#six fanfic

[sixaus-meaa]

this fandom needs to go back to writing fanfic and produce more fanfic ASAP it's what gives me life 😩😭

(maybe I'll post a list of six fanfics I like...)

[janedances]

You know that six the musical in itself is a fanfic, right? The musical treats them as “figurines” and you said. Any portrayal of a real person is going to be a fictionalized characterization of said person, it doesn’t matter if it’s actors on a stage or a 14 year old writing about them.

have you seen six?

how six portrays the queens of course has some aspects of fictionalisation because it’s about putting a spin on history and letting the queens tell their story. but they aren’t straying away from the original personalities of the queens. aragon is strong, boleyn is smart (though it isn’t the leading message in the musical) seymour was strong, cleves was rich, howard was naive and parr was intellectual.

how i describe a fanfic is a fiction written through the eyes of a fan. there are some fanfics that i deem respectable as they aren’t completely rewriting these stories. but when you get into ships? when you create new personalities for these queens so much that they become someone else? when you completely ignore history? that’s what i was calling out. because it’s nasty. why on earth would you even thinking abt shipping howard, a minor, with another queen when the entire point of her song is about being abused from a young age. you’re calling out henry for getting with her young but shipping queens double her age with her? bye.

so yes, there is a distinct difference between two 20 year olds in university studying theatre and history writing a musical about the queens and a 14 year old sitting in their bedroom crying abt homework.

[portiasharper]

OKAY OKAY WAIT Catalina and Cathy with the word “bitter”

Time: 1am. Catalina was wide awake. She was sitting at the apartment table, reading when Cathy stumbled in, half awake, and grabbed some coffee. She downed two cups, before cringing. "Ew, this shit's bitter." "Then why...?" Cathy was gone before Catalina could finish her question.

[exauhstedsunflower]

Hi, are there any future plans for growing pains? Its a really good fiction and I love it :))

Hey!! This is super unexpected, and honestly kinda nice to see. I thought for sure that by now people would not even care anymore.

I have a good portion of the next chapter actually written already, but I lost motivation and never finished it. I’ll say it’s technically not abandoned, I can see myself updating it for sure in the future!!! I just have to get through this chapter and kinda figure out where I wanna go with it afterwards. Which I think is why I’m having trouble. I don’t know where it’s going?? It’s fairly episodic, but like?? I don’t really have any ideas past the end of this arc (which is planned out) so I don’t know what to work towards, if that makes sense.

If you or anyone else who sees this have any interest please drop things you’d like to see! It might help!

That got long, sorry. You didn’t ask for all that. But I’m hoping that an actual explanation might kinda give a bit of closure to those who have been waiting a long time. I’m glad you like it!! It’s one of my favs I’ve ever worked on tbh. Thank you for the ask. <3

[anticomedygarden]

Our crowning glory

-

He got down on one knee/But I said "No way!"

When Catherine sang, she didn't see him. She saw herself as a young woman, fresh out of Durham House and hurling into the arms of Henry VIII.

Packed my bags/And moved into a Nu-nu-nunnery!

She should have known right then and there that her new husband wouldn't, couldn't, love her the way he should've. She should've known right then and there that the convent would've been kinder to her than the castle.

Joined the gospel choir/Our riffs were on fire

When she sang, she gave herself something new, something she deserved. She never wanted a divorce. She only wanted to live in a way worthy of her station and to raise her daughter well.

At the top of the charts/Is where I'm gonna stay

When she sang, she sang for salvation.

-

Henry sent me a poem/All about my green sleeves

When Anne sang, the guilt and heartache washed off her in waves. She stopped seeing her own head in a basket and felt hope take its place, bright and burning in her heart.

I changed a couple words/Put it on a sick beat

She wished she could give her younger self the knowledge she had now, that a life with Henry, however brief, would not make her happy. She only hoped that her daughter learned that before she did.

The song blew their minds/Next minute I was signed

When she sang, she gave herself a do over, separate from her past mistakes. She denied Henry a place in her heart and instead took her life in her own hands.

And now I'm writing lyrics/For Shakesy P

When she sang, she sang for freedom.

-

Since my first son/Our family's grown

When Jane sang, she saw her infant son, tiny and screaming in her arms. Her son, who she only got to know for 12 days before her death.

We made a band/And got quite well known

She reached out a hand to cup his chin, suddenly seeing her little baby as a young man. She savored that face, the one sitting under nearly 3 pounds of sparkling gems. This was what she had wanted with Henry, and this was what she had been denied.

You could perhaps call us/The Tudor Von Trapps

When she sang, she gave herself a family and the strength to know that she was the best she could have been. No matter when she died, she did her damn best, and she couldn’t ask anything more of herself. 

I'm just kidding/We're called the Royalling Stones

When she sang, she sang for the life she should've had.

-

What a shame/Yeah, my face/It cost me the crown

When Anna sang, she saw that stupid portrait, the one responsible for her life trajectory since that idiot king looked at it and saw a pretty, docile young girl. Sure, it made her look beautiful, but what good was beauty in this world?

So I moved to the/Haus Of Holbein!/In my hometown

In her mind's eye, she slashed through the pretty canvas with her finger nails and turned to Henry, pointer finger accusatory and dripping malice. She never should have gotten on that boat to England, and she probably wouldn’t have if she’d been given the choice to not. 

His mates were super arty/But I showed them how to party

When she sang, she put herself right back in Germany where she wanted to be all along. She would never deny that her life post crown was fabulous and resplendent, but she didn't need that. She needed passion, and something to care about, though that palace in Richmond was pretty damn great.

Now on my tour of Prussia/Everybody "Gets down"

When she sang, she sang for independence.

-

Music man tried it on/And I was like "Bye!"

When Katherine sang, she saw her 12 year old self, eyes still big and naive to the ways of the world. Even now, she was sad to admit those same eyes were drawn to the abject beauty of that child, the beauty that would cause her immense grief before her 20th birthday.

So I thought "Who needs him?/I can give it a try"

Now, she raged against the adults that had allowed that little girl to be abused so horribly for so long and then told her it was her own fault. She screamed and cried and tried to live her life on her own terms now that she had that choice.

I learned everything

When she sang, she stopped the grief before it could start. She may not have been able to change her own past, but she could damn well give that little girl something to live for.

Now all I do is sing/And I'll do that until I die

When she sang, she sang for the little girl she should've been.

-

Heard all about these rockin' chicks

When Catherine sang, she saw herself at the altar of all four of her husbands, and she felt the combined dread of each day she was forced to be tied to men who didn't deserve her.

Loved every song/And each remix

She was a published author, for god's sake, but a young, eligible woman such as herself couldn't exist for long without being snatched up by inferior men with more power than her lest she be cast from society.

So I went out and found them/And we laid down an album

When she sang, she gave herself the dignity and independence she earned through hard work. All she ever wanted was to write and maybe make life easier for the women who came after her because no one should have to go through what she and the other five queens went through.

Now "I don't need your love"/All I need is SIX!

When she sang, she sang for the love of herself.

-

also on ao3

[mochiiikko]

➸❥ Lies and their consequences

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

Beheaded!Catherine Parr, Stress cooking, Nightmares, Blood (not as bad as it sounds), Angsty but not really, platonic everyone, Except Aragon and Boleyn who are shoving their tongues down each other's throats in the background, also Cathy has a crush but, Mentioning the fact Cathy was a teen when Anne became queen bcus funny

↳ Catherine Parr, Catherine of Aragon, Kathryn Howard, Anne Boleyn, Anna of Cleves, Jane Seymour

𝐀𝐨𝟑

7.741 words

Hey there! Here is the long awaited Beheaded!Cathy fic before i get into it i wanted to talk a bit cause hey <3 this is technically a sequel to LiSL, but that was written a WHILE ago, and a lot of my hcs, dynamics, how i write, etc. Have changed. Like the switch from established clevemour to crushing clevarr. So all you really need to know is that Cathy lied about surviving and was beheaded, which the queens found out in said previous fic.

Other then that, thanks for sharing even slightly in my hype for this fic, this is the longest fic i have written in a WHILE and there will be surely be more to come. This isn't that in depth on the situation, but if this is well received i will write some side pieces, this fic got long very quickly so i had to end it somewhere adafj

But anyway, enjoy! Also please remember to reblog and/or leave some kind words <3 i worked really hard on this and it'd be nice/nf

Catherine Parr woke up at 2 A.M.

Their chest heaved as they shot to find their heartbeat. It was dark, they didn't yell. They weren't sure they could. 

Their hands found their heart, beating. Thankfully. Rapid, a rhythm that seemed out of tune. 

There was an ache at their neck, beating like their heart. But this hurt, it hurt a lot. Shame burnt at the back of their mind as they subconsciously brought their hands up to scratch at it. 

Even when the thick blood started oozing from the scar, they scratched. They should stop, they knew they should. But they couldn't. 

Whether it was the dissociation or the other being quiet. Cathy only realized someone had entered their room when their wrists were grabbed. 

The woman flinched, labored breaths leaving them as they fought against whoever was trying to hold them down. 

In an instant their mind returned to years ago, begging for their life and struggling against the guards. They were saying something, it didn't matter, it didn't. Catherine needed to talk to the king, they could still save this. 

Catherine gasped when they were pushed down, finding their breath taken from them. 

They weren't pushed to a hard ground, rather to a soft surface, had they been forgiven? Had it all been a dream? They could recognize it as a bed, they didn't know imprisonment would have such soft beds.

It didn't.

Cathy took in greedy breaths as their senses returned to them, what had been blur in front of them becoming a clear image and the distortion of sound becoming a clear hushing and humming.

Jane, it was Jane pinning them down to the bed. 

Jane was humming a tune to calm the other down, which Cathy immediately recognized as Jane's song in the show. They did mention really liking the song, hadn't they?

Cathy's fists unclenched as they calmed, attempting to squirm enough to let Jane know they'd gotten their senses back. 

The third queen seemed to get the hint, letting go of Cathy's wrists to sit next to them. 

"You okay?" Jane asked, gently rubbing at their knee. Cathy raised a brow, getting themselves up. 

"Yeah, fine. I could've.. dealt with it." Cathy tried, not daring to meet Jane's gaze. 

Jane huffed, an amused but kind and concerned smile crossing her features. "I can see that." She gestured to Cathy's neck. Cathy grimaced.

The wound they caused wasn't big and not fatal, Jane had gotten in before they could do any real damage, but it was bleeding. Not rapidly or like they would drown in their own blood. More like a wound you'd get when falling on your knees as a child. 

Still it felt uncomfortable, and it stung horribly. It took everything in them not to get up and scratch at it again. The ache hadn't subsided either. 

Jane seemed to notice where their mind had headed, giving a ruffle to their hair to shake them from their thoughts. "Lina's getting a towel and some bandages." She reassured.

Cathy managed a small smile.

"Wait, Lina? Wait shit, did I wake you up? Did I wake all of you up? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to! I didn't even scream! God i can't even not fuck up on just not waking people up, i'm so sorry i-"

"Catherine Parr!" 

Cathy snapped up to meet Jane's gaze. 

"Do not spiral on my watch like that! First of all, me and Lina were already awake and heard you start panicking. Before you ask, we were awake purely because we couldn't sleep. Second of all, Cathy, it would not be a problem if you woke any of us up, not even if you woke all of us up. You deserve your comfort too."

Cathy couldn't bring themself to respond. 

It wasn't that much longer until Catalina entered the room, holding more than Cathy had expected. 

"Okay, so i have the obvious, the towel and bandages, but i have some snacks, pain killers, that poem book you said you liked and a collection of bandaids from that show you watch to add some color to the bandages." Catalina rambled as she sat down next to her goddaughter, showing off the items as she listed them. Cathy was almost impressed.

"Oh there's also this thing I forgot the name of to make sure the wound doesn't get infected." Catalina showed off the small bottle. Cathy raised a brow. 

"Disinfector?" 

"That's the bitch." 

Cathy couldn't press back a smile. 

Catalina got Cathy to turn towards her while Jane held back their hair. "This might hurt." She warned, though she supposes the younger would already know that. She dabbed the towel where the blood was before wiping it clean with the part she'd wet.

It stung, horribly so, it took everything Cathy not to scream at the sensations at their neck. It didn't get any better when Catalina added the disinfectant in the mix.

Cathy hissed as Catalina worked the wound. Jane was holding their hand and squeezing to keep them grounded. Both women whispered soft reassurances to the last wife, who had started bouncing their leg at the overstimulating pain.

When Catalina finally finished and turned to grab the bandages did Cathy start calming down. There was still an incredible sting at their neck, but the removal of active movement was a significant change.

Catalina gently cooed, cupping their cheek. "Almost done, querida. Don't worry." She tried a reassuring smile, which Cathy tried their very best to return.

Cathy's breathing picked up as Catalina wrapped the bandage around their neck, being as gentle as she possibly could be. Jane continued with humming her song as gently played with Cathy's hair in an attempt to keep them in the twenty-first century. 

Logically it had been a few minutes at most, but Cathy felt like it took hours for the bandages to be finished. Tears stung at the corners of their eyes, small pained whines leaving them as they relaxed their ever aching neck.

The two other women's hearts broke at the sound, Jane combing through Cathy's curls gently in an attempt at comfort. "The pain will be over soon, chiquitita." Catalina assured, turning to give Cathy a band-aid of choice like she promised. 

It felt incredibly childish to Cathy, and a small blush arose to their cheeks as they chose. Their godmother gave an amused smile at Cathy's embarrassment, but did nothing more as she gently placed it on the side of their neck.

The three sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound in the room being Jane's humming.

"Has this happened before?"

Cathy turned to Jane. "What? The nightmares?" They asked, a brow raised.

Jane chuckled, her hand never ceasing with the comforting motions. "No.. i know those happen. But.. you hurting yourself like this when you woke up from one.. has that happened before?" She mused, her gaze soft.

Cathy froze, before curling in on themself. "Yes." They responded, bringing up their hand to bite at their nails. "I just dealt with it. At some point i'd get grounded by some random noise outside or something. Then i'd just clean it off in the bathroom and pretend it never happened. Never got a new scar from it, though." 

The other two listened carefully, both giving eachother a concerned look at the end. 

"I do wish you'd told us earlier, or just.. didn't lie about it at all." Catalina tried to sound a little like she was joking, it hadn't worked, she noted as Cathy curled further in on themself.

"I don't know why i did it, honestly. Or.. how i even managed it." Cathy chuckled. "I.. suppose i.. felt like my beheading was a failure. I'd so carefully planned out everything so i'd get out of that marriage alive. And it.. didn't work." They explained as best as they could.

"Of course that.. beheading thing being a failure only applied to me, and not the cousins." Cathy added with a small smile. 

Jane hummed in thought. "Wouldn't Anna have known?" She asked.

Cathy had to think for a moment. "I asked her about it recently. After Kate's beheading she didn't keep up much with the news from the English royal family, atleast until Henry died. So she just didn't get word of it. She'd heard people speaking of a beheading, but she never looked into who it was." They took in a breath.

"Besides that, it isn't like Anna particularly liked me back then. Which honestly you wouldn't say now. But i can completely forgive her for just caring so little she forgot. If that had been the case." Cathy giggled, what had clearly been a joke to them only making the other two wince in concern.

"No one really spoke of it after the fact i suppose, didn't stand out that much from you guys since i was basically more a nurse then i was a wife." They shrugged.

Catalina sighed, deciding to put the next Parr issue that was surfacing from the depths in her mind for tomorrow. It was late and frankly they needed sleep.

She smiled, taking Cathy's hand in her own. "Well, how about we talk about this tomorrow? You've had a hectic night and i think it's about time we get back to sleep." Cathy winced. Something which didn't go unnoticed.

"What if-" Cathy tried, though Jane quickly cut them off.

"If you get any nightmares we will be right here, ready to do all of this over again." She assured, holding Cathy's other hand.

Cathy wanted to retort, but found themselves unable to argue. It did seem rather nice to have them spend the night. 

Catalina chuckled, clearly knowing it. "Well, how about you make use of those pain killers, and i'll get that poem book ready, yeah?" Her voice was kind and soft, and the thought of being read to made a second round of blush spring to Cathy's cheeks. But they nodded either way.

….

Cathy couldn't say they were surprised when the two women were still in their room by morning.

They'd woken rather peacefully, not having any bad nightmares that night anymore. They found that Catalina was already awake the moment they'd opened their eyes. Their head had been moved to rest on her lap so that she could sit comfortably while reading.

Jane was still sound asleep, keeping Parr stuck in a hug.  

Catalina hummed, shutting her book when she realized her goddaughter had woken up. 

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." She smiled, gently playing with their curls. "I would ask if you want breakfast, but it seems you're a little trapped." She giggled, gesturing towards the arms wrapped around their waist.

Cathy smiled. "I'm sure she'll wake up soon."

"Anything happened yet?" They asked. Catalina thought for a moment.

"The others came to check up on us, other than that nothing has happened." She responded. 

"Did you tell them what happened?" The younger asked, bringing them self up as much as they could with Jane clinging to them. Catalina smiled. 

"Not in detail, I just told them you had a nightmare so we stayed the night." Cathy smiled at the answer, they weren't sure they'd forgive themself if the other cousins heard of them hurting themself like that.

"They wouldn't mind you know." Catalina quickly said. "They care just as much about your well being as you do theirs."

Cathy raised a brow, an amused grin on their features. "How did you know i was thinking about that?" They asked.

Catalina laughed. "You're like an open book! Honestly Mi Amor, you're pretty easy to read, especially in the morning."

"I lied about my beheading to you. For two years." 

Catalina shoved them aside playfully, rolling her eyes. But a smile reached her when Cathy laughed in response.

…..

Much like Cathy had suspected, It didn't take much longer for Jane to wake up, craving her breakfast.

And it didn't take much longer for all the inhabitants of the house to come down for breakfast.

 The ladies had started up their own conversation, which Maggie then somehow dragged Anne into. Jane had given herself the task of making everyone's breakfast and Anna had wrapped Catalina in a heated discussion about a new game she had found.

Which left Cathy and Kate.

Who were just sitting there.

Quietly.

Before the truth had come out, Kate had her thoughts about Cathy's 'almost' beheading. Sure the other women were several levels of pissed, but Kate was furious. She honestly hadn't thought much about why she was so mad, but she was.

This had worsened when she learned that the almost beheading had been a lie. And they'd actually gotten beheaded.

She'd jokingly praised Cathy for her lying skills after the fact, and tried her best to cool off after it but she couldn't.

She, first of all, couldn't believe Cathy would lie about something like that, but she also supposed they had their own reasons she wouldn't probe in until they allowed it. 

She'd also gotten extremely protective of them.

There must've been a reason they were afraid to tell the truth right? And Kate knew it had something to do with a differing opinion.

(Cathy once again found themself in a discussion, 'someone who attended the show talking shit again' they'd explained later.

Kate couldn't help herself, she overheard the whole thing. She could barely stop herself from giggling at how hard Cathy was kicking this guy's ass.

"Well, it's just that i think-" 

"The last time you thought for yourself you almost got killed."

Kate had never stepped out to defend someone so fast.

 She quickly came out from her hiding spot. Startling both Cathy and the man they'd been talking to. 

Cathy looked around to where the other could have come from, confusion in their eyes.

"What? Kate where-?"

"You should leave." Kate spoke up, looking the man straight in the eyes, and stepping behind Cathy.

"With all due respect we were just having a discussion."

Kate shook her head. "That didn't sound like a normal discussion." 

Before the man could retort, she continued. "Don't be a dick. Leave them alone." 

The man groaned, but did as he was told, heading straight to the door.

Cathy looked up, Kate's gaze immediately softening at catching the other's eyes. "..Thank you"

"I.. You're welcome.")

In some sense, Kate blamed herself. In a similar way to how Anna blamed herself for Kate's beheading. Barely being able to look Cathy in the eye. 

The fifth wife was snapped out of her thoughts as Jane handed her her breakfast, at which point she realized everyone had sat down at the table.

She'd talk to Anna later.

…

It was about 2 P.M when Anne walked into a kitchen filled with treats and sweets. 

She'd decided to come down, a snack would go well with her reading. But her plans changed as soon as she walked in and saw several plates full of them.

"Jane?" She called, the kitchen was full of evidence that Jane had been there. But Jane was nowhere to be found.

"Oh! Anne, do you want something?" Came Jane's cheery voice from behind her. Anne whipped around, smiling at her softly.

"Yeah, well. Originally- Are you okay?" 

Jane tensed for a second, before smiling and going back to her spot to work further on her treats. "I'm fine, why do you ask?"

Anne grimaced. "Jane, you're stress baking." She responded softly.

"Oh."

Jane stopped, staring blankly in front of her.

"Cathy hurt themself last night." She said. Anne wasn't exactly sure if she realized she did.

"When they woke up from their nightmare. They started scratching at their neck and they were bleeding, Anne they were bleeding, lord it felt horrible." Jane rambled.

Anne quickly scrambled over towards her, taking her into a one-sided hug.

"I wondered how long they've been doing that. And we just didn't know. Anne oh my god. Anne, I'm so sorry." Jane started trying to hold back tears, her voice wavering in the process.

"It just reminded me so much of you and Kate. And i'm so sorry i got into the affair with Henry. I caused your death Anne. I'm so sorry." The third wife cried, hugging Anne back.

Anne barely knew what to say, so instead she settled for rubbing Jane's back as she sobbed. 

"It's alright, Jane you're alright." She assured, still processing everything that she was told.

Jane quieted down into quiet sniffles as Anne collected her thoughts, deciding what to say next.

Anne swallowed. "You know, the world has a funny way of working."

Jane looked up in confusion.

"If it had not been you, it would have been someone else. Fate and such." She smiled when she got a small chuckle out of her cousin. "But seriously, if anything i am glad it was you, and nobody else. I would have never forgiven someone else."

Anne smiled softly, meeting Jane's gaze. "You're a wonderful person, and you are fully deserving of my forgiveness." She assured, patting Jane's back.

"And as for Cathy, what they did was wrong. But i do fully believe they are also deserving of our forgiveness. There's definitely an underlying issue waiting to get dug up." She chuckled.

Jane hummed, swaying in her cousin's hold. "They talked a bit about it last night." Anne perked up.

"Really?"

"They said they felt like it was a personal failure. They also, just to clear them, said that the thought of the beheading being a failure only applied to them. And not you or Kate. It's not much of a reason. But it's an insight." 

Anne giggled. "At least it's a start."

Jane smiled, nodding in agreement.

"You know.. it's really been hard to trust their word on things recently." The third wife whispered. Anne hummed.

"Yeah, i get where you're coming from. I know they aren't like that. But something in me is screaming 'if they lie about something like that, what else could they be lying about', you know?" She responded. 

Jane chuckled, nodding. "It's just.. hard. I know they aren't the type to lie about random things. But if they lied about their literal head getting chopped off.." She trailed off.

"And it ranges from small things. Like me not being sure if i believe their 'i'm not hungry' when i ask if they want a snack. To wanting to know if there's something their holding back when they talk about their past." Jane continued, biting her nails.

Anne nodded. "Same here, i just wonder if there's more to it." She smiled softly. "I'm sure they'll tell us more, when they're ready."

"I hope so."

…

A knock on her door awoke Anna from her trance, setting down the sketchbook she'd been working on.

"Come in!"

The door opened and in came a very tense looking Kathryn Howard. She walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge.

Anna raised a brow, turning her chair around to face her. "What's up, Katze?" She asked, rolling over to sit a little closer.

"I just.. i wanna talk about Cathy." Kate responded, fidgeting. Anna raised a curious brow.

"Okay..? And what do you wanna talk about concerning Cathy?" She asked, her voice soft as ever. 

"Do you think i'm at fault for their beheading?" 

Anna was taken aback, staring at the younger woman in front of her. 

"No! Why would you think that?"

Kate looked around the room, wearily. She was clearly tired. "It's just.. if- had i.. if i had survived a little longer just enough for Cathy to marry their Thomas.. he couldn't hurt them." She responded, blurting out all her feelings before she could decide it was a bad idea.

Anna quickly reached for Kate's hand, shaking her out of her emotional state.

"Kate, what happened to Cathy was horrible. But what happened to you is also horrible. You had no control over your situation and shouldn't blame yourself. Henry was horrible. Mannox, Dereham and especially Culpepper. Were horrible people. And what they did to you is unforgivable. And most importantly, not your fault."

Kate nodded, wiping away stray tears. "I've learned that.. and in some way i only partially blame me. I mostly blame Henry, of course. And i blame Thomas." Anna nodded, gently helping with wiping away the younger's tears.

"Hey, Katze. Can i tell you a secret?" Anna smiled gently. Kate seemed confused, but nodded.

"Cathy came to me too, before the house of cards fell down." She chuckled. "You know what for?"

Kate shook her head, curiosity filling her eyes. 

"They came for the same advice you came for. They blamed themself for your beheading." Anna said, Kate backing up in temporary shock.

"Do you blame them, Kate?"

"No!"

Anna smiled, pulling Kate into a hug. "Then they won't blame you either." 

Kate hesitated, but returned the hug with her own smile.

"You should talk to them, it'd give you some clarity." Anna added as Kate let go of her. The younger nodded, wiping away remaining tears.

"I'll talk to them soon, i need a bit. Thanks."

Anna grinned, patting Kate's knee before she stood up to leave. "You're welcome!"

And with the slam of the door, Anna happily went back to her sketchbook.

…

Cathy had always felt guilt and shame swell deep inside their stomach whenever anything in the musical mentioned them surviving. This feeling had only gotten worse after the word had gotten out to the other queens.

They'd found themself rushing off the stage after the megasix, ignoring the concerned looks they got from everyone. They always changed as quickly as they could, so the silence that filled theirs and Anna's dressing room wouldn't choke them.

Today was no different. Well it was, in the essence that when they'd gotten into the dressing room they felt incredibly tired and instead of starting to undress, quietly sat in their chair.

It only took Anna a few more seconds before entering as well, taking in Cathy's position before moving to sit next to them.

The fourth wife started tugging her costume off, while the sixth merely sat there.

"I suppose you don't want to do stage door?" Anna asked, a small grin on her face. Cathy looked up, Anna wincing at the change of pace. Cathy had been so energetic just now during the entire show, yet now they looked.. empty.

"I'm really sorry, you know." Cathy spoke up, barely audible.

Anna frowned, moving closer. "Sorry about what, Schatze?" Cathy chuckled darkly, pointing to their neck.

"For lying about it. I couldn't tell you why i did it, nor how i managed it. But i am really sorry." They responded, looking down and grabbing at the pants of her costume. 

Anna raised a brow, a small smile still remaining on her face. "You've said you're sorry a lot, we forgive you. You know that right?"

Cathy bit their lip, tugging a little harder at the fabric. 

"I know. But i'm not blind and neither am i deaf. It's not hard to see that you guys don't take my word for things anymore."

Anna frowned, but before she could say anything Cathy continued.

"I heard Anne and Jane talking about me yesterday. They were talking about how hard they thought it was to trust me. I get where they're coming from but fuck that shit hurts." Tears stung at the corners of their eyes, which they quickly wiped away before Anna could see.

"You guys say i'm like an open book but i managed to hide the cause of my fucking death which is visible on my skin for two years and you guys couldn't manage to hide the fact you think i'm a lying bitch for longer then one week." 

Anna winced, but that didn't stop her from attempting to reach for Cathy's hand.

"Fuck that was harsh i'm so sorry." Cathy blurted out, covering their mouth with the hand Anna was trying to grab.

"I totally get you. Like i said i straight up lied about my death why wouldn't i be a fucking liar? You guys have every right to be mad as shit, i don't know why you aren't."

"Cathy we could ne-"

Cathy's breathing started to pick up as they continued to ramble. "I fucked everything because i believed my death ruined my fucking dignity, like i had any to begin with. Of course you guys wouldn't trust me, i'm so sorry i said that."

"Cathy please, hold on a min-"

"I shouldn't have fucking lied to begin with, now i'm bitching about you guys doing something which is natural response to it like a fucking idiot. I'm so sorry."

"Catherine Parr." 

Cathy shot up to meet Anna's gaze and in an instant they were sure they'd never felt more like a child to a disapproving mom then they did right at that moment.

Anna frowned when Cathy shied away from looking at her, their fingers tugging at their top. 

"I'm really sorry i said that, that was wrong." Cathy said, their voice wavering in what was an obvious attempt to bite down tears.

"Thank you for acknowledging that, Cath. You being able to admit and apologize for that makes you ten times better then several people we know immediately. We all make mistakes." Anna assured, trying to coax Cathy to look at her to see her words were sincere.

"But, i must admit. While being distrustful of you for a while is a natural response, especially when you lie about.. that." Anna gestured towards the choker around Cathy's neck, to which the other smiled sheepishly.

"But you are still family, and we don't treat family like they're outsiders. And i'm sorry if you feel we've been treating you like you are." 

Cathy stayed silent and frozen for a few more moments, before deflating and letting themself fall onto Anna's shoulder.

"Why are you so good at this shit." Cathy said, more a statement then it was a question. Anna laughed.

"Because you're important to me, you little shit." Anna teased, getting a small smile from the younger. 

"I can say the stupidest shit around you, and you'll still be my friend. I like that." Cathy whispered, reaching to hold Anna's hand. Something which Anna accepted with an internal celebration of victory.

"Of course, i have been known to let people be stupid around me." Anna joked, getting a laugh from Cathy.

"But seriously, Catherine. You haven't fucked anything. Yeah shit happened, but we're a family. We've gone through stuff before and came out of it fine. If we give it some time. Everything will return back to normal soon."

Cathy nodded, finding themself getting too tired to argue. 

"You're a really strong person Cath. We'll get through this."

It was half an hour later that the door to the dressing room was opened again, a concerned Catherine of Aragon standing in the doorway.

Her gaze softened and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her goddaughter and Anna on the couch.

Anna had gotten completely out of costume, Cathy still had the pants on but their top was replaced by a very oversized red t-shirt.

Anna looked up from her phone, giving a smile to Catalina. "They're asleep. Don't worry, i got them."

And if anyone had seen the way Cathy freaked out when they realized they'd not only fallen asleep on Anna but also woke up in her shirt, well they certainly didn't say a thing.

…

Catalina had talked to Anne about it, worrying for her goddaughter after what they'd said about their beheading. But it felt weird to confront them about it 3 days later.

But Anne had said it would be better to talk to them about it. So that's how Catalina found herself outside of Cathy's room figuring out if she should knock or not.

Before she could retreat however, the door slammed open. Catalina was lucky Cathy's door went inside, or she'd have been slammed on the face.

"Oh. Madrina, hi." Cathy said, stepping back. Catalina smiled sheepishly, waving in response.

"Can i come in?"  She asked to which Cathy immediately froze. Catalina's concern only grew at that. 

"I kinda thought i escaped that talk." Cathy chuckled, stepping aside to allow the older into their room. Catalina smiled, going to sit on the edge of their bed.

Cathy sat beside her, quietly fidgeting with her fingers. "It's about what i said, right? About my beheading being a failure?" They asked, their voice quiet.

Catalina nodded. "I wanted to talk about it, but it felt weird to go to you 3 days after the fact. But Anne said it'd be better to talk about it."

Cathy chuckled. "Of course she did."

The two sat in silence for a moment as Catalina quietly considered her next actions.

"What did you mean by it?" Cathy looked up, searching their godmother's face for any judgement.

There wasn't any.

"I meant what i said. For the longest time i considered my beheading a failure, i still catch myself thinking it." Cathy explained, their eyes glued to the floor. 

Catalina frowned. "Why did you think that?" 

"I planned it all out. So carefully i made sure not to make a single mistake." Cathy mused. "And then i just had to say my opinion on something which didn't even matter." They spat out in frustration. “I know there was only a small chance i could have saved it, but jesus christ. I should have done something more instead of just accepting i’d be put on the scaffold.”

Catalina hummed as Cathy groaned. “That’s the reason i still ask for your guys’ opinion on things before voicing my own. Or even agree with you when i don’t. I know you guys won’t charge me for fucking treason-” Catalina chuckled. “But there’s this underlying trauma response that i just couldn’t get rid of.” 

“Same reason that i didn’t tell you, i thought i would seem like a failure. Like i couldn’t even manage to survive even though he was so close to his death.” Cathy leaned back, a little too scared to lean on Catalina. “Now that i’m saying it out loud i sound fucking stupid.” 

“No you don’t.”

Cathy perked up at that, looking at Catalina.

“What?” 

“That doesn’t sound stupid. You were severely traumatized and have left over behaviors from it. That’s understandable, you realize that’s the same reason Anne put on the chaotic persona for the longest time? Her being so smart and clever was one of the reasons she got killed.”

Cathy thought for a moment. “I.. never thought about it like that.”

Catalina smiled, taking Cathy’s hand before taking them in a hug. “Maybe you should talk to Anne about this. It might ease your mind.”

“Yeah, i’ll do that.”

They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying each other's embrace. At least until Catalina decided she wanted to ease the somber mood in the room.

“Why were you so flustered when you gave Anna her shirt back this morning?” 

“How about we stop talking for a while.”

….

Cathy seemed to have been getting a lot of visits that day, as an hour after Catalina had left Kate had entered.

Kate seemed nervous, which worried Cathy, who saved and shut their project off. “Hey Kat, What’s wrong?” They turned towards the younger with a raised brow.

“I wanted to talk.” 

Cathy giggled, patting the bed. “That’s obvious. But what do you wanna talk about?” They asked. Kate sat where they pat the bed, completely tense. 

“About our beheading’s.” She responded.

“Cathy do you.. think i’m at fault for your beheading?” 

Cathy’s eyes grew wide, quickly grabbing both of Kate’s hands and kneeling in front of her. “No! Never! I could never! You did nothing, you had no control over either of our situations.” Kate nodded, tears already at her eyes. Cathy quickly cupped her face, smiling softly. “I mean it, there is not a single second in my life that i have blamed you for anything. Besides when you stole the snacks Jane made for me. I blamed you for that.”

Kate laughed, wiping her tears away.

“You had no control over your situation neither did you mine. You wonderful girl, i’m so sorry if i’ve made you feel like i do.” 

Kate shook her head, a small smile on her own features. “You haven’t, it’s just trauma and shit.” 

Cathy chuckled. “I get that.”

Kate hummed. “Why did you blame yourself for mine?”

Cathy froze before grinning. "You talked to Anna didn't you?" Kate grinned sheepishly and nodded.

"I did. And i still catch myself doing so." Cathy confessed, looking down.

"Sometimes i wonder if i hadn't gone to court so often, somehow it wouldn't have happened. But i know that's not how it works." They smiled up at Kate. "Which is why you shouldn't blame yourself for anything either, Fate has a funny way of working, if not you it's someone else."

Kate raised a brow. "Have you been talking to Anne? She says the exact same thing constantly."

"I gotta learn it somewhere." Cathy shrugged, giggling. "I overheard her say it recently, felt like it fit." 

Kate smiled. "I suppose so."

"Say, how did you manage to get historians to say you survived."

Cathy gave a cheeky smile. "Well, you remember that time our savings suddenly got really low without explanation."

"...oh my god-"

….

It was the next day when Cathy decided to listen to Catalina's advice.

They'd asked Anne if they could talk after the first show, which Anne happily responded to with a 'yes!' 

But to be honest as they walked off the stage, the dread pooling their stomach almost made them reconsider.

"I prepared some snacks for us." Anne said, walking over to the cabinet's while Cathy sat down.

Cathy fiddled with the peplum of the costume.

Anne raised a brow as she handed Cathy a few brownies. "So, Mon ange, what did you wanna talk about?" Anne smiled, sitting across from the last wife. 

"You know… 'the one thing we have in common.' So to say."

"Our undying love for Catalina, though incredibly different." 

Cathy gave her a death glare. "Stop talking to me about fucking my godmother." Anne laughed. 

"I didn't say anything about fucking." She said, an amused smirk on her features. "But seriously, what did you wanna talk about?"

Cathy gulped. "Anne.. How did you deal with it." Anne gave them a confused look. "Like, how did you deal with.. being scared of like.. being the smartass you are now." 

Anne hummed. "Okay, first of all. Cheeky comment there that i will ignore for now. second of all, before we get into anything, is it alright if i asked you why you wanted to talk about this?"

Cathy frowned. "I talked to Catalina-"

"I knew it."

"Shut the fuck up. I talked to Catalina about how my beheading affected how i share my opinions with you guys, and that you deal with something similar. I know Kate does too, but i don't wanna burden her with it."

Anne nodded, processing what was told to her. "Ah, The 'i'm totally not the smartest person in the house i'm such a gremlin please don't behead me for correcting you' dilemma"

Cathy giggled. "Yeah, that." 

"Alright, hit me."

The last wife hesitated before sighing. "So.. you may know i got beheaded because i disagreed on exactly one topic with Henry." 

"Motherfucker."

"Right. But because of that, i have a really hard time sharing my thoughts on things. I know you won't straight up charge me with treason but.." 

Anne chuckled, giving Cathy a soft smile. "That's why you ask for our opinions first, right? Like when you were writing the show you needed to check with all of us what our opinion on every line was." 

Cathy blushed, but nodded in response. 

Anne laughed. "And when we're discussing anything you ask what we think and agree with us, sometimes through gritted teeth." 

Cathy nodded again. 

Anne's gaze softened, the humor in her tone disappearing in an instant. "Look, Ma belle. I know trauma is a hard thing to deal with, especially fucking death trauma. But i also promise you we would never judge you on any opinion you have, let alone outcast you. And surely we won't behead you."

Cathy sighed as Anne took their hand in both her own. "I know that's hard, and it's going to be a long process, i'm not even done. If it helps, you can just start out by voicing your opinion to me or Cat."

The last wife gave the second a grateful smile. 

"I know it may turn out you need a different method of learning this then i did, but if that's so, we'll figure it out along the way." 

Anne stood up to get a round the table and get a seat next to Cathy, before taking them in a gentle hug. 

"Now was that all, or do you need more advice from the girlfriend of your godmother?"

Cathy barked out a laugh, covering their mouth with their hand.

"You're so cringe ew."

Anne raised a brow, a teasing grin on her face. "I deserve to be, i knew you when you were a child-"

"I was fifteen."

"And have every right to make you cringe because of it. And besides, i do remember this.. one time when you-"

"NOPE!" Cathy shot out from their seat, making a break for the door. "Don't wanna hear it, lalala!" 

Anne laughed, chasing right after them. "Come back here! Let me cheer you up by making you cringe at your past actions!"

"SHUT UP!"

….

Catherine Parr woke up at 2 A.M.

They choked on a scream as they shot up, their chest heaving and their neck aching. Their hands shot to find their heartbeat as they coughed, which only made the pain at their neck grow.

They could see out of the corner of their eye a light turning on, they didn't care. They couldn't.

The ache at their neck felt like a beating heart, but this hurt, it hurt a lot. Shame burnt at the back of their mind as they subconsciously brought their hands up to scratch at it. 

Except they couldn't.

The blurry mess that was their vision shifted, realizing their hands were being held out in front of them. And that the light had turned on. And that literally everyone was there.

Damn.

It was Catalina holding her hands, a soft smile on her face. "Hey mi cielito, you doing alright there?" Cathy couldn't manage for anything to come out of their mouth, so instead they just stared.

Cathy took the time to look around their room, the other queens scattered about. Anne sat at their desk and Jane had taken the bean bag and turned it around from the tv to face them. Kate had thrown a cushion on the floor to sit on top of, Anna having done the same.

Catalina was crouched in front of them, still with that smile, still holding their hands.

Their mouth felt dry.

"I'm.. sorry i woke you up." They muttered.

Catalina huffed in amusement, getting up sitting beside them. "Mija, do any of us look bothered?"

"Anne does." 

Anne shot her gaze up giving a glare towards the last wife, who smiled slightly in return. 

"It's my resting bitch face. I assure you, i'm not bothered." She smiled, rolling her eyes when Cathy giggled.

"But seriously, none of us are bothered. Like me and Jane said, you deserve your comfort." Catalina tapped Cathy's nose, to which the other physically cringed.

"Besides, it's nice not being the one who has their room filled with people to comfort them for a nightmare." Kate spoke up, a cheeky grin on her face. "Nice to switch roles every once in a while."

Anne laughed. "I hear you!"

Anna looked at the queens in the room before taking a breath. "You know, a lot has happened recently. And i think it's time we talk about it like, y'know, adults." 

Immediately the atmosphere in the room changed, an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. But the other queens nodded anyway.

"Well, alright. So we all have our own thoughts and have had our own conversations about what happened last week." Anna's gaze shifted to Cathy. "Some conversations more full of cursing." The last wife smiled sheepishly.

"But it's about time we brought those thoughts out in the open and talked about them."

After that the room stayed silent, everyone waiting for everyone to make the first move.

Cathy sighed, this wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm really sorry about lying. And sorry about going through such drastic measures to keep the lie going. That was horrible of me to do, especially about such a topic." 

The last wife curled in on themself, biting on their nails. "I still carried a lot of trauma, i suppose. Most of my life had been planned for me and i always followed. Which is a miracle considering.. everything. So when Henry asked.. forced me to marry him, i made a plan so i could survive it. Except i didn't, and apparently everything being planned out for me and people getting mad at me when i messed up, fucked with me more then i'd realized."

Catalina placed a hand on Cathy's knee, giving them a soft smile. 

"Trauma makes you do a lot of bad shit doesn't it?" Kate said, chuckling. "When i'd learned you were nearly beheaded i'd gotten really angry, not at you. Not that i knew who i was mad at. So when i learned you actually got beheaded…"

Cathy nodded along. "..You became extremely protective of me."

"Right, i think now that i've really thought about it, in some sense it was a trauma response. When all of history blames you for the abuse you went through, you start blaming yourself for things. Some part of me wanted to make it up to you, though deep down i knew i had no control over what happened to either of us."

"I swear, if i could go back in time and kill those men, i would." Anna said, making Kate giggle.

"Thanks, Anna." 

"I think i went through something similar." Jane spoke up. "Not the whole beheading and blaming myself thing. But when we reincarnated i felt a lot of guilt for leaving behind Edward, even though i couldn't control it. So i became really protective and mother-like to all of you, even though i'm only older than Kate."

Catalina smiled. "Both Anne and me went through that too." 

Anne nodded. "Yeah, being beheaded after having a daughter is a little traumatic. Also sorry about Mary, babes." 

"You're forgiven hun."

"Gay."

"Shut up Anna."

Anne coughed, gesturing towards Cathy. 

"Right, sorry." The first and fourth queen said in unison.

Anne laughed. "Okay look, Cathy, i'm gonna give it to you straight here. If i had been the one to figure it out, i would've slapped you upside the head and smacked the shit out of you." Cathy's eyes widened as they gave her a nervous grin.

"That being said, i understand what trauma can do to a person. So here on out officially, though already done unofficially before, i forgive you." 

Catalina nodded. "Mi amor we all do, i'm sorry we haven't been clear enough with you on that."

"Thanks, but there's really no need to be sorry for anything, i'm the one that fu-"

Anna frowned, crossing her arms. "Let's cut it with that, okay? You lied about something horrible, and that was wrong. But you didn't fuck up anything. We're talking it out right now aren't we?"

Cathy hesitated before nodding slowly. 

"We're a family and we don't let one mistake ruin that."

There were several noises of agreement around the room, and it only widened Cathy's smile.

Anna raised a brow. "On the topic, Cathy, do you wanna tell them what you told me a few days ago?" 

Cathy froze, dread pooling in their stomach. "Not really, actually." They smiled nervously. 

Anna smiled. "But it would be better to get it out in the open, wouldn't it?" Cathy whined, which only got a chuckle out of the fourth wife. "You're allowed to leave out all the cursing, by the way." 

Cathy hesitated for a few more moments, before releasing tension with a sigh. "I overhear you guys talking about me a lot. How you think it's hard to believe me for a lot of stuff. Which i get, i lied about my death. But it'd be nice if you could make it less obvious."

They smiled a little, before returning to hiding their face in their knees.

Jane winced, immediately knowing they'd heard her and Anne talking. "I'm sorry, love-"

Cathy shook their head. "You don't have to be, lied about my death. Like, scarily well. It's a natural human response; it'll go away after a while. I'd just appreciate it being hidden a little better." They smiled sheepishly, shrugging.

"I, also, want to reiterate that we're all allowed our human responses to things but let's not overboard. Let's not make Cathy feel like they're being shoved away, yes?" Anna said, looking around the room for everyone's responses. The other queens, thankfully, nodded.

"Sorry if we've made you feel that way." Jane spoke up. Cathy gave her a comforting smile.

"You're good."

Anne clapped. "Does anyone have anything else they'd like to say about it now?" At the sincere no's and shaking of heads, Anne continued. "So we agree that what happened was weird and wrong, but we're all kinda over it now and going back to what we were before? With slight changes to accommodate the discovery, of course." There were more noises of agreement

She smiled. "Good."

It stayed silent for a few minutes, before Catalina sighed. "If no one says it, i will."

"What?" Cathy looked up in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Cathy.. we've all been talking and thinking about it for a bit now." The other women in the room nodded, though slightly hesitantly.

"Hm?"

….

"We want to rewrite the show."

Taglist : @unwrittenemmy @2nerd4this @unpaididiot @iamheretodomythingrip

[readwritealldayallnight]

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

[ravenyenn19]

Kaz: Alright, so now that the plan is in motion, let’s move.

The other Crows, having no idea what plan is in motion nor where Kaz has been the last 24 full hours:

(under his breath)

kaz: no. no, you may not.

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.

or

it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.

or

“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”

warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!

i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.

Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.

It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.

ii. you break, i mend.

Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.

The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.

Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.

He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.

‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.

Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.

He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.

The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.

(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.

“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.

Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.

(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.

By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”

The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.

(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.

“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”

Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.

Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.

It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.

Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.

“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.

The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.

Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.

“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.

“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”

She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.

“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.

“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.

Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”

Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.

Saints.

It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.

The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.

“Are you with me?”

No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.

It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.

“None of that.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.

“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.

“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”

“I know.”

A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”

Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.

It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.

“If you break, I mend, remember?”

(mend

BREAK)

Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.

Saints be damned.

Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.

iii. a raven and a crow

The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.

He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.

It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.

“Inej?”

“Good.”

Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.

“Jes?”

“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.

He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.

The goods are safe.

“Nina?”

“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.

There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…

His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.

And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.

(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.

And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.

There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.

Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.

Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.

“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.

For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.

She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”

Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)

“You’ve got it?”

“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”

His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.

“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.

Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.

(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.

“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.

Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.

“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”

“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.

“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”

(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”

He pouts.

“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”

He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”

Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.

“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.

It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.

He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”

It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.

“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.

“A raven?”

“Yeah.”

Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.

Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”

Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.

And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.

(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”

Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.

“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.

Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.

(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”

Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.

She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”

(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.

“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”

“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.

“You know it’s true.”

He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.

Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”

And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.

Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.

“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”

The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.

“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.

(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.

“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”

Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.

“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.

“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.

(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”

It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.

The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.

R.

A Raven.

No fucking way.

He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.

Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.

(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)

iv. a broken lock and a key

Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)

(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.

After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.

He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.

Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.

On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.

So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.

It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.

Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.

“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”

(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”

And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.

He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.

She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”

“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.

“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.

“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.

“You’re gonna keep me company?”

Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”

She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.

It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.

Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”

(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.

“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.

“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.

There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.

She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”

He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”

“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.

And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”

He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.

To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”

His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.

“What?”

There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.

“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.

Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.

v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.

As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.

“Did you finally figure it out?”

He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.

“What?”

She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.

“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”

Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”

“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”

“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”

“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”

Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?

“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”

He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.

“Yeah.”

“Actually?”

She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.

“Got the documents to prove it, too.”

Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”

“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."

Jesper understands.

He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.

Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.

“Lovers, huh?”

(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.

“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”

[skyrigel]

Me when I consume media with a stabbing knowledge that I'll never experience anything as mortifying, beautiful and agonizing as this, with my hands tainted my brain rotted my heart overwhelmed and for my soul to be forever grotesquely haunted ( affectionately )

[janedances]

why do people make fanfics/ships for the queens?

[captainzigo]

i was inspired by events in this fic my friend @thistlehorse wrote: https://www.fimfiction.net/story/552883/twilights-new-moon

which is really good and i love it

i’m drawing a follow up right now, so hold your comments about how rainbow dash is also mistaken. i just wanted to post this by itself first

[thechaoticrow]

for people who haven’t read the shadow and bone/ six of crows books, but have seen the show:

- inej ghafa is a survivor of childhood sex trafficking. she has ptsd and reacts in a panic attack at even walking past the menagerie

- kaz’s trauma isn’t just pekka rollins being responsible for jordie’s death, and waking up on the barge. he had to swim to shore, age nine and barely alive, using jordie’s body as a float

- the darkling has done far worse things than are shown on screen. he is not a ‘lost man’ and alina is not his ‘balance’

- alina was seventeen upon the darkling being nsfw/ romantic with her

- matthias helvar did not lead drüskelle, that was jarl brum- matthias is only just barely an adult himself

- the crows are not their own separate gang, they are part of the dregs, who per haskell leads and kaz takes over from haskell after haskell sold out his lieutenant (kaz) to pekka rollins

- zoya, genya, and alina have personalities outside of either being traumatised or hating each other

- alina never wanted any of the power and fame and idolatry, and in the end of the books is stripped of it all. she is very happy about this

- jesper is a gambling addict and somebody who watched the death of his mother

[crypticpaw]

A little last illustration for my fic! I worked very hard on this story and if you guys like LMK family fluff, you should go read it! :3

[fanged-fanfics]

👑🧡 Wukong and Macaque x fem reader — Cuddle HCs 💜🌙

Genres: Romance, Fluff || she/her pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑🌙୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹

- Wukong is absolutely needy when it comes to cuddles. He loves the feeling of having you wrapped up in his arms, it brings him a lot of comfort to feel your warmth

- Macaque enjoys them, but has a hard time admitting that he does. He'll act like you're convincing him into it, even if in reality he's been waiting for you to ask all day

- "Geez, fine, princess. If you really want em that badly, then come here"

- The two definitely turn it competitive and compare who gets more attention than the other. They get into little bragging matches about it and everything

- "Well I had her for over an hour!"

"So? She was with me all day yesterday"

"I was busy! I had to train the kid"

"Sure, Great Sage, whatever makes you feel better"

- They get extra clingy to try and make up the difference if they think one is getting more than the other. It's not uncommon to have then randomly plop down on either side of you, both ready to ask for attention

- Wukong likes to cuddle by wrapping his arms around you, fully feeling you against his body. He loves nuzzling into your neck or shoulder, always looking to wrap you up in his embrace as much as possible

- Macaque is more the type to let you lean on him, though he will give an arm to wrap around your waist or shoulders too. He let's his tail wrap around you the most, keeping you close to him with a firm hold on your hip

- Wukong complains a lot if you try to get up before he's ready to let go. He groans and whines if you get up too early and follows behind you when you do get up since he's still feeling clingy

- Macaque tries to use more sly tactics to keep you laying down. Just subtle teasing and flirting, he likes using his charm to woo you back into his embrace. If that doesn't work then you got a grumpy monkey following you around with a tail around your waist

- They ask for it in different ways but they both want cuddles the second you come home and always before bed. They're the same amount of clingy in the early mornings too