#and saturated kaz

[drawbauchery]

I forgot I did thiS

this wasn't from a while ago no not at alllll

time doesn't exist and i LOVE THESE

[veerbles]

"He doesn't say goodbye. He just lets go."

goodbye at dawn.

[kazamajun]

Father, one day, I will tear you to pieces.

[lesbiansanemi]

It is so painful being in anime fandoms and not giving less of a shit about the dark haired anime boy everyone is obsessed with and wants to fuck/ship with everyone

[stray-kaz]

Stray : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader oneshot

A/N: thank you for this anon request/prompt for Kaz! This cat is a tortoiseshell breed, because they can be quite vicious and my family adopted one when I was a child and he was half feral.

Summary: You rescue a stray cat because it reminds you of Kaz: dark, scarred and a little prickly. (Established relationship).

The loud scattering of pebbles and high pitched angry yowl altered your course, sending you off towards the mouth of a dark alley. Once inside, you quietly freed the leather sap Kaz made certain you always carried on you, and crept up behind the larger of the two boys tossing stones at something just out of your sight. You swung the blunt weapon and brought it down hard on the side of his head, sending him staggering, holding his right ear. You knew it would be ringing something wicked.

The smaller boy turned to face you with a snarl, his teeth fading back behind his lips as he recognised you. You let the sap drop on its loop, swinging back and forth in front of his face.

“You’re Brekker’s girl, aren’t you?”

You could taste his fear.

“Yes. Now get lost before my worse nature takes over and I break your nose for the fun of it.”

The boy grabbed the sleeve of the taller one and pulled him away down the alley and back out onto the open street. After making sure they weren’t returning for another go, you knelt down and peered into the shadows at the base of the alley wall where there was something moving. Glowing yellow eyes glared back at you and you slowly made out the shape of a saturated cat, ears flat against its skull and its back arched.

You slowly replaced the sap and reached for the animal with both hands outstretched. First mistake. You hissed and clenched your teeth against the sharp pain of claws embedding in your skin and tearing back out. Sighing heavily, you pulled your hooded coat off and lunged, wrapping the furious cat in the heavy fabric. It hissed and spat, writhed in your grip, but you were just as relentless in not letting go.

You carried the wriggling soggy beast underneath the nearest streetlamp, its pale light sputtering weakly in the rain. It didn’t illuminate much, but you were able to see the cat’s angry eyes glowering at you, patches of mottled black and tawny fur and a scar over one eye. You started to smile as the cat settled a little, ceasing to hiss and instead simply watching you warily. You knew precisely who this irate animal reminded you of. You carefully tucked a finger inside the coat and rubbed under the cat’s chin; it responded by closing its eyes and giving you a single, blunt purr.

You grinned.

“Hello, Cat Kaz” you said, scooping him up more solidly against your chest and ignoring your bleeding hands. “You’re coming home with me.”

As soon as you entered the Slat, Jesper took one look at what you carried and started laughing. He pointed one long elegant finger at the cat and raised an eyebrow.

“Good luck getting that past the boss, missy.”

You arched an eyebrow back.

“Getting it past him?” you replied. “This cat is him. Take a closer look.”

Jesper took a step and peered closer, and the cat reacted instantly, narrowing its eyes and spitting. Jesper jumped away and glared at you. You snickered at his hurt expression.

“See what I mean?” you said. “He only likes me. Go figure. Say hello to Cat Kaz.”

“Excuse me?”

You turned to face the shambling stairs, the direction the voice had come from. Kaz was standing halfway down, his eagle eyes travelling from your face to the bundle in your arms and back. His cane thunked against the stairs as he continued down.

“Missy here has rescued a cat” Jesper volunteered, your answering glower bouncing off him like rain.

Kaz raised his eyebrows and approached you slowly, the ease of his expression visible only to you. He stared down at the rescue, unreadable, then at you.

“We can’t keep that” he said firmly. “Your soft heart is what’s going to get you killed, in the end.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’ll get used to him” you said, and Jesper smirked. “Now could you please help me out a little? Cat Kaz scratched me up pretty badly. I might bleed out through my hands soon.”

Kaz sighed heavily, but nodded and started over towards the bottom of the stairs.

In the tiny bathroom adjoining Kaz’s bedroom, he waited resignedly while you settled the cat in the pile of your coat at the foot of his bed. He refused to call it by the name you gave it. 

“Come here” he instructed, having waited long enough.

You glanced up and sauntered over to him, edging past him in the narrow doorway to jump up on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“Shirt, love.”

It was only in the soft silence of your own privacy that he ever called you by anything other than your real name. You obeyed, shimmying out of the fabric and buttons, and letting it drop to the tile. You held out your hands and watched as Kaz drew his gloves off. He frowned at the state of your marked up hands.

“Saving a stray was a stupid thing to do” he muttered, turning your hands this way and that under the bathroom light. “What possessed you?”

As he reached under the sink for antiseptic and finger bandages, you gently grasped his jaw and turned him back towards you.

“He reminded me of you” you said softly.

One dark eyebrow rose in question.

“How so?”

“He’s all dark and damaged and still worth saving. And underneath all the wet fur and scars, he’s quite a handsome cat.”

You released him and tipped your head to the side, smiling faintly. His expression remained flat and neutral, but there was a slight uptick to his left eyebrow that gave him away to you.

“How do you even know it’s a boy?” he asked.

You scoffed.

“Do you want to take a look and find out?”

Kaz conceded the point and set to work cleaning and dressing your scratches, his fingers moving nimbly, his touches cool and precise, not lingering until the very end, when he rested his bare hands on your waist, moving his thumbs back and forth over your skin.

“Were you smart?” he asked quietly, barely a murmur. “Did you have your sap?”

You nodded and leaned into him, knees open to either side of his hips.

“Yes. I’m always smart, Dirtyhands” you assured him.

He thumbed your rapid pulse, feeling it thrum in response to him and him only. He rested his forehead on yours carefully.

“Perhaps not” he muttered, and gently kissed you.

For a month, Kaz went out of his way to avoid Cat Kaz and leave his feeding and care to you and the rest of the Crows, but a month to the day you brought the cat home, you tiptoed into Kaz’s office and watched him work, the scarred cat curled up on a pile of files next to his right elbow.

“I know you’re there” Kaz called quietly, not moving to see you. 

He reached out a gloved hand and gently stroked down the mottled cat’s furry back. Cat Kaz purred and preened, pressing his tatty head into that hand.

“You utter one word to Jesper, and you’ll be sleeping at Fifth Harbour with the other reprobates” Kaz said calmly.

You wandered into the room then, turning to lean with your hands against his heavy desk.

“But what would you do in the night without me?” you asked, replacing his hand in patting Cat Kaz.

He glanced up at you then, the smallest of smiles twisting his lips.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage, love.”

Please tell me how it is! Comments and reblogs are fodder for writers!

[mcntsee]

Fires of Passion, Ashes of Hate III

Previous part Next part

Summary: Lovers (mentioned) to enemies.

Warnings: Hate (?), blood, injuries, and cursing.

notes: Kaz’s pov. Flashbacks are in italics (and separated so it’s not as confusing!) This is also not my fave, but definitely not the end. I think I will add two more parts.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

He was taken aback upon returning to his office. He anticipated she would clean up, but the speed at which she did it surprised him, especially considering her current condition.

He hoped she suffered while cleaning.

The room greeted him with a transformed aura, and the absence of his bedsheets caught his attention first. Emitting a frustrated groan, he headed to the bathroom, half-expecting to find the missing sheets adrift in the sink.

The diluted acrid aroma, a blend of faint metallic and medicinal notes intermingled with the scent of blood, assaulted him. It teased his nostrils, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake—a unique freshness saturated with chemical nuances.

He didn't have to play the guessing game; that unmistakable scent was her customary "solution" for banishing bloodstains from fabric or similar items.

She had given him the recipe- if you could even call it that, for this solution a few years ago.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

They had been on a job, interrogating a member of an emerging gang that took pleasure in causing havoc for The Dregs, and it had gotten ugly very quickly.

Upon returning to Kaz's room, he swiftly approached the sink, eager to salvage his dress shirt from the stubborn stains of dried blood.

Futile attempts at scrubbing failed to free the shirt from the stubborn bloodstains. Turning to him, she asked if he had any hydrogen peroxide in his office.

She quickly retrieved the bottle from where he directed her, “Got it!” she said as she returned to the bathroom. Once back to his side, she outstretched her arm, wordlessly requesting his blood-stained shirt.

She poured a small amount over the stains on the shirt, and they both observed the peroxide fizz as it reacted with the blood.

As they waited for the blood to vanish, she explained that hydrogen peroxide is effective in removing bloodstains from clothes because it breaks down the proteins in the blood upon contact, aiding in lifting the stain.

Ever since that day, he made sure to always have a bottle in his office.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt. He always had a bottle tucked away in his office, especifically, in his desk. He hastily released the bedsheets he had been holding, allowing them to sink back into the solution. He walked out of the bathroom and headed straight for his desk, the loud thumping of his heart echoing in his ears.

“Fuck.” He didn’t have to reach his desk to spot the portrait and the note that now rested on it.

In her gracefully hurried, all caps handwriting that he had grown accustomed to, the note conveyed a simple message: ‘Thought you hated this.’ The letters maintaining their characteristic slight tilt to the right.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You can’t know that just from my handwriting, Kaz.”

“But I can, love.”

Kaz constantly sought new methods to read people better. Recently, he had come across a book dedicated to deciphering a person's personality through their handwriting in a bookstore.

Initially, he dismissed the idea, but considering the contracts he dealt with—agreements on distribution, territory allocation, sales, ownership of buildings, quit claims, and more—he decided to delve into the book. To his surprise, the insights proved to be quite valuable.

"Alright then, Kaz, what secrets does my handwriting unveil?"

His gaze lowered to the note in his grasp, scrutinizing each nuance of her penmanship with thoughtful precision.

"Your handwriting slants to the right, suggesting you're friendly, social, and impulsive."

He pointed at the note, feeling her body shift closer to him. Her warmth and scent enveloped him as she peeked over to try and see her own handwriting.

He cleared his throat before continuing, "Block letters can indicate that you repress your feelings, often due to a sense of suspicion or defensiveness."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and for a moment, he found himself captivated. She focused on the note, her hair cascading down, framing her face, while a few strands on the other side were gently tucked behind her ear. Her brows furrowed in concentration, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips as she rested her chin on one hand, absorbed in studying her own handwriting.

Her lips moved, but he paid them no mind. He felt like he was seeing her again for the first time, his gaze lingering on the details that had become familiar yet felt new in that moment.

“Kaz?”

“Yes?”

Her laughter resonated like a sweet melody, drowning out the surrounding noise and captivating his senses in its enchanting rhythm.

“Go on. Tell me more about my handwriting.”

“Right.” he mumbled, before returning his gaze to the note. He pointed to a particular word, noticing her I’s adorned with dots snugly placed near the stem. “Dotting your I’s closer to the stem means that you are organized and methodical.”

They had spent the majority of the afternoon delving into the intricacies of her handwriting, dissecting each detail he could uncover and telling her the meanings behind them.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

He had loved her handwriting as much as he loved her, but seeing it now, mocking him, only intensified his resentment towards it.

With a grunt, he leaned forward, his hand snatching the letter from his table, and then crumpling it. "Ungrateful brat," he muttered.

He then looked down at the portrait, and a softness crept into his eyes.

The portrait was meant to be erased from existence. He thought about setting it on fire, ripping it to shreds, throwing it in the trash—anything to obliterate it. Yet, he hadn't been able to take any of those drastic measures. Instead, he found himself spending countless hours gazing at it, tracing her features repeatedly until he believed he had them memorized.

Just like he was doing now.

Her face bore fading bruises from previous days, with her hair elegantly braided, allowing a few loose strands to frame her features. The colors of her clothes harmonized flawlessly with the hues of her eyes. She looked lovely and he… well, he looked in love.

The artist had assured them not to worry about staying still, so they hadn’t. They had been chatting and whatever it was that he had said, had made her laugh, a moment perfectly frozen in time by the artist.

With a sigh, he turned the paper around. On the back, the worn-out handwriting, identical to the note’s, said: "My boy and I." The heart she had drawn next to the message now half-covered by a coffee stain.

He slowly tore his eyes away from it, gently folding the picture he hated so much and putting it back in its rightful place—hidden away from everyone, hidden away from him.

It had been a couple of weeks since he last saw her. Usually, he would spot her down by the market, trying on whatever items she liked, laughing with people. Sometimes, he'd catch a glimpse of her at the café closest to the harbor, looking out the window and sipping on whatever drink she craved that day. But the absence of her familiar presence began to stir a concern in him, raising questions about the uncertainty of her well-being.

The hasty patch-up he attempted on her wounds was far from ideal, and the risk of infections lingered in his thoughts, and if she had caught one, he doubted she had survived it.

Or maybe, she hadn’t faced an infection but encountered the person who initially injured her.

These lingering fears were the reason why he was hiding in the shadows of her home.

"Came here to return my portrait, Brekker?"

He emerged from the shadows, the rhythmic tapping of his cane against the floor marking each deliberate step as he approached her.

“I burnt it.”

The smirk on her face gradually faded, the subtle shift in her expression nearly escaping his notice.

As he studied her face, he couldn’t help but compare it to the mental image of the portrait he had in his mind.

He noticed the changes in her face, the presence of dark circles beneath her eyes, and the new scars- a horizontal one on her left cheekbone, another by her temple, and one near her lower lip.

Still, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Then, what are you doing here, Brekker?”

What was he doing here? It was a valid question, one he held the answer to but was unwilling to reveal. After all, what could he possibly say? "I just wanted to make sure you were alright"? Truthfully, he wasn't concerned about her well-being; he simply needed to figure out whether he should revel in her demise or begrudge the fact that she was still breathing.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Her laughter echoed, surprising him with the sound, and their eyes locked once more. "I'm alright." Fuck, was he that easy to read?

"And you think I care because…?"

"Why else would you be lurking around?"

With a resigned exhale, he cast his gaze downward, surrendering to the persistence of her smirk. His thoughts raced, attempting to conjure a more convincing alibi, almost expecting the effort to result in visible steam rising from his head.

“You owe me new bedsheets.”

She didn't. The blood had vanished flawlessly, leaving the sheets looking as pristine as they always had.

She hummed, playfully tapping her chin with her index finger, deep in thought. After seconds of silence, she finally asked, “Is green still your favorite color?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Why does it matter?” Kaz asked, a solid hour ticking away as he tossed out every color he could think of. “It matters because it’s my favorite, handsome.” Y/N playfully responded, a teasing glint in her eye.

“It’s just a color!” Kaz insisted, his tone growing louder and sharper—a shift not lost on Y/N. Yet, her composure remained unscathed. Others might’ve balked, made a swift exit, but not her.

But then again, no one would be asking Kaz Brekker to guess their favorite color.

“How can you say you love me-“ Her hands. Saints, her hands speak louder than her words, Kaz thought as he observed their rapid movement. “-when you can’t even tackle the basics about me?”

That had hit a nerve. Not too long ago, he had mustered the courage to tell her that he loved her, and now, she was making assumptions based on color preference.

“Alright. What is my favorite color then?” asked Kaz. As y/n paused for a second, Kaz wished she would let it go, recognizing that she, much like him, didn’t know his favorite— “Forest green.”

Oh. Kaz wanted nothing more than to erase that smirk from her lips. "Impressed?" she taunted, her tone rubbing salt in the wound.

For a moment, Kaz entertained a barrage of biting retorts, but the truth lingered in her ever-growing smile, making any counterattack futile. Instead, he drew a deep breath, revisiting their conversation from months ago— which’s point had been to know the answers to these simple questions. “I didn’t think of you as someone who could be left speechless, Brekker” she remarked, her words hanging in the air. “I must say-“

“Burgundy.” and just like that, her smirk was replaced by a softer smile. “It compliments your eyes.” He added as he looked up to meet her face. “That’s your favorite color.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Not just any green-“

“I know, I know. Forest green.”

She then motioned with her head for him to follow her. Reluctantly, he complied, feeling trapped in the situation he had created for himself.

They strolled through the market for a while, his pace frequently interrupted as she got distracted by various trinkets along the way. He sighed, the repetitive interruptions making it feel like the hundredth time, until they finally reached their destination and entered.

“Oh me, oh my.”

“Hello, Lenire.”

Y/n offered a greeting as they entered the store. Kaz recognized both the shop and its annoying owner, having frequented it with her about a thousand times to purchase various pieces of furniture. Kaz struggled to recall why he had deemed the owner annoying at some point in his life.

That is, until she started making foolish comments, “Now, this is a surprise I wasn’t expecting.”

With a resigned sigh, he asked, "What is?" only to regret it as soon as she provided her answer.

“I never expected to see this-“Lenire rapidly pointed from him to her and back to him, “- couple back.”

Rolling his eyes at the store owner's foolish assumption, Kaz heard y/n let out a humorless laugh before assuring her they weren't back together.

The more time they spent in the store browsing for new bedsheets, the more annoyed Kaz got by Lenire. It reached a point where he quickly scanned the section they were in, pointed at a random bed set, and said, "That one."

“Then get it.”

They approached the cashier, Kaz holding the bed set and placing it on the counter, waiting for the owner to announce the price.

Kaz had fought back a laugh as Lenire exaggerated the quality of the bed set, claiming it was one of their finest, before telling them the price, which made him turn to y/n with a smirk, ready for the anticipated flush of embarrassment as she realized she lacked the funds. However, to his surprise, no such reaction occurred. Instead, she nodded calmly, effortlessly retrieving the required cash from her bag to settle the payment.

The only reaction he received from her, after the owner concluded the transaction, was a cheeky wink as she turned to face him.

"Thanks, Lenire," she said with a nod before turning around and exiting the store, leaving him and the bed sheets behind.

"Where did you get the money?" he asked as he approached her outside the store.

She remained silent for a moment as she began to walk, her steps deliberate and measured, leaving him to catch up as he trailed behind her, waiting for her to say something “Lehos’s house.”

And just as he had started to catch up to her, he stopped in his tracks, watching her move further away.

Her ability to infiltrate the house undetected, especially while injured, left him stunned, questioning how she managed such a feat, let alone pilfer from the premises without notice. That is, of course, unless she had done it before getting injured.

He harbored no doubt in her ability to accomplish such thing if she were so inclined. After all, they had spent numerous years engaging in similar activities, repeatedly slipping in and out unnoticed, whether for jobs or merely for amusement, without ever facing repercussions.

But without him?

He couldn't shake the notion that she had likely executed similar jobs in the past. In fact, he had been driven by the urgent need to infiltrate Lehos' house under the assumption that she might beat him to it if he didn't act swiftly enough. Yet, the undeniable confirmation of her solo endeavor left him with a lingering sensation in his chest. Was it betrayal? Or perhaps a tinge of hurt?

“Is that how you got hurt?”

As if she had just realized his absence from her side, she too came to a halt, her feet firmly planted in place. Her gaze fixed straight ahead, as her shoulder dropped, “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

She turned to face him, her gaze piercing as one eyebrow arched inquisitively. “Why?”

“Because if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.”

"I'd consider it a win-win. I survive, and you end up with new bedsheets."

He despised her habit of responding with unrelated quips, deflecting from the original question. It was one of the few things about her that had always bothered him —a trait he’d detested from the start.

“Well?”

“Well what, Kaz?”

“How did you get hurt?”

He watched her as she rolled her eyes and slightly shook her head, ignoring his question once again and turning around to resume her walking.

Before she could move away, he seized her forearm, yanking her forcefully towards him, letting the bedsheets fall as he pinned her against the wall with a swift, aggressive motion.

“I should’ve let you die.” He leaned in close, his breath hot against her skin as he spat out his words.

Her own bruised face inched closer to him, her eyes lifting to meet his, “Why didn’t you?”

“Your demise will be at my hand.”

He staggered backward as she pushed him away, her teeth gritted in pain as she clutched her side. With a low hiss, she countered, "We'll see about that."

“You are just as broken as the day I left you.”

“Last time I checked, you were just as messed up as me.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

taglist!: @moonstruck-poet @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @littleshadow17 @izzyisstuff @amybonehouse @justvibbinghere @circus-of-thoughts @anonymous-creep hope you guys enjoyed it! <3

[demonsfate]

I'm so tired but at the same time I just wanted to write that... TK8 may truly be one of the worst stories in all the games lol. Not as bad as TK6 (solely because I'm biased and TK6 ruined my favorite character) but like... with each game, it feels like they're just making more and more of a mess with the lore, and TK8 just felt like they stopped caring completely about consistency. And really? It is actually getting harder to care about the story because of that.

But why exactly? You see, it's just hard to care about anything at all. It's hard to even know what's going to happen next, and not in a good way either. Not, "they're so clever, they're good at surprising and subverting expectations!" But in a "they will literally just do anything even if it contradicts previously established lore." Like there are zero stakes. If a character dies, it means nothing. That character is very likely alive, and we'll even probably see them soon.

It's hard to even really like characters when they can be completely altered on a whim.

Like Claudio, who was clearly being set up to be a bad guy in next game.

Only for... that to not happen lmao. In fact, he's very good now. Which also just takes away stakes of Xiaoyu being placed in a situation where she could be harmed, and Kin having another adversary that isn't just Kaz. which yes, a lot of ppl prefer Claudio being a good guy after all. But again, it's a thing they completely disregarded.

Devil Jin is another example of a character just being completely changed for no good reason. How he went from a murderous, cannibalistic, highly violent and sadistic person, to... being a force of good, someone that was always trying to protect Jin but Jin was just denying it? Like yes, those two examples I show from Tekken 6 are technically "non canon", but it's clearly what Devil's character was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to like Jin, he was ashamed of Jin, he saw Jin as a weakling. He was never meant to be his protector - he wanted Jin out of the picture so he can be free to do whatever he wants, which usually involves killing, maiming, and gaining power.

But see? A character can go from a parasitic force that corrupts the host, to being a guardian devil just because the writers decided they wanted to do that. Disregard to previous canon. The same thing happened to Jin in Tekken 6. Jin was a complete good guy, but then he was suddenly turned into a ruthless, heartless, warmonger all because Harada thought it was "cool", again - disregard to what Jin was, what his story meant, everything his character was.

Or how Zafina had Azazel in her arm, could've potentially became a more important character because of this new power she possessed. Only... for Kazuya to take it away from her at practically the start of the game. A story for her character that went nowhere.

Because of that, it's just so hard to even become attached to a character because you just don't know when they're going to be completely changed into something they weren't... or when their stories will be dropped and they'll go nowhere. (Paul from being a comedic relief who had amazing feats of strength, to just becoming a complete joke with no wins and that nobody takes seriously. Or Asuka, obviously meant to be Jin's cousin and even hinted at possessing Jun's powers of purification. Only... for her to become Lili's sidekick and completely irrelevant to the story. Even Lili gets more respect than she does in TK8)

Then of course, with characters not being able to stay dead... not even for a single game. It's becomes more difficult to care when a character "dies" or is "about to die" when you know nothing is gonna happen. The character will come back, regardless of how they died, just because the writers want to use them again. Even if it means ruining the weight of the other games, or the developments characters had.

There's also the problem with the game itself becoming too saturated with jokes. I've spoke about this somewhat recently, but before, a lot of the characters were allowed serious endings or side stories. (Like check out Tekken 4's endings, I think almost every character had a serious ending with real character development in that one). But now the majority of the character endings are just either fluff or wacky shenanigans. Which again, makes you feel less invested in the characters when nothing serious is actually going on, and also makes it feel like the writers just... don't care as much anymore.

And I get that Tekken is a fighting game, but like... it still has a story it "proudly" presents. Therefore, it's still something people are liable to get invested in, and become disappointed when all canon is thrown out the window. It just makes you wonder what's the point of caring about what happens if it's gonna be undone in the next game. It makes you wonder why care about a character when their story, or even the character themselves, can be changed completely next game?

Of course, I love Tekken, and I am interested in seeing how crazy it can get. But I will say, I am becoming less invested with each game lol! TK4 had amazing writing and aesthetics, and I really wish the game could've kept following in TK4's footsteps rather than going completely off the rails like this. Really, TK's writing peaked at TK2-TK4, then it started going downhill from TK5.

[whoevenknowswhatimwriting]

ROYGBIV Tag

thanks to @dyrewrites for the tag!

now, my current wip is short, but i do write a little bit about colors, so let's see how many colors i actually have (i'm counting things that can be assumed to be a certain color)

red: now, i write a lot about blood, so... i've got some choices here. literally, the first sentence is about blood. i'm very proud of this one, though:

"Either way, the too-soft leather of the aggressor gave way to the cool gray stone of the blade, almost the exact same tone as Dare’s skin before the blood dribbled out, red as iron rain."

orange: there is no orange in my book. 0 citrus provided

yellow: it got one mention!

"Her dress was covered in flowers, pearlescent gold embroidery catching the light and reflecting back luminous yellow."

green: wow siblings coming in clutch for this. thanks for wearing colors unlike dare who is the fantasy equivalent of a beige mom

"Dare jolted slightly, still trying to hold himself still through the surprise. He turned slightly, seeing a boy who looked around his age, moss green lipstick a contrast against dark brown skin. He held clean bandages and trauma shears, but it didn’t seem like he was planning on using them yet."

blue: slightly off topic but i used to have a hideously bright blue hoodie and so now that's the exact color i picture this thing being.

"Amon crossed over to a cabinet at the far side of the room, or tent, or whatever you wanted to call it, and pulled out a vial of liquid in a terrifyingly saturated blue tone."

indigo: no indigo but it's a very nice color. i've decided kaz wears it a lot.

violet: nope. i like it tho

soft tagging @charlesjosephwrites @rkmoon @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling and @illarian-rambling as well as anyone else who wants to join!!!!!

[aceofwhump]

#3 for the gifmaker ask thingy?

Thanks for the ask!!!

3. Which whump scenario did you find the most challenging to depict in gif form?

Oh god the biggest challenge for me this year was trying to gif Shadow and Bone season 2! Specifically the Kaz whump in 2x04 and the Darkling whump in 2x07.

In the scenes where Kaz gets beaten up in 2x04 the colors are so bad and there's a horrible orange filter on it and it's so dark! Trying to balance the colors to be more natural while also trying to brighten it was SO HARD!!!! I'm still not 100% happy with the final product. I just wanted to see his pain face dammit!!

And the scenes in 2x07 when Alina knocks the Darkling on his ass was so dark but there was just enough weird bright spots to make it so freaking difficult to lighten the rest of the area. It would over saturate or over brighten and wanted to scream the whole time.

(list of questions)

[sapphicrpc]

hi kaz!! your secret santa here again!! i will definitely look into making gif packs/icons of those fcs <3 i was also wondering if maybe there are some fcs you’d like to see in a manip together? have a great day!!!!

HIIII SECRET SANTA i hope ur having the best day 🥰 omgomgomg .... based on some pairings & friendships in my current groups i would love to see any of these!! i am giving a long list so that u have options btw

sana minatozaki x jeff satur

omar apollo x avan jogia

omar apollo x jang yeeun

edie liberty rose x ange jose

han sohee x bible wichapas

mena massoud x dev patel

han sohee x kylie jefferson

sana minatozaki x park sooyoung

park sooyoung x nico vasti

omar apollo x lizeth selene (muses are sibling btw)

[silverslipstream]

Happy STS!

Give me the latest gossip in your story! What’s the rumour mill talking about? Are there whispers behind your characters’ backs? Just how true are the rumours?

Happy Storyteller Satur-tuesday Sam, and thank you for the ask! I've not got much for this, but there's a few rumours, both personal and setting-wide, that exist in White Sky:

Kat is attracted to Harry: This one's starting to become a running gag amongst the crew of the Dowager Caroline; there's a constant suspicion the Kat and Harry are hooking up or dating on the sly, which is emphatically untrue. She stresses him out and she thinks he's too flippant and ignorant. For some reason, random people they vaguely know will always comment or assume they're a couple, which drives both of them even crazier.

Stan was a spy/has seen secret war atrocities: It's not something the crew would EVER bring up to Stan himself (who, depending on his mood, would either laugh in their face or mutter at them to fuck off), but they're starting to suspect he saw and did a lot more during his 'war days' than he let on. He wears a lot of military surplus gear, for one. While it's true that he's an accomplished engineer, he's also an expert on explosives, knows the minutiae of killing human beings and occasionally mumbles nightmarish, disconnected ramblings in his sleep. When questioned, he simply states he was 'deployed as a combat pilot' and 'needed a change' upon shifting to the debris hauling industry. Whatever the answers are, the crew aren't getting them from him.

Jack is hooking up with Kaz: At first glance, it seems like this one is just a prank/joke circulated by the crew to piss Jack off, and in most cases, you'd be right. However, Kaz is infamous for blushing and clamming-up whenever it's mentioned, and Harry swears he catches them throwing sneaky glances at each other now and then. Add that to that fact that both are single (Kaz due to his obsessive work ethic and working on Mars for most of his adult life, Jack due to her messy divorce from her wife back on Earth and long hours spent in deep space) and there may be more truth to this rumour that meets the eye...

This doesn't even count the speculation around Kat being forced on the run, which is included but not limited to:

assassinating a political figure (no)

dealing hardcore drugs (absolutely not)

inventing illegal weaponry of some kind (no)

having a sexual relationship with a professor (this one almost got Harry a bulkhead-related concussion)

The United States's 'diplomatic intervention' in Latin America is secretly a preparation for invasion: During the story, an alliance between the US and Mexico enters Venezuela, Bolivia and Ecuador to 'keep the peace' following civil unrest and warfare. Some characters believe it's a genuine offer of peacekeeping in the region, others think it's not those countries' place to interfere, and others think it's a ploy to take advantage of the fighting to declare war, overpower said countries and use their land and equatorial access for spaceports. The latter theory is initially mocked as a conspiracy theory, but as things deteriorate it looks more and more likely...

The former Soviet Union landed on the Moon first: Despite the fact that the US still landed on the Moon first in this timeline (14th July, 1969 vs June 25th, 1970), there's still a rumour and urban legend that Soviet cosmonauts landed on the Moon first, only to suffer an accident or become stranded, hence why their fate(s) were covered up by the USSR. Massive exploration of the Moon in the century since can't find any evidence of unregistered Soviet rockets, and Russia has maintained that the allegations were false ever since the former USSR collapsed in the early 2000s. Still, for a mere rumour, it's a pretty persistent one...

ELTO forces inequality on the lunar surface: This view is purported by Menzies, Cho and the other 'stateless' workers of the Lunar Independence Alliance, who claim their visas were deliberately revoked in order to force migrant workers to stay on the Moon and keep up the status quo. Judging by the way ELTO runs things on Luna, this is probably (and sadly) true.

The Konstantin Tsiolkovsky is a global money-laundering scheme: detractors of ELTO's Saturn mission point out that the Tsiolkovsky has been in development for nearly a decade without much to show for it. Rumour has it, it's an expensive ploy to drive up space investment while secretly bolstering the economies of ELTO member nations. Proven false when the Tsiolkovsky's engine is fired for the first time, and later on when it's "commandeered"

[soulfulempathy]

As soon as he felt Kaz snatch his wrist, Yuki's eyes snapped open, trying in vain to move his other arm. But Kaz wasted no time shoving Yuki against the wall. The impact brought Yuki back to himself, just long enough to feel a wicked device wrap around his body, pinning his arms to his sides. Though he tried, Yuki couldn't get free. He was helpless, like an animal trapped, consumed by panic that got worse and worse with each painful thump of his heart. Let me out, let me out, let me out.

His attention was brought back to Kaz as he was pinned. The taste of honey and flowers saturated his throat until he choked on it. Images flashed through his mind that he didn't understand -- a family he didn't recognize but a farm he knew was in Southern Kerch, just a stone's throw away from a lush creek he liked to disappear in. Yuki heard laughter, his attention drawn to two little girls begging him to play. Over his shoulder, an older boy had come up behind him to tousle his hair.

Yuki was paralyzed as intense tremors rolled through his body. He was scared -- not of the device or even the knife at his throat. Rather, when he looked up, he saw those black eyes, in an alley at the heart of The Barrel...

And surrounded by green fields, laughing and playing, out much too late before being called inside.

Yuki pressed himself back against the brick, as much as he could. Like he was trying to escape this man, these images. When Yuki swallowed he felt the blade brush against his skin, and despite the way he trembled he still met the man's gaze, like he was just barely able to keep his head above water, gasping for air at the rafters.

Please let me out.

Through gritted teeth, Yuki finally found his voice, using every ounce of his resolve to keep it steady, despite the way he was falling apart.

"Who are you?"

       Kaz hid it well, but he did find himself impressed with the swift ruthlessness of Yuki's attacks, despite the disadvantages inflicted upon him. With a slash of his knife, Yuki sliced through the skin of Kaz's forearm, tearing the sleeve of his coat, landed a couple solid punches. One in particular Kaz had just barley prevented from breaking his nose. Blood trickled from it nonetheless and stars rocketed through his head. He felt the weight of his pistol at his hip, but despite Yuki's clear lethal intent, Kaz didn't want to kill him, not if he could help it.

       Something strange was brewing behind Yuki's hard gaze, something almost disorienting if he had to guess. For a long moment as they exchanged blows, Kaz simply bided his time, dark eyes watching for the inevitable falter that would signal an opening.

       Yuki shook his head slightly — there it was. A leather clad hand shot out, fingers wrapping painfully around the wrist of Yuki's only good hand. He twisted hard, wrenching his arm, forcing him to loosen his grip and let the blade clatter to the ground bellow. Kaz swiftly kicked it out of reach with his good leg and then used the advantage to manhandle him backward until he could shove Yuki against the wall in turn.

       Kaz quickly tucked his cane into the crook of his elbow before reaching into his pocket to produce the weapon he kept on him at all times now — the mechanical ropes the Drüskelle used to bind a Grisha's hands, preventing them from using their power. It wrapped tightly around Yuki's torso, pinning his arms against his body. Kaz then shoved his forearm against Yuki’s collarbone, holding him there — and lastly, he produced a sharp, wicked looking knife, seemingly out of nowhere and held it to his throat.

       They stood for a long second, breathing heavy. It was clear that Yuki was expecting him to finish the job, to slice his throat and watch him choke on his own blood. However, Kaz had no intention of doing so — not unless Yuki forced his hand. ❝You finished? ❞ He sneared, seeming far more irritated at him than anything, like he was trying to knock sense into a companion who'd had too much to drink and wanted a fight.

[kaz-foxsen]

My Quest to Generate a Reverse Tiger

I was hoping to have a finished product to show off, but my quest to use AI to generate a photorealistic "reverse tiger" (orange stripes on black, which is a color morph I've made while playing with character creators in RPGs) is ongoing, so I'll share as I go along.

I started with the Stable Diffusion 1.4 model. My first attempt (Dec. 28, 2022) was to just use a text prompt like "photograph of a black tiger with orange stripes", but that didn't work out. The images sometimes came close, but weren't quite right:

I decided to start over by generating a normal tiger in a nice pose to use for img2img. I didn't intend to use two tigers, but this image was too good for me to pass up, so I decided that I'd reverse the colors on only one to create an interesting contrast:

I made a crude Photoshop edit to turn the base color black and the stripes orange and used that for img2img:

Sometimes I used in-painting to isolate the reverse tiger. The results were ok, but not quite photorealistic:

Some interesting failures:

While the black nose was an efficient way to convey the orange-black color swap concept, I realized that many of the results looked off because the faces violated my swap "rule". It wasn't initially obvious since the orange and black markings are of similar width, but I figured out a way to distinguish the base and stripe colors. The normal tiger's orange base color blends into the white parts, while the black stripes lie on top:

This would prove to be a huge stumbling block. I painted over the best result in Photoshop for another round of img2img:

The AI proved extremely stubborn about swapping colors so I couldn't give it too much strength but sticking too close to the image prompt created a fake-looking airbrush effect. Best result of 12/29/2022:

Prompt: a nature photograph of two (large cats), realistic fur texture, smooth whiskers, orange markings, orange stripes Negative Prompt: blur, blurry, ugly, deformed, airbrushed, airbrush, painting, drawing, ((green)), (((black stripes))), ((black spots)), crooked whiskers, broken whiskers Seed: 9091646 Width: 768 Height: 512 Steps: 70 Guidance Scale: 30.0 Prompt Strength: 0.3 Sampler: ddim

Since black stripes seem so inextricable to the keyword "tiger", I tried replacing it with things like "lion", "panther", and "large cat", but that didn't solve the problem. Enjoy some Cheeto-colored house cats:

I tried some more, but this was the best I could do so far:

Prompt: a (((nature photograph))) of two large cats, realistic fur texture, orange (((markings))), (((orange stripes))), ((black base fur color)), ((white cheeks)), Macro Negative Prompt: ((((ugly)))), (((duplicate))), ((morbid)), ((mutilated)), out of frame, ((poorly drawn face)), (((mutation))), (((deformed))), ((ugly)), (((blurry))), ((bad anatomy)), (((bad proportions))), ((extra limbs)), cloned face, (((disfigured))), out of frame, ugly, extra limbs, (bad anatomy), gross proportions, dead, zombie, ((((airbrushed)))), (((airbrush))), (((painting))), (((drawing))), ((green)), (((black stripes))), ((black spots)), crooked whiskers, broken whiskers, scruffy, thick whiskers, (((dark stripes)))), (((blurry fur))), (((blurry coat))), saturated orange, (((smeared))), bent whiskers, (oversaturated), ((flat)), (((2D))), (((brown stripes))), (((illustration))), crooked eyes, extra eyelid, ((yellow stripe)), (((gaussian blur))), (((cartoon))) Seed: 8711914 Width: 768 Height: 512 Steps: 70 Guidance Scale: 20.0 Prompt Strength: 0.35 Sampler: ddim

[1u11ablues]

Pudding (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

Summary: Kaz sits next to the reader by the bar, and it gets harder and harder for him to control his thoughts.

WC: 1.7k

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, sexual frustration.

A/N: I love Kanej with all my heart but I can't stop thinking about this idea so I decided to just write it so I'll be able to move on to other fics. I also might write a second part to this, which may or may not include smut.

Kaz's eyes fixate on your lips. Cursed pudding. He knows they're tasty—and so they're your favourite—but every time you scoop some into your mouth and close your eyes to savour the taste, an image of you spread before him starts swarming his mind.

His gaze moves towards your neck when you swallow, the sudden urge to attack your soft skin with his lips drowning his other thoughts—thoughts that should've been more important than this. It took him years to learn how to be okay with skin to skin contact again, and now that he can tolerate it, the more primal of human urges fizzes within him,threatening to bubble out onto the surface.

You hum in bliss, not realising there was a trace of pudding right at the corner of your mouth. Kaz's head starts spinning at the idea of swiping it off with his tongue, tasting you, tasting that goddamn pudding off your mouth. 

Ghezen, he mumbled, gloved hand flexing over a shot glass full of whiskey, his third one for the night. He's not sure if he's using alcohol to distract himself—or give him the willpower to sweep you off your feet and make you pay for the endless nights (and days) of frustration you've unknowingly caused him.

He doesn't know how long he stared at you until your eyes met his. When they did, you were smiling shyly at him. He looked away quickly and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Kaz, you want some?" You offered it to him, that sweet tone in your voice making his heart flutter and dick twitch. He studies your face, confused—because normally, you're not one to share. It doesn’t matter anyway, there’s something else way sweeter he’d rather taste than chocolate pudding. 

"No, I don't want to deprive you—and you have some over there," he points out, not missing the deflate in your tone when he refused your offer. 

"Oh—oops," you swipe your lips with your middle finger and proceed to suck the pudding right off it. Kaz lets out a hiss. It almost seems like you were stirring him on purpose, but he's pretty sure you're just that oblivious. Your tongue chases the chocolate smearing your finger, and suddenly he's thinking of you on your knees, lips swollen and wrapped around him, tears running down your cheeks as you choke on his aching cock. 

His left hand grips his cane tighter, looking for relief in other ways except that. He's the Bastard of the Barrel. He can survive this night without giving into the myriad of ideas he had involving you under him.

"One more shot, Jesper," perhaps saturating himself with more whiskey will help ease the longing,unfortunately it's not working as well as he wants it to.

Jesper studied how Kaz acts around you tonight. And many other nights before this. He gossips about it with Inej sometimes, too. They've noticed how Kaz's eyes will wander all over you when he thinks nobody's watching. "Here you go," he slides the glass to Kaz, trying his best to talk about the plans of the upcoming job that involve some jewels worth hundreds of thousands of kruge.

Alas, they might need to discuss this another time, some day where Kaz is not distracted by the sight of a pretty lady shovelling pudding into her mouth. Jesper doesn't blame him, you're very attractive—hell, he'd make a move if he didn't know Kaz secretly wants you. He also didn't blame you, because he's the one who introduced you to the place that sells that pudding, and he knows just how good it is for you to be eating it that sensually. 

"Tomorrow, then," he tells Kaz—or tries to. He's pretty sure Kaz wasn't even paying attention to anything else that had happened the past half an hour. Somebody can literally be cheating in on his Three Man Bramble table right then and he won’t even notice.

An hour has passed and it's getting late. You stood up to say your goodnights before heading back into your room in the Slat. You were an unexpected addition to the Dregs, recruited because you have fast fingers and light on your feet. That’s just a nicer way to say you were the only one who managed to pickpocket Kaz. Inej thinks she can train you to do what she does ,going into hard to reach places and stealing the secrets of important—and mostly dangerous people. The fact that you can control air is a huge bonus too. They can get away with taking bigger and heavier antiques using your abilities.'Business' is booming with you as their new addition.

You bat your eyelashes at the boys—your light and flirty ways of interacting a breath of fresh air among the Dregs. "See you guys tomorrow," casting one last look at Kaz, a last ditch effort at casting your lure. You had an inkling that Kaz might have the hots for you, but maybe you were just projecting. Oh, well. Perhaps you misinterpreted the way he looks at you, but after waiting for months for him to make the first move, maybe you should've just taken the hint. Rejection sucks, but you'll survive. Guess it'll be you, your hands, and your overactive imagination again tonight. 

Kaz lets out a sigh of relief as he watches your figure disappear into the night. He stretches his hands, surprised to find out how tense he had been. 

"We'll talk about this tomorrow, Jesper. I'm a bit wound up at the moment." Jesper snorts. 

Raising an eyebrow, Kaz asks, "What's so funny?" 

"Really?" Jesper retorts, "How long are you gonna spend pining over her?"

"I'm not pining. Over anyone. Now pour me another shot. And no further talk about this unless you want to sleep on the streets tonight."

Jesper raises his hands in defeat, choosing not to press further. The prospect of not having a warm bed to sleep in does not sound good to him. He pours Kaz's drink and slides it to him. Maybe sleeping on the street for one night is worth it if it means his boss will finally find someone. At the very least , he was hoping that getting his boss laid will mellow him a little. 

"You know," Jesper starts collecting all the empty glasses on the bar while Kaz tries to down his shot , "She's always joking around me and Inej that she'd sit on your face if you'd asked her to..." 

Kaz choked on his whiskey, his eyes glistening from the burn in his throat. "But of course, that might just be her delightful sense of humour," Jesper added, trying his best not to let out a chuckle and risk getting even more in trouble.

Jesper never missed the telltale signs of longing in your voice when Kaz's name was brought up, but he advises that this was not something wise to pursue—because everyone in the barrel knows just how dangerous of a man Kaz is. Trying to make a living in Ketterdam is dangerous. Trying to make a living in the Barrel—under Dirtyhands himself—makes life and death seem like a game of poker. You never know what hands you’d be dealt with each day.

You're stubborn, though. It's what your parents kept telling you ever since you're a kid. So, despite his reputation, you can’t help yourself from harbouring some sort of feelings for him. Initially, Jesper believed that you were into him more than he was into you. Well, after tonight, he’s not so sure of that anymore. It seems like the tension was mutual on both sides. 

"Jesper," Kaz warned. A dark edge to his tone, as he started visualising the scenario Jesper had put in his mind. A tent was forming in his pants. He'll need an ice-cold shower if he wants to be able to sleep tonight.

"Hey, it's not my fault you two looked at each other like that." 

"Like what?" 

"You know, like that—" his eyes roam the room looking for the right words, "like nothing else in the room exists except for you two."

Kaz scoffs,the choice of words Jesper had chosen a little too out of place with his way of life. It sounds too ...romantic. Kaz doesn't do romance. 

Shrugging at the scornful look on Kaz's face, Jesper continues, "and Inej told me—not to tell you of course—that the feeling is mutual, so I don't see why you have to keep all this," he gestures, "contained."

Kaz glares at Jesper, patience running thin. Why his sharpshooter had bothered telling him this, he had no idea. If it's true, though, then maybe… No. He can’t allow himself to think about it. If his thoughts start roaming again, sooner or later he’ll find himself outside your room and it’ll be too late before he realises the mistake he’d made. Any kind of connection with him makes you a liability—and the idea of someone using you to get to him is enough to make him want to send you far away from Ketterdam. But five shots of whiskey are enough to skew even the most sturdy of decisions. 

Before he has the time to process, he stands off his seat at the bar and makes his way into the Slat. He breezes through the flight of stairs leading to your room, and just as he was about to knock—he heard you. 

“Kaz,please,” you moaned—voice muffled,but it was unmistakable. You were moaning his name and the tightness in his pants prompts him to adjust himself. The whole ordeal sobered him up.

“What am I doing?” he scolds himself, rushing away from your doors into his room.

He wanted so much to stay and listen to you, to join in when he couldn’t take it anymore, but he can’t. There’s too much at stake. 

Kaz spends the night stroking himself, seeking for any kind of relief. Even as he lays there, empty, he still can’t get the thought of you, writhing on your bed, out of his head. After tossing and turning—and making himself come once again—he finally manages to fall into a restless slumber.

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels: chapter two

A/n took me longer to get around to writing part 2 than i thought!! i didn’t know there was an audience for this idea but im glad you guys liked it!!

Im adding a country to the grishaverse to make my story work,, def not a big deal i just needed a country in which i could control the history of without worrying about conflicting with cannon lol 

Link to part one: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yesimwriting/652318577650696192 (lmk if this works ive never linked something to a tumblr post lol)

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairng: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! Psychic! Reader 

--

My father seemed to love me more after two glasses of something amber. It was after these two glasses that he would tell me realities his inebriated self believed I needed to internalize. He’d pat my head affectionately and smiled at me as he told me that the world was a bad place. Most of his lessons are lost in my mind, but the one I remember most clearly is that there’s no such thing as a kept secret. There’s always a leak or a flaw or a factor you could not account for. He told me that if I wanted to keep a secret, I would have to decide what I was willing to risk for it. 

I know from Seria’s reaction to his presence that listening to Kaz is a risk, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take for my secret. “I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re mistaken.” It doesn’t really matter that he believes me. I have the paperwork I need to disprove him. “I have to get to my tent.” 

“The princess gets her own tent?” His words are saturated by mock casualness but I can feel his pride on how he delivered that line. 

My body is still tense from balancing over flames and his confidence only adds to my desire to unravel. I can’t get angry here. Not at him. Not with the way he grips that cane of his. “I don’t understand what--” 

“You may be able to play pretend here where no one wants to look twice at you, but I know what you are.” His stiffness leaves my skin prickling. “I know who you are.” 

I swallow back my panic. “Then who am I?” 

“You’re that king’s bastard--the one with a high bounty on her head.” Don’t back down. Even the smallest crack will confirm his story. “As long as she’s returned alive.” 

Thoughts of what my father would do to me if ever given the chance strike me with more anxiety than his presence does. “I’ve heard of the girl you’re talking about,” I admit, the lie leaving me as easily as the air leaves my lungs when I exhale. “But I’m not her.” 

“You’re not from Ketterdam, if you were you would have known who I was after you friend referred to me as Dirtyhands.” I have no defense, but I never claimed to be from Ketterdam. “You make your business claiming to be a psychic.” I am a psychic, but now is not the time to make that argument. “Elkosa is a relatively small and self efficient port kingdom, the island is nothing more than a jagged coastline barely larger than Ketterdam, but I have connections in all places.” He knows someone from Elkosa? I have to fight the instinct to move all of my weight on the balls of my feet, prepared to run. “A captain of the royal fleet told me the story of the night the King’s bastard ran into the meeting room the night before ten ships were meant to sail to Ravka.” 

He studies my reaction as I struggle to keep my expression blank. “None of that seems connected.” 

“Patience is a virtue most Saints are familiar with.” I roll my eyes. “The bastard couldn’t have been more than nine at the time, but the guards did not want to let her in. The King told them to let her interrupt. The sailor noted this because he had never made an exception to his meeting before. The girl described a nightmare to her father, a nightmare of a storm and ten dead birds. The king did not comfort her, she finished her story by saying that he asked to know about all of her dreams. She went back upstairs and the King continued the meeting as normal but the next day the King cancelled the trip.”

I remember that night as the night I realized that if I’m not careful, I’ll feel what I see in my visions. It felt like I was drowning. I felt the death of each of those men and instead of comforting me, my father nodded once like I had offered him advice and sent me back to my room. “And?” My defense is weak, my mind too lost in the memories of drowning. “Many smaller countries are superstitious.” 

“The next day the worst storm to have impacted that ocean occurred. For four nights and three days the storm continued.” 

I press my nails into my palms. “You don’t believe that I am precognitive, so that sailor’s unverified story has nothing to do with me.” 

“A princess that can see the future disappears at the same time a failing circus hires a girl who has no business in this city who claims to be able to see the future.” He adjusts his stance, taking pressure off the cane as if he’s preparing to need to use it for something else. “I am not fool enough to believe in coincidence.” 

“And I am not fool enough to crack beneath the vague threats of a man. In my experience, men always threaten with a blade when really all they’re in possession of is a butter knife. Try to drag me from here kicking and screaming, find a way to incapacitate me and put me on a ship to Elkosa, but when the King sees that you brought him a stranger he will have your head.” 

He blinks, expression hard as stone. I tense, preparing for a physical blow. “I didn’t expect you to be a half-decent liar, but I should have.” I bite my tongue to avoid resorting to something I can’t take back. Like begging. “Even if it’s in only half your blood.” 

“I am not her.” My stubbornness burns more than the need to survive. I inhale, hoping to shake the grasp of the sensation but it only worsens. The pinch of dread in my chest is heavy and familiar. A vision. 

No. Not now--not in front of him. I push against it even though I know that only makes it worse. Not now. Not now. I should be grounding myself but all I can think about is how stupid I am and how bad this situation is.

--

“I’m not an idiot, I know to be quiet. I see myself crouched somewhere dark. 

“Being defensive doesn’t make you any more intelligent.” It takes me a minute to recognize Kaz in the darkness. 

We’re somewhere small, our backs against the same wall but our shoulders do not touch. This vision is enshrouded by the feel of panic. 

This other me grimaces, but her eyes lack anger, “Remind me why I agreed to help you again?” 

“You never told me why,” he admits, “you can change your mind on participating and I can change my mind on whether or not you're more useful than your father’s money.”

Something loud crashes from behind the door we’re both staring at. “You’ll have no use for me or my father’s money if we die here.” I squeeze my hands together. 

He hesitates, “My ghost will.” 

The future-me almost smiles. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see ghost futures.” I hesitate, something strange behind my eyes. “I wonder if that can exist, if there’s a future beyond endings.” 

Future-Kaz is silent for a long second. “There should be,” he says, “for someone like you, at least.” 

I watch the way I take in his words. “You’d be there, too,” my voice is low, “your ghost at least.” I turn my head, staring at the door instead of him, “If you weren’t, I’d miss the brooding.” 

--

The vision leaves me with sweaty palms and swirling thoughts. All of my visions do that. Not all of them make me feel so confused. Apparently, he needs help and I agree to do so. At one point we’ll be pushed into a life or death situation and I won’t loathe him. 

I blink twice, forcing myself to hold onto the reality in front of me. I don’t have to agree--the future isn’t set in stone. For all I know tomorrow morning I’ll have a vision in which he kills me. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

Shaking my head, I turn to face him. “You need help.” I don’t wait for his reaction. “You’re not here to return someone to the King of Elkosa, you’re here because you need someone that can see the future.” 

“I--” 

“It’s not that you won’t take me to Elkosa, it’s that you’d rather use my abilities for something.”

I’m confusing him again, but that’s okay. I’d rather deal with him confused than angry. “I need to know how a certain business deal of mine is going to be worth what it costs.”

He’s spent the entire time claiming he doesn’t believe in my power. Was that some kind of tactic? In the vision I saw, despite the panic surrounding the situation I didn’t feel panicked around him. The probability of that future occurring is probably low. I’ve been wrong before, the future changes too much for me to know everything. 

“That’s not how readings work,” I admit, “I don’t have that much control on them. Most of them come to me randomly. The events I see always involve me or someone I care about to a certain capacity. I can give someone a general glimpse into their future but I can’t promise I’ll see what they want. Sometimes I can see the general vision by just focusing on their energy but usually I need some physical contact for it to work.” That seems like a fair explanation. “Oh--and not all of my predictions come true, most are blurry, few are solid--the future is always moving.” 

Wait...the vision I saw where I was with Kaz wasn’t blurry. Those can be wrong, but it’s much rarer. Do I really agree to this? 

“Then maybe I should make it involve you.” His aggression has me forcing myself to stand my ground. He can threaten me all he wants but that won’t change things. “Or take the money your father would give me and cut my losses.” 

Every time I’ve purposefully destroyed a solid vision, something bad has happened. I’m genuinely considering it. “What do you need a psychic for, anyways?” 

“To get through the Fold.” 

Despite everything, I laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone get through the Fold, literally or in my visions.” 

He’s unphased by my doubt. “It’s happened.” 

I really don’t want to help him. “Well then good luck, I’m happy to part ways here.” 

I manage one step forward before he moves his cane in front of my path. I’m getting tired of this. “You’re assisting me one way or the other, whether that aid will be financial or through your services is up to you.” 

Anger pinches in my stomach the way it often does when I’m told what to do. The one thing centering me is the vision still reflecting in my thoughts. There’s no denying it--I had felt comfortable with him. There is a future in which I feel comfortable with him and I’m not sure I’ll be able to avoid it. 

“I won’t get in trouble for you,” I tell him, “The Ringmaster holds onto those indentured to him, especially the commodities that bring him profit.” 

There’s something stiff about his silence. I wonder if he’s always like this, pushing the weight of his presence onto those around him without saying a word. “When I have a goal, it is achieved. I’ll speak to him.” 

I cannot imagine a conversation I want to be involved in less. The Ringmaster and this man that Seria had labeled ‘Dirtyhands’. “I just had a vision--I saw your entire conversation and it ends with you missing an arm.” His stoic expression does not shift. “Okay, I’m aware that it wasn’t the funniest joke, but throw me a bone--you threatened to kidnap me and sell me to my father in order to extort me and I’ve been nothing but polite to you.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, something in his expression changing in a way I can’t read. “All you’ve done is lie since the moment you started to speak to me.” 

The optimist in me would like to think that his annoyance counts for banter. I shrug, feeling a little lighter than I did a second ago. I’m certainly not comfortable but I’m starting to see how to put up with the tension without letting it strain me. “Well, polite for my standards.” 

I let him brood. “You must have done well as a royal.” 

My past cuts through the peace I managed to grab onto. It’s not his fault, he has no way of knowing what the castle was like for me. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. “I had my moments,” I finally settle on, hoping the echo of pain isn’t visible behind my eyes. 

I guess it doesn’t matter if he sees me bleed. He’s heartless, and I hate sympathy. 

“Y/n,” Seria’s voice is genuine anger, “You’ve turned into an idiot--first the tightrope walk and now entertaining whatever deal he’s trying to coax from you.” I love Seria, she’s the reason I didn’t die in the street when I first arrived in Ketterdam, but she sees me as a mindless child. “Whatever he told you, whatever he promised you--it’s a lie.” 

“He hasn’t promised me anything.” I need to calm her down. Once she’s calm, everything will be normal again. “And he knows.” I don’t have to turn to feel the way Seria gapes at me. “He knows who I am, so I have to do what he wants.” 

“You never have to do anything a man is forcing onto you, y/n. We’ll find a way--” 

“Seria, it’s fine,” I reach to touch her arm, “I’ll be fine, you can’t protect me from everything and you don’t have to.” 

Kaz throws a pointed glare at the man who was with him earlier. When did the stranger get here? “Boss, she’s faster than she looked, but I have what we need to get the girl--” 

“You’re late,” Kaz sighs, bored, “she’s agreed.” 

Wait--what was he going to do if I didn’t agree? “Out of curiosity, what are you talking about?” The man blinks twice, squeezing a rag between his ring-clad fingers. “You were going to use chloroform to kidnap me, weren’t you?” 

For some reason I don’t understand, the stranger gives me a look that’s a cross between sheepish and charming. “Nothing personal.” 

“Or original.” 

Seria pinches my arm. “Y/n,” she scolds, “your sense of humor is going to kill me one of these days.” 

I cringe, pulling my arm away. “When I met you, you were pickpocketing in the pleasure district, please remember that.” 

She rolls her eyes. “An attitude like that is going to leave you without a place to sleep at night.” 

I take her comment for the empty threat it is. Every other day she’s threatening to kick me out of her private trailer so that I’m forced to fight for cots or speak to the Ringmaster about my lodging arrangements. He’d give me what I want, but speaking to him feels so slimy I’d sleep in the woods before trying it. 

“Kaz.” I turn my head in time to see the girl that gave me the advice about the tightrope walker. “We need to go, he’s coming soon--you’ll do better to speak to him in the morning after she’s gone, that way he has nothing to hold over your head.” 

“Once I’m gone?” The girl had called me a Saint. I can appeal to her. “I’m not--I’m not going anywhere, I said I’d help.” 

Her eyes widen, sympathy reflected clearly in her dark irises. “There was never a version of this in which you ended up staying here.” I hear a hint of apology in her voice. “You won’t believe me, but I promise this will be better for you.” All of her pity is gone with those, replaced by something hard.

Seria responds for me, “I think you should go.” 

“What?” 

She almost smiles, but her eyes are painfully sad. “I never wanted you to be here forever. I don’t trust these people, but I trust their ability to get you out of here, even if only for a little while. Bad things are coming, and I think you’ll miss the worst of it if you go now.” 

What she alludes to is a blade in my heart. “You want me to leave you here to deal with it?” 

“Y/n, I’ve been hurt here more times than I can count--”

“No, I won’t leave y--” 

Seria squeezes my shoulder, “It’s not forever.” When she wants something, it’s almost impossible to get around it. “Besides, if I need you, you’ll see it.” 

My world feels to have lost the vibrance of color. I’ve left so much, but I let myself believe I wouldn’t leave her. I pull her into the hug. “The moment I see a vision of you in any type of danger, I’m coming back.” I hug her even tighter when she tries to pull away so that I can whisper something in her ear, “I’ll use this opportunity to leave the Ringmaster and then I’ll get you out, and together we’ll leave Ketterdam. We’ll find your child, like you always wanted to and they’ll know that they're lucky because they’re the only kid in the world to have you as a mother.” 

She squeezes me so tightly I find it hard to take full breaths. “Two,” Seria whispers, “I have two children.”

My eyes burn as her words find their way into my heart. “I love you, Seria.” 

“I love you too, my star,” she pulls away enough so that I can look her in the eye, “you don’t like being called a Saint, but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the title.” 

Tears prick my eyes as she releases me. “I’ll find you.” 

“He’ll be coming soon,” the girl warns, “He spoke to an advisor about wanting to find you after the show.” 

No doubt to praise the fire stunt he forced onto me. Bastard. I nod once but I don’t move. I can’t bring myself to leave Seria until the girl places a hand on my elbow. 

--

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[ladyoftheforests]

I love how there's inej and kaz in dark emo clothes and then there's jesper who looks like a overly saturated sweet wrapper

"Three tickets to Barbie."