#though do it quickly before the murder of crows becomes a murder of crows...

[servantofdeathblog]

Huh.. I guess he dropped the shy act entirely

[never-hyde]

(Harbinger comes back in almost half the time, his wings beating hard to catch himself as he lands on the table in front of Hyde, spitting the letter out at him with a mischievous look in his dual-colored eyes. He purposefully steps over whatever Hyde had been working on, and if a bird could grin like a maniac that crow would be doing so. His mischief toward his friend satisfied, he wastes no time in beelining back to the shelves again, this time with a particular interest in the knives and acid.)

My dear Hyde,

It certainly seems she was quite the interesting individual, though it is sad to hear she has not been back for a bit. Time has... long since lost its alignment in my mind, and I find it hard to remember the quirks of those who prefer sunlight to moonlight. I remember adoring the night sky...

I digress. The photos you sent were beautiful, and well detailed of the dried and pressed flowers. You have a good sense of photography, and it is enrapturing to see your world in small slices of time. This may be selfish of me to ask... but I would adore seeing more of your world, even if just in this way. I have taken to cataloging them in a small book, along with added subtitles and observations. I am calling it a hope book for now. Perhaps it is foolish... but I am happy to be the fool in this world if it means I should be able to feel like this. To feel... at home. Happy. Knowing there is a twice given friend that cares.

Extremes are often needed for necessary changes, though it does take an ungodly amount of discernment to tell when to take action, and when to let things be. I have to admit though... there are no few places I would rather enjoy lighting aflame myself. That BLOODY merchant's shop for instance... (The writing here seems angry, almost carved into the page as if Crowe had been holding a knife rather than a pen)

(The words take an obvious pause before returning back to their normal, collected font)

Ah... but perhaps that would be something to explore should this new hope ever choose we meet face to face. If there would be anyone I would want at my side to destroy that (A word was written here, before being scribbled out with great force) and burn his lying trap to the ground... it would be London's Finest Smiling Criminal, Edward Hyde.

Your legend is spreading quickly through my companions it seems, Veryn claims to have spent a good bit of time the other day with you (though I do find it hard to believe him, as he has taken a penchant for lying.). You seem to be the only human that Harbinger talks well of, and since he usually snatches your letters to deliver them before any of the others can, I would say that is quite the achievement. I must admit, it often feels more as if they are caring for me, than I them... or perhaps we have become an inseparable symbiosis... but either way, thank you. They are... the closest thing I have to family now it would seem.

I must get back to my plans, but I eagerly await your next letter.

~Crowe~

(As becoming usual, there was a note added to the bottom)

Had... good... day. I... will be... taking... knife. I... Like... it. You... have... others. My... shrooms... better... than... your... acid. -H-

Hey..HEYHEYHEY NO.

Hyde practically falls over to the shelves, standing protectively infront of it.

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

"Crowe,

Look, maybe ya are the hanged fool, or maybe you're just the fool that hopes so hard and long - eventually what he hopes for will come true. I ain't one to speak, barely lasted two days in Jekyll's place before I had to 'skulk' back to the place of darkness, but hope was re-introduced to me when she came along. And now it haunts me much like a Phantom.

...Merchant you say. I think I am aware of which one that is... (Upon scanning the letter, nothing more is said about this)

And hey, if ya ever need anything to be.. 'cleared up' in this mortal realm, ya can count on me to do so. Not even any limits! Murder, arson, vehicular manslaughter, theft (the list of possible crimes - some so vague any member of the normal population would not know of them - goes on.)

-Hyde.

P.S. Give Veryn a 'fistbump' from me.

P.S.S. If birds can even fistbump.

. . .

P.S.S.S. I am not sure why I seem to be more... jovial today. Don't expect that to last long."

Once Hyde reads the footnote, there's a moment of silence, before a soft snort of laughter escapes him. It soon builds into full blown manic laughter, clutching at his chest as if in pain

Ohoh you are simply BRILLIANT... shrooms you say... give me some of them next time ya come over yeah? That in return for me 'giving' you a knife. Just make sure it ain't any of the ones with carvings on em. Those were gifts.

@schrodingerslibrary

[antebunny]

a cuckoo in the nest pt.2

[part one] aka the fae!Tim idea i said i wouldn't write any more of. oops my hand slipped.

~

Tim clenches the Cliff granola bar tightly in his fist, inhales deeply, and steps through the fairy circle. His footsteps leave deep indents in the soft grass before vanishing completely. 

If one of the Waynes were to wander into the woods behind Wayne Manor and stumble upon this particular clearing, they would quickly notice the small footprints leading into a patch of dirt and never emerging out the other side. Fairy circles are subtle things, easily moved and created, but just as easily spotted if you know what to look for. 

Sweet grass, spices, something wild and dewy and the sick smell of cruelty. The fae realm is just as Tim remembered it. The Unseelie Queen, too, is just as Tim remembers her. She’s eternally young, after all. Her crown of thorns tips toward Tim as she bends down, gnarled hand reaching for Tim’s granola bar. He quickly shoves it behind his back, and the Unseelie Queen’s hand freezes. She cannot take that which is not freely given.

Long ago, a lifetime ago when Tim was nine years old and stupid, the Unseelie Queen used his naivete to get everything she wanted from him. She asked for his name and he gave it. She offered him fae food and he took it. She told him that the deal his parents made was unbreakable and he believed it. For an eternity, though now he knows it was three years, he believed her. 

He knows better now. That’s what made the Unseelie Queen strike a bargain with him in the first place. Tim cannot believe that it took him three years to realize that his parents had no right to sell him away. That he could’ve left the moment he’d arrived, if only he’d known to run. But by the time he figured it out, he’d eaten their food and given his name. Become fey enough for the Unseelie Queen to control, if not own.

Now the only question is whether he can outsmart her. Whether he, the twelve year old who just got his very first iPhone, can beat the Unseelie Queen at her own game.

“How wonderful to see you back in my domain.” The Unseelie Queen still looms over Tim as she greets him. “Though you reek of human.”

Tim lifts his chin. “Because I am one.”

A blood red smile stretches across thin lips. White teeth shine like stars. “That will be changed in time.”

She’s just trying to scare him because she knows that he can see through her lies now. Tim is not bound to the fae realm, not yet, anyways. She has no power over him. (Not yet). Not ever. 

“I’m just here to tell you that I’m winning,” Tim says, faking a confidence he very much does not feel. “Dick and Jason both said I’m their little brother. Alfred cares about me. Even Barbara likes me and they care about what she thinks.”

An infinite number of somethings dances in the Unseelie Queen’s dark, shining eyes. Tim does not dare name any one of them. She is not one to be defined by physical appearances. Sometimes she has four wings like large leaves, humming on her back. Sometimes she is a young girl with the voice of a thousand nightmares, other times an old woman faking good intentions. All Tim has learned regarding appearances is to not look into her abyss-like eyes for too long.

We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits.

“And what of Bruce Wayne?”

“I’m working on it,” Tim says stubbornly. “I have a month left.”

“Be careful, little one. Wayne men do not love easily.” The Unseelie Queen’s smile widens into a grotesque length. “Even when they should.”

Tim squeezes his granola bar until it bends in two. “That’s my problem.”

The Unseelie Queen laughs, like a murder of crows taking flight. “What spirit. Will you not consider staying to entertain my court? We so miss your colorful antics.”

“No,” Tim says firmly. He whirls around and marches back to the fairy circle. The plastic wrapping of his granola bar grows slick with cold sweat. 

“Stay,” the Unseelie Queen commands. The single word thunders, layered with the thousands of humans before Tim that have fallen prey to her. “Timothy Jackson Drake.”

Tim’s steps falter. One foot hesitates in the air too long, and he stumbles. In the human world he sometimes is weightless, a touch lighter than humans. In the fae realm Tim is weighed down by his humanness. His knees sting as he resumes his march. Not so long ago, such defiance would have cost him far more than stinging knees. He’s grown strong on Alfred’s cooking, movie nights with Dick and Jason, and Barbara buying him a phone and a subscription to Crunchyroll because “every boy needs one.” On human food and love. 

She doesn’t have this power over Tim. Not anymore, not yet. Not even with his full name.

A screech rattles around Tim’s brain. A claw curls around his neck. Tim freezes, heart battering at his ribcage. She cannot hurt him. She doesn’t own him (Not yet). 

“If you will not stay,” the Unseelie Queen concedes, “then please, won’t you take a gift with you?” 

Her hand retreats from his neck, scraping skin gently as it goes. In her palm it appears: red and dripping, or bone white, green like fireflies, purple like the sunset. Fae fruit. It hums in her hand, singing a song just for Tim. Even though he knows the cost now, the fae fruit calls to him, promises pure ecstasy and eternal love if only he takes a bite.

Tim shakes his head quickly, eyes shut. “No, thank you,” he whispers. “I brought food from home.”

So saying, he twists the Cliff bar wrapper in trembling hands and attempts to rip the plastic open. The truth is that he hates Cliff bars. They’re his least favorite snack of the many that Alfred has gotten him to try thus far. He brought it to the fae realm for such an occasion, selected out of his many options because he would not mind associating Cliff bars with the fae realm. He already hates them as it is.

It is a novelty, having opinions about human food. Preferences and dislikes. Dick has a tier list of vegetables that he and Jason argue about every once in a while. Jason also has strong opinions about food, but somehow he knew just what to do when Tim said helplessly that he didn’t have any, that he’d eat whatever he was given.

Before Tim can get the granola bar in his mouth, the Unseelie Queen pushes the fae fruit in his face. He retreats, and she pursues, arm outstretched, fruit still calling out to him. 

“Eat,” she insists. “Timothy Drake.”

The command takes root in Tim’s bones, peels him inside out until right is wrong and wrong is right. Against his will, Tim’s free hand reaches for the fruit that is magenta and lime green and coral pink and mushroom white. The texture is soft and a bit rubbery, the shape somewhat like a still-beating heart. Warm, wet, and just a little alive. Tim wishes he could throw it at her. Instead, he takes a bite. It tastes like–

Decay on the wind, petrichor and honeynut squash, spices and arrowroot, freshly overturned dirt still composting, dancing underneath moonlight-dappled branches around firelight, ancient tales told of stars, mirror-like water and water-like glass, lies and trickery and cruelty and brutal honesty–

It tastes like the fae. Seeping into the walls of his throat, leaving dark purple residue on his tongue, a sharp berry taste for him to remember it by. Making him just a little more fae, a little less human. His blue eyes a little brighter, his step a touch too light. It is not such a terrible thing, to be wild, to be fae. But Tim cannot bear the cost.

Tim squeezes the remaining fae fruit until the juice bursts from the skin, running down his fingers in wine red and shining green rivulets. The song dies. He licks his lips. Juice drips from his chin. The Unseelie Queen watches on in satisfaction.

“Thank you for the gift.” Even now, when Tim wishes for nothing more than the right to scream at her until he cries, it would not do to be impolite. One must respect the fae, to say nothing of the Unseelie Queen herself. 

Still, when Tim walks through the fairy circle, he thinks I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, until the words burn into the inside of his brain. 

We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soils they fed their hungry, thirsty roots?

[datvtranscripts]

Something Wrong Pt. 1

Foreboding

Signs and Portents Masterpost Previous: Roll Call

Rook meets with Evka and Antoine in the Hossberg Wetlands.

Evka: Rook. Welcome to the Hossberg Wetlands. I'd say make yourself comfortable…

Grey Warden Rook: Rook: I could sense blight before we were through the eluvian. What's happening? Antoine: That's the question, isn't it? Or one of them.

Non-Grey Warden Rook: Rook: This place is… Evka: Foreboding? Antoine: Yes. Well, foreboding is normal here. But it's worse than usual.

Evka: The blight's always a problem in the Anderfels. It's not strange to find a corrupted patch of forest or swamp.

Antoine: What is strange is the sudden surge of blight through the Hossberg Wetlands. Much like the village you found, the blight here struck too quickly. And in strange forms.

Evka: It's choked the whole area. And the local village—Lavendel—was caught in it. But there's survivors. We can be grateful for that.

Dialogue options:

Affable: It’s good you’re here. [1]

Stoic: This is only the beginning. [2]

Afraid: This is really bad. [3]

Angry: I knew this would happen. [4]

Grey Warden: It’s our duty to fix this. [5]

1 - Affable: It’s good you’re here. Rook: If there was a place that needed Wardens… Evka: Then here we are. [6]

2 - Stoic: This is only the beginning. Rook: It only gets worse from here. Evka: We've got the same feeling. [6]

3 - Afraid: This is really bad. Rook: If the blight keeps spreading… we could lose everything. Antoine: You said what came next would be bad. That's why we're here. To help. [6]

4 - Angry: I knew this would happen. Rook: Damn it. I said things were different. Antoine: We know. Evka: We're trying to prove the same thing. [6]

5 - Grey Warden: It’s our duty to fix this. Rook: How many people are here? We need to help them. Antoine: Of course. Evka and I are doing what we can. Evka: So you keep your eye on the big picture for now. [6]

6 - Scene continues.

Antoine: As far as we can tell, the gods you're chasing weren't here directly.

Evka: If the blight's really changed, then the changes are widespread. As for how much…

Antoine: I… I can almost sense something in there. Another sound under the blight's usual song.

Grey Warden Rook: Rook: Sensing the blight is one thing. What you're saying is… concerning.

Non-Grey Warden Rook: Rook: Stories say Wardens sense blight. I never thought it was literal. Antoine: It happens when you join the Order. But that's more than I should say.

Evka: When we met, you tried to block the sound out. Now you hear too much.

Antoine: If it helps… that's what we're here for.

Dialogue options:

Affable: I’m a little worried now. [7]

Sarcastic: I’m used to bad situations. [8]

Stoic: We need a plan. [9]

Antivan Crow: Warden initiation sounds bad. [10]

Mourn Watcher: Warden initiation sounds bad. [11]

Lord of Fortune: Warden initiation sounds bad. [12]

7 - Affable: I’m a little worried now. Rook: Should I be worried? Antoine: About me? Non. About the blight? Yes. But you already are. [13]

8 - Sarcastic: I’m used to bad situations. Rook: Okay. This all sounds awful. And we're standing in the middle of it. Which is normal for me.

Grey Warden Rook: Evka: (Chuckles) We know.

Non-Grey Warden Rook: Antoine: (Laughs) For us too.

Rook: So what's the plan? [13]

9 - Stoic: We need a plan. Rook: All right. Tell me there's a plan. [13]

10 - Antivan Crow: Warden initiation sounds bad. Rook: Become a Warden. Hear the blight. And people assume Crow initiations are intense. Antoine: I assumed they were murderous. Rook: I walked into that. So what's the plan? [13]

11 - Mourn Watcher: Warden initiation sounds bad. Rook: Become a Warden. Hear the blight. And people think Watcher initiations are scary. Antoine: Do you work with spirits? That's not so bad. Demons, though… I don't like demons. Rook: Things can get… restless in the Necropolis. Anyway, what's the plan? [13]

12 - Lord of Fortune: Warden initiation sounds bad. Rook: Become a Warden. Hear the blight. Kind of a bad trade. The Lords just throw a party. Antoine: The Wardens throw parties. Sometimes. Sometimes they're even fun. Rook: (Laughs) I'd like to see that. So what's the plan? [13]

13 - Scene continues.

Evka: We heard rumors of the surge here and volunteered to investigate. The First Warden expects a report. Soon.

Antoine: If we want proof the blight's changed, then this place is where to find it.

Evka: But the way the blight left the village—we've had our hands full just keeping it back and helping the sick.

Rook: You need more to study.

Antoine: Yes! The odd growths the blight has formed—like boils. They surround Lavendel. I need more samples.

14 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: You two research the blight? [15]

Affable: Glad we can work together. [16]

Sarcastic: Samples. That will be gross. [17]

Stoic: I’m on it. [18]

15 - Investigate: You two research the blight?

Grey Warden Rook: Rook: So you two are studying the blight? Antoine: We already had a reputation for following the weird stuff. Evka: And it's only gotten weirder. Antoine: To help, we need to know what we're dealing with. [Back to 14]

Non-Grey Warden Rook: Rook: So you two study the blight? Antoine: Formally? No. Well, maybe. It depends on your definition. Evka: We travel a lot. And tend to get sidetracked by weird problems. Antoine: Who knew I'd roam so far from Orlais? If we want to help, we need to learn what we're dealing with. [Back to 14]

16 - Affable: Glad we can work together.

Grey Warden Rook: Rook: It's a good thing another Warden showed up. Evka: Even if it's you. Rook: You collapse a building to seal off darkspawn one time… Evka: And get us all in trouble. Antoine: (Laughs) Worth it. You know we like you. So be careful out there. Rook: I will. I'll be back as soon as I can. Scene ends.

Non-Grey Warden Rook: Rook: I'll see what I can do. This place is lucky to have you. Evka: Trying to make us like you? Rook: Is it working? Antoine: (Laughs) I'm not complaining. I'll give you something to contain the blight. Oh! And watch for darkspawn. Evka: Can't sing our praises if you're dead. Rook: Good point. See you soon. Scene ends.

17 - Sarcastic: Samples. That will be gross. Rook: Samples. That's going to be… gross. That's probably the best word for it.

Grey Warden Rook: Evka: Probably. Just be careful. Rook: You know me. Evka: Last time we met, you dropped a building on a pack of darkspawn. Rook: You might know me too well. Antoine: Get back when you can. Scene ends.

Non-Grey Warden Rook: Antoine: I'll give you something to contain the blight. And watch for darkspawn out there. Rook: Right. Darkspawn. Can't forget them. Evka: Good luck. Scene ends.

18 - Stoic: I’m on it. Rook: Leave it to me.

Grey Warden Rook: Antoine: Ah, merci! I knew we could count on you. Evka: Just be careful out there. Even for a Warden, it's not pretty. Rook: Things looked bad before we saved that village up north. Evka: You saved that village by collapsing a building. The First Warden was furious at us. Antoine: But we did the right thing. It might go better this time. Rook: I'll get back as soon as I can. Scene ends.

Non-Grey Warden Rook: Antoine: You can't just handle blight. I'll give you something to contain it. And watch for darkspawn. Rook: I'll try not to die. Antoine: We'd prefer you didn't! Evka: So be careful. Scene ends.

Next: Gathering Samples

[themarshmallownerd]

New Chapter: The End and the Beginning

Link: Chapter 4

Previous: Chapter 3

First: Chapter 1 (AO3)

A/N: At long last, this mammoth has reached its end. Now I can officially retire in peace (after I tend to the other WIPs I have lol). But this AU was one I had been wanting to do for so long, and these characters and their lore truly was the perfect cast to finally bring it to life. So a big thank you to everyone for coming on this journey with me ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Special thanks in order to @i-write-shakespeare-not-disney for the idea to add an epilogue! ily ❤️❤️❤️

Preview: Given such a deteriorating state, it was a surprise when Lottie suddenly stopped in her tracks. Somehow, she even managed to stall Natalie alongside her, effectively startling the barmaid out of her determined pace when she realized Lottie’s arm was no longer around her.

“Love? What is it?” Natalie fretted. 

At first, Lottie gave no answer. She’d become stock-still, frozen like a star that had solidified in the heavens. The only source of life in her was the troubled wrinkle that slowly stitched itself into her brow the longer she stared at the desolate shack awaiting them.

“I…I don’t know,” the princess murmured eventually. “I just got this…bad feeling, all of a sudden.”

Natalie followed her gaze, trying to see for herself if anything looked amiss. As far as she could see, there was only the sole household sitting in Razia’s shadow. Overhead, some of the crows that had been watching them from the trees started to take flight, gliding towards that very structure. 

The longer she spent simply standing there, the more Natalie could detect that there was something distinctly…wrong with the air on this side of the valley. It felt warmer than the usual climate of the Dark Lands had ever been. Although, it wasn’t warm in the comforting sense that the organic heat from the sun provided. Rather, it was stuffy and uncomfortable, prickling against her skin like the static that typically filled the air when a bolt of lightning was about to strike. 

“It might be that witch magic Van was talking about,” Natalie suggested. 

“No, it’s not that.” Lottie gave a minute shake of her head. “It’s more like…like I’ve seen this place before. In a dream. An awful, awful dream…”

Natalie didn’t know what to do with that. Honestly, she had always been of the school of thought that dreams didn’t mean anything. So, she had never been this rattled by one. 

As far as Nat was concerned, their current situation was still of the utmost urgency. They couldn’t afford to have this much pause, especially for something as mundane as a dream Lottie barely seemed able to remember now. 

The barmaid reached a hand out to cradle Lottie’s palm. “Hey,” she prompted, urging Lottie to look at her instead of the horizon. “We came all this way for a reason. We need that medicine. So…let’s at least see what the witch has to say, yes?”

Lottie glanced back at the shack, her brow still furrowed in distress. Though this time, her hesitation only lasted a couple of heartbeats. 

“Right…” she muttered in agreement. 

She shook her head once more. Then, she continued walking, keeping her hand fixed securely around Natalie’s. 

They were nearly upon the dwelling when Lottie’s energy started to drain out of her again. Her body shivered violently, despite still radiating a feverish heat. Natalie tucked her body back into the princess’s side, taking the majority of her weight from her again. 

As she dragged their bodies forward as quickly as she could, she noticed the murder of crows that had been following them start to congregate along the roof and the front porch of the witch’s shanty. A few of the bolder birds hunched their backs and fluffed their feathers up in a show of intimidation. A sign of protectiveness for the dwelling. Or perhaps a warning to steer clear of the inhabitant inside. 

Either way, the two travelers couldn’t afford to heed the sign to turn back. 

Natalie reached the porch step first, gently shooing away the crow there with the toe of her boot. As soon as she helped Lottie up onto the porch with her, the front door of the dwelling suddenly opened before them, the weathered wooden boards creaking slightly. 

No one was on the other side of the door. 

Natalie leaned forward, only letting her head cross the threshold of the door as she affirmed that it had truly opened on its own. “Hello?” she said cautiously.

She was greeted by a dozen mirror images of herself on the adjacent wall, trapped in the colorful panels on the one glass wall. The small amount of sunlight that managed to peek around the mountainside streamed through the brightly-colored panels, casting an array of matching multi-colored shadows onto the floor of the entryway. 

The glass wall seemed to be the main source of light for the shack’s interior, aided only by a couple of candles burning on the small, square table tucked against the rear-side wall. The table—much like the shelves running along the wall above it—was cluttered with an array of random trinkets and objects. Things like thick, leather-bound journals, bundles of herbs tied with string, a bowl with strange symbols painted along the side, vials containing bug corpses, and dozens upon dozens of loose, discarded black feathers. 

There was a long, thick curtain running along the fourth and final wall, keeping that portion of the shack hidden from view. Given how puny the overall dwelling was, any hope that the witch doctor was truly here resided in the notion that she was somewhere behind that. 

Natalie stepped fully inside the structure, carefully tugging Lottie inside after her. The princess followed her listlessly, now too drained of energy to focus on anything other than keeping her own head up. To anyone else, it would seem as though she were starting to nod off to sleep.

“No! No, no, no,” Natalie said frantically. In her panic, she grabbed the princess’s face roughly, urging Lottie to keep her eyes on her. Or at the very least, keep her eyes open. “Stay with me, love. We’re right here. Just hold on.”

Lottie only managed to groan in response, regarding Nat with eyes that were half-lidded and glazed over. 

They were running out of time. 

“Help!” the barmaid called into the open air of the shanty. “Please! We need the witch!”

At the last word, one of the birds from the front porch suddenly flew inside, his wings fanning the collection of dirt that had gathered along the rafters overhead. He perched himself on one of the beams supporting the width of the roof, cawing loudly at the humans below.

Simultaneously, the front door swung shut behind him, once again maneuvered by some unseeable force. 

Natalie was still reeling from that when the curtain wall on the other side of the shack was shoved aside. This time, an actual human being was on the other side of the covering, revealing themselves to be a tiny young woman that Natalie did indeed recognize—albeit vaguely—from the witch doctor’s trial years ago. 

The woman was adorned with a baggy, tan dress that looked a size too big for her, accompanied by a dirtied apron whose front pocket was bogged down by even more trinkets and herbs, which were slightly peeking out over the edge. Half of her body mass seemed to consist of her wild mane of curls, which Natalie remembered being a light, golden color at the time of the trial. Now though, they had become a matted, dusty shade from neglect in the years spent out here, stranded with no other company. And no motivation to properly care for herself. Even the rounded spectacles she wore showed evidence of little self-regard, for there was a long-running crack in the left lens, splintering the image of her eye on that side of her face. 

The crow sitting overhead began flapping his wings, descending from the rafters to settle on the rod of the curtain, uttering a series of short caws at the woman now that he was closer to her. 

The witch waved at him, resembling an exasperated mother trying to dismiss their overexcited toddler. “Yes, yes, I know you said someone was coming this way,” she grumbled. “I didn’t think they would actually come inside.”

It took Natalie a moment to realize she was talking to the bird. 

In any other circumstance, she would have asked if there was some sort of witch spell that actually allowed the other woman to understand the language of the animal (if not, the years of isolation here had surely driven her to madness). Now, however, Natalie cast her curiosity aside in favor of the more pressing matter at hand. 

“Are you the witch that was exiled by both kingdoms?”

The tiny woman scowled at that. “Well, I prefer my given name, Misty. And you are?”

“Natalie. And this is Lottie—”

“And who taught you manners, Miss Natalie?”

Now it was Natalie’s turn to be exasperated. Her patience was rapidly waning, knowing that every moment spent having to preface why they were there was another moment in which Lottie struggled to breathe. 

“Please,” the barmaid said, hugging the princess closer to her side. “I’ve heard you can cure anything. We need a cure for this.”

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

Here is how civil people in fandoms separate fiction and reality, using myself as an example and it quickly escalates:

I like Ed, Ed is my guy, my man’s, my main in SF6 even though I’d just be a punching bag for online players because I suck. He’s my second favorite emo looking blonde made by Capcom. Would I want him to be real? Down to just personality traits? Debatable leaning towards a no. He’s not evil nor does he actively try to murder somebody, but at the sometime, I ain’t bailing him out of jail if he gets a charge for a street fighter TKO. But compared to everyone else, he’s the “safer” option, lol.

Caleb from Love and Deepspace. A cute guy that acts like a puppy who is also a nice flavor blast of the childhood friend to lover trope, which I love (call me basic, I love it shamelessly because it’s cute and the chemistry and possible dramas are laid out already). But as cute (and hot) as he is, I would run from him, lol. My dude is a little too possessive for me to want him to be real.

Sylus is also a hell no if he was real because. Look at his lore, and he uses Mephisto (his crow) to stalk MC. He does let Mc have her autonomy and all and well, all of the love interests in that game have their own red flags, but my god, I’d be hella cautious if he was real. No amount of sex appeal would make me be put at risk for being held for ransom, lol. Overall, Sylus and Caleb are hot in fiction, but scary AF if they were real, honestly.

Vergil. No. I would be in so much danger if I was even at arms length with him if he was real. Not to mention that I ain’t gonna be no accomplice for killing countless people because he was MOTIVATED for more power.

Stefano. 100x hell nah. Play Evil Within 2. He’s more depraved than Ruvik. I don’t want him to be real, because I am not about to get murdered for some pics that get him bricked up.

Ruvik. 1,000x HELL TO THE NO. Sadistic, intelligent, fascinated with the human brain to the point where he sticks needles and stuff in them. Did I also mention that he wanted to smash his own sister? I am not about to listen to some dude talking about how he wants to have an Alabama family reunion with his sister before he destroys my brain.

Raiden from Metal Gear Rising? Nah, you got me messed up if you think I’m getting near him when he becomes “the Ripper.” Think about how much effort you need to make cool look SCARY.

I could go on, but I think you get the point. Just because I like all of these characters does not mean I wanna be even six feet near them. I wouldn’t even seek any of them out even if they were the last person on earth if they were real. Because I wanna live with all of my body parts intact.

So no, I don’t actually want a dude to throw me around like a ragdoll and use me like a punching bag. Nor do I wanna be stalked, chased, or just have an overall dangerous dude near me in real life. Not like what most anti-dark romance or anti-dark content people think is what most people want in real life, lol. It is a fictional fantasy. If non-sexual people can fantasize about a domestic love life with Popular Villain A, then sexual people should be able to have the most unhinged and feral sexual fantasies about being chased by Popular Character B as Ghostface. (I know, very specific, but I’ve seen a few fics like that before)

[ninasbookshelf]

mid-year book freakout 2024

hi all! it's time again for a mid-year book review post! to reiterate, this is not my own idea but a trend i've seen make the rounds on social media over the past several years. i'm not sure what the original version of this is or who made it, but i combined several of my favorite questions to make this edition. feel free to fill out your own, and add any other questions or info you like!

also.. i'm thinking of creating a version of this post but for webtoons... i think that would be fun lolol

i did this last year too if you're interested: my 2023 mid-year book freakout

and if you want to do your own mid-year book tag with these questions: blank questions if you want to fill this out yourself

let’s get started!

Amount of books you’ve read so far: 24

Best book you’ve read so far this year: not including re-reads, I think the best book i've read this year is either How to Murder Your Life by Cat Marnell or Sweet Bean Paste by Durian Sukegawa (very different options!!). Or Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Mizuki Tsujimura… i can’t decide!

Best sequel you’ve read so far this year: if we’re sticking with books i read for the first time in 2024, i loved volumes 9 and 10 of Tsubasa Yamaguchi’s manga series Blue Period. i am slowly but surely working my way through the series and very excited to read more of it. as an alternative, i can’t help but mention that i’m currently re-reading The King of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner (third book in the Queen’s Thief series) and it is sooo good!! it may be my favorite book in that series!? i’ll have to re-read the rest of them to know for sure.

New release you haven’t read yet but want to: Five Broken Blades by Mai Corland! i’ve heard great things about this book, particularly for fans of Six of Crows. it’s at the top of my list!

Most anticipated release for the second half of the year: the upcoming Sally Rooney book, Intermezzo!! i've loved everything i've read by Sally Rooney, and i’m very excited for more.

Biggest disappointment: Strip Tees: A Memoir of Millenial Los Angeles by Kate Flannery. Strip Tees details one woman's experience working for American Apparel at the height of the company’s popularity in the 2000s. i will do a longer post on this book later, but in short i found the writing lackluster and the author's attitude off-putting and disappointing. i still don't know what she was trying to convey with the tone.

honorary mention: Becoming Free Indeed by Jinger Vuolo. i paid for this book on my kindle and quickly realized it wasn’t at all what i thought it would be, which isn’t Jinger Vuolo’s fault but was still disappointing at the time, lol. it just wasn’t for me; i ended up DNFing it. oh well!

Biggest surprise: Sweet Bean Paste by Durian Sukegawa! this book was a spontaneous purchase on my e-reader before a flight, and i just loved it. such a heartwarming story i will definitely read again.

Favorite new author (debut or new to you): Cat Marnell. she isn’t a new author but is (sort of) new to me. i had her book How to Murder Your Life on my to-read list for a few years (sorry it took so long!) and i finallly read it this year. twice, actually! i love her writing style and am really happy to hear she’s working on another book.

Newest fictional crush: i don't think i have any new ones!! i haven't been reading as much fantasy/adventure as i did the previous few years, and those books are usually where my fictional character crushes come from. i am re-reading the Queen’s Thief series though, and of course still love Gen!

Favorite character: oh man. i could name so many. Gen and Costis, among so many other characters in the Queen’s Thief series… but if we’re going for a series i’m reading for the first time, i’ve definitely developed a soft spot for Yotasuke after reading volume 10 of Blue Period. (and Yatora is a great character as always too)

Book that made you cry: Sweet Bean Paste

Book that made you happy: ...Sweet Bean Paste

A book I want to read by the end of year: there are so many. i’ll go with My Year of Meats by Ruth Ozeki! i’m still marching towards reading all of her works. (i’ve finally started reading it since i first answered this question. progress!)

that’s all for this year’s mid-year book tag! i hope you enjoyed, and feel free to tag me if you fill out your own.

[suntiger745]

More Tavs! More Tavs! No whelps to handle, no DKP minus.

For most people a bhaalspawn on the brink of death is something to kill on sight. For a rare few however, it is an opportunity. And the unseelie knows how to twist both evil and good to their own advantage.

Magirron's memory is full of holes, and yet she still have a sense of purpose. There is something she must do, even though she doesn't know what the goal is. Her dreams have always been full of murder, pain and the screams of suffering. But now there is also dreams of other places. A shadowed grove of fir trees, a mountain fortress made of glass, a cave with a shackled old woman, a shoreline with a lake still as glass, thousands of stars reflected in it. And always present in these dreams, crows, watching.

Mihan va Ilmera was a prodigy in the Cult of the Dragon, groomed to be a weapon to unleash against the enemies of Tiamat. She was proud to serve her queen and the cult - until the first raid on a settlement in the south of the High Forest. It had a few defenders, but they were quickly cut down. Then the order came to kill the rest of the people in the settlement. It was the first time Mihan had been told to kill not only people who was not trying to kill them, but who were unable to hold a weapon or put up any kind of defence. She obeyed, but with a sickness rising in her throat the whole time.

Two nights later, she packed a few personal belongings and ran away. The guard on duty saw her of course, but he didn't dare question one of the foremost warriors of the cult from going out to grab some fresh air in the night.

She made her way to Baldur's Gate and applied to join the Flaming Fists. She made no secret of being a cultist and stated outright that she wanted to atone for her actions. She was admitted under close supervision, and served for four years before leaving the Fists in good standing to go freelance. She spent two years as an independent sell-sword, studying a bit of magic, and had just returned to Baldur's Gate when the nautiloid snatched her up.

(The work the devs did on the dragonborn's skin, both the patterns and textures and how light plays over it, is really impressive.)

The Hassel noble family has always held that wealth and power comes with responsibilities and the duty to be good stewards of people and creatures under their care. Sofia is no different and fully intended to be the shield that defends those who could not defend themselves when she swore her paladin Oath in the temple of Bahamut in Baldur's Gate.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans though, and she was one of those snatched up and implanted with a tadpole. In some ways, this changed her life completely from what she had thought it would be, but in another, it has changed nothing. If anything, her Oath and being a shield for the people who can't defend themselves has become more important than ever.

(She's intended to be something akin to a classic knight in shining armor. But one that just happens to be 3 feet tall. :) )

She remembers killing, inflicting pain. On many people, in many places. And then a sudden sharp, painful moment when the one being killed was her. Who did that she doesn't know. Her memory is full of holes, and most what she does remember is the killings. Which at least feels comforting and exhilarating. But she does know that someone did this to her, and that someone is going to pay for it.

There is a name. Dhalia. She doesn't know if it is her name, but she has decided to use it for now. Waking up on an ilithid ship was not something she expected, but at least it gives her a direction to go in. As in, away from ilithids and Avernus.

However, to do so will require allies. The first such is an intellect devourer, one subdued to obey her with a sharp nail applied to its brain/body with surgical precision.

An attempt to get a human released and put under her command did not go so well however.

She has met a githyanki, but that one is not someone she could subdue and command. At least not easily or quickly, and they don't have much time.

Eventually, escape they did. A bit of exploring and scavenging soon had Dhalia in some clothes and armor, and with a few more allies.

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO NEFE COSMIA, AUGUST PETRALIA. 🌓

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: crow age: 27 pronouns: she/her ooc contact: crowquettes other characters in xc: lyle norg, conner kent

  ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: august petralia age: 27 pronouns: he/her, she/him series: original character canon point: n/a app triggers: gang violence, gang crimes including murder, theft, assault, battery, etc., reference to child abuse and negligence

personality: 

once a tepid, hardened, and violence-driven person, august no longer carries the weight of his past with him. or, so she believes. august used to completely embrace the privileges of a life connected to the mafia, indulging in excess material possessions and perks, while maintaining a calm and indifferent demeanor. for years, she chewed on the way she lived her life, ultimately deciding that she had enough with the complicated and tenuous ties to the mafia.

she wanted to become a good person. so he left, and reformed himself. just like that. he has no intent on reflecting on his past, simply moving it behind him and insisting that he is better than everyone else now because he no longer murders people and commits crimes…though some vices, such as gambling, are harder to give up.

something your muse struggles with: change. august never really changes, he just adapts as little as possible and calls it something new. he never moves on, just twists the idea around until it sounds like something else.

your muse’s greatest strength: patience. she is astoundingly patient to an almost unnerving degree. time, work, people, there is a high level of tolerance that she holds for all of these where most people would’ve snapped.

history / background: 

when you’re born into violence, it’s easy to become accustomed to it. blood begets blood, and the worst of complicated relationships begins early with his sibling, loukas. clueless, and with hardly any ideas of what his future in the amaranth assembly was going to be like, he only made close friends with a young girl named faina. she was an associate from the other family in the assembly, and it was an important role to protect her, tyoma, and katya.

over the years, more responsibilities were drilled and beaten into august’s head. non-violent jobs at first, but quickly escalating as time goes on. blood and bruises became second-nature to life, though august carried it with grace…mostly. being able to bend the law because of your connections was a good benefit to have, and he could at least vent his troubles out on other people. not to mention, he could also confide in faina, the one person who could perhaps understand the precarious position he was in.

each new responsibility piled upon her back was just another reason to get angrier and more temperamental. august can’t keep forgiving mistakes after all. school became too much to deal with as well, though despite dropping out she still received a diploma. the worst of it was when faina abandoned her and left the families all on her own. they’d talked about it before, but it was never supposed to be something so serious-not yet. the news iced august over, and during the initial impact of the event he made sure no one asked him twice about the subject.

the years pass by, and august gets used to what abandonment feels like. it’s easy to give into vices when there’s no reason to keep off of them, but no true joy was in his life. is this all there is? all there ever will be? well, maybe now was the time to get out like he always wanted to. he has his favorite car, money, rings, drinks, and was able to get away for…almost a year.

somehow it didn’t register to august, that family would end up disappointing like all things do. a bullet to the stomach, and left for dead. it’s hard to tell when you’re dying whether you want more or not. too focused on the life fading from your body…

until you’re not dying anymore. you get lucky. you stay with the people that help you, until you aren’t there anymore.

powers / abilities: n/a

inherent abilities: 

Sharpshooter - uncanny perfect aim. He always hits the target, one way or another. This relates to guns, but his aim is pretty good with other things too, just won’t be 100% until he gets a minute to practice the weight.

items / weapons: 

Handgun - basic six shooter. Has a space to connect with runes, but otherwise pretty standard gun.

Ring collection - A box of rings, they are all quite heavy and very expensive looking. A few connect with the handgun.

Runes - Small gem inserts that go directly into his rings. They all carry a simple, short-use effect that alters the bullets in his handgun.

Car - Imagine the absolutely douchiest car you can think of, it’s that car in red. Because red is the douchey car color. Idk cars. But it’s one of those bougie sports cars. Perhaps even like. A maserati…? (naming a car at random) 

starting ability: n/a

starting item: handgun

extra: 

Where Allowed/Reasonable, I’ll probably ask to handwave certain elements of a perfect shot during rolls. I’ll get creative with flops, though.

i don't really want anyone guessing anything ic before i've written it myself, so if there's something you'd like to do with august please ask before throwing it out there/assuming its public knowledge! 

discord id: petraleia

passcode: i dont really know what youre planning and its scary. bros a cutie patootie

[theowritesstuff]

Everything

Kaz Brekker x gn!healer!reader

Requests: “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” & “You are everything. Everything.” Although I did change it to “You are everything to me. Everything.”

Warnings: bruises, knives, guns, stabbing, blood, murder (feral Kaz)

A/N: Yeah, this is pretty dark guys. If you’ve watched the show/read the books you’ll be fine, but the crows plotlines are usually dark. I actually really like this one though! Italics are Kaz’s thoughts.

Request a prompt with one of my characters!

Kaz Brekker was methodical. He planned everything he could down to the very minute. It was how he was able to become the leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel. No one dared cross Kaz, in fear of losing their life.

His crew were nearly as untouchable as he was. Jesper, the sharpshooter. Inej, the wraith. Wylan, the demolitions expert. Nina, the heartrender. And Matthias, the druskelle. They, along with their leader, made up one of the most prominent gangs in Ketterdam.

Then there was you. You were the crow that Kaz kept tucked away from the rest of Ketterdam.

Nina had brought you to Kaz after finding you help a small child with a nasty scrape on his knee. She watched as you guided your hand over the scrape, and the cuts disappeared. She hadn’t seen another Corporalnik in Ketterdam before, and knew that having a healer would help immensely when it came to heists.

Kaz was reluctant to take you in, only agreeing once he’d seen you heal a black eye Jesper had been sporting for a few days. He gave you a room at the Slat, gave you a few kruge, and introduced you to the other crows.

They were all easy to get along with. Nina helped you ease into this new life, often times joining you for meals, or taking walks through the markets with you. You had an obvious initial distaste for Mathias, often times choosing to stay away from the druskelle, but seeing him with Nina quickly put you at ease. Inej was incredibly kind to you, and graciously thanked you whenever you healed her. Wylan and Jesper were easy to get along with, often times too absorbed in each other to be aware of other things going on around them.

Then there was Kaz. It was more difficult to have a working relationship with Kaz, anyone could tell you he usually kept to himself unless he was giving orders or collecting kruge. You tried not to take his indifference to you personally.

You do remember the day things changed between you and Kaz though. The group had all come back from a heist exhausted, some injured, some just tired, but you could see Kaz out of the corner of your eye walking to his room quicker than he usually does. You followed him upstairs, and softly knocked on the door.

“Come in.” He grunted.

You’d never been in Kaz’s room before, you don’t think anyone other than Kaz actually has. It’s dark, and honestly exactly what you’d expected. A bed in the corner, a desk against the wall cluttered with paper, and a wardrobe that he was currently riffing through.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to grace me with your presence Y/n?” He asks, his tone sharp.

“How did you know it was me?” You shuffle forward, and close his door behind you.

“Everyone else knows not to bother me after a job.” He turned his head towards you slightly, allowing you to catch a glimpse of red on his cheek.

“You’re hurt.” You take a step towards him. He steps back from you instantaneously.

“I’m fine.” He turns back to his wardrobe.

“Saints, why must you be so stubborn?” You sigh. He doesn’t answer you. “I thought you hired me to heal you, so let me do my job.”

It’s his turn to sigh this time. It would be nice to stop the stinging sensation on his face. He glances at you, then gestures you towards him. “Fine.” He sits down in the chair at his desk, and watches you slowly step towards him.

You slowly move towards him, aware of the way his shoulder tense with every step you take. You don’t know exactly what’s happened to him, but you can easily tell he’s got some sort of touch aversion after watching him for a while. The black gloves that never come off his hands are used as another layer to keep others away.

Once you’re standing in front of him you take a look at the thin cut across his cheek. “I didn’t know the bastard of the barrel could bleed.” You murmur.

You don’t fail to miss the slight upward quirk of his lips at your comment. He holds his breath as your fingertips hover over him. He expected to feel the waters rise up in his chest, drowning him, instead he’s surprised to feel warmth from your hand. You’re careful not to actually touch him, pulling away once he’s been healed.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You ask, stepping away from him.

That was the moment you became more than just the Dregs’ healer. Whenever you went out anywhere Kaz would send Inej with you for protection. He knew how valuable a grisha was in Ketterdam, and he was not going to let someone else take you away. He called you into his office in the Crow Club or his room in the Slat more often. Sometimes he’d need you to heal a paper cut, other times he’d just want your company while he planned out heists. On nights where he came back banged up more than usual he’d bare more skin to you, allowing you to heal him and provide him the comfort a part of him so desperately needed.

He’d never let it be known he was growing some kind of attachment to you. You were a weakness to him, and Kaz Brekker didn’t have any weaknesses.

It didn’t take long for the other crows to figure out something was different between the two of you. Kaz was a cold, corrupt gang leader, but they could see a shift in him when you were near.

He’d give you his coat if you felt cold on the walk from the club back to the Slat. He kept your favorite drink in stock at the Crow Club. He’d look to you for your opinion on plans for heists. He whispered comments to you while he thought the others weren’t paying attention, a smug grin growing on his face as you laughed at what he’d said. Soft isn’t the right word for what Kaz had become when you were near. He was gentle with you.

Jesper caught you sneaking out of Kaz’s room early one morning still in the clothes you’d worn the previous day. He smirked at Kaz as he ate his breakfast for the day.

“Have a pleasant night boss?” He asked over his cup of coffee.

Kaz raises a brow at him, silently asking what he meant.

Jesper simply looks over at you, who is currently in conversation with Nina and Mathias on the other side of the room. His eyes travel back to Kaz, gleaming with mischief.

Kaz looks like he’s about to hit Jesper over the head with the crow’s head of his cane. He gets a stern talking to in Kaz’s office later that day, and is informed that if anyone finds out about his meetings with you, his precious revolvers might end up on someone’s table in the market.

No one mentions any changes they’ve seen in Kaz after that. Everything goes smoothly from then on, until one particular heist.

It was a lot like any other heist, sneak into a place, steal something that costs an exorbitant amount of money, then sell it for twice the price. The problem was Kaz needed someone to sneak into a crowded party, and at that point most of the barrel could pick out any of the crows in a crowd. They needed someone that could be inconspicuous.

It was the perfect job for you. You’d always wanted to go on the crazy adventures your friend went on so often, and this was finally something you could swing.

When you volunteered to step in, Kaz immediately refused. There was a reason he kept you locked away in the Slat during jobs.

No amount of kruge is worth putting your life on the line.

He gives excuse after excuse as to why you can’t be used. You haven’t done this before. You don’t know your way around the building. They need their healer ready to treat them afterwards.

I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

“You don’t even know how to use a weapon.” Kaz sighed, barely looking up at you from the blueprints on his desk.

“Inej can teach me, right?” You turn to the wraith with pleading eyes.

Inej stutters as she looks between you, and the icy stare coming from Kaz.

“Besides, you said that you wanted me to learn how to fight.”

No, I said you should learn to use a weapon. I figured Jesper would let you shoot a few bottles behind the Slat.

“We need them boss. Y/n is our best bet.” Jesper shrugs as he becomes the receiving end of Kaz’s glare.

Kaz looks back down at his blueprints. He knows it’s going to be a busy event, and the others will be spotted on sight. He briefly wonders if he can hire someone else to do the job, but then he looks back up at you. He trusts you, more than he’s trusted anyone in a long time. He knows this is something you’re perfectly capable of, but is it something he’s willing to risk?

“Fine.” He grunts. “But Jesper and Inej will teach you to use their weapons first.”

Your hearts swells up with pride. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thrown yourself over his desk to hug him. “Thank you Kaz. I promise you won’t regret this.”

If only you knew how wrong you had been.

You did train with Inej and Jesper prior to the heist. You even practiced fighting with Mathias a little bit, who was significantly holding back his punches in fear of actually hurting you.

Kaz had made sure to drill his instructions into everyone’s heads, until they could repeat their schedules without thinking about it. Everything had gone to according to plan on the night of, until things took a drastic turn.

He kept an eye on you for as long as he could, until he was needed somewhere else, leaving you in the crowd of the large hall completely isolated from the rest of the group.

You were doing well on your own, slowly becoming more confident as you strolled around and made conversation. You managed to distract all of the merchants with conversation long enough for the crew to get what they needed. It was nearing the time Kaz told you to meet him outside when you were spotted by someone. You vaguely recognized the face, it was a man you’d seen in the Crow Club a few times.

He must’ve known about your affiliation with the crows, because next thing you know you’re being escorted the opposite direction you need to go. You try to stay calm, and remember what Jesper and Inej taught you about fighting, but you know with them holding onto your arms it’ll be near impossible to reach for the knife you have hidden away.

You end up in a courtyard behind the building when they start to question you. Simple things like “why are you here?” and “where are your friends?”. They quickly become aggravated with your innocent act, and become more incessant.

All it took was for one of the men holding you to loosen his grip for you to swing your arm away, and hit him on the side of his face with your elbow. Chaos ensued immediately. You were able to grab your knife, and used it as best you could against the three men fighting you. You had taken a few hits, but were able to stand your ground fairly well, until you felt a sharp pain in your side.

You froze, partially from shock, but mostly from the searing pain you felt. You looked down to see a dagger lodged in your side, being held onto by one of the men. He had a wicked grin on his face as he twisted the knife inside of you. You wailed out as he pulled the knife from your body, and watched as you collapsed to the ground.

“Brekker won’t be able to save you from that, little bird.” He snikered, then ran back inside with the others.

You could feel the blood pooling at your side. You tried to press a hand to the now sticky fabric of your shirt, and put pressure on the wound. You were far too hurt to be able to concentrate your powers to one spot. Your vision started to get spotty when you heard voices above you. A girl’s voice, clearly in distress, and a boy’s voice, sharp and stern.

More hands pressed to your side, then something was wrapped tightly around your waist.

You couldn’t hear what they were actually saying before you felt yourself being picked up, and held in someone’s arms. You looked up to see the figure that was holding you. A bigger build, wide shoulders, blonde hair? Mathias. Had you been conscious enough to speak you would’ve made a joke. Something about a druskelle carrying a grisha to safety. He’d laugh, but retort, telling you about how many times he’s had to save Nina.

You let yourself fall into the darkness after a while, your head lolling against Mathias’ chest. It’s okay, you thought, you knew you weren’t going to make it as soon as he pulled that knife out of you. You just wish you were able to see your friends one last time, to see Kaz one last time.

Kaz could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He tried to keep a calm composure, but anyone of the crows could see the anxiety building up in him. He was barking orders as soon as he saw you laying on the ground, a puddle of your own blood surrounding you. The waves start to build in his chest. He wants to reach out and touch you, to give you any semblance of comfort, because you’re not dead, there’s no way he’s letting you die. He’ll destroy all of Kerch before he lets that happen.

He notices when your head lolls. “Quickly.” He urges the group, speeding his own pace back to the Slat.

Once everyones regrouped they all gather in your room, where Mathias has lain you down on your bed.

Kaz tosses a pouch of coins to Jesper. “Go get some medicine. I don’t care how much it costs. Get the best you can find.”

Inej kneels down next to you, whispering prayers to her saints. Mathias leaves to gather supplies to help you. Nina keeps your heartbeat steady, her hands hovering above your chest.

The waters have reached his lungs now, pulling him down deeper into the ocean. Your blood coats the scarf Inej tied around you earlier, staining the blue material a dark, deep red.

“Saints! Kaz, your heartbeat is obscenely loud! Could you please go anywhere else?” Nina snaps at him.

Kaz doesn’t move for a moment, then quickly leaves your room to go to his own. He attempts to slow his breathing, to calm himself down, but anytime he closes his eyes he sees you again. You and Jordie.

It’s days before he talks to anyone. He only ever leaves his room to step into yours. Nina occupies a chair near your bed, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Still alive.” Is all she says to him. He nods, then retreats back to his room.

He scours any and all information he has about the party, until he finds what might give him some relief. He leaves the Slat early one morning, and doesn’t return until late that evening. The gold crow’s head of his cane is now a bright crimson color. Blood is splattered on his neck, and one can assume his clothes as well, though the black hides it well from anyone giving him a second glance.

Jesper is surprised to see Kaz in such a state, knowing that he liked to keep up appearances.

“Hey boss, you’ve got a little…” he trails off, gesturing to his neck.

“It’s not mine.” He rushes passed Jesper, back to his room to start scrubbing the blood away.

You wake up about a week after the heist. Your throat is dry, and you feel incredibly hungry. Your limbs feel weak when move to sit up.

Nina sits next to you on a chair. She’s slouched over, soft snores falling from her lips. You softly nudge her, and let out a hoarse “Nina.”

She grumbles to herself as she wakes up. “Kaz, they’re fine.” She slowly opens her eyes to see you staring back at her, and she gasps. “Saints! You’re awake!”

You point to the cup that sits next to her, and gulp down the water when she hands it to you.

She stands up and looks towards the door to your room. “I’m going to go get Kaz.”

You grab her wrist before she can leave you. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can deal with incessant “I told you so”s right now.”

Nina scoffs. “Oh please, he’s been worried sick about you. I had to kick him out of here because his heartbeat was distracting me from yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He even paid for some pretty pricey medicine for you. Speaking of which, here, take these.” She holds out a few pills. “Now, I’m going to go get Kaz, and maybe after this near-death experience you two will finally just tell each other that you love one another.”

“What? I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shake your head.

“It’s okay, he’s not very good at hiding it either.” She smirks at you before she leaves.

She’s only gone a few minutes before your door swings open with Kaz in your doorway.

“You’re awake.” He says.

You shift so that you’re sitting up on your bed. Kaz closes your door behind him, then sits down in the chair Nina had been using, his eyes trained on the floor ahead.

“I’m sorry about the heist Kaz. But I promise I didn’t tell them anything-”

“I know.”

You furrow your brows. “You know?”

He looks up at you. When he does this, you realize just how close you are to him. You can see every detail in his face. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the dim candlelight of your room. You could brush your leg against his if you shifted. You start to move away from him, afraid of touching him, but stop when what sounds like a plea escapes him.

“Stay.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding, and relax beside him.

“Nina said you were worried about me.” You say softly.

He laughs a little, shaking his head. It’s a sight he’s reserved for just you. “Of course she did.”

“Were you?”

He looks into your eyes as if he’s searching for something. “I was.” He takes a breath, then turns his body so he’s facing you. “You scared me Y/n. I thought you had died, or were close to it. And I…” His admission is quiet. “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” He hangs his head in shame. The bastard of the barrel can’t admit how he feels.

“I understand.” You nod. “I feel so much love for you Kaz, you consume my every thought. You don’t need to say anything. I understand.”

He looks up at you, surprised. Surprised that someone as pure as you, someone who was literally made to heal, could ever love someone who’s caused so much pain as he has. He slowly removes his right glove, and drops the leather to the ground. He lifts his hand to your face, hovering near your cheek.

“You don’t have to.” You whisper, body frozen.

“I want to.” He takes a deep breath in an attempt to push the waves down, and slowly caresses your cheek. His throat tightens up, and for a moment it feels like he’s drowning again. But he focuses on your warmth, and his breathing slows down again. “You are everything to me. Everything.”

-

[6lostgirl6]

Can I request an Eric Draven one where he doesn't die at the end of the movie and he meets the reader one night when she is walking home from work. The reader didn't know it but she was being followed by mr criminal guy and the crow saw it, therefore, Eric saw it too and came to her rescue. Ever since that night he hasn't been able to stay away from her and kinda follows her everywhere. He feels a pull towards her and gets very over protective of her.

Female reader too please!!! Thanks bestie!!

Curiosity Made The Crow Obsessed Pt. 1

Eric Draven x Fem!Reader

TW: Assault, Murder

The night in Detroit was always known to be a time in which people were in absolute fear. Where the term, "lock your doors," was heavily enforced and influenced. Children and even adults couldn't walk around because of the terror from criminals that paraded the city. Nobody truly felt safe. That may have rang true until the arrival of The Crow. An absolute terror knoiwn to eradicate criminals, ending in bloodshed. 

The infamous and newly established protector of the city that did more justice in killing criminals than their own police force in capturing them. Citizens felt more in control of their situations and felt safer, their trust in The Crow allowing him free reign to do as he pleases in order to help those in need. 

Tonight, the person in need was you. 

You were walking down the street towards your home, bundled up in your small coat in desperate need for warmth. Due to the upcoming approach of autumn, nights in the city were becoming extremely cold. It was even worse when your boss decided to keep you a few extra hours despite you already having a late-shift. Therefore, you were heading home much later than you were comfortable with. The streets and overall sidewalks were barely illuminated from the street lamps that still needed fixing in the area. You glanced around entrances to alleyways, taking caution for anything that could remotely happen. However, after hearing the distant barking of stray dogs, you decided to quicken your pace. Everything seemed to be fine. However, you didn't notice the rapidly approaching figure coming up from behind you…along with a crow keeping up with him. 

Suddenly, you screamed when someone grabbed you from behind, quickly putting their hand over your mouth and dragging you into a nearby alleyway that was shrouded in almost complete darkness. You struggled desperately, your breathing picking up when a man pinned you against the wall and pulled out a knife, keeping the point straight at your jugular.

He leaned in close, his horrible breath washing over your face making you almost gag, “Look, pretty lady, just give me what I want and nobody has to get hurt.” He muttered, his hand against your mouth pressed harder, pushing your head against the brick wall. 

“Just give me your shit without a struggle, got it?” He glanced around before looking towards you once more. The point of the knife seemed to drift closer, the sharpness threatening to fatally wound you in any attempt of escape. “Think you can do that?”

With tears in your eyes and blood rushing through your head, you nodded. The idea of death being so close made you start to dissociate, the fear of potentially losing your life right now was beyond overwhelming. Where was the protector of the city when you needed him? 

However, it seems that your prayers have been answered, as the sudden cawing and flaps of wings echoing throughout the alleyway. The man didn’t seem to notice though which you were eternally grateful for. Glancing over the man’s shoulder, you noticed a black bird, a crow, perched on a nearby trash can. His beady eyes never seemed to drift from your own as he watched the scene that was currently taking place. You sniffled before relaxing, because when there is a bird, there’s a man attached. 

There was the sound of metal scraping against the concrete of the alleyway before the man was attacked with a brutal hit on the side of the head. He stumbled back, his knife almost cutting you which you quickly dodged. You took this opportunity to create some distance and placed yourself at the opposite side of the alleyway, close to where the crow was perched. This allowed you to finally gaze upon the person that saved your life. The Crow himself. 

You understood that the sound that you heard earlier was when your protector picked up a long metal pipe and smacked it against your attacker’s head. Your attacker was dazed, struggling to situate himself on the ground, barely able to stand up, knife in hand. The Crow didn’t hesitate to take another swing, hitting the man in the face and causing blood to spurt from his nose and mouth and spray the concrete below. The man fell to the ground, knife falling out of his hand onto the ground. He was groaning in pain and begging for the figure in black to show mercy.

The Crow could only lift a brow, a sarcastic smile growing on his face at the man’s pleading, “Sorry, all out of mercy.” He replied, kicking the knife away before pouncing on the man. He grinned at the man’s weak struggles before he began rapidly swinging the pipe against your attacker’s face, causing blood to paint himself and the concrete. 

The scene was absolutely gruesome, however, you couldn't help but continue watching, witnessing the way the struggles began to grow weaker and the man’s cries for mercy begin to sound more like gurgles as he choked on his own blood. After a couple more hits, the man laid there, his arms that were once gripping The Crow’s jacket slipping onto his own chest, the light fading from his bloodshot eyes. 

The Crow paused as he realized the man had finally died, his breathing rapid from the adrenaline. He sat up straight and leaned back, his head towards the sky as he tried to catch his breath. He needed to calm down before he could check on the victim.  

Eric continued to sit on the man’s stomach, his panting starting to cease now that the criminal was justly disposed of. Blood completely soaked him and seeped into his clothing, the liquid starting to become sticky from the frigid coldness in the air. The metal pipe in his hand shook as his white-knuckled grip refused to relent. 

You stood there, sniffling at bearing witness for the gruesome slaying of your potential murderer. However, you didn’t feel frightened, instead you felt protected by the stranger dressed in black. You hesitated before stepping forward a little, crossing your arms in order to give yourself some comfort. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You asked, clearly knowing the answer. 

Eric nodded slowly before dropping the metal pipe and bringing himself to his feet. He stepped away from the body before turning towards you. He couldn’t help but stare, waiting for you to start screaming and run away due to his choice of makeup and attire, along with killing a man in front of you with no remorse. 

You nodded again before letting out another shaky exhale. “Good, he deserved it.” 

Eric couldn’t help but be a little shocked at your nonchalance despite your genuine affectedness from the horrific event. Most people usually would hastily say their gratitude before leaving him completely in the dust. Which you didn’t seem to want to do, instead you were trying to…converse with him?

“Are you alright?” He asked, stepping a little closer and checking you over to make sure that the knife didn’t hurt you when he ambushed the attacker. He would have felt bad if he allowed someone to get even a little hurt because he was reckless. 

You flushed a little from his gaze and nodded, “Yeah, you saved me right on time actually.” You couldn’t help but feel a little sense of attractiveness towards your rescuer. Despite the makeup and sense of style, you honestly thought he looked very handsome. “Thank you so much.”

He nodded slightly. 

Eric stood in front of you, watching as you continued to shiver in the alleyway. He hesitated before slowly beginning to remove his completely ruined trench coat. The fabric is completely drenched in sticky blood and full of tears, however it should be enough to keep you warm. He certainly didn’t want you to freeze to death and it’s not like he was going to. 

“Here, sorry for the mess, that's all I have.” He muttered, wrapping the material around your shoulders and fixing the collar for you. He watched you as you gave a small smile in thanks and put your arms through the sleeves, the material dragging over your hands. 

‘She looks beautiful…’ He thought to himself before his eyes slightly widened. What the hell was he thinking? he quickly shook the thought away and looked around before going back to the body, picking up the knife to add to his collection. 

“What’s your name?” The girl asked, continuing to watch him as he pocketed the knife into his boot. He hesitated, still slightly bent before he straightened himself up. She looked a little flustered before glancing away from his questioning gaze. “I just wanna know the name of my savior.” 

“...It’s Eric.” He hesitated. 

He usually didn’t hand out his name to the people he saved, not even the police force that seemed so adamant on figuring out who he was. Thank God, Albrecht was very tight-lipped about his identity. However, for some strange reason, he felt like he wanted you to know. 

“Eric…” She muttered to herself and his name coming from her lips sounded like a slice of heaven. “I’m (Y/N). Thank you so much for rescuing me.” 

Eric smiled before walking towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder to add a little more comfort from the situation. “Let me walk you home. I should make sure you get inside safely.” He didn’t notice that he started to rub your shoulder a little with his thumb. You didn’t seem to notice because of the thick material. 

“Yeah, that would be amazing.” She answered, before glancing towards the entrance of the alleyway. “We wouldn’t want your hard work to go to waste if I ended up dying right when you left.” She joked, but Eric didn’t think it was funny. The smile completely vanished from his face.

“No…we wouldn't want that.” He replied, before dropping his hand. “Come on.” He began heading down the alleyway, his bird jumping from the trash can in order to perch itself on his shoulder. 

You smiled before quickly catching up to him, your arm grazing his own which made him clench his fist a little. He felt a little uncomfortable, but it wasn’t because of you. It was due to the fact that he was starting to feel things he hasn’t felt in a very long time and he didn’t know what to do about that fact. 

He’ll just have to figure things out. 

After a while of appreciated silence, you both finally arrived at your place. Your flat was in the middle of the city in an apartment complex. Eric glanced around before watching you start heading up the stairs. He was about to follow, his boot touching the first step before he paused. He couldn’t help feeling a little protective over you and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Honestly, it scared him a little. He watched you as you finally reached the top before turning towards him. 

“Thank you again!” You said, leaning against the railing, your coat covered hands gripping the metal. 

He stayed at the bottom of the stairs and gave a small smile and nod, “You’re welcome.” He replied, his voice a little quiet and his gaze was intense yet soft as he continued looking at you. “Be more careful or I’ll have to come save you again.” However, he didn’t mind rescuing you, if it meant that he would be able to see you again. 

“Maybe that’s what I want.” You smirked. 

Eric tensed as he comprehended what you just said to him. The implication that you wanted to see him again echoed in his mind like a broken record. When he was finally able to get his bearings, you were already gone before he could reply. He stood there for a while before smiling to himself. He stepped off the stairs, making his bird flap its wings to stabilize itself and continued down the street. 

As he continued walking, he remembered that he forgot to get his coat back, knowing that you were wearing such dirty material. He sighed, thinking you would just go ahead and throw it away. He’ll have to get another one eventually. Right now, he needed to figure out what was happening to him. Not only that, but keep a close watch over you. You made him curious and eventually, that curiosity would lead towards something greater. Complete and utter obsession. 

[star-scroll]

Raven Locks and Raven Wings

This was basically an excuse for me to write trio bonding +wings heh

I tried to make the title a BTS reference. Can you tell?

WC: 3,294

FFnet

Ao3

Summary:

Halfas are adaptable, and easily influenced by their companions. Danny has gotten a lot of features from his ghostly allies -horns, a tail, fangs- but by far the most drastic has been a set of wings. And they didn't exactly come with an instruction manual.

Of all these side effects of becoming a halfa, one thing Danny hadn’t expected was wings. Huge, feathery, cumbersome wings.

Wings were the latest development in a long string of oddities. It started with fangs, then a pair of icy horns sprouting out of the top of his head. After that came a change in the way his hair acted, burning like a cold flame and not entirely corporal. Then shimmering white scales along his back, paired with a reptilian tail. He seemed to gain a new limb or accessory for each ally he made. He wasn’t entirely sure who the fangs came from -there were multiple possibilities in that category (his least favorite of which being Vlad)- but the horns were from Frostbite, hair from Ember, and the tail from Dorathea in all her dragon-ness.

Frostbite explained it as halfas simply being more “adaptable” than normal ghosts, which Danny thought was fitting enough. It was a better option than a thorough examination of his inner psyche. Not that Jazz hadn’t tried to do that anyway after he returned home from that particular visit to the Far Frozen.

But who did he know with bird wings? His feathers matched the pattern and color of either a raven or crow; all black, but with an iridescent shimmer. From a quick google search he thought they looked more like a raven’s, but he couldn’t be entirely certain. These new protrusions were quite large, with a wingspan of 13 feet. This was of course according to Sam, who currently held a tape measure. Tucker held up the other end.

Danny’s parents were out shopping, so they used the open space of the lab to check out his new limbs in a way he hadn’t been able to in the bathroom where he originally discovered them. He’d run away from breakfast at his ghost sense and used the downstairs bathroom as a place to hide. Imagine his surprise when he transformed and suddenly the small half-bath was filled with feathers. By the time he got back from the fight, his parents had gone out for the day. He called Sam and Tuck first thing, and they rushed over.

“Dang, who’d you nab these from?” Tucker asked as Sam showed him the measurement. Danny folded his wings in so that they were tucked flat to his body. He turned around carefully to face his friends, careful not to knock anything over. He already needed a new lamp, dammit.

“That’s the million dollar question.” Danny sighed and reverted to human form. He was lucky that his various ghostly limbs didn’t cross over, or that would be a disaster. Though his canines did feel suspiciously sharp.

“I just hope they don’t get in the way too much when I’m fighting," Danny sighed.

The trio moved on quickly. Danny's wings became just another addition to their already crazy lives.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m gonna murder Skulker.” Danny huffed. The mech had ruffled his feathers, quite literally. Danny collapsed on Sam’s couch, wings taking up the entire thing. Skulker was an idiot. An idiot with a second-death wish, to be exact. It would seem that he’d teamed up with Plasmius again, because no way could he have done this without the other idiot’s help.

The Jaeger-wanna-be had blasted Danny with some weapon or another, which he thought was a dud until after he sucked Skulky into the thermos. Then he’d found that he was unable to revert to human form or use any of his powers. Zilch, zero, zip. None of them, not even his ghost sense wanted to work. He still glowed like a damn flashlight, of course. Never before had Danny gotten a stronger urge to chuck the Fenton Thermos into a lake.

“Move it birdbrain, this is the best seat in the house.” Sam almost sat on his wing, and would have if he hadn’t moved it at the last moment.

“Well excuse me, princess.” Danny huffed. He draped one wing across his chest, noting quite disgustedly that feathers were greasy and not laying right. But he was tired, and that could be dealt with tomorrow.

“I thought we agreed to no bird puns for the night?” Danny shot Sam a look through a gap in his primary feathers.

“But bird puns are always a hoot!” Tucker interjected from the popcorn machine. Danny laughed and Sam just groaned.

“Okay, no bird puns starting now. Where’s that popcorn, Tuck?” Sam looked over the back of the couch.

“Hold your horses!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ok I can’t stand it anymore.” Tucker exclaimed suddenly in the middle of the movie. He set a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

“Buddy, you smell like you were dragged through a landfill and sprayed in sweat. You gotta do something about your wings.”

“I don’t smell anything.” Danny replied, sinking into the couch and all-too-aware of his wings pressed into the cushions. Sam paused the movie.

“Well I promise, it’s not pleasant.” Tucker commented. Danny just sank sheepishly further into the couch.

“Do you need help with cleaning them?” Sam offered lightly.

“Nah, I’ll just try to deal with them when I get home.” Danny reached forward to grab the remote but was stopped by Tucker grabbing his arm.

“No way, you’re getting a bird bath. Sam, do you have a tub big enough for this oversized avian?” Tucker asked. Sam was already standing up, brushing the popcorn off her skirt.

“I certainly do.” She grabbed Danny’s other arm and hauled him up off the couch with Tucker’s help. Danny let himself fall forward like dead weight. Water and feathers did not sound like a fun combination, and he didn’t want to find out if his gut was right or not.

“Stop being so stubborn! We’ll be careful. This needs to be done, Danny.” Sam dropped his arm and he acted, quickly smacking away Tucker’s hand and cocooning himself inside his wings. They were right, the aroma wasn’t entirely pleasant, but neither was the thought of washing his wings. He hadn’t done anything more than phase off the dirt yet and had been pushing a real washing off for as long as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually, Sam and Tucker managed to stealthily drag Danny upstairs and into one of the many bathrooms. It was a miracle they weren't spotted, but it being almost 11 at night likely helped their cause.

They got into the bathroom and Sam locked the door behind them. Danny plopped down on the floor, struggling to get his suit top off without intangibility. Tucker sat on the countertop and started looking up how to clean birds on the internet. Sam turned on the faucet and warm water poured into the tub. She was careful not to make it too hot.

“Ugh,” Tucker sighed, mid-search.

“Half of these sites are just saying ‘put the bird in water and let it do the rest.’” Tucker sat on the counter, leaning against the mirror.

“I don’t think I have the same instincts as real birds. And these things didn’t exactly come with an instruction manual." Danny got up from his seat on the floor and started looking through the drawers.

“Scissors are on the far right, middle drawer.” Sam interjected.

“You know me so well,” Danny grinned, finally finding the sharp object. Which Tucker immediately grabbed out of his hands.

“Let me do it, you’re gonna end up cutting yourself or at the very least slicing off a feather.” Danny grumbled but turned around when Tucker motioned him to.

“It’s a good thing my suit fixes itself.” Danny mused, earning a hum from Tucker. Danny’s back was a myriad of pale skin, white scales, black feathers, and scars. It was mostly lichtenberg figures, though the remnants of a slice or two could also be seen. The feathers extended past just Danny’s wings, coming all the way up to his shoulders and tufting upwards. What had been underneath the suit was almost dirtier than what was outside of it. The feathers were slick with sweat and pressed into Danny's back.

“Don’t you ever shower?” Tucker asked, half-horrified. It wasn’t from a place of ridicule, just concern.

“Not really in ghost form, I guess. It’s hard for a ghost to get a shower in a house where the walls are literally armed.” Danny responded saltily. Tucker cut carefully through the thick fabric, dulling the scissors. He also had to cut a line through the shirt underneath, a negative black-and-blue counterpart to Danny’s numerous white and red ovaled t-shirts.

“That’s gotta change then. Use this bathroom whenever you need it, just check for anyone inside first. I doubt anyone will come all the way up here, but better safe than sorry.” Sam offered. She tested the water once more and sat back to let the tub fill.

“What if somebody walks by and hears the water running?” Asked Danny. Tucker finally finishes the "alterations" to the back of Danny’s suit, allowing the halfa to pull the fabric forward and tie it around his waist with the arms. His gloves were abandoned on the countertop, and his boots were still down in the theater room.

“Go invisible, and I’ll come up with some excuse. Probably blame it on a ghost. Boxy seems like the best candidate for that, maybe Klemper.”

“Thank-you, Sam.” Danny truly was grateful. The question had crossed his mind before, but he never had the courage to voice it.

“My bathtub isn’t nearly as big, but the offer stands for my house as well. We’ve got a guest bedroom with an attached bath that rarely gets used.”

“You guys are awesome.” Danny grinned. He felt a bit pathetic and sad that he had to rely on his friends for such a simple thing, but he shoved that thought right back out of the door it’d come through.

“We won’t be so awesome in a few minutes. Now get over here.” Sam commanded, and Danny noticed that the tub was now about half-full. A bolt of fear went through him, imagining his wings drenched in water. They were heavy enough as it was. Danny unconsciously squeezed the offending feathery beasts tighter against his back, to keep them from being pulled away from his body. He backpedaled a bit, distancing himself from the tub.

“There’s gotta be a different way we can do this, right?” He asked uneasily.

“Just come here Danny. We’ll figure it out.” Sam coaxed. But Tucker was not nearly as kind, and got behind Danny to physically push him towards the small body of water. The tub was a clean white, and set into the floor. It had white lights underneath the surface and Danny spotted deactivated water jets. It was like a mini hot tub.

Danny sighed in defeat and gingerly lowered himself into the water, facing the wall and the giant wall-length mirror in front of him. The tub was only maybe a third of the way full, and came up to Danny’s waist. He held his wings above the surface of the water, testing out the warmth. It was cooler than he normally liked, but in this form his “normal” would probably be intensely uncomfortable. There were downsides to having an ice core. Plus, he wasn’t sure how sensitive his wings would be to the water temperature.

The halfa watched the reflection as Sam and Tucker pried off their shoes and socks then Tucker rolled up his pants. They sat on the rim of the tub behind Danny, feet just barely in the water. The halfa had to admit, this was a very good setup for such a thing.

“The websites mostly said not to use soap, but if it’s too bad we can. I tried to specifically find info on crows and ravens, but they aren’t exactly conventional pets.”

“I feel like that’s a not-so-subtle jab of some sort.” Danny said with a raised brow. Tucker met his gaze in the mirror.

“What, me? No way.”

“Disregarding that obvious lie, what kinda soap do we wanna use? I'm pretty sure it's gonna be necessary. I’ve got some two-in-one shampoo and conditioner that might be good.”

“Most of these say to use dish soap, but that’s mostly so it doesn’t hurt birds’ eyes or whatever. I say we try your stuff and see what happens.”

“I gotta say, this is one experiment I never imagined.” Danny’s back already ached from keeping his wings up for so long. Tucker must’ve noticed the shaking.

“Why don’t you rest them against the sides of the tub? We’ll just stand so we can reach them better.” Danny did just that, immediately relieved.

“Thanks.” And with that, Sam and Tuck got to work. Tucker on Danny’s right wing and Sam on the left. Each armed with a cup and bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner, a great contrast from the ectoguns they regularly brandished.

Sam started at his largest feathers, the primaries, working the soap into each feather and quickly creating a sudsy mess. She smoothed out various feathers that Danny hadn’t even realized were out of place until the prickly feeling of a displaced feather was relieved.

Tucker began at the top of his wing, near his back. He ruffled up the plumage in order to get the soap in, which was surprisingly easy with the smaller, softer feathers. As Tucker worked his way out he stuck his hand between the layers instead of moving them out of the way, and Danny wasn’t sure whether it was nice or bordering on painful. After a few rows, Tucker switched to Sam’s earlier method, going through primary by primary.

Danny was left in a state of pure bliss. It was like the sensation of someone playing with his hair but multiplied by, like, seven. He was distinctly aware of each feather, which was surprisingly a good thing.

Danny forgot that the mirror in front of him worked both ways, and while focusing on the sensations he missed the smiles passed between his two best friends in the entire world.

“Having fun?” Sam asked. Danny hummed non-committaly as Tucker reached a twisted feather and moved it back into place. Unconsciously the halfa’s draconic tail swished back and forth in the water, making small ripples and almost taking out Sam’s ankle if she hadn’t moved out of the way.

Danny was on the verge of sleep, held upright only by his wings. Then things went wrong.

A cut-off yelp escaped Danny as his tail was stepped on. His wings flared, spewing soap and water all over the walls. Not to mention the disaster that now was the mirror. His powers had also apparently come back to him at some point during the bath, as he was now waist-deep in an oversized ice cube. Luckily neither Sam nor Tucker were caught in the sudden popsicle that was the bathtub.

His feathers were now all fluffed up like a cat, effectively undoing much of the work that had been done. Danny felt goosebumps raise up on his skin in a wave, which oddly included his wings. Now that was weird.

Danny phased out of the ice (leaving quite the neat-looking hole from where his body had been) and regarded it, as well as the horrid state of the bathroom.

“Got a hairdryer?” Danny chuckled sheepishly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny soared through the Ghost Zone towards Clockwork's lair. He relished in the lightness of his wings now that they were free from gunk, glad that his feathers were no longer sticking together and moved smoothly over each other with every hearty flap. It was almost freeing, and worrying. He hadn’t realized just how badly he’d been neglecting them.

Danny wanted to ask Clockwork about his wings and who they might be from. He didn’t expect a clear answer, but any clue would be a good one. Maybe he could also get some tips from the omniscient on how to take care of them better, since just phasing the dirt off didn’t do the trick.

Briefly switching from wing flight to ghost flight, Danny landed right outside of CW’s lair. It was a massive purple clocktower that contained various other spires rising into the sky. Or at least what counted for a sky in the Infinite Realms. The Clocktower looked almost small on the outside, but as far as Danny knew it was infinite on the inside.

“Clockyyyyy!” Danny called as he stepped inside. The doors opened right up for him, so there was no way CW wasn’t already aware of his presence. It was actually Danny’s first time visiting since his wings had popped up two months ago. Ghost attacks had picked up, and with Vlad making yet another cloning attempt he’d been otherwise preoccupied.

“To what do I owe this visit, Daniel?” Clockwork asked, materializing from both nowhere and everywhere all at once. He was very paradoxical like that. He was in child form, practically draping himself over still his full-size staff.

“I don’t expect a straight answer, but I was wondering if you might know who I got these babies from.” Danny presented his wings in all of their beastly beauty, proud of just how clean they were and how the feathers shimmered in the light. They dwarfed his body, spread out to his full wingspan. A look of surprise glanced across CW’s features, something that was new to Danny.

“Ah, that explains a lot.” Clockwork said to himself. As he thought, he shifted to adult form. His staff now fit comfortably to his proportions, and he leaned against it.

“I am unable to clearly see events that evolve myself, particularly ones ectoplasmic in nature, as the very energy is unpredictable and can cloud my vision.”

“M'kay?” Danny responded, barely absorbing the information. He folded his wings against his back and collapsed on a nearby couch, grabbing one of CW’s infamous brownies from the tray on the table.

“It would appear that you gained the wings from me.” Clockwork added, and Danny almost spit out his brownie.

“But you don’t-” Danny was proven wrong before he even got the sentence out, as Clockwork’s form shifted ever-so-slightly. It revealed a great pair of owl wings from underneath his cloak, pressed against his back. The feathers were mostly white but were dotted with black in places. It reminded Danny of Hedwig, the snowy owl from Harry Potter. Clockwork’s wings were more proportional to his body than Danny’s were, though at the same time they were much larger.

“It was most unlikely that you would develop a trait mirroring myself, although I suppose it is logical with how much time we’ve spent together.” Clockwork mused. Danny didn't even realized he'd moved until he had crossed half the distance between them. Danny reached out to touch it and Clockwork gave him a nod in permission.

“How do you keep them so clean?” Danny ran a hand lightly over Clockwork’s left wing, which he’d stuck out slightly more to the left as though bidding Danny feel it. The feathers were much softer than his own, and were a bright white that almost glowed. It matched Clockwork’s long white hair, which Danny had spotted on the occasion that the elder ghost removed his hood. It was rare, but it happened.

“Through manipulation of time, mostly. Technically my wings have never aged since the moment they existed.” Clockwork seemed a bit uncomfortable at the touch, even though he’d offered it. Danny backed up, retaking his place on the couch and stuffing his face with another brownie.

"That’s no help,” Danny sighed.

“But at least that's one mystery solved. Why do you have wings?" Danny questioned. A grin that almost bordered ‘creepy’ territory spread across Clockwork's face.

"I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase. Time flies."

[flowercrown-bard]

I have a sentence for you...or a prompt. I don't know what I want you to do with it, but by god please do something:

"He doesn't have anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!"

My darling nonny. First of all, what. Second of all, I love you and I love this prompt! I made the weirdest noise when I read it. I did not expect that second sentence XD

The thing is, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this prompt either...while being sober, so here's what my slightly tipsy brain came up with :D

word count: 2160

can be read platonic or romatic I think

content warnings: use of the name ��Julian’ (not by Geralt), one very bad sexual innuendo (nothing sexual happens)

part 2

The spell hit Jaskier square in the chest, before Geralt had time to react and throw himself in front of him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, though not in fear but in anticipation, as they snapped over to the witcher. “Geralt, what’s happening?”

Helplessly but not overly concerned, Geralt watched as Jaskier’s arms took on an unnatural position, bent at his sides. The bard’s head started to bob.

Geralt blinked at him and turned to the young sorcerer that looked curiously at Jaskier.

“Why aren’t you more worried?” The mage furrowed his brows. “Shouldn’t he be terrified?”

He turned to Geralt, who only shrugged.

“This happens regularly,” Geralt replied and his lips twitched up. “Last month, he’s been hit by a truth spell and the month before, he drank a potion that made him invisible to all but Roach.” His smile turned into a grin. “That was a very peaceful time.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier squawked, his head still bobbing. “You missed me!”

“I didn’t. I could still hear you.” Geralt turned his attention back to the sorcerer who stared at them as if they were insane. “So, what exactly does this spell do?” Almost casually, Geralt’s hand wandered to the sword strapped to his back. “It better not be anything actually dangerous.”

Jaskier might have gotten cocky with how easily Geralt was able to break curses with all the experience he now had, but that didn’t mean Geralt wasn’t prepared to fight anyone who meant to cause Jaskier true harm. Even if Jaskier thought himself near invincible by now.

“No, no!” The mage held up his hands. “It’s not dangerous. I swear! It’s just supposed to…” he swallowed, his eyes darting between Jaskier and Geralt, clearly trying to figure out which one was more dangerous: The armed witcher or the bard who didn’t seem to be bothered in the least by being cursed but seemed rather giddy at the prospect of finding out what was going to happen next – after all, curses made for the most exciting songs, according to the bard. “It’s supposed to make his appearance match his character.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘I already am as beautiful on the outside as I am on the inside’, but instead of words, a loud cock-a-doodle-doo left Jaskier’s lips. For a second, he looked terrified, before his expression morphed into one of fury and he let out a tirade of what was probably supposed to be insults.

Geralt exchanged a look with the mage, drawing up one eyebrow, when Jaskier continued to cluck.

“Ah, well, you see,” the mage turned bright red, “Marx was quite sure that he,” he glanced at Jaskier, who suddenly shrunk, his hair turning bright red and rising up and turning into a coxcomb, “was a coward and would turn into a chicken.”

Jaskier gave the mage one final indignant glare, probably cursing his rival’s name, before his mouth turned into a beak and his face was no longer that of a human, capable of expressing such emotions.

“Your employer was wrong,” Geralt deadpanned. “Jaskier is anything but a coward.” With the corners of his lips twitching and a glint in his eyes, he added, “But he definitely can be a cocky bastard.”

Jaskier, the cock, fluttered with his wings in indignation and let out another crow, looking up at Geralt. Though Jaskier could no longer speak or make facial expressions, Geralt knew exactly what the pleading look Jaskier sent him meant.

Geralt knew a hundred and one ways to break a curse. But more importantly, he knew Jaskier.

And so, Geralt knew exactly what Jaskier needed him to do.

--

It was ridiculously easy to break into Valdo Marx’ quarters at night, even while carrying a rooster that never stopped clucking and fluttering his wings excitedly in one arm. Jaskier could count himself lucky that he hadn’t turned into a peacock. It might have been more fitting, if Geralt had anything to say about it, but it would have definitely made scaling the building and squeezing through the window together, much harder.

Once inside the troubadour’s rooms, Geralt set Jaskier down gently.

“Do your worst,” he said with a grin and watched Jaskier ruffle his feathers in excitement, before he darted across the room, tearing at Valdo Marx’ notebooks with his beak, tearing at the decorative pillows on the armchair and plucking the strings of the lute standing against a wall harshly enough with his claws that they nearly snapped.

Geralt grimaced at the sound, but leaned back against a wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching in amusement as his best friend wreaked as much havoc in his rival’s rooms as possible.

The noise must have roused Valdo Marx from his sleep, for a muffled curse came through the closed door, presumably leading to the troubadour’s bed room. The sound of Valdo Marx jumping out of his bed and hasting towards his now destroyed living room was interrupted by Jaskier, who crowed again and fluttered his wings in an attempt to make himself taller, preparing to make an impression when Valdo finally saw him.

The door was flung open and a dishevelled troubadour appeared, staring in horror at the mess that was his living space.

“What in the name of –“

His eyes fell on Jaskier first, then he saw the witcher still leaning against the wall, pointedly casual. Realisation dawned on Valdo’s face, followed briefly by a flash of triumph, that instantly turned into regret when Jaskier began hacking at the notebooks with more glee than before, preening under the horrified attention of his new audience.

“Witcher,” Valdo said breathlessly. “Put a stop to this, this instant!”

Geralt lifted a brow. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I proved Julian is a coward.” He waved his hands through the air, his voice turning shrill with every second that his panic grew. “I get to see him anxious and he’s reacting very poorly and I have to face the consequences. I get it. I shouldn’t have hired that mage. Is that what you want to hear?”

Geralt let out a low hum, drawing it out longer than necessary, simply because he knew how much Jaskier enjoyed witnessing Valdo’s growing despair.

“You’re right, you’re the one who has to face the consequences for cursing him.”

Relief flooded Valdo’s face. “Great. Now make him stop!”

Jaskier looked Valdo directly in the eyes as he fluttered onto the table and ruined the remaining notes the troubadour had carefully arranged in neat piles on his desk in the least dignified way a bird could ruin something. Though Jaskier’s voice was stolen from him, the mess he left on the notes couldn’t have been a more obvious statement: Valdo’s songs were shit.

The slighted troubadour’s face turned red with fury.

“How dare you!” Valdo took a step towards the destructive rooster but thought better of it almost immediately. He settled on pointing an accusatory finger at Jaskier instead of risking coming anywhere near him. “You’re a cad and a coward! I should have known how poorly you’d react to being cursed – becoming panicked and being unable to control yourself!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side. “See, that’s the thing,” he said slowly, his voice even enough that only Jaskier would be able to tell how much he enjoyed this as well, “That’s where you are wrong. Jaskier isn’t a coward. His fluttering around and destroying things right now? He’s not having anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!" Geralt gave Valdo a shit-eating grin. “And he’s got a crow to pluck with you.”

“He-“ Valdo visibly had to restrain himself. “Help me, witcher. You can’t just let this monster destroy my property. He…he-!”

“You want me to get rid of a monster for you?”

Valdo nodded eagerly.

Geralt exchanged a look with Jaskier and shrugged.

“I don’t work for free.”

Valdo spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

Geralt remained silent and Jaskier took a threatening step towards the open door to Valdo’s bedroom, obviously with the intent of destroying Valdo’s bed in any way he could think of. Panic flashed across Valdo’s face.

“I’ll pay you!” he shouted quickly. “I – I’ll write a sing about you. If you help me, I’ll sing about…” his eyes darted around the room, clearly struggling to come up with something on the spot. His gaze found Jaskier, before he grabbed Geralt’s arm, licking his lips nervously, or perhaps in an attempt to look seductive, “ – about how masterfully you handle cock.”

Jaskier froze and Geralt could see the moment when Valdo realised that he had said the wrong fucking thing.

If cocks could look murderous, Jaskier definitely did in this moment.

Geralt couldn’t tell if his rage came from the prospect of Valdo writing a song about this encounter and making a profit out of it, or if he was indignant because Jaskier had had the exact same idea for a song. Or perhaps he had a problem with Valdo’s barely concealed attempt at compromising Geralt, something Jaskier himself had taken great joy in doing with the worst possible pick-up lines, since the day they had met.

Whatever the reason for his anger, Jaskier took a deliberate pause, in which Valdo had enough time to regret every decision that had led up to this moment, before he charged at the troubadour, fluttering his wings and jumping up into Valdo’s face, clawing at his curls and tearing at his lacy night shirt.

“Witcher!” Valdo screeched, not unlike a rooster himself, and waved his arms to shoo Jaskier off – unsuccessfully. “Make him go away! Break the fucking curse! I – I’ll pay you! Twenty crowns!”

“Seventy,” Geralt deadpanned. No one in their right mind would pay that much coin, but Valdo Marx was evidently desperate and his decision was helped along by the rooster, who’s beak came dangerously close to tugging at the troubadour’s moustache.

“Fine! I’ll pay you seventy crowns.” Valdo’s voice broke in his blind panic. He would likely be unable to sing the next day, from all the shouting he did. “Just get him off of me!”

Geralt waited another heartbeat, granting Jaskier a last moment of rightful – and undoubtedly petty – vengeance, before pushing off the wall, opening his arms invitingly.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier clucked in disappointment and pecked one last time at Valdo’s hair, before fluttering into Geralt’s arms.

The witcher left the troubadour’s rooms with his best friend, still in the form of a very smug cock in his arms, seventy crows richer and an experience he and Jaskier would laugh about many times over the next years.

--

As Geralt sat the rooster down on the bed at the room they had rented and let himself fall onto the bed next to him, Jaskier looked incredibly pleased with himself, preening and making noises, as if recounting the happenings, though Geralt had witnessed them first- hand.

When Geralt tilted his head in amusement, Jaskier seemed to realise that he still had no voice – or opposable thumbs - and let out a rather loud and obnoxious noise.

“Sorry,” Geralt said with a shit-eating grin, “I have no idea what you want from me. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

Jaskier glared at him and fluttered closer to tug at Geralt’s hair impatiently.

Geralt chuckled and ran a hand over Jaskier’s soft feathers, making the bird-bard relax under his ministrations, though it was clear that Jaskier did so very reluctantly and would hold a grudge, if Geralt didn’t break the curse in the next five minutes.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully as he petted Jaskier.

“Just for the record, I thought taking revenge on Marx was a terrible idea,” he said, and when Jaskier clucked reproachfully, he added, “but it was quite impressive. And I had a lot of fun watching you.”

Geralt hadn’t known that cocks had the ability to look proud, but Jaskier somehow managed to do just that.

“In fact,” Geralt said slowly, already knowing that Jaskier would agree, once he heard Geralt’s full proposition, “how would you like to wait just a little longer before I break the curse?”

Jaskier pecked at Geralt’s fingers and glared at him.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt said, flicking his fingers lightly against Jaskier’s beak. At his words, Jaskier perked up, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“Last winter, Lambert destroyed my room with a moon dust bomb. The damn silver shavings are still everywhere.” Geralt’s lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I’m sure, as my ‘best friend in the whole wide world’, you wouldn’t mind returning the favour and wreaking a little havoc in my brother’s room. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be better suited for that job than you.”

Jaskier fluttered excitedly into Geralt’s lap and the sound he made in response to Geralt’s words could only be described as incredibly cocky.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x fem! Reader - If You Dare

A/n: I should hopefully have some more stuff out soon so... yay! And this request was great, I had so much fun writing this!

Warnings: Possessive/jealous Kaz, language, mentions of murder, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Request: I'd love to request a Kaz Brekker x reader! Maybe one where Kaz and the reader like each other, but haven't said anything yet. One day, Y/N’s brother visits the crow club, (nobody knew she had a brother) and her brother kisses her on the cheek and greets her and everything. Just some jealous/possessive Kaz not knowing the context of the cheek kiss, maybe some fluff too where Y/N and Kaz admit their feelings in the end :)) Tysm for reading❤️❤️

I do not own Six of Crows or the grishaverse!

Everyone knew that Y/n was Brekker's girl.

It was funny because any possible 'suitors' for Y/n magically disappeared but no one said anything. Of course, they didn't, if they wanted to keep their lives then they wouldn't dare.

That was fine, everyone just kept to themselves and prayed to the saints that they weren't a possible threat to Dirtyhands. What frustrated the Crows is that neither Y/n nor Kaz would admit their feelings towards each other.

The Crows (for once) were all down in the crow club not planing one of their evil heists that usually mess up the world, today they were just relaxing.

Well, maybe not Kaz. Kaz never really fully relaxed, at least not with so many people around.

He saw Y/n laugh with Inej and Nina and he couldn't help the way his eyes travelled down her body or the way that he wanted to keep hearing that laugh on repeat for the rest of his life.

He also couldn't help the fact that he wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that.

Kaz sighed internally, even he knew, the bastard of the fucking barrel is head over heels for Y/n L/n. The girl who would make him dance in the rain with her, the girl who he would gladly kiss if it wasn't for his touch aversion.

She perched her head up a bit and scanned the crowd seemingly looking for something.

Or someone.

Kaz felt something boiling bubble up in his gut but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Why would Y/n be looking for someone? It better not be for a date...

Okay, maybe he did know what he was feeling at the moment because he felt it almost every day when another person was around Y/n that wasn't him.

And fuck, he knew it was because he was no good. She deserved so much more than someone who couldn't even brush his hand up against someone without getting near to a panic attack. But he couldn't, he really couldn't get out of the mood he was in now till the situation was over. Trust him he tried.

A man who was fairly good-looking comes up behind Y/n and tackle's her into a hug. He nearly goes up to stand but she starts laughing and embracing the boy like they haven't seen each other in years.

He grips onto his cane harder than he ever has in his life. Don't make a scene, don't make a scene. Please, don't make a scene.

Y/n giggles and kiss's the boy on his cheek and all his self will goes out and dies in the harbour.

He shoots up out of his seat and walks faster to Y/n and the terrible man than he should with his bad leg and slams his cane in between the two. He glares his worst glare basically seeing red when he looks at the man and all of him wants to bash his head in as an example to everyone. His mind doesn't even think it's a bad plan but he knows Y/n would not like whoever this was to die like that so he would have to somehow come up with another plan.

"If you dare look at her again you won't ever see again," Kaz says lowly and icily calm contrasting to what he's really feeling inside. Red hot rage burst's inside him becoming an ugly green that grows and infects him.

"Kaz!" Y/n semi-yells trying not to make a scene, but he was sure eyes were already on him. He was Dirtyhands after all.

He turns to her sharply knowing his expression isn't one that even a spider would want to see but it sits on his face all the same.

"What." He growls out trying so hard to not snap at the angel before him.

Without thinking his gloved hand goes to lightly touch her neck and he doesn't feel nausea and sickness. He only feels the warmth of the girl that he loves even with the gloves on. Fuck he loves her, and he had to admit it to himself right now?

She visibly shivers at his touch like she enjoyed it but her face quickly turns back to the angry one that she was wearing before.

"He's my brother!"

Now that he thinks about it he did look similar to Y/n, and the context of everything looked more sibling-like more than anything. How the hell did he not see it? He groaned on the inside, he was never doing anything without thinking it through first again. He guessed that plan was shit though because he could barely think around Y/n.

Speaking of Y/n...

The young woman growl and he feels his eyebrows raise. Oh shit. She balls her hands into fits and stomps off. He tries not to run after her but because of his leg, he can't go nearly as fast as she can and he quickly falls behind.

"Y/n!"

He gets to her room and she slams the door in his face.

Great.

He picks the lock of the door for a few minutes as he curses himself for letting her use one of the harder locks to get into. But after just under a minute he hears the familiar click and he slides open the door.

Luckily the girl is in her room and he's happy that she didn't run off right away. Though her arms are crossed around her chest and even someone standing two buildings away could tell this girl was pissed beyond hell.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" She says lowly trying not to yell at him.

He wasn't thinking, all he could see were his arms around her and her lips on his cheek. Kaz was surprised he managed a sentence when he decided to make a 'scene.'

"I haven't seen him in years! Kaz, years! All I wanted was a happy reunion but you had to screw that up too!" She throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

Kaz knew that she wasn't planning on staying in Ketterdam at first and he didn't even know why she did stay, but his friends (or the closest people he could call friends) told him it was because of him. Brushing off that topic before was easy, but now look where it got them.

"I wasn't thinking." He finally finds the right words and breaks the silence that was washing over them both.

Don't screw this up Brekker.

"I didn't think he was your brother."

"So what? I was just another investment you had to protect because you thought I was stupid." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He swallowed trying to find the right words. But he couldn't, there were just no words how he could describe how he feels for her.

So show her dumbass.

Slowly taking off his gloves he place's a hand on her cheek. It's feather-light and barely there, but he doesn't feel the cold or the waves and he doesn't feel like he's drowning. Her skin feels warm and it makes him feel alive, he hasn't felt like that in what seems like forever.

"Oh." Is the only thing that comes out of her mouth and she smiles a bit?

He rolls his eyes at her and takes his hand away. "Ya, oh." He rasps.

Y/n reaches out and carefully takes his left hand in hers and slowly but surely they intertwine their hands together.

Her smile slowly fades away as she looks at their hands.

"What are we?" The question hangs in the air creating more space in between them than ever before. Kaz close's his eyes for a second and lets that hungry feeling wash over him. The feeling of jealousy and the feeling of possessiveness when he thought she was with another man.

But then he lets the little moments warp him in their warm embrace. The moments when she offhandedly mentioned that what her favourite flower was, so then those flowers would just appear in her room. Or when she saved him and he couldn't think of any moment where she looked more beautiful, more saint-like, more like herself than ever. He sucks in those moments never letting them go.

"You are mine." His other hand goes to her neck again. "And I am yours." He lets his eyes rake her body committing every single little detail to memory and he sees her blush faintly a bit as he drinks her in.

They stand there in silence just enjoying each other's presence till Y/n looks up at him an oh shit look in her eyes.

"How the hell are we going to explain this to my brother!?"

Words 1480

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung

[ikroah]

The strangest gal I ever had never happy ‘less she’s mad. Oh, I got a woman mean as she can be, sometimes I think she’s almost mean as me. —“Mean Woman Blues,” Elvis Presley (1957)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #16 - Crimson Caravan

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: Esseress

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

Girls’ night! Girls’ night!

I want this issue to speak for itself so I’m going to cut right to gratuitously thanking our latest guest artist, Esseress, who did a completely phenomenal on these five pages. We’ve been working on it for a long time and I’m over the moon to finally bring it to you now on this blog. I love writing this comic, and I loved doing the lettering and composition for it, but my goodness do I love Esse’s art. It was a real privilege to have that art as part of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’, especially since the artist was such an immaculately pleasant collaborator. If you’re reading this, thank you again for such a fun project (and talking about Naruto with me lol).

Original Pencils (click for full size):

This issue was one of my most fun composition challenges yet because something that you want to avoid in comics as much as possible, I think, is talking heads. You want to avoid shots that are static, overly repetitive, and uninteresting. Now the challenge is, how do you do that when your whole comic takes place in a small storeroom and is nothing but a conversation between two characters?

Playing with angles and expressions, and using repetition intentionally with the percussive referent of Agnes cutting into the floorboards, made for some really suspenseful page layouts that complemented the script in a major way. I’m especially proud of the third page, with its quick cutaway to the exterior of the office and the cutting continuing beneath Agnes’ dialogue. Also, did you notice that you only ever see Agnes’ left side this issue? You never get to look her in the eye this issue, and given how cagey she’s acting, that evasiveness was an intentional compositional choice. It was satisfying to pull off, but hear me, it took a lot of planning in the thumbnail stage to pull off well.

The other fun challenge of this issue was lighting. When you’re in a closet a night and don’t want to be seen, how do you see? The delightful answer was to have Agnes actually use that damn flashlight she wears on her shoulder; attentive readers will notice that this is the second time she’s used it in the comic, with the first time being back in Boulder City at the end of Volume 1. Hmm…guys, I wonder if it’s a bad omen that she only seems to turn it on when she’s about to commit or assist in a murder…

Speaking of lighting! One last fun hiccup about this issue was the final page. The script I wrote called for it to transition from night to morning between the first and second panels, but in a case of unforeseen and magnitudinous pedanticism, it was while coordinating the lighting on that page with Esse that I looked up the actual time of sunrise in the Mojave Desert for the time of year this issue takes place, which is November 5th if you’re curious. Turns out the sun shouldn’t be rising until after 7:00 AM, which hardly makes McLafferty the exceptionally early riser her planner says she is. That’s not to say it’s actually 7:00 AM in the comic…go ahead and play the CinemaSins ding for the wrong sunrise time, or whatever. And it’s not like any of you would have known or cared if I didn’t say anything! It was just too weird of a writing quirk to not bring up. The lesson, folks, is to always remember your temporality when writing. It’ll help you sleep a lot easier.

Transcript:

EXT. CRIMSON CARAVAN, night. The lights are out and everyone in the caravan compound have retired to their barracks for the night. From inside one of the compound buildings comes a soft sound.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH…

INT. CRIMSON CARAVAN OFFICE. AGNES SANDS is bent over on the floor of a storeroom, carving into the wooden floor with her bootknife. ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY leans against the door behind her.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: So…have you ever killed anyone before?

AGNES continues cutting into the floor without looking at CASS as she speaks.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: And I don’t mean a raider or fiend or something, nothing in self-defense. I mean in cold blood.

CASS: You mean like you killed those Khans?

(NOTE: *IKROAH #14—Lou.)

CASS: Hmmm…no, I guess I haven’t. When it comes to bloody vengeance just for myself…

CASS: …be gentle, it’s my first time.

AGNES doesn’t react to CASS’ joke. CASS becomes equally serious.

CASS: …I’d imagine this ain’t your first rodeo, the way you asked.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

CASS: I mean…this Benny guy, in Vegas. When we catch him, which notch on your blood-spattered bedpost is he?

AGNES stops cutting into the floor, raising her knife. CASS’s expression tightens with concern. The silence is uncomfortable.

AGNES: Second.

CASS: Oh, thank God.

AGNES: What?

CASS: No offense, but the way you got all serious, I worried for a second you might be some kind of serial killer nutjob.

AGNES: No, no, I’m sorry. I was just…thinking. I really know how to meet the wrong men, apparently.

CASS (smiling): Dead men, right?

AGNES frowns. Her knife plunges back into the wooden floor.

SFX: SKRITCH, SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

CASS: Wanna talk about it?

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH…

CASS: Not like we have anything else to do.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH… 

AGNES: I really don’t.

CASS: Fine. That said, though, I did imagine this whole revenge thing being a bit more…exciting. Can’t say I like being stuck in a closet.

AGNES (smirking): You get used to it.

CASS: Why, though? You picked the lock to her fucking office like a cheap office toy. Why not break into her barracks and we shoot the bitch now?

AGNES: First, because that’s a great way to get us both killed.

AGNES keeps cutting as she speaks, deeper and deeper into the floor.

AGNES: Second, you want her to know it was you, so we have to get her awake and alone.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: Third, her planner on her desk confirmed what I already suspected—that she’s an early riser—so we’ll see her sooner rather than later, while the rest of the company is still asleep.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: Fourth, we want to send a message to everyone else. So it has to be at least a little spectacular.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH...

CASS: Oh…you’ve really thought this through.

SFX: SKRIT-

AGNES stops cutting. She slowly lifts her knife out of the floor.

AGNES: Yeah.

CASS: Where’d a medic get so good at murder?

AGNES rises from bending over the floor to a kneeling position, turning back towards CASS and frowning.

CASS: Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about that, either.

AGNES: Maybe another time. For now…

AGNES leans back, kneeling over an intricate cross-hatch, about three feet in radius, of deep cuts and gouges into the floorboards in front of her.

AGNES: …just trust me.

EXT. CRIMSON CARAVAN. Night turns to early morning, and ALICE McLAFFERTY, the boss of the caravan, walks up the steps of her office and enters.

AGNES (from inside, whispering): Alright. Now. Quickly.

From inside her office, a door is kicked open.

SFX: DTHUMP

ALICE: What the hell, who are you—!?

CASS: Rose of Sharon goddamn Cassidy, of Cassidy fucking Caravans, you bitch!

ALICE: No, you’re—

SFX: KABLAM

The sound of a shotgun going off in the middle of the compound wakes up the whole caravan. Crows scatter from the courtyard while guards start rushing towards the office door.

AGNES: Alright, now let’s go! Shoot the floor here where I—

SFX: KABLAM

The guards close in on the office while wooden shrapnel falls from a new hole in the floorboards of the office, and AGNES and CASS drop through to the ground outside, and crawl away from the caravan guards under the hut just as they reach the McLAFFERTY’s front door.

[plan3tlvrs]

Promise

erenxblackfem!reader

<3 erenxblackfem!reader (anyone is welcome to read)

<3 contains: slight mentions of racism, slight nsfw, major fluff, some angst?, mild language

<3 setting: 1950’s

<3 summary: you and eren’s relationship is forbidden due to the time period you live in. and it was easy to keep hidden until one quite night in your home.

___________

The school bell rang as you gathered your books holding them to your chest tightly. You placed the extra books that you didn’t need for homework tonight in your locker before meeting up with your friend Darcy. 

“Did you hear about that black boy that got murdered a few weeks ago?” Darcy said holding up a newspaper as you both walked down the hall. 

“Yeah my momma had the news on all night listening about what happened” You sighed as another young black male was tragically killed at the hands of a white man. 

This wasn’t anything new to you living in the south in the middle of the 50’s was one of the worst places you could live at as a colored girl or any color at that. As long as you weren't white nobody cared about your well-being nor your feelings or how you were treated. 

You grew up regularly being called slurs and many other derogatory names a woman of color could hear. 

“You got any plans?” Darcy said as you walked down the dirt road to your small homes. 

“I think Eren is coming by later to take me somewhere” You smiled at the thought of him.

Darcy laughed a little as you looked at her concerningly “By coming by later you mean sneaking you out of your bedroom window just to sit in his car” 

“Darcy stop you know we can’t do much” You rolled your eyes at her. 

It was true you and Eren couldn’t do much why? It was simply because you were black and he was white. Jim Crow laws prevented you from showing your relationship out to the public. This meant no drive in dates, dances at the teen club, or burgers and fries at the diner together. 

You didn’t mean to fall for someone the opposite skin color the way you met just happened out of no where really. You remember walking down the busy street to get milk for your mom as she was making cornbread with the rest of your dinner tonight. Walking down the street getting weird stares as if you were the outcast. 

You just walked with your head down and stared at the ground as your feet moved against the chalky pavement. Clutching your purse in hand you pulled open the door to the small market. Upon opening the door a body hit yours as fast as the wind did knocking you to the ground. 

Eyes widening you quickly tried to pick yourself up as a pale hand reached out in front of you. Taken back by the kind gesture you pulled your hand away from theirs quickly continuing to look down. 

“It’s alright I won’t hurt you I promise” The voice was soft and kind. 

Looking up your gaze met a boy with brown hair and forest green eyes. His hair was pulled back into a bun which was something that made him so interesting to you. The green haired boy extended his hand out, encouraging you to reach for it. Taking a leap of faith you put your hand in his immediately feeling the softness of yours and his. 

“Thank you so much kind sir I best be on my way now” You spoke, wiping off your knees and then your skirt. 

The boy didn’t say anything back, he just stared into your eyes as if they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. 

“Wait let me help you with groceries, it's the least I can do” The boy shrugged his shoulder a bit. 

The rest was history after that, you learned the boy's name that same day he went by Eren and you simply adored him. At first you had to keep your friendship on the low for obvious reasons. You didn’t feel yourself start to have feelings for him until the day he mindlessly knocked on your door while your parents weren't home, thankfully you were an only child. 

Snapping yourself back into reality you realized you had made it to your house waving by Darcy you stepped in quietly. Your momma didn’t usually get home from work until the early mornings leaving a few minutes before you came home from school. And your dad was on his usual business trip he had said he went to New York in a letter he sent a few days ago. 

Night had hit unexpectedly as you were deep in your studies with books sprawled around you in your upstairs bedroom. Picking up your books and placing them on your desk so you could have them ready to pick up in the morning as you rushed out the door. You sat down on your bed with a sigh looking at the clock it was around eight thirty and you decided to get ready for bed until you heard a knock on your window.

Going to the balcony you opened the doors stepping out to be met with the silence of the night. Your breath hitching as you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

“Hi darling” The voice said softly in your ear. 

“Eren you can’t keep doing that” You relaxed your muscles placing your hands over Eren’s. 

Eren turned you around in a swift motion before placing his hands back on your hips. 

“I know I just like seeing you jump” Eren smiled a little. 

“You're an ass, you know that right?” 

“Just for you” He smirked, taking your hand and leading you back into your room. 

He sat on your bed pulling you next to him after you closed the balcony doors and the curtains so no one could see you with each other. Getting caught was your worst fear, of course things would be bad for the both of you but more so you getting caught was worse than Eren. You had only seen each other during the night as it was easier for him to sneak out and come over since your mom was at work and your dad across the country. 

“So I aced that math test you helped me study for” Eren said, turning to you and bringing out a paper with a huge A+ on the front. 

“I'm so proud of you baby you did so well” You cheered for him putting your hands on his cheeks. 

“R-really?” Eren said softly with red cheeks. 

Eren’s family didn’t give two shits about his school life; they just wanted to marry him off to another rich white woman and have kids with her just to keep the family business running. No matter how hard he tried to show his parents that he wanted to graduate high school and become an engineer they denied it. 

“Of course I am Ren” Smiling you caressed his cheeks pulling him in for a sweet kiss. 

Eren dropped the paper bringing his hands to your waist as your arms settled on his shoulders connecting at the nape of his neck. 

“You're so beautiful” Eren groaned, leaning down to attack your neck in kisses. 

“Eren” You whined as he continued to trail them down your neck. 

“Yeah baby” He continued to kiss your neck as one of his hands came up to squeeze the flesh of your chest. 

“I want you” You breathed out as he pulled back from the crook of your neck with wide eyes. 

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded your head and pulled him in for another kiss, this one rougher than the other. 

An hour later you were in your bed covered in a sheet of sweat and the covers of your bed as your chest rose and fell. Eren next to you in the same position as you snuggled into his side stroking his chest with the tips of your fingers. 

Never in a million  years would you imagine lying naked in a bed next to someone of the race that was supposed to hate you. You felt so lucky to have Eren at your side just hoping that one day you could reveal your relationship to the world without being in so much fear. 

Your eyes fell heavy as you felt Eren’s lips pressed to your forehead and felt sleep take you over.

“What in gods name is going on here!” 

Your body jolted up along with Erens as you held the covers to your chest only to be met with the eyes of your angry mother. 

“Mom I-” You tried to explain but she was already beginning to yell again. 

“What the hell is a white man doing in your bed matter a fact what the hell is he doing in my goddamn house?!” 

You looked to the side to see Eren with the same wide eyes as yours as he looked at your mother who had obviously gotten off work earlier than you expected. 

“Um I'm-” Eren forced himself to say he would be lying if he wasn’t scared out of his mind right now. 

“I don’t care who you are get the hell out before I call the police” Your mom tried to calm her nerves as she gritted her teeth. 

Eren hurriedly pulled on his clothes even putting on his socks backwards in the process. Even though he was scared shitless he still managed to give you a peck on the lips before going to your balcony and disappearing into the night. 

Moments after your mother didn't say anything to you she just shook her head and slammed your door shut after leaving. When she left you felt tears stream down your face like hot springs thinking this would be the last time you'd see Eren you sunk back into your bed. 

Your eyes almost closed until you heard your balcony window being opened again as Eren stepped through your eyes widened. Sitting up Eren looked around the room for your mother and seeing that she wasn’t there he came and sat on the edge of your bed. 

“I thought you left for good?” You smiled through tears caressing his cheek just like earlier. 

“I would never leave you darling” Eren kissed your lips but this time he kissed them with passion and with love like no one was watching. 

“You promise?” You spoke through tears. 

“I promise”