#bones one shot

[justanoasisimagines]

Hey Baby

Summary; Jack writes you a letter for your anniversary. A/N; Requests are open! Credit @cafekitsune for the banner and the divider

Today we've been together for five years. I can't believe how much time has passed. It feels like yesterday when we first met in that cafe you love so much. I owe Greta, so much.

Nice girl, she told me. In the end, she pushed me to ask you out. Stop your gawping and do something about it. She's the reason, I gathered up the courage to talk to you.

These past five years have been my favourite. At times it's not been easy, but what relationship is. I truly believe the things which are most benefical and rewarding are not supposed to be straightforward.

I look forward to many sunrises and sunsets with you. To more exporations of new places. To many more fights and make up's.

I want it all. The good, the bad and the ugly. Only with the most incrediable, beautiful, talented, funny, woman in the world.

All my love,

Jack x

[stealingyourbones]

DPxDC the Olympics AU.

Jazz is competing for sharpshooting

Dick is competing for team gymnastics

Y’all can work it out from there :)

[undercover-grisha]

Inej: “I got something special at the market today.”

Kaz: “Oh?”

Inej: “…and you can’t be mad about it.”

Kaz: “…is it… something you think I would be mad about?”

Inej: “I’m not sure. I think you’ll love it. Jesper is betting not.”

Kaz: “I’m all for Jesper losing at dumb bets.”

Inej: “So you promise we can keep it?”

Kaz, slightly offended: “I’m not going to make you get rid of something you like just because I don’t like it. It’s not as if it’s going to affect our life together, right?”

Inej:

Kaz: “…right?”

Inej:

Kaz: “‘Nej? Light of my life? Jewel of my seas? Treasure of my heart?”

Inej, pulling a cat out from behind her back, and setting it in Kaz’s arms:

Kaz:

Inej: “Her name is Lilac.” 🙂

[5sospenguinqueen]

Y/N: Can I say something that will probably annoy you?

Kaz: Since when do you ask for permission?

[the-nation-of-today]

All the sinners are sent to rest

[bookishdream]

Spark

kaz brekker x gn!Inferni!reader

Summary: You and Kaz spending some quality time together

Word count: 1,1k

Being in love with the Bastard of the Barrel was like lighting up a ton of candles, throwing them into a pile and jumping straight into them. It wasn’t easy, it didn’t even look like it would become easy any time soon. But you tried and so did he. 

Kaz cared about you. He showered you with little gifts – a mug of your favourite coffee on your desk when you were working over hours, a compass on your pillow or a single flower in a vase that would always be replaced whenever it started to wither. He didn’t make it obvious that it was from him yet you knew and he was aware that you knew. 

It all started when you came looking for a job. You had been terrified of what could’ve been encountered on the streets of Ketterdam. Not only were you a teenager – already vulnerable because of your age – but also you were Grisha. Inferni to be exact. You had left your home in the western Ravka after you’d lit up your whole village, burning it to the ground along with its inhabitants. You still were scared of whatever untamed power was sleeping in you. 

However, nothing could’ve stayed hidden from Kaz Brekker. He controlled everything that happened in his part of the town, taking notice of a new Grisha roaming Ketterdam’s streets. He’d pulled some strings and somehow you’d wandered into the Crow Club. You’d been shocked, for in your small town there hadn’t been clubs like those you’d seen. Or like this that you had been standing in, exploring its wooden counters, tables for various hazard games, dimmed lights or a staircase that you could’ve only imagined where it led. 

“Are you y/n?” A hoarse voice had said from behind your back. You’d turned around and saw a man your age with his hand placed on a cane, its head looking like it used to belong to some stray crow. “I was wondering how long it would take you to finally come here.” 

“How do you know my name?” You’d questioned your voice no more than a whisper. 

“I have my secrets,” the boy had replied, his cold gaze looking you over. “All you need to know is that we are in need of an Inferni and here you are,” he’d smirked. 

You’d rolled your eyes. Obviously he hadn’t wanted to put you up for a night out of the goodness of his heart. You’d doubted he had a heart at all. 

Since then, you’d been irreplaceable to him. Grisha weren’t popular in Kerch. So you’d stayed, made yourself comfortable and started working with Kaz and his Crows. 

You closed your eyes, sighing deeply. Your head was pounding and your fingers were itching to use some of the magic in you. You’d been so busy all day that you hadn’t even thought about lighting candles in your room. You’d just flipped a switch and started working on the numbers. Not even, what look like ten minutes, the dusk has fallen and your eyes started watering. 

“If you stay a little longer over that, you might smudge the numbers with your tears, love,” the hoarse voice you’ve grown to love said from the threshold. You lifted your head to see Kaz leaning against the wall, his palm still on his cane. He looked like he just came back from whatever he was doing, his hat still on his head and the long coat he adored – even though he wouldn’t admit to liking something – still on his back, buttoned up. 

“It’s okay, I only have one page to finish and I’m done for the night,” you replied tiredly. Your head was still pounding. 

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” he commented, undoing his coat. His ruffled hair was all over the place and you could see the bags under his eyes. 

“The same can be said about you,” you remarked, smirking at him. Kaz only rolled his eyes at you, coming closer to your desk. 

He pulled out his hand towards you and you looked up at him quizzically. When he encouraged you with a slight nod, you took his hand and let him lead you to your bed. He motioned for you to lay down and he did the same on the other side of the bed. He took a deep breath in and started to peel off his gloves from his palms. you watched him in silence, trying to make sense of what he was doing. 

“Have you used your powers today?” Kaz inquired, letting his arm fall beside you, leaving some space between you. 

“No,” you made yourself comfortable on your bed, laying on your side and facing his profile. He looked at you, but remained sitting, propped up against the bedhead. 

“Show me, then,” he pleaded, his face fully turning into your direction. “Your powers, I mean.” 

“You’ve seen me using my powers, Kaz,” you laughed, closing your eyes a little. It felt so good to be close to him. 

“I’ve seen you killing with your powers, but i haven’t seen you just using it,” 

“Well,” you trailed off, lifting your palm a bit. You produced a small flame that was trailing your palm and then your forearm. You could feel the heath of the fire yet it didn’t burn you. It never burned you. You glimpsed at Kaz, and saw that he was in a slight awe. His eyes were widened and his lips were lightly parted. Then, he sent you a look and you knew he wanted to say something. 

“Can–,” Kaz cleared his throat, “Can I try?” 

“Sure,” you scooped a little closer to him, pointing your finger at his palm, “May I? Just say if you want to stop.” 

He nodded his head and lifted his palm, you placed your own onto his. When you heard a sharp intake of breath from Kaz, you were aware that not only you felt the electricity that went through when you touched. You continued looking at him, in order to know when or if you needed to stop. When Kaz was still staring at your connected palms, you constructed another little flame and let it roam around Kaz’s palm and shirt, carefully not to ignite anything. 

“You okay?” You made sure, his demeanour was still the same. He let you touch him for more than a minute now. You looked into his eyes and you saw light in his eyes. 

“It’s really, um–“ he cleared his throat again, “pretty.” 

You laughed at that then you extinguished the flame and came back to your previous position. “Fire has always calmed me down, that’s why I couldn’t produce even a spark after the accident,” 

“We all have our demons,” he replied. “Better for you that you managed to kill yours.”

[hopingforrainydays]

birth of the bone-breaker | general kirigan

pairing: general kirigan x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of blood and gore

word count: 2.3k

summary: soft times with the darkling as he comforts a traumatized grisha; in other words, a story in which a healer becomes something else and finds solace in the shadow summoner

author’s note: so so excited for shadow and bone season two. this one has been sitting in my drafts for a long time, and i’m happy to finally share it with y’all!

requests are open!

--

You were dragged through the palace gates at Os Alta, your limp form tugged forward--and held up--by the red-clad Grisha on either side of you. You barely registered their forceful motions, keeping your chin tucked into your chest. It was sodden with dirt, blood, and what could only be assumed to be some other form of bodily matter. But that wasn’t a bother. You barely registered that either.

It had been a long enough journey, but you had not fought the Grisha hauling you by horse, carriage, and on foot. You weren’t a fighter by nature, and even so, any of the adrenaline that flowed through your veins had ebbed away. Besides, you deserved whatever they had planned for you. The iron grip of the Corporalniks prevented any attempt of a struggle. The black detailing of their keftas marked them as Heartrenders; they could take the air from your lungs or crush your heart in a matter of moments.

But you could do the same, couldn’t you?

The shadow of the Little Palace loomed over you, and yet your gaze did not falter from its focus on your muddied feet. It was the only thing grounding you to this moment, no matter how you wished to glance upon the palace one last time. Once inside, you found small purchase on the smooth marble floors, the tips of your toes tripping at the quick pace set by your companions. A part you, deep inside, was apologetic of the mess you were bound to leave behind: muddy, bloodied footprints.

It wouldn’t be your first mess.

The First Army soldiers flanking the grounds had kept their hands on the trigger of their rifles and any Grisha that now flock through the halls followed your every movement, hands clasped in front of them. The dark forms of the oprichniki walked ahead, leading you to your doom. A strategic hold on your arms forced your hands to be kept apart.

You understood, in part, their caution. It still pained you. The presumption that the Grisha--your family--looked at you as though you were a monster clogged your eyes with tears.

Saints, you deserved whatever awaited you.

The Grisha soldiers brought you to the end of the hall. Ornate double-doors pushed open, and you were marched to the center of the large room. The bruising hold on your biceps ceased, causing you to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap. You caught yourself against the ground, eyes trained on your bloodied fingertips. Your fingers folded into tight fists, the jagged edge of your fingernails cutting into your palms. You winced at the throbbing pain, but dug your fingertips further into the soft flesh. In the wild panic that rose in your throat, in the unsurety of the future, and in the potential meeting of your gruesome fate, you found that it was the one thing that reassured you.

“What is this?” The voice came from in front of you. It was cold and calculating, and one that you faintly recognized from your years spent training at the Little palace. General Kirigan.

“Forgive us, moi soverennyi. It’s a matter of grave importance,” said one of the Heartrenders. From what you could tell, they were stood not far behind you. Ready, in case you were to attack. 

There was a shuffle of feet behind you. One of the Grisha, a Squaller, stepped forward. Her voice cracked as she said, “We were meant to deliver a few supplies to the Second Army regiment posted outside Chernast. When we arrived, they were–” she paused, taking in a shaky breath. She whispered, more to herself than anyone else, “Saints, they were all dead.”

“Except for them,” the other Heartrender spat. There was a sharp tug to your hair, yanking your head back. You let out a yelp, wild eyes meeting the cool stare of your general. “We found this one near the Fjerdan border, not far from the rest.”

“Release her.”

“General, you should know it was a massacre.”

“Release her.”

The hand in your hair released. Your head slumped forward, a throbbing pain forming at the back. General Kirigan stepped toward you, his finger reaching out to lift your chin. You flinched. He hesitated, the finger hanging in the air for a moment before retracting entirely. Instead, he crouched, his eyes now level with your own.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice softer now than when he spoke to his soldiers.

“Our best guess is drüskelle-”

“I wasn’t asking you,” the general snapped at the Heartrender. He turned his attention back to you, waiting patiently for your response.

You shook your head back and forth, frantic. The memories of the attack had plagued your mind throughout your journey from Chernast to Os Alta, but you were always quick to shove them away. You didn’t want to remember.

The general’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His dark eyes roamed your indiscernible features, watching as your eyes darted to look at the Grisha beside you. With a frown, he rose to his feet.

“Leave us.”

One of the Corporalniks made a noise of disagreement, but with one look from their general, quieted. The remaining Grisha left the room in slow, hesitant movements, as if they thought General Kirigan would change his mind. With a final bow, the Squaller closed the door behind her.

There was a tense silence as you remained on the floor and the general leant back against the round table. You were afraid to move, though most of the stress in your muscles had eased at the near-isolation.

“Can you stand on your own?”

You didn’t respond.

��Are you injured? I’ll send for a Healer.”

“No,” you were quick to dismiss the idea. The voice that left you did not feel like your own; it was rough as sandpaper, and a lot louder than you intended. Noticing the general’s taken-aback-expression, you were quick to whisper an explanation. “The blood isn’t mine.”

With a sigh, he moved towards you. He reached his hand out in front of you, mindful to keep his movements slow and stay a respectful distance away. You eyed his hand before placing your palm into his own.

He turned it over, brushing his thumb over the deep crescent marks left by your fingernails. A trail of blood ran from them down to your wrist. The look he gave you had your face burning in childish embarrassment, as if you were getting scolded by a parent.

“You’ll visit the infirmary later. I’ll have a servant come to clean you up, lest you’re hiding anymore injuries.”

You wanted to scoff at his choice of words. A small mark of self-mutilation was hardly an injury, and would never compare to the harm you brought to those in Chernast. Instead, you settled on a frown. He hoisted you to your feet and set you straight. As he moved to leave, you caught his arm.

“Wait,” you said. He looked at you expectantly, and you found yourself at a loss for words. You weren’t sure where you were going with this, but the idea of being left alone terrified you. The idea of being left alone with one of the servants terrified you even more. You wanted to believe it was because of the looks the other Grisha had given you upon your arrival--distrust, discomfort, and horror. You would never admit it, but you knew the true reason: you weren’t afraid of what they’d do to you, but of what you’d do to them. “Stay.”

After a beat of silence, you cleared your throat, pulling away from the powerful man. It was foolish, you were foolish. You leaned against the table, propping yourself up with both arms. The strength it took to hold yourself up became too much, though, and your arms trembled with exertion. 

General Kirigan reached out to catch you, balancing your weight on his forearms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react to your request, or reprimand you for being so forward. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your back, supporting a majority of your weight as you leaned into his side.

He mumbled encouragements as he led you to a side room, resting you against the cool surface of a sink. You observed the new environment, the realization that he had brought you into his washroom dawning on you. The room was large enough, with a tub seated in the center. General Kirigan was beside it, turning the handle to allow water to pour from the faucet. As the tub filled to a level of his liking, he set out a variety of soaps and sponges off to a table on the side.

He took a few tentative steps in your direction, as though he were approaching a wild animal. Maybe he was. He gestured to the door you had entered through. “I’ll be in the other room.”

With a flustered expression, he shut the door behind him. It took you a while to get the motivation to move, to make any progress toward the bath. The ruined garments decorating your body would not budge under your trembling fingertips, so you eased into the tub fully-clothed. The water was scorching hot against the exposed parts of skin, but as you adjusted, you found that you preferred it. The bitter cold of the Fjerdan border still bit into your skin, so you welcomed the hot pain.

Cold. Chernast. Pain. Burn. The connection formed before you could stop it, and you were plagued by the memories from days before. You whimpered, curling into a fetal position. You remembered your weak attempts at healing the fatal injuries that littered the bodies of your fallen friends; the Fjerdan warriors charging you, axes raised to cut you down; the burning rage as your hands moved in ways they never had before; Fjerdan blood mixing with Grisha as it splattered into the snow.

The rap of knuckles against the door startled you out of your trance. The general’s voice sounded from the other side, “Is it okay to come in?”

You froze. Had it really been that long?

The door creaked open. He stepped into the room, his eyes finding yours. He let out an exasperated sigh at your state: curled in the tub, clothed, the water barely warm, and skin still dirty. His figure disappeared into the other room, bringing back with him a wooden chair.

He took a seat by the tub, reaching forward. His hands rested on your shoulders, smoothing over the fabric as his fingers moved to work at the buttons of your ruined kefta. The general was close enough now for you to smell him. A whirl of musk and spice filtered through your nose. You inhaled deeply, the scent strangely calming you.

The rest of your layers were stripped from your skin, and he folded the garments--Saints know why; they were beyond the help of any Fabrickator. You were left in a loose shirt and pants. The muck and grime caking your skin itched, and it took everything in you not to scrape it off. Your fingernails dug into the fat of your calves, jabbing through the thin material of your pants. You curled further into yourself, head rested against your knees. The pain brought you to the present, and it was all you could do to focus on that.

“What did this to you?” the general asked, rolling up his sleeves. He rubbed a bar of soap against a damp towel until the suds grew to his liking. He pressed the cloth to the skin of your hands, gently rubbing away the grime.

It was a different way of asking what happened, with an implication that you were not the cause. If only he knew that you were. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

“You’re a Heartrender, no? You must remember the attack.”

“I’m a Healer.”

The confession stalled his movements. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he continued his work in the silence that followed.

“I do,” you whispered, after a moment. “I do remember.”

Kirigan didn’t say anything. He glared at the bruises marking your arms from the Heartrenders’ grip.

“Fjerdan warriors attacked in the night. We never saw them coming. There was so much blood, so many bodies.”

“But you weren’t one of them.”

“No. I was trying to help those still alive. Heal them, if I could. Saints, at that point I was saving them just for them to die again.” You swallowed, thick and teary-eyed. “One of them found me, in the midst of it all. He pinned me to the ground. I saw the axe raise. And I just…panicked.”

By now, Kirigan had moved to cleaning your face. He dabbed carefully at your forehead.

“My hands were on his chest, and I felt every bone in his body break.”

You were disgusted with yourself. You were a Healer, not a Heartrender. It was your chosen specialization because you could not stand the thought of causing another person pain–you wanted to help. And yet here you were, one massacre later.

His finger smoothed the crease of your brows. “That sounds like self defense to me.”

“It could’ve been. If I hadn’t hunted down every warrior after that.” He gestured for you to stand. A fluffy towel wrapped around your shoulders, soaking in the sopping wet material of your clothes. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked as you stepped from the tub.

“Taking care of me.”

“Someone needed to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A pregnant pause. You thought you may have overstepped or offended him. He pulled you close by the towel on your shoulders, fingers gripping the sides of your jaw. His thumb rubbed against your cheek. “I did. I know what it’s like to feel like the monster.”

“General–”

“Kirigan. Just Kirigan.”

“Kirigan.” You smiled, if only a small one, for the first time in weeks. “Thank you.”

--

buy me a coffee

[not-a-heretic]

there is a noticeable lack of jake art around here so i’ve decided to fix that

i made this drawing for @widowswinter for her birthday a few days ago (i love you bestie 🫵♥️) this piece belongs entirely to her.

without background

sketch and base color

[justanoasisimagines]

Hey Darlin

Summary; Finn asks you to move in with him Pairing; Finn Abernathy x Female Reader A/N; Requests are open! Credit to @cafekitsune for the banner and the divider

I have thinking about you a lot lately. Thinking about us too. I never thought I'd ever meet my soulmate. If I'm being honest I'm not sure I believed they existed. But without a shadow of a doubt, you are my soulmate. I'm thanking my lucky stars you've entered my life. I promise you now sweetheart I'm never going to take you for granted. I'd attempt to give you the moon if I could. Hell, I'd give you the whole galaxy if it were possible. You deserve it all darlin. Which has got me thinking. I was wondering if perhaps you'd want to move in with me. You could move into mine or we could find somewhere together. I really don't mind as long as I get to wake up to you every morning for the rest of our lives.

Your always, Love, FInn x

[stealingyourbones]

Out of all of the people The Ghost King Phantom expected to relate to, it definitely wasn’t the scrawny red headed photographer of the Daily Planet. Jimmy Olsen has gotten so many temporary superpowers over his time being Superman’s friend. Hell, he once gained a 4th dimensional being’s reality warping abilities when he was given said dimensional being’s powers during a fight. Sure there’s a dozen or so heroes with the same amount of powers he has, but none as suddenly granted to them as a all powerful god that can relate to a teenager.

[lilmissnatcat24]

im writing a shakarian one shot that's actually so out of pocket im getting slightly ashamed with myself, please enjoy

When Shepard first left the Battery, door swooshing close behind her, leaving Garrus alone in what could only be described in a fugue state in a room that resembled less of a gun battery and more of a coffin-- the only thing he could think of was how in the world he was supposed to have sex with a woman without plates to protect their skin from his talons. Did she realize that? That she had such a thin epidermis that all he had to do was look at it sharply and it would rupture? Had she ever seen his talons? He knew the answer to that before he ever proverbially asked it in his own head: no. Of course she hasn’t seen your hands, he thought. That’s much too intimate for whatever it is that you and Shepard are. Maybe she’d back out if she saw them. Maybe she’d come to her senses. Or maybe, he’d shave them down for her.  Garrus attempted to lean over his calculations once more on his console. All of the numbers on the screen blurred together, seemingly floating into the air around him and making him slightly motion sick. Or, it was possibly due to the fact that the only friend he had left in the galaxy just told him she wanted to fuck him. That potentially could have been it, too.  He’d talk to Dr. Chakwas, get Shepard’s medical history. Maybe Cerberus undid a few of the screws she had left in her head. Or, maybe the Collectors were one big, elaborate cover for Cerberus. Maybe they just wanted to run tests on cross-species intercourse, and Shepard was the galaxy’s most expensive guinea pig.  Despite it all, despite the disbelief, Garrus felt a warm sensation in his gut. It wasn’t heartburn or indigestion. It wasn’t a stomachache. It wasn’t anything that could be explained rationally. He ate the same exact thing every day, and unless Gardner decided to mix his rations up with the levos, he doubted that he was getting poisoned.  It wasn’t until Garrus tried to touch his stomach did it flourish into something else entirely. It was arousal. He swallowed it down, suddenly horrified and disgusted with his own treacherous body. Was that all it took to get him going anymore? What was he, fifteen years old and fresh faced cadet in his first week of bootcamp? Had it been so long since he’d been with another person that even just the insinuation of sex turned him on? 

[ardentpoop]

samchuck propaganda

[5sospenguinqueen]

Nina: Would you punch Kaz for ten Kruge?

Wylan: No!

Inej: Absolutely not! That’s too little.

Jesper: Sure, why not?

Y/N: I will pay you ten Kruge to let me punch Kaz.

[crowsdaily]

Wylan + blue shirts and suspenders

[bookishdream]

Something he wants

kaz brekker x fem!reader word count: 2k CW: a bit of unpleasant touching, but nothing further than that

If one peered carefully into the dark, they would see a pair of young adults walking down the cobblestone street. One of them – a man – limping and clicking his cane. The other one – a woman – with long hair and a magnificent dress, its colors conveying the moonlight. And they were arguing. 

“I said no,” the man’s voice was hoarse, loud enough for his companion’s ears but quiet enough so that no one else could hear. “Your complaining won’t help change my mind.”

“You’re unbearable, Brekker,” she remarked, crossing her arms on her chest. The gown had puffy, tulle sleeves. The pattern of roses with thorns was woven into the fabric, cleverly covering her crow tattoo. “I told you I would go no matter what you’d say, so here I am. And you know we have a better chance of obtaining information using me as bait.” She let her arms loose, playing with the cuffs of her dress. It was cold in Ketterdam and her dress had a wide opening that showed her entire back. 

“I don’t care,” Kaz rolled his eyes. The crow on his cane blinked mischievously, sending shivers down the woman’s spine. 

“Kaz, no offense, but you’re as pretty as Pim’s rear,” she looked into his eyes. Obviously she lied. However, she would never admit that to anyone. “I am your best shot at getting whatever you need. And it will be a lot easier than breaking into his house.” 

“You’re a stubborn thing, aren’t you?” he sent a smirk her way. Only later that night will he realize that a bit of red on her cheeks wasn’t from the freezing temperatures, but from the way he looked at her. And did he look at her, all right. Kaz didn’t pay attention to anything unless it looked like a stack of kruge on his desk. But when she had entered the Crow Club, demanding an audience with him, he had been stunned to say at least. Her hair had flown when she’d darted past Jesper, straight into Kaz’s cane. 

“Pardon?” she’d asked, eyeing the crow on his walking stick. “Are you Kaz Brekker? If not, get out of my way”

“Saints,” Jesper had whispered behind her, his palms loosely on his revolvers. 

“Why are you seeking him?” Brekker had said casually, the cane still in between the fierce creature and the staircase. 

“Unless you’re Brekker, I won’t be speaking with you,” she had crossed her arms on her chest, eyeing Kaz. “But you are him, aren’t you? The cane, the gloves, Nina said you’d be unusual.”

“Un–” Jesper had started, but one look from the Dirtyhands had made him stop. “I’ll go guard the door”

“Good idea,” Kaz had finally let his cane drop, leaning his body on it. His eyes focused on the woman. “What do you want?”

“I need your help,” she breathed. He’d only raised his eyebrows. “I need you to kill my father.”

Since then, they had been working together. Y/n with her striking beauty would seduce merchants, when Kaz was robbing their pockets. In more or less legal ways – depending on their mood. Not a single soul was aware that Brekker had such a compelling ace up his sleeve. 

“Kaz, please,” she whispered, her dress swooshing on the wind. “I dressed up, you can’t let my efforts go to waste.”  

Brekker rolled his eyes, but he must have admitted that the dress, in fact, looked magnificent on the woman. The color lit up her eyes and the brocade corset was making her skin glow. Yet, he didn’t speak another word, pointing his cane in the direction of the perpendicular street. Y/n tilted her head. “Which house?”

“The one with the green door.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” she nodded her head in acknowledgment. “No mourners.” 

“No funerals,” Kaz replied. 

Y/n went down the street. The lamps were dimmed, not giving much light, yet she could see the path clearly. When she was younger, she would wander around this district, dreaming about being an important persona herself. She would pretend that she was a grisha. One day she would be an Inferni and the other she’d be a Heartrender. She would have to be careful so as not to get caught by stadwatch or worse – her father. He despised grisha, the littlest mention about their kind got his blood boiling. He would murder them. And he would make her watch. 

When she got close to the door, she took a breath in. Her body tensed and her heart beating so fast, she could swear people down the street were able to hear it. She knocked, once, twice. No one answered at first, but a moment later she noticed a loud noise of someone making their way to the door. 

“Who’s there?!” a man’s voice echoed from behind the entrance. 

“Please, I need your help,” she strived to make her voice sound as desperate as she could. She forced her palms to tremble and she bit her lower lip. She promised twenty minutes and she needed to be a bit faster than that. “I-i got lost,” she stammered. 

The door opened with a wide swing, the man’s face was wrinkled and he didn’t look as pleasant as she remembered from the photo. When his eyes laid on her body, she knew exactly when he thought about taking advantage of her. She knew what he saw. A broken girl, who looked like a doll, with her big, princess-looking dress, smeared make-up and a trembling lip. She couldn’t look longer than a few seconds at him, which he also took notice of. She was nothing but a broken piece to him. And she made him believe in whatever he wanted. 

He helped her get up and while still touching her arms, he led her to the office or a living room, she didn’t know. His breath reeked of whatever alcohol he was drinking prior to her interruption. She wanted to grimace but kept her face straight, Kaz trusted her to get this work done and she didn’t plan on doing otherwise. 

“So, darling, what are you doing in this neighborhood?” He forced her to sit in one of the armchairs standing opposite to the big, oak desk. “Such a fine, little thing getting lost in the night? You never know what can get from behind the corner.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She suppressed a shudder and only smiled, hoping she looked as coy as she wanted to convey. She wanted to punch him. 

“My father was playing cards in one of the clubs,” she started, her fingers were trembling so she intertwined them. “I just wanted to take a breath, but I went too far and I got lost. I don’t know what to do…” she forced her voice to break. The old man’s face was focused on her lips the entire time she was talking, her heart beat with a new dose of uneasiness. Where the hell was Kaz?

“It’s okay, doll” he placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her head. She could smell a cigar smoke somewhere in the room. She didn’t notice that the lamps were dimmed and the heavy, dark curtains were blocking out the light from the street lamps. She discreetly scanned the room, looking out for any possible exits, but the merchant wasn’t as stupid as she originally had thought. There was only one way in and only one way out. Right behind her. 

The merchant was looking into her eyes, searching for something. “You think you are so clever huh?” his hold on her chin started growing stronger, soon he moved his palm to her throat, squeezing it, cutting her airways. She sucked in a breath but couldn’t do much about her situation. “Do you think I haven’t seen you around this bastard Brekker?” He squeezed her neck harder, she could feel her eyes water. “Do you think I wasn’t aware you would be coming here tonight?” 

She tried speaking, but her efforts came out fruitless. She saw in his eyes that he had no intention to let her go. She was happy she would die in a gorgeous dress, at least. 

“Oh, no, no, no,” he tsked. “You won’t die tonight, doll, not until I get my answers.” The merchant let go of her neck, just so she could utter a sentence.

“I will never betray Kaz,” she spat on his face, clawing at his palm. 

‘You bitch,” he let her go. Y/n saw an opening and kicked him into his stomach. She turned on her heel and made her way to the door, but the man managed to grab her waist and kept her in one place. “I wonder if Brekker cares enough for you to come here,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers along her spine. She felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rising. She tried wiggling out of his hold, but to no avail. 

“Actually, I’ve been here for quite some time now,” came a voice from behind the desk. This husky voice, whose owner she wanted to murder with her bare hands at that moment. “You have something I want, Marcus.”

Y/n saw Jesper on the threshold, pointing both of his guns in their direction. When she looked up, Zemeni winked at her, letting her body relax. She forced herself free out of the merchant’s arms and made her way towards the exit. She was trembling. She saw Kaz motioning for Marcus to sit on the armchair she was previously on. The merchant was making his way to this direction slowly, never letting Brekker out of his sight. How clever. 

“I must admit, your bitch is a feisty one,” he put his ankle onto his other knee, resting his hands on the armrests. In a second his head flew to the right and blood was leaking from his cheekbone. 

“Call her a bitch one more time and I will break every single one of your fingers,” Kaz remarked calmly, his demeanor still the same. “I came for the money.”

“I don’t have your money,” Marcus countered, clutching a handkerchief to his face. “I have never stolen from you.” 

“You are mistaken,” he got up, pulling a paper out of his pocket. “You were about to steal from me, Marcus. That’s what you wrote to your acquaintance, isn’t it?”

The merchant sat there, wordlessly, his eyes wide. Y/n smirked into his direction, whistling. “You’re a naughty boy, Marcus, a naughty boy.”

The man only snarled at her, she rolled her eyes in response. 

“Well, since you wanted to steal from me, all I want is a percentage of your shares in one of the clubs in the Harbor,” Kaz looked at Marcus, his eyes still locked on the merchant. 

“You are crazy,” he yelled. 

“And you are a dead man unless you agree. It doesn’t have to be a big part, just a small one would be enough.” 

After some time, Kaz had his shares and she had a bruise around your neck. She could still feel the phantom of Marcus’s hands on her throat. Until it heals, she won’t make it go away. 

“So now what?” Jesper asked, his revolvers back in his belt and a smirk on his lips. “You’re going to sabotage the rest of his clubs?”

She was looking at the pavement, but not hearing Kaz’s response, she lifted her head and sent him a look. “Saints, you really want to do that.”

“Why else would I want shares from only one club? It wouldn’t be much if there were five others now, would it?” 

Jesper whistled at his words and resumed his vigorous steps towards the Crow Club. Y/n stayed behind, her legs heavy. 

“Kaz?” she whispered. She saw him lifting his eyebrow. “Why didn’t you help me when you saw him strangling me?” 

“I didn’t see it,” he replied. 

“What?”

“I only saw him holding you and you were trying to elbow him. And y/n I wanted to smash his skull so hard that his brain would leak out of his ears,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“That’s disgusting,” she breathed a light laugh. Her brows knitted together. “How did you get in?”

“A magician never tells his secrets,” he smirked, leaving her behind him. 

[junior-stargazer-goke20]

In "Bones and All," this haunting shot captures the raw vulnerability of Maren, the film’s protagonist. Seated alone in a dimly lit room, her face and clothes smeared with blood, she stares into the distance with a hardened expression. The floral wallpaper and lace curtains provide a delicate, almost quaint backdrop, starkly contrasting with her blood-soaked appearance. This juxtaposition between innocence and horror reflects Maren's internal struggle between humanity and her darker urges. The careful composition—a blood-soaked young woman set against old-fashioned decor—creates a haunting beauty, presenting violence with an eerie calm. It forces us to sit with the discomfort of her existence in this incongruous setting, capturing the film’s unique balance between tenderness and raw savagery.