#thiefofcrows

"Why are you obsessed with me?"

{♚ x @thiefofcrows  x} 

 He had won in the end. Or, perhaps, survived was a better way of putting it. It certainly didn't feel like a win and it had been one of the closest calls Matt had had since he'd started fighting in the arena. His state—heavily bruised, injured, and certainly out of commission for a while—was a testament to that. 

 Worse yet... If he couldn't compete, he'd lose his private cell eventually. And without his private cell, keeping up his correspondence with Kaz would become infinitely more difficult. The true nightmare; much more painful than any injury could ever be. The letters from Kaz were the only thing that kept Matt going. There was no way he would've survived two years of this without them.

 Letting out a heavy sigh, Matt carefully laid down on his bed, unsure of how much longer he'd be able to enjoy this comparatively comfortable place. If only he hadn't let that damn lizard get the drop on him... As fast and as skilled as he was, the lizard had been just as fast—if not faster—and far stronger. Him winning had been pure luck. 

 Then he heard some noise at the door, and his heart sank. It definitely wasn't time to eat yet, and he had still won, so he deserved to stay here even if only for a little bit longer. So what did they want? "Who's there?"

{ ♛ x @thiefofcrows x}‌

 Expanding into London wasn’t going to be easy, Tommy knew that. Especially given the fact they didn’t all seem to be on the same page about it. Fortunately, he didn’t need them all to be on the same page—he just needed them all to do what he wanted them to do. Not an easy feat by any means, but he’d achieved far more difficult things. He’d manage somehow.

 For now, the Peaky Blinders just needed to get their foot in the door. Easier said than done. The bigger gangs in London had far greater numbers, with friends in high places and far more knowledge about the territory. Storming in as a lone gang was practically a suicide mission. There was, however, a war going on between the two biggest gangs: the Italians and the Jews. If the Peaky Blinders could manage to build an alliance with one of them, they might just stand a chance. Before making that sort of a decision, however, Tommy wanted to gather some intel himself. Without his men, without Polly, and without his brothers.

 He didn’t approach the Italians or Jews directly, of course. He didn’t want to risk any sort of unwanted attention—not yet, anyway. Instead, he found his way to pubs run or frequented by the smaller gangs. The ones caught in the crossfire of the war, frustrated and angry. Tommy barely had to make an effort at all to gather what he had come for; as soon as the alcohol flowed, so did the information that could perhaps prove useful. If only things could always be this easy.

 Tommy was just about to leave when someone else entered the pub, and the heavily drunk men suddenly perked back up to attention. Whoever it was, clearly had to be someone of importance. In an attempt to remain unnoticed, he sunk deeper into the shadows, nursing the whiskey in his hand like someone desperately in need of a drink and not caring where it came from.

Tell me your honest opinion of my portrayal

Where were you? I didn't know where you were... I didn't know if you... I don't need a weak link in my crew.

The words still lingered in her mind. The worried almost, crack of his rasp and the coldness that followed. It had settled in the mid of her stomach and coiled itself tight. A tension Inej was able to ignore until now. Until the Neshyenyer had placed it's final cut, slicing the shadows and driving them out.

Sankta Alina was safe. The Darkling was dead. Zoya and Nina stood by her side. That was all that mattered. They had won and despite the waryness in her bones and the safety of the blade against her back the coil in her stomach tightened as she walked alongside her comrades back to the palace grounds. Back to where they had left Wylan, Jesper... and Kaz.

Inej wasn't one to linger on words that were used to inflict pain. She'd had enough pain to last more then several life times. Her heart was set on making good on the promise she'd whispered to the Saints before departing on this journey.

Every abducted child, woman or man, all the people and indentures kept against their will would have a Wraith. She would retrace her steps, go and find her brother, then, together they would hunt down the slavers that took them from their family and their home.

When their small group finally reached the top of the hill and began their descent the acrobat caught sight of a familiar silouhette. Long, crisply tailored coat, straight stance, hand on his cane. Sharp lines and tailored edges. The coil inside her drew tighter as she watched him turn and stopped in his movement when their eyes met. It was gone before she could form thoughts about it. Inej turned away from him, stopping next to Sankta Ali... Alina to pass the Neshyenyer blade on to it's rightful owner. She felt almost naked without the swords weight against her back, but it had never belonged to her. It was fit for a Saint, not a Wraith.

After all words were spoken and all the promises exchanged, there was only one place left to go.

@thiefofcrows : they'll never see you coming.

"They never do."

Harij twirls one of his throwing knives as he listens to Kaz explain the plan to him. He's not worried about the risk, or getting caught. He's been making his own way in the world for a long time. He's not scared. Fear feels like something that's been left behind long ago; he has nothing to lose, so why be afraid? He's a ghost.

He looks at the blueprints and continues to twirl his knife.

{♚ x @thiefofcrows x}

 Stakeouts had never been Matt’s strong suit. They were boring, tedious and required far too much sitting still and being attentive for long periods of time. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, or that he wasn’t any good at it, he just simply hated them and had always pawned it off on someone else whenever possible. Which was easier said than done when working as the Reaper for the Dregs. It had essentially become part of his job description, and no whining and complaining ever seemed to change Kaz’s mind about it. Matt couldn’t count how many times he’d had to listen to the speech of just why exactly they were so important; all he knew was that it had been enough times for him to be able to recite it word for word if he had to listen to it again.

 Today, however, didn’t feel half as tedious as usual. Which probably had a lot to do with the fact that he wasn’t alone. No, Kaz was standing mere inches away from him as they both observed their mark’s movements. A lawyer with some seriously deep pockets, as well as a safe filled with kruge and all sorts of jewels. But the money was secondary. Apart from the kruge and jewels, he also had a list of names in that safe. Clients. But not just any clients — they all were affiliated with the Bronze Vipers. They wanted that list, and they were going to get it. All they had to do was establish his routine, then find a window of opportunity in which they could get in, get what they need, and get out. All unseen and unnoticed, of course.

 And while Matt was focused and on high alert, his gaze did tend to drift over to Kaz more often than not while he was distracted with the binoculars. Matt was highly aware of just how close they stood next to each other while they shared the window in one of the Dreg’s safehouses. They were so close that he could feel the body heat radiating off of Kaz and all he wanted to do was close the gap between them; an urge felt an awful lot lately. Most of the time he could resist, other times, however…

 Annoyed with anything and everything, including himself, Matt let out a sigh and stretched in an attempt to shake off whatever he was feeling. This wasn’t the time and place, and there were more important things that needed his damn attention. “He’s been in his fucking office for hours now. He has to be going to bed soon. If he doesn’t, I might just lose my saintsforsaken mind.”

@thiefofcrows said: "[Injury] ... whether or not you want to reverse it is up to you :))" {♚ x PROMPTS FOR COMFORTABLE INTIMACY ||  Accepting x}

 This wasn't supposed to happen. His first solo job and he fucked it up. Well... Kind of, at least. Long Zhi had managed to steal the documents he was supposed to steal with no one any the wiser. No one had seen him, no one had heard him. He'd been in and out within a matter of three minutes tops. 

 It wasn't until he was making his way back to the Slat that someone spotted him on the rooftops. And it was then that Long Zhi realized that Brekker hadn't been exaggerating: word had traveled fast. He hardly even knew which gang those men belonged to, but they seemed to know exactly who he worked for, and in what capacity. And apparently, that put a big, fat target on his back, even without the knowledge of what he had on him. 

 The first few bullets were easily dodged, so were the next few. Problem was, Long Zhi wasn't paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should've been, and the next roof was much narrower and steeper than the one before. He lost his footing and tumbled down, hitting something hard on his way down, and only narrowly avoided the breaking of his neck by cushioning his fall with his powers. Fortunately, he'd fallen down the opposite side of where the rival gang members were and managed to get away without further incident.

 By the time he arrived back at the Slat and made his way into Brekker's office, the adrenaline had long since worn off. There was no time to assess the damage, but he was fairly sure he'd cut his side and broken a rib, too. He was mad more than anything. Mad, and disappointed in himself. He absolutely couldn't let Brekker know he'd been so fucking stupid. There was no way he'd keep him around if he couldn't even make it unscathed out of a simple fight. Especially one he had had the upper hand in.

 Pulling out the folder, he dropped it onto Brekker's desk, before backing away again. He had expected the other's attention to immediately be on the stolen documents, but instead, his narrowed eyes were resting on Long Zhi's face. Slightly confused and feeling somewhat self-conscious, he reached up and wiped his cheek, only to see his fingertips covered in some blood. Ah, shit. Stiffening a little, he pressed his arm closer to his battered side and cleared his throat. "Accidentally cut myself climbing through the window. Their place wasn't in the best shape. Anyway, I got what you needed, and they won't know until it's too late. Is that it?"