back. Then again, Tetra was a one-kid army.

Wind smiled back at the soldier and sighed in relief. Thank Oshus that Warrior was probably one of the easiest Links to track down. If it had been Hyrule’s Hyrule… Wind guessed he’d probably have a pack of moblins chewing on his legs like a cuckoo wing long before ever finding the Traveler. He shivered. He’d never say it to his face, but his era was the worst era by far. Actually, he probably had said it to his face, now that he thought about it. The poor teen looked like death when he first showed up. At least the bags under his eyes had finally faded. 

He wished he could show them Outset Island, but he didn’t want Shadow opening more portals leading monsters to his home.  

The guard turned to listen to a messenger whisper something in his ear, and turned with a smile to Wind. “Excellent. He’s waiting for you at the stables.”

Warrior’s Hyrule was a dream by comparison. It had all the excitement Aryll and Tetra and the crew could want, and seas of grass he could run through for days. Traveling with the chain showed him just how amazing having more than an island to travel could be. Still, he couldn’t wait to show them what real fun looked like—sailing open seas with a full sail, conducting the wind, exploring for treasure with your crew. 

Wind followed the man away from the tavern and around a corner. 

“In here?” They came to a stable. The knight stood in the door, welcoming him inside. The stalls reeked horribly.

“Link prefers a bit of privacy. Not everyone is a fan of his,” he explained. 

Wind knew the other Links loved their big, stinky horses, so chided himself for being surprised that he’d come here. Wind had good money on a bet with Four that Warrior also had an Epona. Sky had bet that Legend had one, and Hyrule had bet on both Warrior and Wild. 

Not everyone is a fan of his. Something about the words nagged at him.

“What do you mean?” Wind asked.

“Oh, we’re big fans of the Captain, though. Happy to follow him. Just one moment. I think I see him coming…” The soldier stood on his toes to look to the far end of the stable where another set of doors stood open to another street. 

A sting on his neck and darkness closing around him showed that was a fat lie. 

He swatted at the spot and grabbed a glass vial with a tiny metal point on the end. A large hand grabbed his and held it tight, and another circled his arm and chest, pinning him. “What the…what are you doing?” he stammered. Exhaustion flooded him from the prick on his neck, weighing him down. His eyes felt heavy. But he pushed back and squirmed, trying to fight it. 

“What’s going on with this brat? Spirit normally would have seen this coming a mile away. He’s never been this easy to get the drop on…” the man holding him said.

Wind slumped against his attacker. The first soldier came closer, staring at him. 

Wind struggled to stay alert and remember who this stranger was and why he was here. He struggled to keep his head up enough to glare back.

“He’s smaller, isn’t he? Younger? Has our Dear Captain been messing with portals again? The kid probably doesn’t even know about it!” The venom in the man’s voice at Warrior’s title made Wind gut clench with anger, and if he was honest, a touch of fear. This man hated Wars. Clearly, they hated him too.

“The kid probably doesn’t even know about it”

Know about what? Wars, what didn’t you tell me? 

He huffed heavily. Had he been running? Had they chased him? Is that why he felt so tired and out of breath? No… they were liars… 

“What more damage is that monster going to cause?” a voice near his head said. They were angry. But Wind couldn't understand, couldn’t keep track of the words. Who were these people?

He was so, so tired.

[thepenultimateword]

Oh my God I love the "Shiny" miniseries! Anyone who says they wouldn't like a crow so needs to be tested for Covid cause they have NO TASTE. Could you please write part four?! (´ . .̫ . `)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Villain must have blacked out. They remembered Superhero's stomach lurching take off, his massive wings beating the air with thunderous claps and jostling the barbs deeper into Villain's flesh. They remembered the way his wide wingspan caught the air currents and glided, smoother and steadier than Supervillain could ever achieve as a scavenger hybrid. The flight was pretty hazy, but Villain then remembered the big dark van at the end of it, parked at the gaping mouth of a pitch black tunnel. The car door squealed as it slid open and then... Nothing. All was inky blackness until this moment.

Their eyelids lifted heavily, blinking in their blurry surroundings. It looked like an examining room at a doctor's office but without all the colorful posters informing them of high blood pressure, stomach anatomy, and cancer symptoms. They sprawled face first over a medical table, the cold slab of metal absent of paper and soaking a deep chill into Villain's skin. The nets had been cut away, along with their shredded clothing, leaving them feeling vulnerable and exposed. They wished they could hug themself, but the sharp bite of barbs remained, keeping them bound and still.

Supervillain. I want Supervillain.

They felt like a child crying silently for their mother, but they didn't care. They wanted to go home. They wanted to snuggle down into Supervillain's nest of pillows and blankets and fall asleep to their lover's soft preening. They wanted warm soup and shelves of sparkling trinkets. They did not want white fluorescent lights, heavy air conditioning brushing chills down their bare back, and ominous glimpses of pliers and needles.

The door creaked, and Villain nearly leaped out of their skin.

Instead of a masked torturer or worse, Superhero, a small woman with a tight blonde bun and a white doctor's coat stepped into the room. She offered a bright smile that may have been mildly comforting if it weren't for the dark, blue-tinted sunglasses obscuring her eyes.

Before Villain could think about the odd eyewear further, she flicked them off her face and folded them into her front pocket. Cold grey eyes roved Villain up and down, causing them to shudder, but once she was done drinking them in she simply put her hands on her hips.

"Looks like you got yourself stuck in a nasty trap."

"What are you going to do to me?" Villain spat, ignoring any pretenses at conversation. They'd rather be prepared for the oncoming torture they decided.

The woman dropped down into the rounded seat beside the counter and rolled up to the medical table to inspect Villain more closely. "Well first, I'm going to inject you with a numbing agent, then I'm going to cut those wires into smaller pieces and extract the barbs as carefully as possible, from there I'll disinfect wounds and stitch up anything especially deep. Then I'll call someone to take you to your cell."

Villan stared at her. "You're not going to...pry out my teeth and snap my fingers?"

She shrugged and rolled back toward the counter. "Not my department. But I suppose you'll be seeing me again if that does happen." Her hand paused over a disconcertingly large syringe. "Or Andrew. He specializes in breaks."

Villain shuddered. It was torture disguised as kindness. Hurting people and then making them healthy again so that they could keep hurting them. The psychological strain alone was enough to break somebody.

“Try to hold still,” the doctor said, rubbing a cold alcohol wipe along their back.

Villain realized they were still shivering, the constant tremble turning their muscles into hard rock, but they couldn’t seem to stop. The needle plunged between their shoulders blades with a sharp pinch, leaving behind a cold ache that seemed to settle like ice water in the thick of their flesh.

“Relax,” the doctor said, holding a cotton pad over the area for a couple seconds. When they moved to throw it away, it was stained with several droplets of blood. “It goes in easier when you’re relaxed.”

How were they supposed to relax when their future was so unknown. For all they knew, they were off to the torture chamber after this.

The needles in their arms ached just as bad, but luckily the the numbing agent kicked in quickly, masking that pain as much as that of the barbs.

The rest of the procedure took almost two hours, filled with the little clicks of snapping wires and the gentle twist of the barbs’ hooks. The doctor seemed to be taking great care to remove each knot of metal cleanly and carefully, opting for small incisions in place of bedraggling flesh wherever the metal was too tangled to slide free.

Todays whole ordeal was making Villain woozy. They wished they could doze off the way they did when Supervillain tended their wounds, it might have made the procedure pass faster, but their adrenaline kept them on high alert.

The doctor tossed the last piece of bloody barbed wire in a bucket and got to work with disinfectant and stitches. They needed a lot of stitches.

The doctor punctuated the end of her treatment with a light pat on Villain's shoulder. They felt the pressure but not the sensation. As the doctor peeled off her gloves, she caught her heel on the handle of one of the office drawers, dragging it open and revealing a neat pile of toothpaste green hospital gowns. The doctor selected one and tossed it beside Villain on the cold medical table.

Villain snatched it, sitting up too fast to throw it over themself. The scratchy fabric started an itch on the back of their neck, but they ignored it, hugging the covering close around them.

The doctor barely acknowledged their behavior, not even warning them against popping their stitches with their abrupt movements. She just pressed a little green button on the far wall and sat in her chair. Within seconds, a light knock on the door signaled the arrival of a massive, loosely uniformed man with a scarred throat and a shorn head. Like the doctor, he wore a pair of dark, blue-tinted sunglasses.

"Cell 2?" he said to the doctor, voice husky.

"Cell 2," she confirmed, then turning to Villain. "As long as you're cooperative, those wounds should heal up nicely."

Villain's stomach dropped. "Wait, what--"

The man clamped one large hand over the back of Villain's neck and shoved them off the table gruff enough that they stumbled, but with enough control that the man--the guard?--turned the unbalance into the first few steps of their march toward the door.

Villain squinted as they entered the hall. The fluorescent lights didn't look much different than the ones in the medical room, but for some reason, they seemed more irritating, even more so because they seemed to be in a constant state of shuddering. They blinked hard a couple times until they could just manage the lighting and swept their eyes around their long corridor. When Villain thought "compound," their immediate picture was a square, windowless building made entirely of concrete, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, all of it. This was not the compound of their imagination.

White laminate flooring vaguely reflected the overhead lights, gleaming and dulling with every flicker. The walls were yellow painted drywall, decorated about every three feet with some strange painting: a silver cat that is actually a milk jug, an apple tree that grows hands--on a wide scale from open palms to clenched fists--instead of apples, a psychedelic rainbow spiraling into a cocoon, like some huge, blurry, coiling caterpillar, etc.

Villain barely noticed the slowing of the guard's steps until they were opening another door, nondescript except for the big number 2 etched from edge to edge across the center. The guard didn't pass the threshold. He simply pushed Villain through the opening, skinning their knees on the beige, flatwoven carpet, and pulled the door shut with a thud too heavy for a door made out of wood.

Villain hissed they shifted around on the stinging knees and gingerly touched the fingers to the door's surface. Sure enough, despite being painted like wood, the door carried the cold bite of metal. Weird.

A quick look around the cell revealed a minimalist's dream, or perhaps an anchoret's dream would be closer. Carpet, bed, toilet. Aside from the sage blue clothes folded on the mattress (a step up from toothpaste green), that was it. Everything was bathed in an uncomfortable orangy glow, but at least the light in here was stable.

Villain picked up the proffered shirt, pants and underclothes, the fabric only slightly more tolerable than their current hospital gown. Knowing this is what they wanted them to change into, Villain's first instinct was to refuse. But their current thin cotton wasn't doing the best job at covering them; it was more like wearing a sack than actual clothing, and that was more dehumanizing than doing as the heroes wanted. They peeked around the room, checking in corners and beneath the bed for cameras before undressing. Sure, this was a hero torture chamber, but that didn't mean there weren't also creeps.

They pulled the clothes on fast, hating how much better they felt once they were one, and clambered up onto the bed to hug themselves into a ball against the wall. The strange numb feeling in their muscles was beginning to fade, leaving them with cold tingles along their arms and spine, as well as the start of a terrible throbbing sensation in each wound pocked across their body. Since they could do nothing about that, they rolled up the legs of their pants and blew cooling breaths over their rug-burned knees.

This time, when the door opened, they didn't jump. They froze.

Superhero fit through the door just barely, tucking his massive wings tighter against his back so that they didn't bump the frame. Golden feathers swooshed along the floor behind him, forcing him to turn around to keep from closing them in the door. For a very brief moment, Villain wanted to strangle him. Push off the metal bed frame and grab him around his pompous maned neck. The Eagle's merciless reputation and long glinting talons on the door handle halted them.

"Villain, right?" he said, turning around with a smooth half-flap. He removed his sunglasses with a flourish.

Villain didn't know how Superhero knew that, but their tongue couldn't find the correct movements for an inquiry. Or any reply. Apparently, the question was only a formality because the hybrid moved on without hesitation.

"Very strange that Supervillain left you."

A jolt of protectiveness knocked Villain's voice loose from where it stuck at the back of their throat "They didn't. I came alone."

"Really? My mistake. I assumed that a villain that hates the spotlight and sticks to low-level crimes would have avoided a high-security area like a hero base."

Villain pressed closer to the wall. "How...do you know that?"

"Perhaps you thought you could remain close to the crow and stay out of the spotlight, but I'm sorry to tell you that life isn't so kind. We don't get everything we want. Supervillain may have forced the criminal hierarchy to turn a blind eye, but that doesn't make you stand out less."

Superhero's sharp yellow eyes zeroed in on their face, holding their gaze captive.

"I was still alone," Villain managed unconvincingly. They wanted to look away, but the prickle running up their neck had them feeling like they were safer with the hero in their sights.

Superhero didn't even deign to acknowledge that sentence. "I know how close you are. How much you care for Supervillain, but if they really cared, why didn't they fight for you?"

"Because I made them leave!"

There was no point in keeping up pretenses when they both knew what really happened. There were probably cameras all over that base.

"You had to convince them?" Though it was stated like a question, Villain got the impression that Superhero wasn't really asking. Their patronizing tone hinted at pity, as if they knew something Villain didn't.

"Yes. It was all me. Your little mind games aren't going to work."

"We're only talking." Superhero leaned back on the wall and folded his arms. "Are you certain Supervillain wasn't scared?"

"Of you?" Villain scoffed, causing Superhero to frown.

"Didn't you know? Eagles eat crows. Even if Supervillain's human side wants to fight me, there's always going to be that little itch at the back of the brain telling them to flee. Maybe your urging made them feel better about the decision they wanted to make all along."

This was ridiculous. If Superhero thought saying a bunch of bad things about Supervillain was going to make Villain suddenly turn on them, then they really were a birdbrain.

"Crows mate for life," Villain found themself saying stubbornly.

"For their partner's life. There are no instincts binding them to fidelity once you're gone."

Villain flinched. They'd known what they were doing when they made Supervillain flee. They'd know that this decision would probably be their end. All they had wanted was Supervillain to be free. So why did the thought of Supervillain moving on rub them the wrong way? Whatever. Superhero didn't need to know they'd touched a nerve.

"I don't care about that."

"You don't care about their loyalty?"

"That's not--" Villain fumbled. "Finding love after I'm dead isn't disloyalty."

Even if they did selfishly hate the idea.

"And if you're not dead?"

Villain furrowed their brow out of bitter habit.

Superhero pushed off the wall, breaching the space between them in two long strides. Suddenly gruff fingers were crawling down the back of their shirt, two long talons catching in the stitches across one shoulder. They curled their fingers toward their fist.

Villain gasped. One hand shot out defensively but it was quickly quashed by Superhero's other hand, the talon of his thumb digging into Villain's pulse.

"What if you're not dead," Superhero repeated. "What if you're just an empty, broken shell. Bones picked clean of their meat. Corn shriveled in its husk. The barren leftovers of a human after months, years, of staying strong."

With each word, Superhero pulled a little harder at their stitches. Villain crumpled face first against the mattress, warm blood rolling down their back.

"Would Supervillain still want you?"

Did this mean Superhero planned to eventually let them go? It might be a long time, and they might be bruised, but it'd be ok. Supervillain would still be waiting for them, right? Even after years and years, they wouldn't...abandon them.

"If Supervillain wouldn't stay with you after the test of your loyalty...why should you show any for them?"

"No!" Villain screeched. They wouldn't believe it. They wouldn't think it. He was just trying to get into their head.

Superhero released them nonchalantly, almost like a cat tiring of its prey. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed away the blood on the inner curves of his talons.

"So I'm assuming you don't want to do this the easy way?" he asked.

Villain trembled uncontrollably, shaking their head back and forth against the hard metal springs of the bed. "No, no, no..."

It was all just words. Hypotheticals. They couldn't let it bother them.

"Well then..." Superhero returned the blue-tinted sunglasses to his face and opened the cell door halfway. The shuddering fluorescents slipped through the crack, invading the cell's steady glow. "I'd rest up while you can. You're in for a long night."

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[love-minor-poltergeist]

Skinship

Word Count: 938

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, mentions of Child Abuse/Neglect, and Character Death

A/N: Howdy, all. We interrupt your usual Cuphead course with some Dead by Daylight! I know this a hard tonal shift from usual works, but I promised myself that I'll write more self-indulgent stuff this year. And as someone who struggles with serious motivation issues, this was a triumph in my books!

Thank you for giving my little fic a chance!!

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“Soft” wasn’t a word Max got to use very often. Nor was it one he usually felt. 

Softness was reserved for the monochromatic world he saw on his pa’s television. The old-fashioned sitcoms with loving families, pearly white smiles, and the joyous laughter of children. The world where parents held their children tight while he watched from his cell, alone in the dark. 

It was reserved for the freshly laundered clothes Ma folded while she sat on the couch, ignoring the occasional rattle of her son’s chains in the other room. Her hands, milk-white with long, stick-thin fingers, always looked so small from his peephole. Easily swallowed up by pa’s shirts like a bunch of snakes wrapped in a blanket. Max had often wondered if it was as comfy as it looked; all wrapped up in clean, warm clothes. 

Not that he ever got to know. 

Then he finally broke free. 

Blood had coated his hands like hot, viscous paint as he trudged home– body heavy yet his heart alight. He silently passed the bodies of slaughtered police officers, hardly sparing them a glance as limped his way home. 

Max had found Pa closest to the porch. Mouth agape and eyes blank. Pa’s hair, once a shiny strawberry blonde, was matted with dirt, blood, and broken bits of bone. The sight was enough to bring Max to a brief pause. Then, with a low whuff through his nose, Max turned away. 

Calmly, Max limped inside– leaving the crows to caw and peck at what remained of Pa’s head.

He had been happy that he had the home to himself now. That no one was around to hurt him, insult him, or starve him like his family. That he could finally watch the TV in the living room as freely as he wanted. He no longer had to survive off scraps. 

He could finally sleep in a bed.

Time went by. The high of freedom fades away like the scent of fresh flowers; gone before he could truly savor it. He’s left behind with a house filled with bad memories. Awful, awful memories that refused to go away. 

Anger soon dug and burrowed into the squishy meat of his grey matter, consuming every moment with agony until all he could do was cry and wail. Wail and wail until broken furniture piled up around him. 

Even Pa’s old tv wasn’t enough to distract him from years of stolen childhood. The actors behind the screen with their gleaming smiles and pristine skin– were utterly free of the hell he had been forced into since birth. 

Max had shattered the screen without a second thought. Glass shards had bit and torn into his hands. He had felt blood– hot and wet– ooze out of the marred flesh of his knuckle; every movement, every twitch of his finger accompanied by a sharp sting. 

For a moment, the world was silent. 

Then a cry– shrill and high– broke the man from his stupor. A pig’s squeal. 

Max snapped. 

By the time he had come to, Max was standing over a dead hog and holding a bloodied hammer. 

He stared at the pig’s lifeless eyes, brain matter smattered against the ground. 

No. Soft isn’t a word befitting of him. Far from it. 

You, on the other hand… You were everything he wasn’t. 

Smooth, plump, and rounded cheeks that looked as soft as a peach. Eyes befitting of a baby doe, thick lashes and all. And your hands, unblemished and uncalloused, always seemed to remain clean despite the blood and grime of the fog. You reminded him faintly of the lace doilies Ma would occasionally use– delicate and pretty. 

Truly, you had no business being anywhere near him.

Yet here Max was– nestled under the sheets of his parent’s old bed (well, a copy of it at least) with you beside him. His hands nervously fist the thick quilts beneath him, pulse skipping a beat as you rest your head against his shoulder.

The pads of your fingers were feather-soft as you absentmindedly drew circles into his stomach. Each brush and stroke was slow and gentle as they quietly explored the twisted flesh beneath; curious yet tentative. All Max could do was lay as still as possible. 

He’s highly aware of his heavy, ragged breaths, a side-effect of his birth defects, and how painfully loud they were in the tiny room; of the dirt and grime that always seemed to coat his skin, as he could never wash them off thoroughly by himself; of the strange webbing of flesh between his fingers and toes. By all means, you should be disgusted by him. Not handling him as if he were made of glass–

A sudden brush against the side of his stomach startles him, pulling out a surprised, rumbly noise from his lips as he flinches. You stiffen beside him, lifting your hand as you look up at him with concerned eyes. 

“Sorry, hun. Did that hurt?” you ask. 

“No. Far from it”, Max wanted to say. It felt... Nice. He didn’t even know he could be ticklish. 

Instead, he settles for a garbled, inarticulate noise and a shake of his head. And thankfully, that’s enough for you. A smile settles on your lips. 

“Thank god. Lemme know if I ever hurt you, okay? Especially out of trials.” 

You resume your idle skinship, nuzzling into his shoulder. All Max could do is stiffly nod and let out a ragged chuff. A blanket of silence envelops the two of you once again. 

No. Soft isn’t in his routine. But he’ll fight tooth and nail if it means he gets to keep the one shred of warmth he’s ever had. 

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[scorchieart]

AAAAAAHHHHH I'm so excited! I love the prompts so much!! I hope these aren't taken but can you do Yves & Chevalier/ prompt 1 / angst / 1st pov Yves? A story where Yves has to stand up to Chevalier but he's so scared, but he does it anyway. I'm typing this so fast in case it's gone. Thank you writer!!!💕💕

Characters: Yves Kloss & Chevalier Michel

POV: 1st person (Yves) Genre: Angst

Prompt #1: "What are you waiting for?" "That, I cannot say."

Wordcount: 1047

A/N: This was my reaction when I read the request: 🤩😲😢 Yes, I am aware I went over my own imposed wordcount limit, but shhhhhh....Angst and adventure tied in the poll, so strap your boots for next time!

He will arrive at twilight — the man whose reputation preceded him, yet I only understand fragments. The man who held his quarry captive with silken threads bound by mystique and promises. The man whose name alone evoked despair. Like a pestilence. Like a curse. Like me.

I run my thumbs across the braided handle of the basket in my lap to keep my hands occupied, but my tapping heel ruins all hope of maintaining covertness. The sound ricochets off the crumbling soot-stained walls like crows accosting one another, and though it’s slowly driving me insane, I don’t stop. At the very least, I feel a little less alone.

Aside from my horse, I truly am alone here. I arrived mid-afternoon to scope out the place, though I was ill-prepared for the actual size. The way Clavis described it, the castle ruins were a broken shell of supposed former glory. A motley of derelict pillars and archways encircling rotting rooms picked clean of treasures and life. Yet I could still spot its majestic ramparts on my approach, saluting me as the dying sun pressed me forward.

Clavis said we would meet in the throne room, and even though I could tell where it was the moment I stepped inside, the first room to the right, I saved it for last. I wanted to make sure we would not be interrupted, yes, but more so I was curious to learn of a people who coexisted on a land undivided by borders. My search yielded naught; those bandits left no decrepit corner unsullied.

Sunset blares deceptive crimson through the glassless windows as I wrap my riding cloak more tightly around myself. We are not yet in the thralls of winter. Could I even survive in the land beyond the ruins? I hear my horse whinnying sadly, and I open my basket, produce the sack of sugar cubes, and cross to the exit, still swaddling the cloak around my body. A fresh set of apologies wets my freezing lips as I round the corner to the castle entrance, but both the “sorry”s and my legs stop short when two horses come into view over the threshold. 

I release the cloak and reach for my saber, but I already know it’s too late. The twisted solace I find in the moment is the icy tip on my nape is familiar.

“What are you waiting for?” Chevalier’s voice and his sword release a new chill down my spine that paralyzes me so firmly the sugar sack slips out my grasp. 

“Th-that… I cannot say,” I whisper, my racing heart doing nothing to bring back my senses. I can’t turn to face him, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell he’s not pleased.

“You cannot by choice or coercion?” he growls, pushing the sword harder against my neck, but I know he hasn’t broken skin; I would have felt the warmth of blood.

“Did Clavis tell you?” I ask. Somehow, the thought of Clavis watching, turncoat smirk and all, brings me a sickening sense of comfort. It would mean I’m not alone with Chevalier.

“He didn’t need to,” says Chevalier, maintaining the same pressure on my neck. “You are more aloof than usual, barely speaking at mealtimes and retiring earlier in the evenings. Not a single tea party was held this past week, and you were almost always absent from the kitchens. Sure enough, your horse was missing in the morning.”

I swallow my breath, and it lands in my stomach like a hunk of lead. “You have been watching me?”

“Don’t act so surprised. The movements of every person entering and exiting the palace are under my purview. Especially those who wish not to be seen. Ah —” He lowers his sword, but I am no less tense as he passes me into the throne room. He reappears with the basket, inspecting the contents like he’s just got his hands on a limited edition book series.

“A worthy effort. Though poisons will not suffice on him,” he says, holding a gingersnap biscuit to the horizon.

“They’re not poisoned!” I blurt out, swiping the basket and hugging it to my chest. “You can eat that one to check.”

“Then you do not deny they are meant for someone else?” he says, tossing the cookie at me. I take my time catching and replacing it in the basket to avert my eyes. 

“I will not contradict you, Prince Chevalier,” I say, pretending to rearrange fudge squares, “but this is a matter beyond your purview. Kindly leave.”

“You are aware you speak with the leader of Rhodolite’s foreign affairs faction while standing on the border with our greatest adversary?” His voice is level and without malice, yet my toes still curl reflexively.

“Yes,” I say.

“Then I ask once more, and pray I do not repeat a third time,” he steps directly in front of me. “What are you waiting for?”

I bite my lip to stop my jaw from trembling. My eyes sting with the woes I’ve locked away for decades. The ones Clavis weaseled out of me when he discovered my correspondence last week. The ones I will not compromise even for the Brutal Beast.

I inhale deeply, raise my head, and glare back at Chevalier. “For you to leave… please,” I hastily add on.

He regards me in silence, like a hunter watching a dying animal, contemplating whether it would be kinder to end my misery than watch me suffer.

“He cannot give you what you seek. He was a child himself when she came to Rhodolite,” he says morosely.

I grip the basket so tightly splinters dig into my palms. “Even still, I must know what he can tell me. It is more than you or your books ever could.”

He breaks eye contact first, opening the basket and picking a gingersnap. “I’d like to know, too,” he says, biting down brusquely. He then retrieves the fallen sugar sack and walks off, and I catch my breath as warmth refills my senses.

“What are you waiting for?” he calls to me from the dilapidated doorway. His blade gleams under the rising moon as he produces it once more, and it is only then that I notice the navy tinge of evening has enveloped us all. What he says next makes me immensely relieved I am not alone.

“He is here.”

Mark my words, the day when I properly write Gilbert into a fic is approaching. It's just not today.

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