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just-an-enby-lemon · 1 year ago

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The main cast of my Two Watchers AU, presenting:

● Elias Bouchard ●

- Head of the Bouchard Institute of Paranormal Studies

- Choose a Lonely Marked guy no one remembered the name of to be his "sucessor" so he could finally keep his original name when body hoping. Not realizing the nepotism acusation.

- Has morals and tries to avoid murder but is still an avatar so still does it.

- Major Eye Avatar through a series of unlikely coincidences, bad choices, bad friends and complicated shennanigans.

- 200 years of this and he still has no clue what he is doing but he thinks is somewhat working? Maybe??

- Smokes A LOT of weed.

- Has a weird thing going on with Peter Lukas (toxic love triangle where at least two of the three people involved hate it).

- Has a massive crush on soft boy Michael Shelley.

- Is trying to launch merch for the Institute for extra money.

- Has multiple failed tentarives of murdering both Jonah and Gertrude (for different reasons).

●Jonah Magnus●

- New employee of the Bouchard Institute of Paranormal Studies

- Only in his late tweenties. But has a very vintage fashion sense (plus eye jewerly at least partialy influenciated by Annabelle)

- The Eye new chosen Watcher (to Elias dispair)

- Had a traumatic enconteer with the End once.

- Never talks about his past but got into supernatural circles young (killed some people) and knows a lot of other avatars. It's friends with Annabelle Cane, or as much as both of them can even call someone a friend.

- Is a very competent avatar and manipulator.

- Elias' assistant (the one that does the actual work)

- Wants to find out how to make a sucessfull Watcher Crown and end the world.

- Has a thing with Peter Lukas (is the one that is enjoying the love triangle).

- When not plotting and being evil he can be found making random spreadsheets with Jon, sleeping around (mostly with donors) or using his powers to steal other people's birthday cakes.

• Gertrude Robinson•

- Comptent queen

- Cold ass bitch

- Ending rituals one explosion at a time.

- Doesn't even consider Elias assassination attempts as a real threat. Does consider Jonah as a threat tho.

- Sacrificed Emma to the Spiral instead (because she discovered Emma true intencions earlier).

- Has some complicated romantic tension with Agnes Montaugue.

● Michael Shelley ●

- Oblivous ray of sunshine

- Oldest of the Archival Assistants

- Thinks he is responsable for the younger assistants and tries his best to take care of them.

- He and Martin had at least one tea making competition.

- Likes Elias but is shy.

- Works with a literal ghost and still just doesn't see the paranormal.

• Sasha James •

- Was called in to replace Emma.

- Besties with Tim and in good terms with Jon.

- It was only her and Michael under there for a bit (and the Delanos but Eric is a ghost and Gerry DOESN'T WORK THERE).

- Gertrude wants her to be the new Archivist.

- Is noisy because she is too curious not to, but tries to use the knowledge for good.

- Believes everyone wears a bit of a mask and it's fine with that.

- Is protective over Michael.

- Requesting Jon and Tim as research support (not really part of the archives but the research team that actually does the follow ups) was her idea after she and Michael had to deal with the chaos that is Halloween in the Archives by themselfs.

● Tim Stoker ●

- Sexy and he knows it.

- Besties with Sasha.

- Works with Jon on research. They are research budies.

- Sasha helped him during the year for extra help on the Halloween influx of fake statement givers mess.

- When Elias decided to turn the extra help into "actually archive work is not researching stuff so having some researchers specifically of the archives makes sense here's a bonus" he accepted it for Sasha's sake but thinks it will help him with Danny.

- Don't let the not really archive tittle get you, he is bound to there.

- Tries to make Jon chill from time to time.

- Calls Elias 'Double Boss' , Gertrude 'Boss' and Jonah 'Boss Jr.', convinced Jon and Michael on calling Sasha 'Future Boss' with him.

- Dresses even wilder because while it deeply annoys Jonah not only Elias has no dress code but Elias always dresses with different punny weed t-shirts (and sometimes punny Eye t-shirts). Gets wose when he discovers it annoys Jonnah.

- Does not like Jonnah from the start.

●Jonnathan Sims●

- Early twenties, baby researcher Jon.

- Recently started walking with Tim and Sasha and is still on the 'holy shit friends' phase.

- Jonah is obcessed with him and it creeps him out soo much.

- OG Elias is clearly manipulating and using him but instead of the original "planning to use him to End the Wolrd", Elias just is a bad boss and is super keen in how much of a workaholic Jon is.

- The weird new tittle was made to go around Gertrude's refusal in hiring new assistants but also was because Elias knew if he did that Jon would work in both places. Jon does. He has two jobs but is only payed for one. Tim is pissed over it.

- Secretly just wants to play DnD.

- Since the Eye was displeased with both it's Archivist and Watcher (until Jonah came along) and Jon started going into the Archives earlier he is already starting to became the Eye specialest lil boy. But it's still way too early for anyone to notice.

- No one understands how come he and Gerry (rebel who doesn't even work here) became friends so easilly but they are cool.

- Isn't mean to Martin because he doesn't have the same reasons so he is just akward with Martin. While annoyed he at least does help Martin with how to do things right this time (as his insecurity over not fitting is canonically the reason he was mean to Martin and he was shocked Martin faked his resume I'm a fiirm beliver paranoia man S1 Jon thought Martin did a bad job on purpose because Martin knew Jon had no clue what he was doing). He is a bit mean to Michael first, because while he gets the whole listening to authority (specially sterm old ladys that scream with you and ignore you), the affection and "must protect Gertrude and my juniors' freaks him out at first.

●Martin Blackwood●

- Elias third favourite employee (first is Rose because he rly rly needs a PA, second is Jon because he can always persuade Jon to make any extra work necessary) because he finds the whole lying on the CV thing hilarious. Elias always smilles at Martin as if they are sharing a joke and is nicer to him than to most. Martin is confused by it.

- Was transfered to the Archives by Jonnah that used his place as personal assistant to saciate his curiosity (and maybe bet with Peter later over the guy).

- Has a crush on Jon, specially after Jon starts to begrundgly help him out.

- Tim likes him very fast.

- Had a dispute over who was the best tea maker with Michael and won.

- Is unconfortable with Michael at first because HE is the one that takes care of people. His coworkers should not be taking care of him and even less ofering him biscuits. Later they start to combo their methods and it gets easier.

- People compare him to Michael, but Martin has bite and knife skills. You'll NOT want to deal with an angry Martin. (He can also be VERY passive-agressive).

- Writes poetry at work.

●Gerard Keay Delano●

- Got Eric page at age 8 and runned from Mary at 13 getting by with the help of the ghost of his dad. Later found a way to take Eric from the book but since was via an artifact Eric's ghost is still around.

- Against Eric's advices decided to help Gertrude but refuses to get hired

- No matter how much Elias tries Gerard does NOT WORK AT THE INSTITUTE. Jonah tried to kick him out once but gave up.

- Basically a third assistant, Sasha and him mostly do the dangerous stuff to protect Michael. They also agreed to keep him in the dark for his sake.

- Thanks to having a bigger support group than Gertrude he discovered his cancer at an early stage and was abble to get treatment.

- Sasha and Jon tried to help him dye his hair better but he still sucks at it.

- He and Jon are friends and no one gets how people that are so different can work so well together and bond the way they did

- It's very criptic and mysterious, Gertrude finds it funny, Sasha thinks it's a bit annoying, Michael and Eric think is cute and Jon thinks is the coolest thing ever. Jon is just very hyped about Gerry in his own Jon way.

- Aro boy. Made out with Tim at an office party.

- Might have made out with Jonah (as a replacement for Albretch) but I'm not sure yet

•Eric Delano•

- Is a ghost

- Connected to the end

- Tried to guide Oliver into avatardoon

- He could accept death still but he hangs on for Gerry's sake

- Really loves his child and wished he could've been a better dad

- Obviously has a massive relationship trauma

- Lots of dad jokes

- Knows a lot about the supernatural

- Fights with Gertrude over how she treats the assistants, it's the only person Gertrude actually listens for out of mutual respct.

#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #possibly ooc

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altairtalisman · 2 years ago

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Hana's Bio

"Whoa now! If ya gonna roast marshmallows with my flames, at least offer some to me!"

More details on Hana is under the cut

Name: Hana Ragao'a-Dull (née Dull)

Age: 340

Height: 167 cm

Birthday: 31 Secuna 1682 (Khra'ia) [self-declared]

Orientation: Cisgender Bisexual Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Species: Dullahan (formerly human)

Country of Birth: Balwirk

Likes: Children (non-romantic), marshmallows, candy canes, all potato dishes, shiny objects

Dislikes: Anything sour, eggplants, losing her head (literally)

Hobbies: Collecting coins, reading, sewing

Personality: Kind, humble, and has a way with children... along with a practical streak that teeters on immoral at times

Style: Summer casual wear, along with an orange hairband and a pressed silver-coloured penny pendant

Abilities: Shadow manipulation, knows how to use a sword as well as utilise basic arcane magic

Background: As a human, Hana grew up as an orphan without a name or any knowledge to her background except for her birth year. Her time during the orphanage was smooth-sailing, supplemented with the occasional thievery meant to support her orphanage. Regardless, she was content with her life

When she turned 19, the Unois Empire waged war against Balwirk which led to chaos within the country. During this period, dullahans started being more active and helped defend Balwirk against the empire. Hana was fascinated by the reclusive dullahans, who usually only appear during Samhain and sought them out

Eventually, she met a female dullahan who offered to turn her into one since she had a strong interest in the species in exchange for her hand in marriage. Hana agreed, finding the dullahan attractive as well as wealthy enough to provide for her orphanage without stealing

The dullahan proceeded to prepare the ritual for Hana's turning, which ended by beheading her. Now a dullahan, Hana was told to name herself so that they could legalise the marriage. Once the administrative process was complete, Hana learnt that the dullahans were similar to human and elvian civilisations given that the dullahans were mainly made up of these two species, with her wife teaching her how to use a sword, manipulate shadows, and write after learning that Hana was actually illiterate

Hana was supposed to learn how to cast arcane magic from her wife, but the latter was killed in the war which separated Balwirk into two halves. Due to the number of dullahan casualties from the war, the dullahan population dwindled to the extent that Hana assumed that she was the only one left

Saddened that she could never tell her wife that she had developed genuine feelings at some point before her death, she eventually returned to the orphanage that she grew up in and helped around, with the thrilled children playing with her now detached head. A group of children then brought Hana's head to Jackson, thinking that they could have a 'beheaded tea party' with Jackson's pumpkin head

Fascinated by the dullahan, Jackson tested the waters by attempting to con the children of their money and Hana's head. Hana saw through his attempt and managed to prevent the children from losing her head and their money to the jack o'lantern, but was impressed by the way he used his charm and wit to convince the children to trust him

Their mutual interest in each other led to a friendship between them, with both of them swapping stories about their lives and discovering that they both want the world to be more inclusive. This gave Jackson the idea of starting a hotel with a focus on inclusivity, with an offer to make this idea a reality extended to the dullahan. After negotiating the terms to ensure that she got a fair share of their future earnings and entrusting the welfare of the orphanage to the most responsible orphan, Hana agreed to work with the jack o'lantern

During their travels to search for a viable location to build an inclusive hotel in, they visited Nikyrias and met Ilias, who they asked to give them a tour of the country. He agreed and during their time in Nikyrias, Ilias taught Hana basic arcane magic at her request as well as helped Jackson to put together a makeshift metal skeleton upon learning that the jack o'lantern was able to create vines from the pumpkin head

Years after the collapse of the Unois Empire, they decided to approach Ilias and Noah, the latter whom had gained recognition for his part in the Relnivon Rebellion. After getting Ilias on board, Hana was sent to convince Milovan to help fund their construction of the hotel

Once Milovan agreed to help them and a deal was reached for them to work in the hotel in exchange for the money received after he sold his castle, Hana and Jackson opened the hotel successfully

After a few years, Hana recognised that it was time to really start diversifying their employees so as to cement the hotel's aim of being inclusive. She, along with Milovan, started to advertise job openings for the hotel with the added intention of giving Ilias's army longer breaks as well as providing a safe haven for others without allowing them to freeload

It's generally assumed that without Hana, Jackson wouldn't be as successful at running the Hallowed Hotel than present

Former Appearance:

#Hallowed Hotel #Hana Ragao'a-Dull #tw death mention #tw war mention #tw eyestrain #Altair draws

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doublekanble · 1 year ago

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Fond

Alastor/reader (gnc)

platonic-romantic. (not specify, "i love you" are not strictly romantic)

word count: 8k.

reader is referred to once as short. Al loves calling you little in his head every other sentence, not meant to be how small you are. i do not care if you're 10 foot tall. Alastor goes on for a paragraph about how he would eat you near the end👍

(i am not a native english speaker! do excuses me for grammatical errors, words can only catch so much. the wordy part is me though:fire:)

You are an enigma. He decided. Living proof that once you fall below the earth, you can’t climb back up. If there is redemption, he’s sure, void of all the sarcastic charm he dressed himself in, on a particularly hot afternoon, you would’ve fly away from here already. Up there with the angels and the big city and their funny signs and attractive men (according to Charlie).

In the empty living space that usually packs itself with the lively guest and workers here (headcount of seven whole people! not including himself!) your small sigh would’ve echoes if not for the ever-present statics drowning it out, while you dutifully turn back to your electronic device and kept swiping. (a phone, you used to insist he called it such, until you quit. Hah. It’s less than an appropriate way to pass the time, or charming, but he digressed). He would’ve taken that as a sign of disrespect, but it’s you, so he waited for you to think about it.

“s ’not like I want to go up there either way, that sort of place felt wrong somehow.” A booing track accompanied this dismissive statement of yours. Your shoulder shakes a bit, he would only ever tell you in a way that leaves you with a little bit of doubt that you’re one of his favorite conversational partner. (because what is life without having a bit of fun and making people questioned your true intentions every step of the way? Truly, that’s not living at all!)

“And yet here you are! Surely a darling little thing like you should’ve been right up there! Either that, or…” withering stares, he knew you mean nothing by it. He can feel his ever-living smile grows just a tiny bit when you look away. You’ll laugh too if you stare too long. “You’re withholding your grave sins! from us! Oh the drama! Was it murder? Did you run off with someone, leaving your beloved family behind and never look back? A loving suicide maybe? Come now my dear cohost, the suspense is too much! The audience is right on the edge of their seats waiting for you!”

You chuckle, making no attempts at hiding it other than covering your mouth. Moving his microphone that’s now held close to your face for the dramatic act away from you, “I wish I get to do something that cool. But no. Husk was pretty spot on with that reading he did on me, actually.”

‘you’ve walked to the end of the earth, only to do the same thing you did at the start.’

Alastor likes to think he doesn’t think about it that much. Only that he somewhat pressed you into repeating grumpy Whiskers words out of pure curiosity. Not that it ever takes much for you to tell him anything that is.

(you were his designated observer at the time while he was away, your insistence on repeating things exactly at it is with not a hair misplace amused him greatly even now. How he would’ve love to dissect your nifty little brain, one would simply pass you off as a boring little thing. How lucky is he.)

“I can’t drink. Can’t do drugs. I don’t tell people why I’m here because I just, genuinely don’t know. Unless…” eyes briefly glancing at him in thought, you added with a dry laugh. “-the Big Man upstairs hates it when someone doesn’t believe in him. Or he takes into account sins from when I was a kid and stoles my parent’s money? maybe that’s why?”

With a wave of his hand, head cocks to an exact 90 degree following a crack, holding onto a cane echoing the same sentiments, a chorus of scandalous gasp and oohs “Why, stealing?! How utterly despicable you are! Even I can’t deny that’s as good of a reason as any. Seems like you’ll be stuck down here with us for a long time then my dear!”

The conversation tapers off to another topic that Alastor simply doesn’t have the heart to recalled. Shamefully, confidently, Alastor indulges in the fact you look at him in his eyes with such mirth in yours, corners of your lips lifted up to simply give him a half-hearted smile, betrayed by the fondness in your tone. “I know.”

(how he would love to crack open your ribcages to be closer to your adorable little heart. Would you then look at him in the same way? Even though he’s sure of the answer, he finds himself hesitating over it. One thing for sure. If he were to even ask you in the first place, you would let him.)

You’ve been more distracted over the days. Unamused, he noted to himself. You’ve always been a fast walker, short legs making up for the distance with how you pretty much glide across the hotel at time, only the clacks of your shoes can give people a guide as to where you were. Your eyes, dark and silent, always open fully just to make sure people can be less put off by the fact you’ll inevitably scared someone half to double hell when you arrive without a sound.

(your logic as to how this works is yet another mystery, you also were very insistent on the fact this is not a mystery and he’s making it sounds like one because it gives you a reason to act like youre upset. You two still got a bet going on with zero way of knowing how it supposed to end.)

His little chump, naturally silent yet masked it with life, now haunts the hall with the way you're walking about. Your eyes droops in the way you would only let it in privates, but now in the open. Almost in a day, his lovely entertainment turns to someone he can’t get a lovely laugh out of anymore. He likes to think he missed having such an encouraging audience member who'd so eagerly waits for him just to listen to a joke or two. Now he gets why you always insisted your eyes is more like that of a dead fish. Unnerving in a way akin to locking eyes with a doll, perching up high on your shelf, nearly falling off, but never close enough.

Beyond all of that, Alastor is nothing if not a man in need of entertainment. Something to keep him on his tipsy toes. And with everyone at the hotel moving around on their feet like rats in a race. There’s simply not that much to do, that is, if he wants to chip in on the defense reinforcement. The reinforcement he’s sure to rid the hotel of once all of this is over, that is. Effort be damned! This place is his stage, not a war bunker!

(Also, he can only watch them for so long, and Charlie with her skilled feet can only last her so long before she trips on a stray piece of wood in her mad dash to get everything in check, if only dear Vaggie isn’t there, he could’ve gotten a chuckle or two then.)

Thusly, with everyone so busy, and his part already planned out, all he get to go off of is the upcoming show, and excitement for a fun show where he also gets to play both the main character and hero can, unfortunately, only last this poor wayward soul for so long. So, for the fun of it, he thinks more about what could’ve gotten you so down.

Maybe it’s the increasing heat. Maybe you’ve been eating at odd hours and skipping meals again (he needs to check up on that more). Maybe it’s the date of the early extermination drawing ever closer and closer with each passing seconds, and how Charlie managed to snag the entire hotel a front row ticket to meet the ever-elusive lady Death and the casket bound to her body(s). Or maybe you haven’t been drinking water again, relying on disgusting modern sugary drink to keep you up and awake for as long as you can (something he also needs to keep in check).

It could be anything, really.

And yet he still finds himself standing next to you, who’ve remain hush by an open window with a heavy gaze even before he’d arrive. Eyes chasing the burning sky line, only turning to him for a moment following a greeting, then right back at staring. Below you, nails and wooden boards that realistically will provide zero comfort in this sort of situations sitting haphazardly in a row.

“Do you think we can actually do this?” you asked with nothing more than a sigh. Your tone could’ve been seen as rude in any other case. “If something goes wrong, what do we do about it?”

‘What do I do about it?’ growing so used to you, he can read you like an open book. He would’ve shed a tear and a cheer for your display of a bleeding heart. If only he ever had any.

Alastor likes to think that his life was always his to controlled. Ever since he dropped down this god forsaken land. with style and with grace, he’d crushed everyone and everything that stands in his way. That was always how it goes. Someone stands up to him like a fool, either full of themselves or underestimating him, and he would walk away with nothing more than the muscles and flesh pulls at the end of his shoes. Alastor is strong, he knows he is. Even with the chain around him, he wouldn’t falter.

Thusly, with an odd crinkled at the corner of his eyes, and a smile that barely pulls at his aching skin. One of his hands reaches out for your face, the other takes your hand. You letting him lead you into whatever odd sort of dance he got in him today, which is just him spinning you around like a ragdoll in his hands. He, in a voice that could almost be seen as loving (to you or to him?). “You, don’t need to do anything my dear.”

“The show will end before the overtures ever starts. Unless you think your old pal Alastor won’t be able to pull his own weight?” leaving your face alone, he clutches at the air, feigning distresses “What a tragedy, my most precious friend, doubting ME!”

“It’s not that. I just, don’t know.” Almost like looking through him, to the hallway behind him, you look so much smaller than usual like this. You looked small and hopeless. Despite loving it on anyone else, on you, it looks like a stranger overstaying its welcome.

“Then tell me dear, what is it that you don’t know?” In any other case, if only you were a doll. “Whatever it is that you’re uncertain of in that brilliant brain of yours, do tell me! You know that I’m always here to assist you Cher.” He could’ve cleared that lost expression off your brow and painted you a new one.

“I trust you, I think,” your hand still firmly in his, a habit Alastor soon got used to once he started it “It’s just that I’m still sort of terrified about this. What if we lose something?” but he grips it just a tad tighter. Although trying his best to be careful with such a gesture, his claws still draw into your skin, just a tad bit too much.

(if only you were a doll.)

“Well, we certainly can’t help your little dreamy head from drifting off to faraway lands with such terrible worries! But how about this?” shaking his head to the beat of his own words, he knows just what will get you to freshen up. And right on beat, at that, you look at him, really look at him. “Let’s us make a deal then, no handshaking business needed.”

“I’ll make sure that everything will be spotless and clean. You’ll ended up finding that there wouldn’t even be a hair misplaced on my head! And you,”

Being someone who stays by Alastor’s side for a considerable amount of time means you’ll stop minding the blood of strangers that simply, came as a package with him. Though, your blood is always a different story. It’s not that he’s sorry about accidentally swiping you at time when you’re too closed and you both aren’t aware of it. It’s that you always laugh with a laughter coming from the inside of your innards that let him finds you a delightful little thing.

“Lift your chin up my dear. You’ve always look positively lovely with a smile.” it’s something he absolutely adores about you. You can’t stop yourself from smiling. And just like that, like always, you did.

(if only you are one, maybe he would finally be content let you fall from the shelves you hide yourself on and shattered on the ground, with nothing inside. Like that, there won’t be red.

Alas, you still bleed, no matter how much he wishes you can’t. And upsettingly, he also bleeds, no matter how much he wishes it would stop.)

Red is Alastor’s favorite color, for various reason, all throughout his life (and after), it follows after him faithfully like a little playful friend.

(sinking into the dark, he can’t feel anything, but he knew after this it’s going to be hard to walk around, or move around, for that matter. He would’ve laugh.)

First, there’s his dear old mother and her most favorite dress. The lovely shade of carmine enraptured him from the first moment he saw it. And it doesn’t help at all that his mother always smiles so, so bright when she has it on. His first ever love, and his second, his mother and the beautiful shade of carmine hanging in the closet.

(almost like dragging himself, Alastor lost track of time, he can’t feel his smile, he knows it’s still there. The blood lost, admittingly, getting to him a bit. He stumbled out of the shadow, the cacophony of the on-going battle and the rushing of his boiling blood all sounds like white noise to his own ears.)

After that, it’s the color of his first tailored suit. Alastor likes to think that he’s a simple man with simple taste, but even then, when thinking back on it, that suit was extremely plain and modest compared to anything else he gets in the future. A simple cardinal red for all its worth, he still remembers the last time he sees it. Buried deep in his ever-growing collection, he only ever wore it twice. Despite being fond of the suit itself at the time, there seems to never be another right occasion aside from those two dates.

(his new job and his first kill.)

Without fail, its also the color of blood. It still amazed him that the dirtiest rat on the street and in the dirt both shared the same shade of bright red. Time and time again, he expected at least one of them would bleed mud and oil and tar, none ever did. That bright red haunted his eyelids and it dragged him down to hell on unsteady feet and Alastor gladly follows it down there.

(something like that flashes to the back of his mind. He shakes it off and continued on unsteady feet.)

Red is his favorite color; it usually follows under the bottom of his shoe and stained his outercoat. At the end of his cane and on his fingertips, never his. It wasn’t supposed to be his.

(after who knows how long, on unsteady legs, while madly rambling to himself). He opens the trapdoor to the radio tower, his tower. He pulls himself in, more aware of his surroundings now, more aware of his broken cane and the busted microphone in his hand.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure where to put his hand after this. For the first time in a long time, he nearly stumbled into his control panel. For the first time in a long time, Alastor can smell his own, bright red blood, and he’s afraid. Surely there have to be a way out of this. Surely he can run. He wants out.

His ties to the hotel were always kept to a minimum, as best as he can possibly kept it. But he knows he’s getting too close, to them, to you. He’s getting more loose ends. More weakness. He can’t have more. Almost like a madman, he spat out with fervor. He almost died for them. Oh, what a show. He wants out.

But if he manages to held onto Husk for this long without him being able to pull away for a second, what can he do.

He blinks away the blood. Briefly, he thought of you, who waved at him before all of this starts.

He needs out.

(On much more steady legs, someone stand outside, under the shadow and simply listened. He must really be out of it if he’s this careless. You dragged yourself back. At least he’s not that hurt, you think.

Once you made it back to the group, you all but passed out. The spearhead logged in your left side taking a toll on you. Before you close your eyes, though. Amongst the panic chattering of everyone else, you thought about how he basically lost the deal.

Too bad you aren’t going to do anything about it. You’re suddenly are reminded of the little mark he left on your hand, it already healed.)

---

You two had a little game you played, started halfway through knowing (actually knowing) each other. You make small little deals about things, inconsequential and trivial things.

You would ask him something, or get him to follow a ridiculous joke as your straight man, and he would force you to join him on his outing, visiting meat shop or a trip to cannibal colony. If one of you failed to held up the other end of the small verbal deal, then out of pure moral obligation, you have to do one thing the other person asked for under all circumstances.

(you always ask him for something silly. Teleporting a cookie from the cookie jar right next to him, a notebook for your ever-growing collection of unused notebooks, a canvas you will never paint on and an easel that none of the canvas ever fits on, etc. in his case? Making you try his lovingly handmade meals with different type of meat in them. Your various talks about the human psychic and how people react differently to the same food when they can identify them versus when they can’t help landed you a spot as his number one lab rat. What’s more cannibalistic? You eating a venison demon, or him making it for you (and also eating it)? Who knows!)

Such a transaction with such a dangerous man would’ve been advised against, and Husk did warn you. But you, ever the jolly and charming fellow, put your heart into trusting him, and he was utterly delighted knowing you did. As much as he likes his own voice, he can’t come up with half the (quite frankly) insane thing you did to keep you both entertained on the trip to and fro. Usually, you would find your way to him the moment he breaks the deal, your shoes clacking in an unknown beat to everyone but him with a snake like grin, self-assuredly, you’d be declared the winner of this silly affair with the audience cheering for you, preening like a little cat. He’d act a shirker and you two would spend the evening joining in whatever antics you come up with for the fun of it.

That’s how it usually goes, but he only came back around when the hotel is done with its renovations (no thanks to him, really) in the middle of the group celebrating. Then afterwards he was given a tour of the new hotel, courtesy of Charlie, who he simply let pulled him away, mind on another problem he picks up immediately the moment he saw you again.

You’ve been avoiding him, plain and simple. Almost like making an effort not to even spare him a glance. With the way you’re rushing around with the influx of new guests, it would’ve been less suspicious if not for you not even looking his way when he calls for you, opting to cocking your head half way all wide eye and doe like and spat out excuses after excuses only to ran off again. If it was anyone else, you would’ve played them for a fool, you’re good at acting clueless. But he knows you, and he knows you know. Alastor noted with a slight bit of distaste. He would love to chalk this up to the fact you’ve lost two of your acquaintances (not friend) in a day, or that you’re simply upset with him for…retreating. But he knows you.

(was he offended over the notion of you rather wasting your nights away sitting next to the golden statue of the dragon guard talking about whatever you would’ve talk to him, with 100% less the audience? Or that you would stand and watch that blasted portrait with that same glance he’d works so hard to get rid of, over spending your time showing him whatever you were working on that day? Or that you still have enough free time to indulges Charlie’s silly games and exercises, or jest around with Angels, or doing quite literally anything else except from sparing him a glance? Never, he convinced himself that he simply finds things a bit more boring without you by his side.)

Lucky for him, as it was, he (only him) can only ever find you around when you’re off in your room doing whatever you do in there, or under the portrait and by the statue’s side. He would love to crashed in your room as he usually does, but noting how far off you are from him in the moment, it’ll only ever serves to push you further away. Hands gracefully behind his back, Alastor takes his time walking towards the tacky golden memorial outside, not seeing you in the hotel itself. And there you are.

Already hauled yourself up to sit next to it, your hands curl around a cup, staring off into space. Softly, you were mumbling about your day to Dazzle before his static and the song of the day (Leave a little for me, a little thing that always got you tapping your pointed shoes) became clearer and clearer as he creeped up right next to you. Then, you rasped out an odd greeting in return to his enthusiastic salutation and opted to stay silent afterward. He can feel his eye twitched as you seemingly folded into yourself, this game of yours is getting more ridiculous by the hour.

“I supposed you have an inquiry for me cher?”

You’ve always been hard to read to others, almost to a fault, yet nobody ever knows. Alastor prides himself on the fact only he alone can seamlessly pick up small tells and little quirks you show, only he knows when you’re truly uncomfortable with something, he knows when you’re not listening. And he knows, by the simple way your eyebrows knitted together just a bit, by how you sat up a tad, you’re wary of him (again), holding doubts about this friendly back and forth you two have before he slink off for weeks (just like how you were when he first arrived) and it drives him up the walls because he cannot for the dead lives he took remember a single thing that he say or did throughout this entire ordeal that could’ve sent you so far away.

You’ve always been an enigma, but he always manages well against your silly little antics. This isn’t it. You’ve never felt further apart from him. Even when he hurts you, or say something that catches you on the wrong side, all you ever need is a little bit of time to reprocessed the fact he’s simply like that, then you’re back again. Learning day by day the art of being by his side and weathering his sense of humor that sometimes felt like a knife. But now, you’re staring off with a sigh, mouth opening and closing, trying to say something but failed.

(what a darling thing you always are. Even while struggling with your word. Even while so far away.)

Your cup now slightly on the side (allowing him to peek the content, in the cup he gifted you sat a dark, semi steaming liquid, it’s coffee, he can’t deny he preens a bit at that), one hand to your face, resigning from whatever you were trying to say. A deep sigh draws from the bottom of your throat, but before he can break the silence, you stab it with a knife.

“What do you mean by all of that, back at the Radio tower?”

The static screeches, the music comes to a raging halt. At that, he can feel all of his restraint nearly broke. Insignificant and small and silly little you, would’ve never threatened him with anything other than some harmless jests, but he can feel the dark from every corner gathered and calling to him, the tears and wears of his stiches. His bones creaks as he leans just a bit forward to you, trying to collect himself. He hates how patient you are even through all of this, still faithfully waits for him to collect himself, trusting that he will listen and not immediately skewered you like some dirty disrespectful rodent on the streets. But he can’t help himself from croaking out a laugh and stares at you. Visions red, he must look like a piece of work right now.

“Well, darling-” you are so incredibly lucky you have his favor “Have anyone ever told you it’s rude to eavesdrop!?” still holding your shoulder blade as gently as he can afford, he forced you to look at him, he can feel your heart beating under his hand.

In the brief moment your eyes were on him, he saw radio dials, red, staring back within. He despises how it makes him feel. So he spats at you. “Was it fun then? Watching me writhes in pain, listening to my probes.” Even though he knows you enough, he still can’t let himself trust you with this version of him.

The Alastor you’ve seen all this time, no matter how much you want to believe it, it’s more of a facade derived of the ‘real’ him. The ever-pleasant Alastor who seeks you out and laugh with you and give you space and time are all part of him, but not all of him. The Alastor who cowered and run away and hide and drags himself through that trapdoor is the him he never wants you to see.

(you’ve never tried to pick apart his mask of confident. But in the quiet moment when you two simply sits together, you sometimes, without asking, would crack open your heart and let him see the little bit and pieces that makes up ‘you’ as you are. “I love you”. Alastor have always believed that if someone expressed something over and over again, perhaps they're simply trying to convinced themselves or the other person. Why must someone confess their love everyday when they can simply show it.)

“Did you have fun? I hope you did little doe. So all this is for that then? Well? Are you going to run off to dearest Charlie and tells her all about what your dear old Alastor is up to? Tell her about,” He can’t feel himself again, the pain flaring up and the phantom coil around his neck like it’s begging him to stop. Something on his face, maybe the way his stretches grin twitch, must’ve kick starts you on actually trying to talk to him.

(you can’t ever pick him apart, even if you were to try. That isn’t what he’s afraid of.)

“Alastor, I’m not going to tell her anything.” At that, he physically paused. You waited for him to say anything, and when all he can give you is a weakened confusion, you’ll bow your head, averted your eyes, and continue. “I won’t…I… don’t know what you mean by any of it. And I know I’m an idiot, but I still…sort of trust you.” At that, instead of thinking about how your skin must’ve been burning under his hand, he chased himself further from you, as if holding onto a coal too hot. You simply stay put, the coffee cup fell from your hand and broke under the foot of the statue.

“You…still? trust me?” he laughs, and laughs, and laughs. A jokester you always are. “Dear, that’s no way to talk to me. What have I ever done for you to ever treated me like this?” mockingly, he cranes his head and tries to shake off the unwelcomed feelings that he’s rudely reminded existed in the first place.

“Are you afraid that I’ll kill you? Pummeled you into the streets below? Drag your body through gravel and skinned you alive?”

(it’s that he unsure of whether he would gladly break himself open to show you his everything too.)

“I don’t think you can reasonably do that without Charlie kicking you out and ruins your plan.” You’re upset now, sitting straight and staring at him. You’ve always lacked a bit of that ability to react with your face. It’s hard for people to tell when you’re upset with just your face. But he can tell. You’re staring at him. He can see himself in your eyes. He looks so vile in your eyes. “Whatever your plan was, I start to get a bit dizzy so I try to find my way back to everyone before I conked out.”

(it should’ve never even be in for consideration, yet here it is.)

He looks so foul in your eyes. “Then what did you hear?”

“Enough to know I probably shouldn’t bother you from now on.”

(So vile, so foul, a beast in a prey getup. By all means he always have been and always will be, yet you look at him like he’s the only love you’ve ever felt and yet you have to let go of him before dinner time.)

“I feel like, you don’t…like...you're not my friend? Or something. I don’t know, maybe I overstep.” He can’t help but stare at you like you’re a headless chicken running through the street of New York. All of this, for something so small. He almost laughs, but now that the dam is open, you continue to talk. “I like to know what people would consider me as, Alastor. And this is so ridiculous when yeah, you were ramblings about something that honestly pretty concerning? But I just, don’t care enough about that. If you hurt everyone else, I’ll be worried. But you didn’t, actually hurt any of us.” Pray tell you’ll never find out about how he’d dragged dear Husker on the floor by a chain then.

“You’re a pretty, mean person but I like you, you don’t hurt any of us and you’re kind to me. You were nice to me.”

He remembers your definition of being nice and being kind.

Hands on your knees, your fingers dig into your pants, you haven’t even changed out of it, your uniform, opted to come here night after night right after work to just sit by yourself. He would’ve felt a bit of guilt for interrupting if he were anyone else. But he’s always him, and you’re only you. You and your gaze on the ground, on the glinting shards of ceramic below you. He let you speak.

“I don’t want to be close to someone who doesn’t really, return the energy, I guess. I like hanging out with you though.” You’re ever only you, and you’re so small and fragile, a silly little thing that he’s taken to keep by his side for fun.

“Oh well, I’ll live, haha…”

And now you’re saying you want to leave. It’s funny how you think you ever get to pick to be in his company.

“…Alastor?”

Alastor thinks you’re a funny little thing, an entertainer at heart. He should let you know one day, what a jokester you are.

“Thank you for letting me hang around.”

(he won’t let you.)

“Now where are you going dear?” a hand on your back, your confused gaze amused him. He should’ve been livid at your little proclamation. If he truly wants to, Charlie won’t ever know where you went. But you, his little doe eye…thing, his little friend. “So fast to rush right off, won’t you let me speak my peace?” with your silly humor and your little games. You’re the only person he would let dancing and prancing in the palm of his hand without crushing you at moment notice.

But he can never crush you, alive or dead.

So, in a voice that can almost be considered loving, akin to placating a friend from birth, a family member you’re especially fond of, a lover in heart and mind, he breathes, “I thought you’re smarter than this.” he held onto your hands, cupping them together, like praying, “If I were to ever want you to leave my side, I would’ve let you know so already, haven’t I? You know I don’t dance around my words cher.” You both know he does, but not so much around you.

That’s what he always likes about you, you’ve always been especially understanding, even when upset.

“Half the thing you did dear, if it was anyone else, I would’ve never let them live.” You poured tea on him once, it wasn’t a joke, and you were actually petrified. You should’ve been dead. “All the things you said, if it was anyone else, their head would’ve been parade on a spike.” The chatter and cackle of the audience goes deaf on both of your ears, your eyes trained on the grip he held you in, tight, he breaks people’s bones before.

“If I sincerely wanted you gone, I could’ve done so, and you would have zero say in it my dear. And yet…”

And yet, you’re alive. And it’s not enough to hurt.

His dear friend Rosie talks about this to him before. On the one outing where he takes you to the prettiest park in Cannibal Colony, he let you run around like a dog and send a shadow or two to watch over you, trusting everyone there will behave themselves around the thing that visibly resembles him hanging behind you while you walk aimlessly. She stands and watch him bid you off after fixing the string bowtie he forced on you with a bright smile. As you stumble right off the trail and into the denser part of the park, trees covering you from his sight, he turns to his friend, all teeth and grinning brightly at him.

She never really addressed anything beyond a few light poking here and there about you, and he indulges her with anything she wants to. But he’s painfully aware of how he really looks at you, he knows she want to questioned him about it too. It’s far beyond anything he would grant to anyone around him, you have nothing of genuine worth to offer him, and he have nothing he truly needs from you. But he would tell Rosie, and himself, that you’re a funny thing to have around. Honest enough so that it can be a fault, but as cautious as a rabbit with its spawn at all time. A little pet to keep around and to fawn over when he wants to and drop at a moment notice once it got too old. Even if he stops seeing you as one.

(fond, Alastor is extremely fond of you. Rosie’s sure everyone in the hotel must’ve caught onto it by now. Moreover, people don’t look at a pet the same way he looks at you. Or maybe they do, if they’re willing to climb the 9 circles of hell for the pet that is.)

It’s no wonder to him then, that he would soon also grow to be patient with you.

(you’d came back to them both in 15 minutes top with blood on your face and a bewildered gaze, Alastor’s little friend trailing behind you cackling silently to itself. Rosie gets why he would get attached the moment you laugh.)

----

Alastor is not a loving man. Nor is he a good one. Generous? Perhaps. But not enough to the point of kindness. The only person he can proudly say he truly loves with all of his heart is his mother. The women who gave him his everything. In fact, he’s much more warry of chumps who claimed they love everything, or love too easily. One’s a liar, the other fool.

Sometimes he would remember what you say on that day, where Vaggie urges you to help her partner out and explain your idea of a good life. He remembers the audience heckling and him laughing at such a notion. To love everything with all of your heart and be ready to let it go when you need to, he can still recall the slight disinterest looks you gave him. A simple one over and then nothing else. The same one you’ve been given him the entire time he was there. As if you already expected him to laugh and mock you.

Back when you two are nothing more than two strangers living under the same roof. He would’ve taught you a lesson or two about respecting someone, if not for your immediate word after. Standing in front of everyone, with almost none of the confident, drawing into yourself, yet with almost a fondness in your eyes, like recalling an old story.

“I love everything I don’t know in a general sense, but I like to still think it’s love. And when you choose to love something, or specifically, someone. You’re essentially putting your heart into their hand, and you held onto their hand, and you asked them to please, don’t break my heart. I do that, I think.” Your eyes are distant, looking at something nobody there can see. “I put my heart into the hands of the people I love, and I tell them to keep it safe. And I’m not good at trusting people, not as good as I hope I can be. But I hope they know I really do trust them.”

An egg raises it hand and immediately spoke up afterward “But what if they do break it though?” and another one chimes in “Yeah, do you break them back?” and you tilted your head in the same way you always did and you laugh, covering your mouth all the while. “Of course not, if they do then uh, shame on them, I guess. I usually just move on after raging about them for like some day. It’s not really your fault people decides to be a dick about you being open to them.”

Eyes glancing to the other side, almost like contemplating “I mean, I like to just take my friends word at face values when I think they’re not joking. Otherwise, there’s not a real fault to loving too much you know?” then you look at the eggs, and your face could’ve been seen as anything but a smile, but it is a smile to him.

“People who say they hate love are afraid they’ll lose something, or maybe they already have, and they don’t want to go through the same thing again. If there’s something you love, held it with both of your hands, and held it close to your heart. So that when you have to let go, if you ever have to, you’ll be able to live knowing that you’ve love it so much-oof”

Charlie, who was tearing up throughout your whole rambling, pulls you into a hug and almost taking the both of you down, sobbing about how much she loves you. With a quiet resignation, you settled for patting Charlie on the back, hesitantly returning her hugs. Ever vigilant Vaggie shouted at everyone to get themselves up and go do something. Angel slinkered off to the bar, trying to charmed Husk in for the night. The snake stays back, trying to interject Charlie’s sniffles to ask you about something, but got distracted by his ‘army’ hugging him and refusing to let go. Nifty already disappeared for the night, probably still chasing after bugs as she always does.

And him? He was at the top of the stairs by the time Vaggie have Charlie in her arms, with the latter trying to bring you four into a group hug (Pentious awkwardly put his hands around you three, not knowing what to do but doing it with enthusiasm). But his eyes were on you, and for the first time in all the time you both been in the same room, you look at him, really look at him. Nodding your head to wish him a good night, you simply turn back to the ongoing chattering. Eyes off him.

And he spent the rest of the night going back and forth between what you were saying.

(Later on, way later on, you told him you were hoping he would catch on to you essentially calling him a dick, a coward, and a loser. He only laughs at that and tells you how brave you are.)

He is not a loving man. And you are everything he’s not and everything he is. He soon learns your idealistic world view is much more realistic than he ever imagines. With the same tongue you use to sung praises to the top of a soda can, you spat out every cursed known to mankind about some guy that nearly drive mud onto his coat. With the hand that trembles in rage at someone’s distasteful remarks about your friend, you would simply use it to comforts them instead. You’ve prayed death on people who slightly inconvenienced you before, and it’s never going to stop. Short burst of rages that almost seems like they were kept inside for eons before exploding. If you were anyone else with less self-control, you would’ve actually killed more than he ever could.

(you hate with a fervor and love as if it’s the last day of your life, he’d told you on a calm evening. While a modern cover of an old song you both love playing from your laptop, you laugh at the remark. He takes it that he absolutely spot on, you thought he was ridiculous.)

You said your first option for everything that hurts you is hate, and the thing you try your best to pick is always love. And he wishes he could show you just how much he detested your life, but all he can do is to quietly disagree on the nights when it gets too hard for you to move, he would listened in on you from the other side of the door, talking to no one, sobbing to yourself. It would’ve been impossible for anyone to realized something was wrong with you aside from you waking up later in the morning, but he knows you, he always has. But never enough to knock on your door. So he stays outside until you fell asleep. Because you pick to love, and someone have to protect you in the case you die of a broken heart.

(he likes to think you can hear his everlasting statics and the songs he handpicked for you from outside the door, you’ve always calm down much faster around him ever since he started his little pastime.)

You, ever loving you, readily tells everyone how much you truly care for them when asked to. And he indulges in your heartfelt phrases more than he admits he usually would, but your eagerness to pleased and the way you always take the time to think it over truly won him over so he never stops you. Your consideration for him is always a wonderful thing to experience, coming from the heart, rather than fear. So, having been waiting for you to tell him what you can freely tell (almost) everyone at the hotel. Imagine his utter delight when you eventually did, with a glint in your eyes but a face like attending a funeral that you love him (he let you know, you reply that you know. He almost can’t hear the sounds of your shared mirth over the beating of his own rotted heart), he indulges himself and tell a lie. To you? To himself? He still is slowly figuring it out.

‘maybe I love you too’

Has he ever truly told you that? Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t.

Alastor is not a loving man. It is not in his nature to be so. But now, after all the trouble he go through, simply sitting and watching you nodding off to sleep after everything. He wondered, what would he ever do if you were to die. Of course, one simply can’t die that easily down here, especially when it’s you, he would never let you die under anyone else’s hand.

But what if he were to kill you one day? Would he actually do it? How much would he put you through? Would you like it if he actually cracks open your ribcage? He thinks about the ethics of eating someone you care about (not love, even in his head, he nearly slipped. He would’ve laugh, if not for how utterly miserable this is making him), then he thinks about how funny is it that a cannibal is considering this sort of ethical dilemma when in reality he has done so much worse to so many people.

(but you’re not just anyone)

Holding onto the idea of you in his head, he stares out the window in the library space he seated you two into. Alastor stands up and dust himself off, moving to take you back to your room. While he slowly moves a particularly gaudy cup from your lap to his hand and place them on the side table, (you can panic in the morning about losing it as a lesson about not asking him for such tacky décor, even have enough guts to say it looks better than the first one) he thinks about the fact that if he were to ever kills you for good, he will eat you, raw, every part of you, past the bones and the inside of it. He will soak himself in your blood, and drinks every other last drop of it. He’ll crushed your bones into dust by hand, and inhaled it like drugs. Drinks your brain fluids, and swallowed your hair. Making sure not a single part of you is left. Making sure not a single part of you is anyone else’s. Ensuring you safe.

Like that of your love for him, that you never elaborate on. Whether it was like your love for collecting notebooks you’ll never used, or like your love for Charlie who by now considered you family. He only knows your love for him is his alone, a special love that nothing can capture. Going to the end of the world and back. Holding onto that idea, he carries you back to your room, and as he gently tucks you into your messy bed, making sure his claws won’t leave a scratch. He’d assured himself, that when the time came, he will make sure you’ll never be alone in the void beyond heaven and hell.

He thinks you thought a bit too highly of yourself, so much so that you think you can understand the depth of what he feels. Distancing yourself so quickly from him out of a misunderstanding. Of all the things he’s ready to let go of, you were never a part of.

(you’ve become the only thing he swore he’ll held onto until the day he rots away to dust)

You placed your still-beating heart in his hand, after all. What else can he do but to place his thoroughly dead and rotting one in yours, or whatever is left of it. He Is quite fond of you and your little jokes, after all.

(and you’re right, he does find your little acts funny.)

#alastor x reader #x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #if you get lost just look back #this follows like 2-3 trains of thought #vry much me being insane ive never wrote anything this long #hazbin rlly did do something to me and my friend #maybe i'll wrote again soon but like something lighter?

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evilwriter37 · 2 months ago

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Exactly. There is a difference between disliking something and finding something harmful. Framing stealing someone's mobility aid as cute, romantic, and funny is only upholding the view that that's actually how it is. It's upholding the view that it's okay to touch a disabled person's mobility aid without their permission, that it's okay to infringe on or take away their autonomy.

My writing doesn't have to get dragged into this. I know it makes people uncomfortable. I know people don't like it. But it is not harming anybody. I tag and warn accordingly, and I don't find rape and torture to be cute, romantic, or funny.

And yeah, I don't speak for all disabled people. Nowhere have I ever said that I did. But look, if my partner stole my cane as a joke? We'd be done with. Over. It'd be a sign that they don't give a shit about my autonomy and boundaries.

I love how every time a disabled person speaks about a real problem, people like you go "har har, you can't take a fucking joke." You're an asshole, anon.

https://www.tumblr.com/evilwriter37/768271589487886336/not-going-to-reblog-and-say-it-on-the-art-as-i?source=share

Arent you being an hypocrite? You literally write rape and torture and stuff so why are you mad someone drew something you personally dont like? 🤔🤔 Ok you dont have to think its funny but other disabled people might actually be able to take a fucking joke youknow. Other people have different boundaries, you dont speak for all disabled people ✋✋✋✋✋

1. I don’t frame what I write as funny or cute. It’s not and I know that.

2. Not all jokes are funny. Some are harmful.

3. Looks like you can’t read because I never said I spoke for all disabled people.

4. Fuck right off with your bad faith reading of me and my post.

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princecharmingwinks · 2 years ago

Text

Sterek Fic Rec - December 2022. Is it still December? Yes, for about 5 more hours, oops! Here is the final monthly rec list for the year. I hope everyone is doing something nice to bring in the new year (snuggling into bed absolutely counts!).

Many times, Many ways by Jmeelee (1/1 | 3K | Mature)

He turned around and stormed toward his Jeep. Derek called out his name, but Stiles flipped him off over his shoulder. He jabbed the key into the ignition, roared the engine, and smoked the tires as he peeled out of the parking lot, but not before he cranked down the glass and screamed at Derek from the driver’s side window, “Merry Christmas, motherfucker!”

Five times Stiles and Derek ruined Christmas, and one time they fixed it.

Build A Wolf by PalenDrome (nerdherderette) (1/1 | 5K | Teen)

Derek is a romantic. He dreams of finding his mate, of connecting with that special someone who will make his heart swoon.

[Excerpt]: "Who says I need to be in a relationship to be happy?" Derek asks, his hackles rising. Besides, Boyd has it all wrong. Derek has Die Hard on his Christmas queue.

Yippee ki yay.

Boyd holds up both hands. "Not me. If you want to be a bachelor forever, I'm not one to judge."

"But I am," Erica says. "You don't date anymore. Hell, when's the last time you even got laid? Which would also be fine, except it's not, because you're miserable and it's obvious that's not what you really want."

Sometimes Derek has a hard time following Erica's logic. Unfortunately, this is not one of those moments.

"It doesn't matter," he says, digging the excess rice out from his wrap. "I'm better off alone."

Mint Condition by fairytalesandfolklore (1/1 | 955 | Teen)

He checks the clock, frowning in concern. Stiles had said he was going to change and that he'd be right back, but that was over twenty minutes ago. He's about to get up and go check on him, when the all-too-familiar tune of his least favorite song in the entire world starts playing on the stereo, and out comes Stiles wearing nothing but a jauntily perched Santa hat and a pair of the tiniest shorts Derek has ever seen — bright red satin to match his hat — and when Stiles twirls around to give Derek the full effect, he can make out the words naughty elf emblazoned across his asscheeks. Derek can do little more than stare open-mouthed as Stiles saunters toward him, sucking on the end of a candy cane in what he probably imagines is a seductive way, shaking his ass in time to the music — which, ugh. (As far as Derek is concerned, if hell had a soundtrack, it'd be an endless loop of Santa Baby…but it's Stiles, so he'll make an exception.) Overall, the effect is actually quite charming, and Derek would be lying if he said it wasn't doing something for him. And then Stiles starts talking.

lube and determination by bleep0bleep (2/2 | 4K | Explicit)

It's a holiday classic: homesick boy wants to make a pumpkin pie while studying abroad, boy realizes the only place to find vegetable shortening is a sex shop, and boy makes fool of himself in front of other boy.

Little talks by Vendelin (1/1 | 5K | Mature)

“Your favourite is here,” Danny says, smirking. “I tried to steal him away by giving him some extra attention, but he just looked uncomfortable.”

Stiles snorts, though he’s secretly pleased by his regular rejecting Danny. “He always looks a bit uncomfortable. I bet he’s married with a kid and a permanent guilty conscience when he’s here.”

It had been quite the surprise for Stiles to realise that he had a regular. A pretty young, hot regular, on top of that.

In which Stiles is a stripper, and Derek is the always-polite regular at the club where he works.

Depth of Field by midnitekween (1/1 | 7K | Explicit)

Stiles loves taking pictures of his pack.

Kiss It Better, Kiss It Back Together by crossroadswrite (1/1 | 3K | General)

For the tumblr prompt: stiles is cursed by a witch to forget the person he loves the most so everyone thinks it's Lydia but it's not and the only way to get the memories back is through a kiss

i see forever in your eyes by hufflepuffbaby (1/1 | 1K | Teen)

Stiles looked at his big bad Alpha, with his blush and his thumbhole sweater, and Stiles found he didn’t care if it was a bad idea, he was going to relationship the fuck out of Derek for as long as he was allowed.

Flufftober Day 5 : "Oh, no, you're a morning person"

Make You See It by sparkandwolf (thatnerdemryn), thatnerdemryn (1/2 | 2K | Mature)

Stiles didn’t say anything and Derek was grateful for leaving him speechless.

“Your mind, the way it pieces together every last puzzle piece, the way it connects dots that the rest of us didn’t even know were there, it’s--” Derek let out a breath against Stiles’ ear and reveled in the chill it sent through Stiles. “You are the most powerful of all of us.”

no matter how far away you roam by elisela (1/1 | 2K | General)

Stiles regrets not getting a tree.

He hadn’t been feeling very festive—decorations were reminders that he was spending the holidays alone, so he’d decided not to put them up, but now it’s Christmas Eve and there’s not even a strand of lights around the room to cheer him up. Watching Die Hard hadn’t worked, neither had The Grinch, and Derek hadn’t answered his phone the last three times Stiles had called him today.

It’s 7:34pm on Christmas Eve, and Stiles is ready to give it up and call it a night.

princecharmingwinks special mention (Oh my gosh I love the smut in this and the humour and everything else.)

Come Fly With Me (Or Don't) by stilinskisparkles (1/1 | 15K | Mature)

Stiles is overworked and stressed out when his flight home gets delayed due to copious amounts of snow. He finds entertainment with one Derek Hale, whom he hasn't seen since high school but really doesn't mind getting reacquainted with.

Especially when it turns out Derek is surprisingly hilarious and will reluctantly play snap with him. And can walk on his hands.

Made it through another year team, well done one and all. Happy holidays and see you in the new year ;)

#sterek #fanfiction #fic rec #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #princecharminglists

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mistiell · 3 years ago

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Any idea to what kind of dance styles the Arcane crew would do— and how good are they at dancing with their date?

I know we have the League of Legends dances save for Silco’s (Lady Gaga’s Judas is what I’d guess his would have been—) But what feels in character?

A/N: I’m not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I tried my best! Lol (I haven’t seen the LoL dances so these are purely based on the show)

How Arcane Characters would Dance with You

Viktor

- He’s never really put much thought into dancing so he hasn’t ever taken the time to learn a specific style of dance

- I also feel like he wouldn’t be too fond of dancing anywhere in public just because he feels like people would be judging his skills

- At home is a different story though

- If you put on some soft, slow music and ask him to dance with you, he’ll definitely do it without hesitation

- He can’t exactly move around the room a whole bunch without his cane

- but he’ll stand there in your embrace and just sway with you to the beat of the music

- Might pull away to spin you every so often

- Lots of caressing your waist and hips

- Also rests his forehead on yours and talks to you about anything and everything

- Steals kisses from you whenever he can

- Overall, dancing with him is pretty slow and romantic

Jayce

- He’s actually a pretty good dancer

- He can do a few different styles of dance

- Mostly Hip hop, ballroom, and bachata

- Loves dancing with you at galas

- If you don’t know how to dance, he’ll gladly teach you

- Lots of praise when you get the moves down

- He’s such a fun dance partner omg

- If you don’t feel comfortable leading, he’ll gladly do it for you

- Whispers a lot of sweet nothings in your ear while you’re dancing

- It’s honestly kinda cute ngl

Silco

- Kind of knows how to dance?

- Like, he’s not bad at it

- But he’s not great either-

- Growing up in the undercity, he was more focused on surviving than learning how to dance

- If you want to dance with him, you’re gonna have to guide him through the moves

- Surprisingly, he picks up ballroom dancing pretty quickly

- And what even more surprising is that he actually really likes it

- He just loves how you two move in tandem

- Definitely pretty good at dancing

- Hip hop is her go to

- If you want to learn how to dance, she’ll teach you

- She’s such a fun teacher too

- Teases you a little when you trip up but it’s never in a mean way

- Whenever you dance together, there’s a lot of playful banter and flirting

- Lives for how you blush and slip up a little when she says something flirty

Jinx

- Her dancing style is pretty chaotic and improvised

- She just kinda moves to the music however she feels like it

- And she’s actually really good at it

- Very fast paced

- Loves pulling you to dance with her

- Doesn’t matter if you’re good at dancing or not, she’ll cheer you on

- I feel like the best word to describe her style of dance would be freestyle

- Very playful

- She loves laughing with you while she takes you in her arms and twirls you around the room

Mel

- She learned how to ballroom dance and waltz when she was quite young

- She’s very graceful

- She’ll dance with you wherever you are

- Especially loves dancing with you at academy events ‘cause she gets to show you off and dance with you at the same time

- It’s mostly to show you off though

- If you don’t know how to dance, she’ll teach you

- Very patient with you and doesn’t rush you through the steps

- So proud when you finally figure it out

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assortedvillainvault · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, Chance anon here! When you have a minute, I’d like some Darksiders fluff, please. You can choose who to write for! Thank you!

Heya Chance! You're a diamond and ily, I'm on the coach to Italy as I write this but will schedule for later in the week to post due to predictably bad internet while on the move.

Fuck yea fluff time.

Vulgrim

Vulgrim can sniff out a gap in the market like nobody's business.

With Earth shattered, basic amenities scarce and the entire remaining human population in one place (the Maker Tree) he has a prime opportunity that his target market simply cannot refuse...

"Vulgrim how the fuck do you know what a spa day is?"

"Hush little mortal or I'll remove your discount. Now, skin detox or pedicure first?"

He huffs in mock affront at your surprise that he actually knows what he's offering. He can't uphold his mercantile reputation without doing research first you know! He's working on a Hellish equivalent to sell to the higher ranking demons.

Pretty soon the entire tree is scrubbing away the grime and stress of the apocalypse. The payment was a promise from Ulthane not to paste him via hammer from across the tree if someone wants to make conversation.

You somehow manage to get him to join in, much to the Makers disdain.

He's adding horn polishing to the HellSpa package - your little hands feel divine, he's tempted to steal you again.

Chancellor

There's very few things that will cause the Chancellor to break his foul mood.

But by now you've got grumpy ghoul wrangling down to a science.

You call it a diplomatic meeting. It's a picnic with wine, bitching and the Undying lands only book club.

It's customary for you to slide a new volume to him and for him to return at the next meeting, book finished and Full of Opinions.

He loves quasi historical political intrigue. He will sputter and shout if you make a comment about how it's the ones with bad romantic clichés and cringy sex scenes that he devours the fastest.

One of these days you'll sneak a portable movie player into the keep and then you'll have to sit through a 10hour rant on the implausibility of Game of Thrones - no DON'T pause it he's not finished yet.

If you get him anything to keep instead of borrow he might actually thank you. Then he'll swear you to secrecy in a blind panic because nobody can know he's not entirely an unmitigated pain in the neck.

Wicked Killington

Did someone say DANCE PRACTICE??!

This man is ready to tango, foxtrot and cha cha at a moment's notice. Don't know how? He'd be delighted to teach you!

It doesn't matter if you're travelling with Death himself, you're being stolen for a jig amongst the rubble. Where is the music coming from? Don't ask.

He's got a gramophone in his Hat. This is never mentioned or brought up again.

He's surprisingly patient and full of encouragement.

Fucking body slams a trauma through a building when it dares interrupt you both. You're eyeing that cane like it's a tactical warhead now.

"The GALL! Honestly my dear these demons- can't even give them the time of day! Now, where were we? A-one, a-two-"

He might be insane, undead and potentially cursed, but he's nothing but a gent and the safest place in the city is probably by his side.

#thalassa responds #darksiders #darksiders 2 #chance coming in with the fluff requests this was lovely #thank you for the ask!#chancellor #wicked k #Vulgrim

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ganseybois · 3 years ago

Note

if ur still taking alfietommy prompts, id love to see alfie meet arthur sr

i am yes :) here you go! i hope you enjoy it! it's a bit short, but considering how much tommy hates his father, I could only see it going one way!

“Let’s go,” Tommy said hurriedly.

“Mate, we just fucking got here.” Alfie frowned, looking over at Tommy. They had found themselves at one of the more underground bare-knuckle boxing rings, in an effort to make one of their nights together a little more interesting. Not that Alfie didn’t love spending most of the night kissing, fucking, or reading quietly next to one another, but he knew that Tommy ached for some semblance of romantic normalcy even if they had to hide it. So, their version of a night out was this.

“I don’t want to be here.”

Alfie raised his eyebrow. “What are you on about?”

“Alfie, please—”

“All right, all right, let’s go then.” he waved his cane to the door from which they entered.

“Tommy!” a voice exclaimed suddenly, and he did not miss the way Tommy’s entire body tensed, his eyes, which moments ago were soft and playful, had become hard. Nearly dead. Apathetic. They both turned to the voice, and standing there was an older gentleman. He was dressed similarly to Tommy, save for his hat which was a homburg instead of the cap Tommy wore.

“I thought you had left the country.” Tommy said, his tone cold and distant.

“I did, and now I’m back, but I’ll soon be gone again.”

“Good.” Tommy nodded. “Right, well, if that’s all.”

“Come on Tommy, have a drink with your father.”

Alfie’s eyebrows shot up and he looked between them. “This is your dad?”

“For all intents and purposes. Alfie Solomons, this is Arthur Shelby Senior.”

They shook hands, Alfie squeezing a little tighter than he thought he should, but taking pleasure in the small wince right by Arthur’s right eye.

“I didn’t know the leader of the Peaky Blinders had friends.” Arthur said, looking between them.

Alfie titled his head. “Well, seeing as you abandoned them when he was only little, yeah, that is not surprising, innit? For you to know that, you’d have to be around, wouldn’t ya?”

Arthur stared at him hard. “And what kind of friend are you to my son?”

“That right there, is none of your fucking business is it?”

“He’s my son.”

Tommy let out a sharp, hollow laugh. “Now I’m your fucking son am I? Where was that mentality when I was a child, hm?”

“Tommy, I am a changed man.”

“I should fucking kill you for stealing money from us.” Tommy pointed at him. “You’re lucky I don’t.”

“I came back to apologize to Arthur.”

Tommy let out a hard laugh, a single ‘Ha’, shaking his head. “You must think very low of me, of any of us, for me to believe that would be true. Every word you’ve ever said is a lie.”

He sighed tiredly, as though Tommy was the one being irrational. “Tommy please, just one drink.” He put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, and before Tommy could slap it away, Alfie slapped it hard with his cane, earning a well-rounded shout from the impact.

Alfie crowded Arthur Senior, looking at him in that menacing way he did when he wanted to kill someone. For as much as Alfie spoke, he didn’t actually need to say much to get his point across. His expression was always more than enough, he just liked to drive it home. “Let me make something, very fucking clear, all right? You fucking touch him, fucking come near him, fucking take money from him again, I will be the one who kills you.” He brought his cane under Arthur’s chin, narrowing his eyes. “From what I’ve been told, you’re not worth the air you breathe anyhow, mate.”

“Who do you think you are?” Arthur snarled. They were catching the attention of others nearby now, and Tommy looked like he was hovering between wanting to interfere, and wanting to disappear.

“A friend,” Alfie snarled.

Tommy’s hand quickly ghosted over Alfie’s back. “Alfie, it’s time to go.”

Arthur looked between the two of them, understanding very clear in his eyes. “Is this who you’ve become now Tommy?” he asked seriously. “Are you going around fucking me—”

“Right!” Alfie roared, and with his cane, he smashed it across Arthur’s knee, and then on his back, watching with satisfaction as he fell to the ground.

Tommy sighed, although he didn’t actually seem annoyed. “Jesus Christ, Alfie.”

“What?” he asked, pouting at Tommy. “All I see is a piece of shit here.” On cue, Arthur moaned from the ground. He was certainly very hurt. “Right, shall we be off then?” he motioned for Tommy to walk ahead of him.

Tommy looked like he was trying not to smile, but first, he got down so he could speak into his father’s ear. “If you ever try to use this against us,” Tommy threatened, “we will kill you. And he will make it hurt. Get out of my fucking country.” Then, he stood up, straightened his suit, and left. Alfie followed him, feeling very content, and very much in love.

#sholomons #tofie #prompt #ask

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thekatebridgerton · 2 years ago

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I can see we don’t really see Elliot much during Daphne and Simon’s book.

Elliot, Penelope, and Edwina were quite the bestie trio during Kate and Anthony’s season, Elliot rolling his eyes when he is told Anthony sucked on Kate’s boobs.

Elliot rolls his eyes as he noted Benedict’s horniness when he looks at Fran’s lady maid, Sophie.

He spend celebrating that he is a full bachelor now with Penelope as a spinster only to nearly duel Colin for compromising her.

Then proceeded to dip to meet that sexy widow aka plant goddess and be nearly murdered by her two menace of children and fall in love.

Elliot was friendly with Michael but told Francesca to keep him away from Philly. “PHILLY IS MINE KEEP MICHAEL AWAY FRANCESCA!!!”

He definitely laughed when Gregory crashed Lucy’s wedding, a true Bridgerton.

also he was confused as F on why Garrett wanted to be with Hyacinth but oh well.

Okay given that male Eloise/Elliot and Penelope are the same age. It's very likely that Elliot was holed up in university during Daphne's book and was simply peacing out on yet another boring ton event in London. Too busy researching ancient literature or creating science experiments that would allow him to prank his brothers better.

Elliot Bridgerton is nothing if not intellectually stimulated. He's not like his horny brothers who made up ridiculous excuses to compromise their wives.

I HC that Colin is the brother that's always traveling but Elliot is the brother who's always at the University taking up a different field of study every season (the way Benedict goes from one art form to another) and never settles on which field he likes the most.

He spends the obligatory seasons in Town keeping Penelope and his family company and avoiding any debutante who makes the mistake of calling his purposeful rejections 'brooding and romantic' ( no thank you Jane Austen. When Elliot Bridgerton insults a woman he does it to intentionally drive her away!. Not with the intention of proposing, HE IS NEVER GETTING MARRIED)

And when finally, finally his best friend is on the shelf and all London has gotten used to the idea that matchmaking Elliot is futile. Colin the less handsome, less smart, reprobate, seducer of best friends swoops in and steals Penelope!!!

Penelope! Who was the only person who supported Elliot's master plans. Penelope who's been there for him trough thick and thin. Colin stole her heart! Like, like, Like a lovelorn idiot with no sense of respect for Elliot who always said his friends were off limits to rakes like him. And Penelope was happy about it, esctatic even ! Which means Elliot wasn't allowed to kill Colin.

So he did the next best thing, he went to check in on cousin Martin's widow. You know, because in her letters she may have mentioned she was looking for a husband and Elliot was curious about her. Totally innocently of course, Elliot Bridgerton is not a horny Id..... Wow that's a very pretty widow!

I mean Elliot expected her to be old and blind, possibly with a cane or some kind of physical impairment that had her stuck in the country. But no, Lady Philly Crane is actually very fit, very attractive and very good with shafts, I mean plants, I mean vines.. I mean shut up brain. She's good with her hands okay!! Oh gosh that sounded worse

Cue him actually deciding to stay in Romney Hall for a while, ostensibly to help Philly with the estate she's had to take care of in the absence of her husband. (Who was already... Mentally and emotionally absent even before his death) while he teaches Philly to get closer to her own children again. And kicks out the evil nanny. Nevermind that the kids want him dead, he's not leaving until he's sure Philly and the twins are going to be okay on their own.

He didn't leave. He discovered that he liked Philly, he may even want to marry her and be a father to her twins. And he would have proposed on his own if his brothers hadn't decended on the poor woman's door demanding to know why she kidnapped him only to later demand to know why he compromised her!! Honestly!! He didn't even get to see Philly naked before marriage!! Elliot doesn't know why nobody believes him

(it was probably the nightgown Philly was wearing when she met Elliot's brothers)

I think that Elliot was proud of Francesca being the only Bridgerton who's actually eloped but still demanded she keep her Merry rake husband away from Philly because Michael Stirling is too dangerous to be left alone in the company of women. Meanwhile Francesca laughs too hard at her brother

I think that Elliot did eventually find himself a career as a historian of all things. Analyzing and preserving letters and important historical documents, from the comfort of his home. Collaborating with Penelope and Colin in their books a few times. But I feel Elliot and Philly's real passion is Academia. And they would probably be more the type to publish essays, pamphlets, scientific papers and historically relevant documents than they would be of writing novels / travel journals. Like Colin and Penelope

By the time Hyacinth is getting married Elliot is better focused in training Amanda to be the top dog over all of Anthony's daughters and prove Elliot's supremacy as the best Bridgerton dad so much he misses half of what was going on with Hyacinth and Gareth and only pays attention when Violet insists that Hyacinth have a proper wedding

But I can bet you that Elliot & fam were totally sold on the idea of crashing a wedding to support Gregory's love life. It's the type of chaos they thrive on in his little family

#bridgerton #genderbent eloise #genderbent philoise #phillip crane #eloise bridgerton

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laurore-stormwitch · 4 years ago

Text

of almost failed heists and romantic advice

For the @grishaversebigbang mini bang! First time writing the crows, it’s been a challenge. I had the incredible and emotional honor to see some beautiful art made for this fic by @streckenweise-okay [here] , @j-wirth [here], @davonysus [here]. You are all talented and amazing <3 Summary: an easy undercover job becomes not only a chance to revisit some old friendships with Nina back in town, but also the perfect occasion for a romantic intervention and some dating advice for our favorite Bastard of the Barrel.

ao3 link

Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, a forgotten Rietveld. His figure hid itself in the many names he had been called, in the many tales of sorrow he had inflicted. He did not need a reason, nor to rob or brake, nor to wreak havoc on the filthy streets of Ketterdam. Swift as the sky-splitting dive of a crow on his prey. You would feel him coming, in the tense silence shattered by the rhythmic beating of a raptor-headed cane on bricks. Kaz Brekker, who did not need a reason, or concealed the ones who mattered. The same Kaz Brekker, however, who did not have a valid reason for choosing to bring the three biggest headaches of his life along with him on this wretched job. A sharpshooter with an absurd taste in fashion, a Grisha witch as annoying as his broken leg and a wayward merchant’s son he had spent way too much time babysitting.

A strike of genius on his part. On top of that, he had chosen an undercover job, like they had the slightest ability not be noticed. Except for Nina; that girl blended everywhere like whisky. She was now strolling back to them with an excited gleam in her eyes, sipping on a glass of wine. She giggled happily. “Relax, Kaz. It’s a party.”

He cut her a glare from the corner in which he was standing, stiff and broody.

“Where the hell are the two lovebirds?”

“At the buffet. Do you know they have a chocolate fountain?”

“If it doesn’t drop gold”, Nina arched a brow at him, “I am fairly sure I don’t care for it.”

They were interrupted by the brilliant flash of color of Jesper’s suit and his brazen laugh. He had an arm thrown around Wylan’s shoulder; the merchling’s cheeks were flushed and his hair ruffled. He seemed slightly uncomfortable or about to throw up. For all the kruges, how much had Jesper let him drink? At least they did not have a particularly difficult role to play. Nina planted a kiss on Wylan’s cheek.

“This is so fun!”, she exclaimed, delighted by the situation. Kaz glared at her again.

“A job it’s not supposed to be fun.”

“Take your brooding mood out the window, Brekker”, Nina waved a dismissive hand at him. “What would a job be without fun?”

“Terribly dull”, Jesper winked.

“Annoyingly painful”, offered Wylan with a hiccup. They turned to Kaz.

“Adequately profitable.”

His friends cast their eyes heavenward. Jesper snatched other glasses , pretending not to see Kaz’s threatening look. The party was grand, held in the home of a Council’s member from whom they were supposed to steal some documents held in a safe in his study. The job was easy to say the least, so when they had learned that Nina was in town, she had tagged along. Kaz wanted to wack himself on the head with his cane for this wretched idea; apparently, they had taken this as an excuse to party and reminisce old times more than an occasion to actually help Kaz make some money. Nina surveyed the room.

“I wish Inej was here”, she whined. Kaz had never been one to pray, so it was not surprised when the Saints ignored his pledge to make Nina drop the argument. Instad, she turned to him with a smug smirk.

“How is it going between the two of you?”

Kaz tapped his cane on the floor, avoiding the heartrender’s eyes. Maybe she would shut up if he ignored her. Was he not radiating a general air of murderousness and danger, enough to convince his nosy friend to leave him be? Well, not enough. It just made her do something even worse and refer to the other two headaches.

“Kaz is a hopeless cause.”

“He’s not asked her out yet? Not even a romantic snack in between threatening people and skewering them with knives?”

Jesper shrugged his shoulder, nudging Wylan closer. “We offered to do it for him”, he noted.

“You did”, Wylan peered at thim. “I want to keep my head on my neck.”

“Why hasn’t he?”, asked Nina, considering Kaz, still ignoring them.

“I don’t think he’s familiar with the concept of asking someone out. Or even asking someone for anything, mainly bossing people around.”

Kaz adjusted his tie. “I’m standing right beside you.”

“It’s not hard, Kaz. Just buy some flowers and smile.”

Jesper laughed at Nina’s idiotic advice. Were they actually trying to get assassinated right now? Another thought paved the way in his mind. Was it an idiotic advice, though? He could admit that anything not involving schemes or robbery was not an area of expertise for him. And he had been meaning to do something...nice?

“You’re asking Dirtyhands to smile?”, asked Jesper. Nina huffed.

“Can it be that hard?”

“You’ll see. Kaz, smile at me.”

Kaz had two roads in front of him: for some reason, he chose the insane one and indulged Jesper, curling his lips upward. An uncomfortable silence dawned over them.

“All the Saints and their suffering”, Nina exclaimed.

“Is he about to murder someone?”, Wylan asked. Nina burst out laughing.

“That is your i-am-asking-you-out smile?”

“It’s terrifying”, considered the merchling.

“Positively daunting”, his boyfriend confirmed.

“For the love of Inej’s Saints drop the smile. Stick with the flowers.” She eyed him from upside down, critical. “And fix that dreadful hair.”

Now the choice laid between leaving them all here or trying to find a way to finish this wretched job. Since the second option included a mouthful reward, he went with it. He eyed the owner descending the stairs with his guards. That was their cue.

“You all know what to do.”

To their credit, they all snapped to attention when he called them. Nina strode behind the owner, fluffing her hair, while the three of them disappeared silently toward the upper floor. Silently. As silently as they could, Wylan being half drunk and Jesper being...well, Jesper. What one does for some kruge, thought sourly Kaz. He did glance at his reflection in the mirror, trying a half smile as they ascended the stairs. But no one needed to know that.

***

The safe had scarcely even been fun to crack. Kaz slipped the document in his jacket, scanning the study. Who knows what one could find that people left unguarded. Jesper and Wylan were outside, keeping control on the stairs. The situation seemed under control, so he did have some spare time to search for something precious. He approached a drawer, flicked a pin in the keylock and -

BOOM

A loud explosion resonated on the floor, rattling the walls. Definitely not a good sign. And definitely a sign that his henchmen raised some hell. Kaz sprinted out, only to find an absolute mayhem had been unleashed, and at the centre of this chaos, sure enough, stood his two royally idiotic friends, covered in dirt and pieces of furniture, gazing at each other with utter shock on their faces like they hadn’t just made a smoke bomb explode. The one that was supposed to be an emergency to cover their escape and was now invading the house.

“What the hell did you do?!”

Screams rose below them; Jesper scratched some dust from his jacket and rolled his revolvers out, grinning in Wylan’s direction, apparently unfazed by how much they had just screwed up.

“Wylan got carried away”, he shrugged his shoulders. Wylan flushed violently, jaw dropped in his boyfriend’s direction.

“You pushed me against a wall! I told you I had the smoke bomb in my pocket!”

“Were they making out again on the job?”, Nina rushed in their direction, her gorgeous face lit up with amusement as she struck down one of the guards running up the stairs with a flick of her wrist, a dart bone flying out of her cuff.

“It’s Jesper’s fault! He’s always trying to...to…”, Jesper arched a brow at Wylan.

“Yes?”

“Entice me!”

Kaz blew out an exasperated grunt, pushing them toward the background door. “Move!”, he seethed, running to work the lock. Dirtyhands getting killed on a saints forsaken robbery, perfect irony. With a quick look, he realized the damn lock had been reinforced with Fabrikator’s craft. He signaled Jesper, who practically squealed with amusement.

“Do I get to use my powers?” The hard glare he earned from Kaz seemed to be enough for him to get on with his work. Nina turned, shooting other dart bones toward the stairs. Quick steps and screams were echoing through the buildings, and smoke was clearing. “You might wanna hurry up, Jes!”, she shouted over her shoulder.

“We might have a problem”, the sharpshooter mumbled, as the lock literally melted on itself, effectively sealing the door closed. “I’m still getting the hold on - “

He was interrupted by another deafening explosion, as Wylan threw another device which detonated on the wooden stairs shredding them into pieces.

“Do you all have to keep destroying our ways out?!”

“I’m sorry!”, screamed Wylan over the echoing thrum of the bomb, his gaze shifting to a window that opened up to the roof.

“Do not even think about it”, Kaz pointed his cane at him.

“Either we take a page from Inej’s book or we get arrested, what do you choose?”, Nina asked grudgingly, starting to climb on a cupboard. Saints, he was going to kill them all. Jesper and Wylan followed suit, making their way out on the roof and helping Kaz up. He shot a murderous look at Nina, who was eyeing him as he not at all gracefully moved up and shut the window closed behind him, swearing to every known Saints in Kerch.

“Since you are so bad at this, you should try to compliment Inej about it and maybe she’ll teach you something.”

“Start fleeing before I catch you, Zenik.”

Shots began firing from below them, grazing Kaz’s arm. Nina erupted in a grin.

“Time to run, Brekker.”

And so they did. Extremely far from how Inej would have done it. Loudly, stumbling throughout Ketterdam’s rooftops, helping each other - as much as he hated to admit it, mostly Kaz - on the slippery tiles and the narrow eaves. Ketterdam buildings left little space to breathe, being conveniently close that they could jump from one to the other. Kaz lost track of time, though his bad leg felt like they’ve been running for hours. Jesper stopped abruptly as they neared the docks, crunching on his knees and howling a breathless laugh.

“That was fun.”

Nina giggled, slouching on the rooftop they had stopped on. “Ease up boys, we lost them ages ago”, she exhaled, closing her eyes toward the moonlight and leaning back. Kaz tentatively seated himself behind her, stretching his leg.

“If this easy job ends up with me not being able to walk, vengeance will be coming.”

Wylan and Jesper slumped down on his side, ignoring his dreadful look. Wylan peered at Kaz with a sly smile.

“Jesper has stolen something fit to celebrate a successful heist.”

The sharpshooter grinned, pulling out a bottle of cherry wine from nowhere and uncorking it with a whistle of joy. He passed it around as their cheerful chatter filled the night’s quiet. They were crazy. Crazy, reckless, and still idiots. Yet, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his ragtag band of misfits. So he did not protest when Jesper handed him the wine, and he even threw a crooked half smile at him. The night began to wear off with every sip.

“So”, started Jesper at some point, snatching the bottle from him, “about our advice?”

It had to be the wine for Kaz to answer this. “I guess I can try it.”

Wylan huffed and gave him a knowing look. “Just be yourself, Kaz. Inej likes you like that.”

“Ever the romantic”, Jesper winked at him, making him flush. Again.

“Aside from that”, Nina propped herself up, turning to him, her lips quirked and her face lit up with happiness, cheeks red from the wine. “I still suggest the flowers. You know her favourites. And you might want to get ahead with those, Brekker'', she added, pointing her finger toward the horizon; over Ketterdam’s rooftops, the moonlight shone on the silent streets, reflecting on the waves that hit the docks. There, against the sky lit up by stars, stood the profile of a sharp ship, a flag Kaz knew by heart flying over the mast, its edges turning his stomach upside down as it entered the harbour.

“Our Wraith is coming home.”

#gvbb21 #gvbbminibang21 #gang28 #the crows #first time writing them so im terrified #kanej #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #heists gone bad #sort of crack fic #check out my artists because they're amazing and i'm stunned by the talent #six of crows #post crooked kingdom #grishaverse #fan fiction #wesper

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