#knives has been on the other side of his barrel so many times and so many times vash would get mad at him and then fail to pull the trigger

[dirt-str1der]

Whatever

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: violence, blood, wounds, knife violence, gun violence, implied sa references/fear of touch due to Inej's trauma

AO3 link

Chapter 17 - Inej

Liesbeth struck first. 

Inej dove backwards as a blade arced over her head, so close to her nose she could hear it moving through the air, and rebalanced on the balls of her feet to remain standing as she tried to control her steps backwards. She saw Jesper draw his pistol and quickly waved him off - gunshots would surely draw attention and they were on Razorgulls’ territory, but with a bit of luck she could keep this knife fight quick, neat, and quiet. 

Liesbeth was strong and violent and by the looks of things not as utterly exhausted as Inej and her two hours of sleep in as many days were, but Inej’s one advantage was that Liesbeth didn’t want to kill her - yet. Of course there was always the chance that she’d mortally wound her and just drag her to a Corporalnik, but if she wanted her to talk Inej doubted that was the plan. She’d want to hurt her, certainly, but only enough to get her off her feet and end the fight. Of course then she’d probably torture her, but for now that tiny slither of advantage was still Inej’s. They both wanted her to survive this fight. 

Liesbeth was not better than Inej. But she was older, had been doing this for longer, had all the real motivation behind her in this fight. She was taller, her reach was longer than Inej’s, but maybe it would throw off her balance. Inej was very aware of the clock ticking lower. It was almost sunrise, almost time for the first boat on the Belendt line to leave the Ketterdam docks behind. How long would the walk be from here - twenty, twenty five minutes? 

Metal flashed and Inej caught Liesbeth’s arm in the air, struggling to find purchase as she drew her knives.

 “Jesper,” she managed through gritted teeth, as she dodged a blade and just missed catching Liesbeth’s flesh with her own, “Go,”

“Inej-”

“There isn’t time,”

Jesper turned and began to head for the mouth of the alley, and Inej made the mistake of watching him. She hissed as Liesbeth’s knife sliced across her arm, blood rising to the surface like something inside was forcing it out and beginning to drip over her skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, barely a slash really, but it had taken Inej by surprise. Liesbeth lunged, trying to take advantage of Inej’s brief daze, and Inej was forced to step backwards or take another hit. They moved like they were in a dance, stepping between each other, blades rarely finding flesh. Inej got a hit across Liesbeth’s forearm but paid for it on her shoulder, then returned the favour with a small arc over Liesbeth’s cheek. Blood ran slowly down her face, a bed of white flowers slowly stained red.

Liesbeth lunged again and Inej threw her weight to one side so both of them toppled as she forced the woman’s wrists farther and farther apart. It was from there, kneeling with Liesbeth pinned beneath her, grappling in an attempt to wrestle enemy knives away from her stomach and do something about the fact she could see Liesbeth was poising herself to spring free, that Inej heard the first gunshots bouncing down the little alleyway. She flinched, flattening herself towards the pavement with no idea where the shot had come from or where it was aimed at. Liesbeth took the opportunity to roll away, but Inej hadn’t missed the way she flinched as well, knives retracted and arms drawn round her to cover her head. Not back up then. Or not expected back up?

Inej slipped her knives away and scrambled backwards towards the wall of one of the drunken buildings leaning into the alley, trying to find purchase and begin to climb before anyone followed her. Her eyes scanned down the alley - three shadow clad strangers, at least one with a gun, and Liesbeth pulling herself back to her feet. Dammit. She shouldn’t have told Jesper to leave. 

Footsteps began to gather behind her as Inej turned to face the wall; she grabbed a slightly crooked brick above her head and reached to pull herself up only to falter at a terrible, stinging pain deep in her thigh. She gasped, struggling to keep her fingers connected with the stone, and when she dared to flick her head over her shoulder it was not to see Liesbeth, as she’d expected, but one of the newcomers. She recognised him after all; Oomen. An enforcer for the Black Tips, gangly and shambling, built as though his joints had been put together at wrong angles, but a terrifying cut nonetheless. Word had it he’d once cracked a man’s skull apart with his bare hands, then gone on drinking. 

Had Liesbeth been lying about having come alone, or were they both about to face some kind of trouble? After all, trying to kill Inej when the boss wanted to get hold of her may very well count as betraying one’s own gang. 

Oomen’s grip had closed tightly over Inej and he dragged her down, hand scrambling to find the knife in her leg and twisting it sharply. She had to fight not scream. 

“Did you think finding him a prize would get you back in favour, Liese?” one of the others was asking, a man Inej didn’t recognise. He had thrown his arm over the woman’s shoulders, his hand alone practically bigger than her face, “Or did you just want to keep her for yourself?”

Inej drew Sankta Alina back from the quick draw on her forearm, but one attempted step forwards and she knew her leg couldn’t take her weight. Her knee began to buckle before Oomen grabbed her again, and forced her back towards the wall as she struggled. His free hand fell to hers, twisting her wrist until the knife clattered to the ground. 

“Easy, Wraith,” he crooned, close enough for to smell his rotten breath, “Gotta learn when to stay down,”

Panic began to seize Inej, as though it were slowly creeping up from the floor and growing over her inch by inch, overtaking her limbs and holding them in place; a thousand spindly fingers closing over her ankles, then her legs, her waist, her arms, her throat. Her breaths were shaking as she tried to lean her head as far away from Oomen’s as she could manage. There was brick dust in her hair; the wall was scratching horribly against her scalp but it was the closest thing left to an escape she could feel. 

“I’ll have to teach you when to be still,” he hissed.

And then Inej could not bite back the scream that ripped into her chest as he pulled the knife out and plunged it back into her flesh. 

It’s just your leg, she tried to tell herself, he wants you alive, he won’t go anywhere important. It’s just your leg. It’s just your leg.

But there was another voice in her head too, cruel, perhaps, but also frightened. It’s your leg. You can’t climb, you can’t swing, you can’t fight without your leg. What use will he have left for you without your leg? 

The knife met Inej’s thigh a third time as the fear began to swallow somewhere deep inside her. She bit her tongue and still cried out in pain. Oomen pulled her briefly forwards and then slammed her hard into the wall, bracing his arm across her collarbone to pin her in place. Her toes were barely brushing the pavement. Inej’s breath was leaving her. She could feel blood dripping down her leg and soaking into the fabric of her trousers. 

“That’s enough,” someone snapped, their hand appearing on Oomen’s shoulder. 

Pale, thin fingers pulled him away so Inej fell the few inches to the ground and almost immediately slumped over the wounds throbbing in her leg. Liesbeth? She was barely visible in Inej’s spinning, darkening eyesight. Saints, how much blood had she lost? How deep had the knife gone into her leg? She shivered, palms grazed against the stones, trying to pull herself upright with shaking arms and drag herself along the street. Someone caught her shoulders again and she wanted to sob, to give in, to close her eyes and curl into a ball and wait for the world to end. 

They dragged her to her feet and she found herself held close to someone’s torso, their arm tight around her shoulders the only thing that kept her standing. One chance. No matter how far she managed to run or climb on adrenaline alone, she knew that Liesbeth would be able to follow her in an instant. But it didn’t matter, as long as she had just enough time. She gritted her teeth, gathered as much strength as she could muster, and hooked her foot around the stranger’s ankle. He stumbled, momentarily releasing his hold on her, and Inej managed almost five blundering paces as she tried to gain speed. 

“What did I just tell you,” hissed Oomen, his hand closing on the back of her neck and shoving her downwards so her legs were forced out from under her and her face hit into the stone, “about staying down?”

And then the knife came again. Inej was breathing hard, scrambling forwards in vain so she probably looked like a butterfly trying to thrash between pins and a page. The knife struck a fifth time - or was it sixth? She couldn’t even remember - thrusting through the muscle of her thigh so close to the other wounds it was as though he were trying to gouge a hole into her flesh. Her head was clouding and she was losing track of time and attention and her vision was blurring, but she thought it was about now that the gunshots started. 

Oomen swore loudly as he ducked, his chest suddenly tight against Inej’s back. It was a brief moment, before he lurched away and drew his own gun against the newcomers, but it sparked fire in Inej’s heart and she that age-old panic rising over her limbs again. She was ready to meet it, to best it, to control it. She took a slow breath. And in that tiny window of opportunity before he moved away she pulled Sankta Lizabeta from her belt, rolled onto her back, thrust the knife upwards. Oomen cried out as he stumbled off her, blood dripping from his shoulder and down the rose-etched blade still clasped between Inej’s palms. It wasn’t a deep cut and as far as she could tell it had done little but bother him; he still drew his pistol and joined the fray. But she felt better for it. Maybe that was bad of her, but in this exact moment she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

Inej bit back more screams as she rolled herself to one side, trying to reach the far wall of the alley. The knife handle was still protruding from her leg at an ugly angle and she didn’t realise until she rolled her weight over it, which definitely hadn’t helped the situation. She had no idea what was going on between the fighters as she begged herself to keep moving, hand scrambling over the bricks of the wall, lips moving feverishly as she whispered prayers to her Saints for enough strength to pull herself up by her arms alone. 

Climb, Inej.

She was trying. 

It took as much power as she could muster to haul herself onto a window ledge, just wide enough for her to lay there, lengthways on her back, her boots dangling over the edge. She breathed slowly. No-one seemed to have noticed her vanish; she may not have slipped away as subtly as she usually could, but they were too distracted by the fight to pay her proper attention now. For a moment she just lay and breathed, running a hand down her leg to find the cuts and the knife handle. Her palm came away wet. 

There would be time to panic later. Inej swallowed her fear, or tried to at least, and leaned cautiously over the ledge to see the fight unfolding below. Her vision was hazing, her head ached, and the pain in her leg was only growing. But… was that Jesper? He had come back. Well, either that or Inej had lost more blood than she realised and had started seeing things.

The Black Tips were on the run from Jesper and two other Dregs, whose outlines Inej couldn’t align to faces from here. She thought one of them might be Pim. There was a body on the ground and Oomen was running, dark blood spilling from his arm and decorating the cobbles, and for a moment Inej lost track of Liesbeth. She reappeared on the rooftop on the other side of the alley, and Inej tensed as their eyes met. She wouldn’t manage another fight now.

But Liesbeth gave her a single nod, then ran across the shingles and vanished in the shadows beyond a chimney. Inej let her eyes drift back to the sky. Dawn was beginning to tinge it orange and pink and the first signs of warmth were in the air, though judging by the gathering clouds that wouldn’t last them very long. It never did. 

What time was it?

The pain in her leg redoubled when she tried to move, but the sounds of the fight below had died and Inej could hear Jesper calling her name. She inched her way along the window ledge and tried her best to drop to the ground, leaning her weight against the wall. Something almost shameful crawled through her, chastising her for still feeling the panic rise and clutch at her now the danger had passed, but when Jesper’s hand found her shoulder she still flinched away. 

“Sorry - Are you alright?”

She nodded, but she was slipping slowly down the wall. 

“Wylan…” she whispered, through thick breaths.

“I sent Anika and Roeder in our stead,” said Jesper, “Are you sure you’re-?”

Inej pulled her hand away from the bloody mess that her leg had become. There was a wound in her knee as well that she had barely registered; he must have dug the blade in when she was on the floor.

“Saints, Inej, that doesn't look good,” Jesper’s voice was distorted, as though he were underwater.

She could hear what he was saying but she couldn’t quite listen.

“I think…” she took a breath, “Jesper, I think we have a problem,”

And then she was falling, and the pavement seemed dreamily far away.

[dreamtigress]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @tinyarmedtrex!

(I'd forgotten it was Wednesday like twice already.)

For this WIP Wednesday, I'm going to give you a chunk of Geheugen, the 13th story in my Kanej Wensen series. Kaz & Inej are winding down and trying to recover from an argument. I wanted to explore Kaz's feelings that he doesn't always deserve Inej, and her refuting it rather strongly.

“Inej… I… I wonder, sometimes, if you’ll realize you deserve better than me… Better than I can offer you, than I am capable of being… Someone who has an easier time revealing his entire hand. Who isn’t made of secrets, who doesn’t have so many voices in his head…” He trailed off as Inej lifted her head to stare at him, her hand skimming up his side to rest over his heart. 

 “Kaz… Did you never realize that maybe you’re exactly what I deserve? Someone who loves me for exactly who I am now? Violence and strength and sharp edges? I wouldn’t ever be content with a nice Suli husband who wanted me to stop hunting. I want the man who has never doubted my ability to be dangerous. I need the man who’ll fight by my side. You asked me to trust you earlier, and I’m asking that you trust that you’re exactly who I deserve.”

Her words hit him like a hot shower, washing away most of his doubts. The phrase ‘violence and strength and sharp edges’ stood out. He’d known from the moment he’d met Inej that she was strong, and her sharp tongue and wit had impressed themselves upon him soon after. But violence… that had surely come from him. From everything he’d asked her to do as the Wraith. It troubled him, so he asked, “Do you deserve me because you’re violent, and so am I? Because I feel like I led you to that path, Inej.”

She pulled away enough to be able to meet his eyes. “No… Our violence and our gentleness balance out in each other. You had to shove all of your good deep inside to survive the Barrel. I shut mine away to keep it safe. But we call it out in each other, Kaz. Without having to let go of the things that kept us alive. Our instincts help us fight our enemies and our demons, even now. You might have given me my first knife, but I chose to use it. I chose to sharpen it, sharpen myself.” She paused, breaking eye contact as she glanced away, towards his wardrobe. “You weren’t there, guiding my hand, when I used Sankt Petyr to cut off Captain Orlov’s clothes, or Kasim’s knives to torture him… that was all me. I can’t blame you for my actions, and you can’t take credit or blame away from me.”

“I’m not trying to, I just…”

Inej’s gaze whipped back to him, “We deserve each other because of all of it, Kaz. Because of all of the horrible things we’ve been through. Why don’t you think you deserve good things?”

Kaz closed his eyes and whispered through the ache in his chest, “Because I’m afraid I’ll lose them. That I’ll lose you. I’ve lost so much already.”

Without warning, Inej wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You won’t be rid of me easily, Kaz Brekker.”

He returned the embrace, inhaling the scent of her freshly washed hair, and attempting to believe her fierce assertion. “I hope not… Because you… you made that word a part of vocabulary again. Hope. It was a foolish thing to let myself have. And now I can’t help it. I can’t help but hope for our lives to be intertwined. It’s all your fault, Inej Ghafa.”

“I will happily take the blame for that.”

Geheugen should be coming soon to A03, once i get it through another edit run!

Soft tagging: @kezzzx, @19burstraat, @intosnarkness

[syllvane]

graphology- kaz brekker x reader

a/n: here it is, my entry to @lxncelot ‘s writing challenge!! i chose to write kaz x reader with the prompt leaving letters/notes in each other’s pockets! hope you guys enjoy!

Kaz’s pockets are almost never empty, but he’s always aware of exactly what he has in his pockets- something as simple as that could mean life or death in the Barrel, whether or not he happens to be carrying a knife or a stone of a particular weight.

That’s where he found your grocery list, in his coat pocket, somewhere between his lockpick and a small stone.

Well, he didn’t know that it was yours, not by the contents of the list alone.

But there was the irrefutable fact that it was written in your handwriting, in the handwriting that Kaz had spent hours memorizing should the need to identify it arise.

He had always imagined that this skill would be used in the unfortunate event of your kidnapping, that he would use it to discern whether or not they were forging any communication or if they were making you write it yourself.

Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to memorize your handwriting.

In any case, there was also the fact that you were the only one at the Slat who would be bold enough to wear his jacket.

Standing in the middle of the street, Kaz Brekker smiled to himself, folding the grocery list neatly and tucking it back into his pocket.

He doesn’t return it to you directly.

You find it neatly folded on your nightstand when you return from your shift at the Crow Club, with no clue to how it got there.

You try to carry nothing valuable in your coat pockets, not as adept as Kaz at detecting when someone is trying to pickpocket you.

You keep a lockpick and a couple of stray knives in your pockets and a small roll of gauze, having nicked yourself on the knives on more than a couple of occasions.

You don’t usually keep stray pieces of paper, so when you feel one in your pocket, you figure that it must be one that you left in there accidentally.

When you pull the neatly folded paper out, it’s not your handwriting on it, but familiar handwriting nonetheless.

The paper is mostly blank, with only ten words written on the entirety of the page.

‘Why do you have so many knives in your pockets?’

You know it’s him by the way he writes the letter ‘k’- the rest of the words could be written by someone else for all you know, but you know that Kaz Brekker wrote that one letter.

You ran your finger gently over the words, feeling the imprints of the letters from the other side of the paper.

You held the paper in your hand and walked back to the Slat and into Kaz’s office.

“You know,” He started without looking up. “Some people have the courtesy to knock.”

He looked up at you, his blue eyes piercing yours before dropping to the piece of paper that you held in your hand.

An amused look flashed in his eyes.

“I could just give you a holster for your knives.”

“I like having the knives in my pockets- they’re easily accessible and-”

“They stab people trying to put notes into your pocket?” He finished, his eyes sparkling.

You smiled at him, your eyes sparkling as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” You said, setting the piece of paper down in front of him before turning towards the door. “Oh, and Kaz?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for giving my grocery list back.”

He fights the urge to say that he didn’t take it from you in the first place, that you left it in his coat pocket. He knows that he should tell you not to use his jacket anymore and that next time you leave something, he won’t be as kind, but he doesn’t.

After all, Kaz Brekker doesn’t make threats if he doesn’t intend to keep them.

He settles for shaking his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

The next time he puts on his coat, he really doesn’t expect another scrap of paper in his pockets.

Once was a mistake, something that could be easily overlooked.

Twice was a pattern.

He opened up the crumpled piece of paper, expecting maybe another errant grocery list.

Scrawled in your handwriting: ‘Stay safe, boss’

His heart skipped a beat as he read the piece of paper and he felt himself blush slightly- thankfully for the cold weather, the note didn’t make his cheeks any more red then they would be otherwise.

He was going to have to address this.

For now though, he tucked the piece of paper in a pocket on the inside of his coat, near his chest, shaking his head at how sentimental he had become.

‘Stop stealing my coat.’

That’s the message you found in Kaz’s own coat pocket and you couldn’t say that it was entirely unwarranted.

And it’s the message that Kaz sees again later when he’s wearing his own coat, though underneath his original message, you had added a single word.

‘No.’

Maybe he should’ve been furious at your defiance, at the very least annoyed that you were going to continue wearing his coat after he explicitly told you not to.

Instead, he looked at the note on his desk with a strange smile appearing on his face, feeling something dangerously close to happiness.

The third piece of paper that you leave in Kaz’s coat, much like the first, is completely by accident.

Only this time, it’s not a grocery list that you’ve left in his coat, but poetry.

And if that wasn’t mortifying enough in itself, of course the words had been written in his name, though it hadn’t been addressed directly to him. It may as well have been though, having been left in his coat pocket.

All of this left only one option- you had to get it back before he could read it.

When you opened the door to his office, you were surprised to see Kaz sitting there, though not as surprised as he was to see you in his doorway.

His expression twisted into something unfamiliar but before you could place it, he coughed and his gaze became steely once again.

“You still haven’t learned to knock,” He said pointedly and you looked around the office sheepishly before stepping back into the hallway, closing the door in front of you.

You knocked.

“No one’s home,” He said, his voice muffled from the other side of the door and you rolled your eyes before opening the door again.

“Liar,” You mumbled, though not loud enough for him to hear. “I need your coat.”

He blinked.

“Last time I checked, you had one.”

“It’s not as warm,” You said and although that was true, it was not the reason you wanted it.

He stared at you, as if sensing that you were withholding information, but he didn’t push you on that.

“Why do you insist on stealing my coat?”

“It’s not stealing. I always give it back.”

“Stealing, borrowing without permission, what is the difference really, when I would never allow it of anyone else.”

You didn’t say anything to that, didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t new information, but there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that it wouldn’t be spoken aloud. You would steal his coat and Kaz would be annoyed, as if this was something all the Dregs did. You would give it back at the end of the day or whenever you were done wearing it and he would simply shake his head, a small smile playing on his lips and he would tell you not to do it again.

There was never any threat of reprisal, never any threats at all. It was probably better that way- he was known for making good on his word and he would have never lifted a finger against you.

You trusted him absolutely and it had scared all of your common sense right out of you.

“I am going to go to the Crow Club for business,” He said, interrupting your thoughts. “I am going to leave my coat here. Don’t take it.”

You wanted to ask him Why don’t you just give it to me?, but you stopped yourself- you already knew the answer.

Giving it to you would be crossing a line in his mind, a line that he probably couldn’t come back from. It was one thing to leave it here, knowing that you would probably take it against his direct orders and another to give it to you, to watch you put it on.

You watched as he shrugged the coat off, setting it down on his chair. He walked over to the door, his hand on the doorknob.

“If you leave it here, I’m going to put it on.”

He stopped, lowering his head slightly before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

“I wouldn’t leave it here if I thought you wouldn’t,” He said before walking out, closing the door behind him.

You stood there with his words for a little bit before walking over to where he had set his coat down.

You put it on gingerly, as if Kaz might walk back in at any moment and change his mind.

You slipped your hand into the coat pockets and ran through the list of familiar items: lockpick, a couple of stones, a pocket knife, and a wallet that he had taken from a tourist earlier today.

Also there, a scrap of paper.

You unfolded it to see that part of the poem had been ripped away, leaving the very last lines of the poem in your hand.

‘You are home and there is nowhere I would rather be but in your arms.’

Underneath the last words, in neat handwriting that you had come to know as Kaz’s: ‘I don’t think I could’ve said it better myself.’

[triptuckers]

Fix her - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing:  kaz brekker x reader Summary:  kaz sent you out to gather information, and you always return on time with the intel he needs. well, maybe not always. Warnings: angst, language, mentions of BLOOD, BRUISES, INJURIES, typical soc stuff, slight six of crows and crooked kingdom spoilers Word count:  2.2K A/N: hello my darlings it is I and I have read almost every book leigh bardugo has written in the past month. I am now hopelessly in love with jesper, kaz and nikolai. I'll be updating my character list soon! I still have a few wips but I don’t have any motivation / inspiration for those. so have my first kaz brekker x reader instead! enjoy reading :)

It was a rather easy job, really. Kaz had received word that the Dime Lions had an important meeting coming up. Because he always wanted to know what exactly was going on in the Barrel and with its gangs, he wanted someone to listen in on said meeting.

Normally, he would send Inej. She was the obvious choice when it came to gathering information. But she was still recovering from a rather nasty cut in her side, and so you had offered to go.

Inej insisted she could go. But all it took was you raising your eyebrows when she moved to sit up, only to wince and flop back down onto the bed. Though he didn’t quite like it, Kaz had assigned you to the job. 

No one said it out loud, but everyone knew there was something between you and Kaz. Neither of you had spoken about it. There were just a lot of lingering glances, smiles from you and what you think was almost a smile from Kaz, and you even had stolen his coat once when you had lost your own. He didn’t seem to mind though.

When you had left that evening to listen to the Dime Lions meeting from the shadows, Kaz had sent you a look that you knew all too well. He reserved it only for you. It was him telling you to be safe. You’d respond with a wink that basically meant always am.

The rest of the crows started a card game to pass the time as they waited for you to come back. They didn’t worry, you were always careful and are considered one of the most dangerous criminals in Ketterdam. They knew whatever happened, you could handle yourself.

But after Jesper had lost four rounds of card games, the tension began to rise between them. Most meetings typically didn’t last this long. Still, no one said anything as they started their fifth game. You would show up eventually, probably bringing valuable insight with you.

After two more games, there was still no sign of you. Nina was the first one to speak up.

‘She should have been back by now.’ she says, absently looking out the window into the dark street. 

‘Have a little faith, Zenik.’ says Kaz, though on the inside he was filled with worry. He shook it off and focused on the game again.

More than once he’d scolded himself for allowing you to get this close to him. For putting so much trust in you, especially after what happened the last time he’d really trusted someone. But he couldn’t help it. It was like he was drawn to you like Jespers trigger finger was to his revolvers. He couldn’t help it.

Still, he knew your skills. He knew you were smart, and a fighter. Whatever was going on with you out there, he had no doubt you’d show up at the door in a few moments, cheerfully announcing what good intel you’d gathered and wondering how many card games you’d missed.

But you still didn’t show. And one by one, they all lost their interest in the card game. They fell silent and looked out the window or fiddled with their empty glasses. The tension in the room grew. Until Kaz suddenly stood.

‘Finish the game.’ he says. ‘I’ll go and look for her.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ says Jesper, getting up as well.

‘No.’ says Kaz, earning a frown from Jesper. ‘Just me.’ he says. And with that, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his cane and was out the door.

‘Right.’ says Jesper, sitting back down. ‘Anyone fancy another game? I have a feeling I’m gonna win this one.’

They played three more games. They were tired, and it was well past midnight. Still, none of them went upstairs to their rooms. Too anxious to play any more cards or to even have a normal conversation, they settled for silence and more drinks. 

Jesper was fiddling with his rings and bouncing his leg. Nina had her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. Matthias was trying to not look at Nina. And Wylan was attempting to build a house out of the cards. 

Finally, they heard the sound of the door opening. All of their heads shot up and turned to look who it was. 

Kaz stumbles awkwardly through the door, carrying you in his arms. Nina gasps softly and Jesper murmurs ‘Saints’ as their eyes land on your body. 

It’s bruised and bloody, and your eyes are shut. Was Kaz too late?

‘Clear the table!’ says Kaz loudly, limping toward it with you in his arms. 

Instantly, Matthias and Jesper seize the glasses and cards off the table as Wylan pulls some of the chairs back to make room. Kaz lays your beaten up body on the table and turns to Nina.

‘Help her.’ says Kaz.

But Nina is looking at you body, bruised and bloodied, nothing like the cheerful girl that buys her waffles and laughs as she teases Matthias. It’s almost impossible to find a spot on your body that doesn’t have a wound on it. There’s slashes from knives everywhere, bruising around your neck and the side of your face, and to top it off, blood is slowly leaking out of a bullet wound in your leg.

An expression of horror is written across Nina’s face, her hands pressed against her mouth. 

‘Nina.’ Kaz presses on. ‘I said help her.’

‘Kaz, I don’t think-’ stammers Nina. ‘Come on, fix her!’ says Kaz loudly, surprised of how much anxiety can be heard in his voice. Fix her, he thinks, because I need her to fix me.

‘I can try but-’ ‘Do it.’ says Kaz and then he turns away, he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Memories of Jordie flood over him, mingled with memories of you. Your laugh, how he fights his own smile every time you wink at him or send a flirty comment his way, the way you smell. How you look at him when he catches your eyes. 

Kaz shuts his eyes, attempting to drown the memories out. Taking deep breaths, he tries to focus on the voices behind him.

‘Jesper get the bullet out of her leg.’ says Nina. 

‘Just pull it out?’ questions Jesper.

‘Saints, you’re Grisha, Jesper, pull the fucking bullet out!’ says Nina in a loud voice laced with fear.

After a while of listening to Nina’s murmuring and instructions to others, Kaz finally turns back around to look at you. A wave of nausea hits him unexpectedly and he swallows hard. 

Nina had treated most of the wounds, with Jesper’s help. But your entire body is still covered in bruises, and now bandages as well. Nina’s cleaned the dried blood off of your face, but your arms and legs are still covered with it. 

They’re all nervously looking at Kaz.

‘I don’t know if she’s going to-’

‘Don’t.’ says Kaz, interrupting her. He needed to think straight. He needed someone to help him focus. Normally, you’d be the one to do so. But you’re in no condition to softly talk to him to reassure him everything is going to be alright. He needed to be his own soothing voice tonight.

‘Matthias.’ he says. ‘Bring her up to my room. Nina, go with him, see if there’s anything else you can do for her. Jesper, get Inej up to speed. Wylan, clean this mess up before someone notices.’

Without waiting for their reactions, Kaz walks up the stairs to his floor. Several moments later, followed by Matthias, who is carrying you, and Nina and Jesper. Jesper disappears into Inej’ room, while Matthias and Nina continue to walk the stairs to get to Kaz’ floor. 

When they arrive, Matthias carefully places you on Kaz’ bed as he was instructed. For a while, the three of them look at you. Until Matthias and Nina go to their rooms as well, leaving Kaz alone with you.

None of them had questioned why he insisted Matthias brought you to his room and not your own. Of course, they were dying to find out exactly what was going on between you and Kaz, but they all knew tonight was not the night to push him.

As he looks at you, Kaz feels the strong urge to touch you. Lay his hand on your cheek, to see if it’s still warm. But he can’t. Instead, he merely pulls out a chair and sits down next to the bed. He lets his eyes travel over your body, wondering how much pain you’re in, and who the hell was responsible for it. 

He needed you to wake up. He needed you to tell him who did this so he could send his biggest most muscular members of the Dregs to them. Kaz wanted them to hurt the way they had hurt you. 

His mind is running at an alarming speed. But eventually, even Kaz can’t fight his tired body anymore, and he falls asleep in an uncomfortable position in his chair.

From that night on, he instructed that you shouldn’t be left alone. He doesn’t want you to wake up and realise you’re on your own. The next day, it’s business as usual. The members of the Dregs are coming and going like they always do. The familiar flow of people helps to take everyone’s mind off things, but as soon as they’re by your side, they remember. 

Nina had tried her best to heal you, but it still took you almost a week to wake up.

When you wake up, your first thought is that your entire body feels way heavier than it’s supposed to. You try to open your eyes but it’s like your eyelids are made of lead. After a couple more tries, you finally open them.

You take in the room, and realise it’s not your own. Kaz. 

Why would you be in Kaz’ room? Why aren’t you in your own room? And why does your body feel so damn heavy?

And then all of the memories flood back. Like a tsunami, they catch your breath in your throat, making it hard to breathe. You try to inhale deeply, but it’s like your throat is sealed shut. You start to panic when you notice you can’t breathe. 

Then a pair of hands land on your shoulders and gently push you back onto the bed. Whoever it is, is talking softly to you. You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. 

Then the voice yells out, but from much farther away, like they’re standing in the doorway, and not next to the bed.

‘Kaz! Nina! Get up here!’

It’s Jesper. 

You try to ask him what’s going on, but it’s still hard to breath normally. You try to focus on something else. Jesper’s voice trying to calm you down, his eyes looking into yours, but nothing’s helping. 

Then you hear a sound you know all too well. A familiar stumbling, of someone walking up the stairs with a cane. 

Seconds later, Kaz rushes into the room and roughly shoves Jesper away, taking his place next to the bed.

‘Who did this to you?’ he says. 

His voice is that familiar rasp, and normally you love it. But now it just makes your head hurt. You shut your eyes and softly shake your head, trying to drown the sound out. 

‘Y/N, who did this to you?’ says Kaz, more firmly this time.

‘Kaz.’ says Nina’s voice. ‘Let her rest. You can talk later.’ Nina’s voice is softer, more gentle than Kaz’. You try to focus on it as you open your eyes again.

Kaz is close. He looks down at you and you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. Was that a hint of worry you detected? You open your mouth to say something, but Kaz is faster.

‘Y/N, tell me who did this to you.’ says Kaz.

‘Couldn’t see their faces.’ you manage to say in a hoarse voice. Your throat feels dry and you start to cough. Immediately, Nina moves to get you a glass of water and helps you to drink it. 

‘Did you notice the way they moved? How they walked? Were they Dime Lions? Could you see any tattoos? What about scars? Clothing? Voices?’

Kaz keeps on firing questions at you, but you can’t focus on his words. Your head feels heavy and you feel your eyelids slowly closing again. 

‘Kaz.’ you say softly. ‘Tomorrow.’ 

You expect him to press on, to find out who did this to you. But instead, he looks at you and holds your gaze. He doesn’t say anything, he merely nods at you. You know what it means. Despite his harsh voice and the million questions, he’s glad you’re safe. And the ones who did this to you will pay for it. He’ll make sure of it.

You offer a weak smile before closing your eyes, already drifting off. You hear two pairs of footsteps leave the room, and assume Nina stayed behind to check on you.

The chair next to you gets moved back and you hear how someone sits down in it. When you feel something brush against your fingers, you assume it’s Nina checking your pulse.

But then you feel a gloved thumb on the back of your hand. It slowly rubs over your skin. To most people it wouldn’t mean anything. But to you, it meant the world. A tiny smile reaches the corners of your mouth, as you fall asleep. 

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

[theshireisburning-so-mordoritis]

Hi! I saw your 12 days of Christmas post and could I get #5 (the secret Santa one) with Will Miller and gn!reader please? 🤗💖

Photographs

Pairing: Will Miller x GN!Reader

Christmas Prompt #5 - Secret Santa present that makes one of us realise there's feelings.

Warnings: None except for language I guess. This is all fluff.

A/N: I'm sorry this is so late! Silly me decided it would be a good idea to move house right before christmas with 2 small kids so I have had zero time to write, but I hope you like it!

He's not sure who made this their tradition. He doesn't even remember whose idea it was in the first place - maybe yours? Could have been Benny's - the two of you are just as bad as each other when it comes to the holidays.

It's Secret Santa and ugly sweaters on christmas eve - cold beers in your hands and way too many snacks spread across the coffee table. It's you singing along to the cheesy classics and making him join in as you decorate the tree whilst Santiago bakes cookies and Benny steals them and Frankie yells at them to shut the fuck up because their bitching is distracting him trying to prep for Christmas dinner.

To an outsider it's probably a weird sight - these five war ravaged soldiers sipping rum punched cocoa when everything's done and arguing over what's the best Christmas movie (you had said Muppets Christmas carol with such conviction that he'd almost choked on his cocoa trying to hide his laugh.)

But they need this - this is comfort and familiarity and home when they're not quite sure where that is anymore because half their life has been spent jumping in and out of countries. Will had never really been one for traditions before but this one makes him happy - makes him feel like he can be himself instead of the golden war hero his parents expect him to be around the holidays as they drag him and Benny around the neighbours' many parties.

And he likes that he gets to see you in all your holiday glory - fake snow from the tree caught in your hair and the glow of the lights shining in your eyes. The smile you get when you unwrap the one gift you're allowed to open on Christmas eve from one of them and laughter bubbles past your lips as you ask how did you know, like they don't know you better than they know themselves. Especially Will.

He likes the way you're warm beside him on the couch at the end of the night - shoulder pressed tight to his, your head beginning to fall in his direction as sleep tugs at you and when the clock chimes midnight you whisper a faint Merry Christmas Will before finally dozing off against him.

At first he'd thought that had all been a part of the tradition - the way he discovered all these new things he suddenly likes - until he had realized that maybe instead he just liked you.

**

"Happy Christmas Eve fuckers!"

That's all the warning you get before you're barrelled into, a poor unsuspecting victim snatched up tight in one of Benny's bone crushing hugs the second he bursts through the door with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a case of beer in the other .

He nearly lifts you off your feet until a warm voice intervenes behind him, the honeyed drawl of it making something in your chest flicker like the crystal lights wrapped around the tree.

"Jesus Benny, put Knives down before you crack a rib, I'm not saving you if they decide to kick your stupid ass."

The younger Miller's grip tightens for just a moment - long enough to dramatically plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek as he beams at you before winking at his brother. "Nah they wouldn't do that, they love me too much."

You scoff then, pinching his side and snickering when he yelps. "Don't be so sure about that Benjamin. I'll definitely kick your ass if you drop any of that booze, go put it in the kitchen."

"So fucking mean." He pouts - ducking away with a burst of laughter and his arms up in surrender when you go to pinch him again. "I'm going!"

You turn then to the presence behind you - to Will in all of his sunshine gold handsome glory. He's watching you with a soft, amused smile, the kind that makes your heart flip flop and your tongue not quite work right as you take a small shuddering breath and say,

"Hey there Captain."

His grin widens - ocean blue eyes twinkling as he pushes away from the wall to reach for you and pull you into a sweet hug - voice dropping to something low and syrupy.

"Hey Knives."

**

"So when are you two gonna stop acting like lovesick, pining teenagers and get your shit together?"

"Oh, c'mon Pope not this again, we're just friends."

"Yeah sure - so how come you don't look at me or Fish like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're thinking about climbing us like a tree."

"Frankie!"

**

He’s nervous. His fingers fiddling with the shiny curls of ribbon spilling from the gift on his lap and it’s so fucking ridiculous - practically laughable as he shakes his head softly at himself so no one else notices. Will’s been in some dangerous positions, he’s stained with war - a master of remaining collected in life or death situations - yet it’s the neatly packed square that Santi’s passing over to you that rocks him?

God he’s pathetic.

He’d got that feeling he gets whenever he sees you when he’d drawn your name from the ratty old cap - begrudgingly offered up by Fish at Benny’s demand - like a sparkler being ignited in his stomach, a burst of warmth and crackling joy until it occurred to him he had no fucking idea whatsoever about what to get you. It’s not that he doesn’t know you, because truthfully there’s no one that Will knows better.

You’re his best friend - he’s seen every piece of you, peeled each and everyone of your layers back when you’ve allowed it and learned all the odd little parts that make you who you are. When it had finally come to him - a perfect gift - he hadn’t thought of how it might look, that he was practically placing the way he feels right into your hands. All he’d thought about was your face. Your smile. The ache within him to see the way you light up so damn sweet when something delights you.

And as he lifts his head and finds you watching him , the soft twitch of your lips as his own are pulled into a sheepish grin - he thinks maybe it’s finally time.

**

You don’t know why you and the guys keep doing secret Santa when you can tell by looking at the wrapping exactly who it’s from.

The present on your lap is pristine - neat edges and sharp lines, the design of the paper minimalistic - and you immediately know it’s from Will. The one Benny is currently shaking is a patchwork of paper, little pieces added when not enough was cut off to begin with - definitely Frankie. Will’s fingers are drumming on a work of art, swirls of ribbon elegantly pouring over the edge and none of you have the patience for that kind of thing besides Santiago. Which leaves the gift wrapped in novelty paper beneath a whole layer of tape in Pope’s hand, a little stunt Benny loves to pull to irritate his recipient as he watches on with unrestrained glee.

But even if you didn’t know their handiwork as well as you do, there’s no mistaking who yours is from and your heart pounds as your trembling fingers flip slowly flip through the weighted pages of a stunning scrapbook. He’s given you hundreds of memories you’d almost forgotten - a disbelieving laugh bubbling from your throat as you trace photographs you hadn’t seen in years and some you didn’t even know existed.

There’s your first night out as a team and the time you talked Santi into bungee jumping with you and Will had laughed his ass off as the normally fearless soldier had screamed the entire way down then up then down again. A close up photo of just you from when you’d all gone to the zoo and you’d had the chance to feed one of the raccoons, the camera focused on your ecstatic face more than the animal clinging to your shirt.

And then you turn the page and there’s you and Will in the centre and you can’t help the way your mouth parts on a wide grin. It’s from the time Frankie had dragged you on a fishing trip and thanks to too many beers and a notorious talent for being clumsy, you’d fell out of the boat and into the water.

You remember the panic - the brief burst of fear in your drink-addled head that you might drown before Will had shouted, his voice strained with the effort not to laugh, that you could just stand up. Your cheeks had grown warm with the embarrassment and when the oldest Miller attempted to valiantly come to your rescue and offered you a hand back into the boat rather than accept it, you had pulled him in with you.

The photo shows the two of you after he’d grabbed you and splashed you until you begged for mercy, water streaming down your faces in rivulets and his arm slung over your shoulders, pulling you tight into the warmth of his body as he sun beats down on you. You’re shielding your eyes and beaming at the camera and Will.. Will is looking at you. The softest smile on his lips and the light glinting off his golden hair and the unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

When you swallow hard and look up from the book, sea-glass blue eyes are already on you. His own present is half opened, his grip almost white-knuckled in the crisp paper but despite the tension within him, that look is there too - the one from the photo, the one that you know all too well because you’ve caught yourself looking at him that way too many times to count.

You watch him and he watches you - oblivious to the noises of tearing paper and the snap of tape and the chuckles and cheers of your friends. His tongue darts out and over the full pillow of his lower lip - one of his nervous gestures - and you exhale shakily. It feels like you can’t take a proper breath. Like your heart is bunched up somewhere in your neck, pulsing rapidly in your throat, the warmth in your gut is making you dizzy and when you suddenly stand the room spins to the point you have to take a moment to steady yourself before you can gasp out.

“Back in a minute - I need another drink.”

The bottle cap barely has a chance to clatter to the kitchen surface when he follows.

He finds you with your back turned to the door, your hands firmly planted on the counter top as your frame heaves with each deep breath you force through your clenched lungs and it’s the gentle rumble of your name that makes you jump and whirl round to face him. Even now, when your brain is all scrambled like eggs and you feel like you’re in and out of focus, he still takes your breath away. Even with his features streaked with anxiety, the rare hint of vulnerability when he roughly rubs the back of his neck as he searches for something to say in the stretched out silence.

And because you’ve never done well with silence you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. You were supposed to make a joke, that’s what you’d had in mind - something to ease the rising tension winding tight around you both - but instead something entirely different slips out.

“Do you love me Will?”

He jerks like it’s startled him - like he’s expected a more hesitant approach into this instead of you diving in head first - and you can’t blame him, you’ve shocked yourself too. Your eyes growing wide when you realise you've just said something you can never take back to your best friend. There’s another painful beat of silence, nothing but the whir of the refrigerator buzzing in your ears and his gaze searing into you like he’s weighing his options - the risk of his next words before he drops his head and seems to prepare himself for the worst.

“Yeah - I do.” He murmurs.

You can’t help it - the aching smile that splits across your face as something pure and light and oh so warm fizzes in your chest. “Oh.” You breathe. And despite your sudden lack of vocabulary the giddiness in your tone is enough to make his head snap back up.

When he sees your smile his own breaks out - the nervousness melting from his face into something charming and boyish and as he softly steps towards you, you're already reaching for him, fingers curling in the well-worn fabric of his hoodie to tug him against you.

“I love you too.” You whisper and then Will’s mouth is on yours - the soft scratch of his beard brushing against your face as his tongue slips past your lips to curl around yours and he presses you back into the counter with his strong body.

It’s everything you’d always imagined - your hands buried in the silken strands of his hair as he kisses you sweet and slow before you nip at his lip and a deep groan rumbles up from his chest. He burns hungry then, fingers snatching at your jaw and scraping down your side to wind in your shirt and just when you think he’s going to attempt to utterly consume you, to wreck you right here against a counter full of snowflake decorated cookies and gingerbread people, you hear a smug cough from somewhere behind you.

You groan lightly, screwing your eyes shut like if you squeeze them tight enough the owners of the faint snickers you can hear will magically disappear but as Will grins against you, you know there’s no chance in hell of that happening. You open your eyes and peer over Will’s shoulder, raising an unimpressed brow when you find all three of them standing in the doorway - a smug Pope leaning against the frame with folded arms, Benny beside him with a cheshire cat grin and Frankie behind him chuckling softly.

“Not a fucking word Garcia.” You threaten, warmth blooming in your cheeks when your voice comes out rougher than usual and Pope’s eyes glint cheekily.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He quips, a slow, deepening smirk spreading over his face before he adds. “Except that I called it, happy Christmas lovebirds.”

You grumble “asshole” when the three of them melt away from the door to give you some privacy and Will chuckles, his lips brushing over your temple as he folds you in his arms and pulls you close.

“So,” He husks. “After we’re done here you gonna let me take you out on a date?”

His shy smile when you blink at him makes something sweet burst in your chest and you can’t resist pressing your mouth to the sharp edge of his jaw, sweeping kisses along it before you reach his lips and linger there longer than you intended. You’re both a little breathless when you finally pull away, lips a little bruised from the eagerness of your joint attentions.

“It depends.” You tease, cheeks sore from the stretch of your grin and your heart fluttering like a bird in your chest. “What have you got in mind Miller?”

Main Taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @ecuadorlady @readsalot73 @acourtofsnakes @justanotherblonde23 @tiffanyblew @alexmarie29 @simsiddy @dihra-vesa @gingerbreadandpaper @sleep-tight1 @prettylilhalforc @mstgsmy @wildmoonflower

Christmas Taglist: @aellynera

[chiwhorei]

gun bunny

pairing: mafia!s. aizawa x fem!reader

genre: mafia!au, quirkless!au, smut- 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.5k

warning: somnophilia, voyeurism, violence, attempted kidnapping, attempted assault, mentions of blood, mentions of guns and knives, degradation, age-gap (reader is 19 and aizawa is 31), spitting

a/n: hello! this is my contribution to the smut pile mafia!server collab, this is both my first smut pile collab (this is so late i am so sorry sksksksk) and my first full-length bnha piece, be sure to check out everyone else’s amazing work here! thank you to @10millionyearsdungeon and @messwriting for your constant support while i trudged through sad pal hours for a fucking month and crawled out of the pits of writer’s block

hymns: hayloft by - mother mother, i’m on fire - awolnation cover

Blood pours over decades like syrup, the tinny-sweet smell was distinct but all too familiar. A muffled gun’s buzzing frames 19 years of life. The barrel feels cool, sitting precariously by the highest angle of your cheekbone.

“I told you not to cause trouble, brat. Now I have to clean up your little mess.”

Aizawa’s body is tall and broad above you, holding you against him with a protective grip on the small of your back. Every word is sneering, punctuated with a growl-- you feel it reverberate against his chest.

The bullet is resounding even through the silencer; a deafening sound, final bell tolling next to smeared streaks of mascara.

Aizawa Shouta has always been around-- whether bringing your dad a hefty stack of reports to thumb through or loosening his tie in the parlor and toasting him to another job well done. A carousel of chauffeurs and bodyguards encircle you, but all are nameless faces except for the man that can make people disappear in an instant: Eraser.

Otsuka y/n, the only daughter of the most powerful man in Japan, is a weighty title against your shoulders. Your father’s reputation has cradled you for almost two decades, keeping you draped in fur and balancing on red-bottoms. He has more money, more power than God. To most of your father’s inner circle, you are the dutiful, angelic heiress to his blood-soaked empire. You play the part well enough, polite, temperate- your hands are painted red in culpability, but perfectly manicured.

Your father’s business isn’t a secret, no matter his attempts to shield you over the years. There’s only so many nights spent humming to the tune of cracking skulls in the next room before “investments in oil” starts to lose its validity. Whenever you ask him, he pats your head, smoothing stray strands of hair, “I do it all for you, bunny. Everything is for you.”

You decide not to think about rouge splatters of blood and bruises against his knuckles, ignoring the clicking of a loading gun before he leaves for the office.

It’s better this way.

“You can’t be serious, Otsuka.” Aizawa paces across the hardwood, heel to toe with Italian leather from one large bookshelf to the other. A familiar habit, you’ve seen the contemplative marching before and know it to mean one thing: Aizawa is pissed.

“Have you ever known me to joke around? Especially with y/n?” Your father’s elbows hit the table in front of him, the jagged scars lining his face seem even more intimidating when coupled with a harshly set frown. You perch on the side of his large desk, swinging your feet lightly.

“Oh daddy, I’m not a child. I don’t need Eraser to babysit me.” You huff, crossing your arms and providing a pout to your father’s hard expression. You hear the mumbled, “Don’t call me that,” from behind you, but decide against a response.

“He’s going to look after you while I’m in Musutafu. I have to handle some…” he trails off slightly, one of his hands coming up to rub against his bald head, “noncompliance, but I shouldn’t be gone for more than a few days.” His disfigured fingers curling around yours, you look up to meet his eye, “Be a good girl, bunny.”

You give your father’s temple a kiss, pulling back to smile sweetly. Your next words have Aizawa snorting, rolling his eyes far enough into his skull to be painful.

“I always am.”

A bend downwards at the hips frames your ass perfectly, the lace of your panties curls around your pussy tightly, hooking against the lips and showcasing your soft skin. Questions swirl in the bowl of cereal in front of him, all but forgotten as soon as a cup“fell” from your fingers and clattered to the floor. The taste, the smell, the feeling of--

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Aizawa is ripped from the reprehensible desires of his senses to meet your eyes, your form still folded over on itself and displayed for Aizawa in the otherwise empty kitchen. You giggle at his scowl, snapping back up and smoothing out your skirt. Aizawa bites down on the spoon in between his teeth, he swears he can feel his teeth cracking. Better his canines than his will.

This only marks the beginning of a long week for your father’s right-hand man. The proceeding days turn to nights at a snail's pace. The past week has been inching towards disaster with every minute of alone time you could steal with Aizawa.

“Eraser, what are you doing up so late.” Your voice curls around his shoulder, the whine tugging him towards your open bedroom door. It’s late, far too late for you to be up to anything good.

You always like to push your luck, playing a game you know Aizawa won’t let himself win. Pressing firmly against the line but never pointing your heel across. Maintaining your immunity, feigning innocence behind a soft pout. Your appointed guardian isn’t fooled by any honeyed façade you build around his associates. He knows what you are at the core.

He tries to shake off your pull, but the way your voice lilts against the long hallway is magnetic. The past few nights have been the same song and dance, your disarming call to him as he trudges to one of the many guest bedrooms. Every night he gets closer, heavy feet and tense nerves guiding him towards your warm voice. He’s weathering a sea, you’re the siren hell-bent on his drowning.

“I told you not to call me that, little girl.” His response to your wanton call is shallow, the nickname is one he hates the sound of, especially rolling past your lips.

“Do you like what you see?”

Aizawa’s brows set harshly as he looks on to where you lie nestled in pillows and silk. You have nothing but a loose, light pink camisole to cover your body, cotton panties pulled down to your ankles with shameless intent. Your legs are spread wide for your viewer’s pleasure, two fingers brush against your lips, dragging lazily- up and back down.

Aizawa knows what you really are, a petulant brat.

You pull at the soft skin, spreading yourself to unveil the tight, clenching hole. He leans his shoulder against the jam, eyes drinking you in where his body shamefully wishes to be. The groan aching deeply in his chest is not lost on you as your other hand pulls the hem of your shirt upwards to catch in between your teeth.

The soft plush of your breasts bounces slightly, nipples peeking out from the folds of fabric, now fully exposed to the inky-black stare of your voyeur. There’s nothing left to his imagination now, the question that haunts sleepless nights, palming a large hand up and down his cock and imagining something softer and smaller. The picture of what his boss’s precious daughter would look like squirming under him becoming clearer beyond all reason.

Aizawa should turn heel and walk away, he should slam your bedroom door shut and count the days until your father’s return with a measured distance. He should walk away. He should-

A soft whimper drags him from contemplation and back to the writhing succubus center stage. Your fingers move quickly against your aching clit, drawing out babbled pleas to hit harshly against the tall, brooding presence at your door.

“I’ve had about enough of your games, bunny. Your father tasked me to keep you out of trouble, but you are the trouble.” Aizawa’s words hit your ears mockingly, but they sound more like an invitation than a warning, especially as his body inches forward, breaching the threshold of your bedroom inch by inch.

Two fingers slip past your lips, pushing in and drawing back slicked with arousal. You repeat the action, slowly, ensuring the boring set of eyes are trained on where you clench desperately; wanting to put on a good show with your bodyguard in the front row.

Aizawa’s head is swimming, dizzy and drunk. He wants to tear you apart, to lay claim to the twitching prize between your legs. If you struggle around two of your own much smaller fingers, it would be nearly impossible to wrap you around his thick cock.

That is, not without breaking you.

The heated pants escaping you pick up in canter, your audience winding a tight cord with his presence alone. Aizawa is unrelenting in his deep, unblinking stare, stepping towards your bed slowly. Once his body is looming over you, the coil in your stomach has turned into a hair pinned trigger.

“Such a messy little slut. Getting off to the attention aren’t you?” You’re rendered dumb at his comment, Aizawa barely has to press his thumb into your chin before your mouth hangs open. You look up with glassy eyes, fingers sore from working against your pussy, chasing a high you can only imagine how fast Aizawa could steal from you. His expression is as neutral as always, but the despondency doesn’t quite shadow the fire burning in his eyes. You watch him lean forward slightly, a string of saliva falling downward to land against your tongue. His spit feels hot, you can taste the remnants of cigar and mint gum as you swallow.

You come undone in a litany of cries, pleading with your captor. His hold is passive as he looks at you, watching you cum against your fingers, the squelching sounds make his mouth dry. The only source of hydration is at the apex of your thighs. Visions flash before his eyes, images of what the curve of your breasts look like as he’s buried tongue deep, lapping you up post-orgasm and pushing you over once more for good measure.

Aizawa retreats, lest he pulls you against his mouth while your cunt is still pulsating, he needs to escape before your knees are pressed to your shoulders. He slams your door closed harshly, leaving you with the taste of his contempt for you on your bottom lip.

You’re quick to sleep, body falling into the warmth of unconsciousness coupled with dreams of what a certain set of fingers would feel like against you. How the scars and calluses would brush against your most intimate inches of spongy flesh, how he would stretch you.

You can almost feel the soreness in between your legs and the heavy slap of something against your stomach. You can almost remember the whispered confessional swimming in the back of your head, the soft grunts from above your sleeping form. As sunlight stretches across your sleep-stiff body, your hand trails down over your naked skin, maybe you aren’t the only one playing games this week.

You could have almost sworn you had gone to sleep with panties on.

The car ride to your father’s bar was filled with unflattering tension. You had protested in vain that going with Aizawa wasn’t necessary, but had been met with a dismissive, “I don’t trust you to behave.”

“I’m not a child, Eraser. I don’t see why I couldn’t just sit at home.” You wobble behind your escort, heeled boots clacking against the gravel.

As you enter the building, a young mop of violet hair flanks Aizawa down with a stack of papers. The man is nameless to you but is familiar enough to be assumed under your father’s thumb.

Aizawa looks over the document’s now held in front of him with care, rolling up the sleeves to his crisp dress shirt as his eyes scan the pages. You note the shimmering silvered skin of a scar under his left eye, pronounced by the harsh lighting surrounding you. His hair is held up partially by a tie, the loose strands framing his face.

“Are you listening to me, little girl?” You're snapped back from watching his mouth curling around syllables to actually make out what they’ve been saying.

“Go sit down, I’ll only be a few minutes.” You nod along and turn to perch at the bar, but stop at the grip pulling you back for one final order. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

Aizawa leaves you to stew in the subtle brush of his pointer finger against the tender skin of your wrist, he rubs the skin subtly before disappearing to the back rooms.

The minutes ticking by are agonizing. Aizawa, usually the epitome of brief, has been gone long enough for the condensation on your glass to mar the wood below it in countless ringlets. You twirl the straw against the strawberry liquor, willing time to crank by faster with the action. The drink in your veins isn’t nearly enough to get you drunk but does make the opening of the front door unnoticeable.

Your back is facing the heavy wood, unaware of the two strangers now approaching until the curdling sound of one man’s voice hits the shell of your ear.

“Well, well, look what we have here. Why don’t I buy you a drink, princess?” Each man steals one of your sides, enclosing you into a tight, predatory huddle.

“This is my bar. I don’t need you to buy me anything.” You try to shake off the nauseating feeling of their bodies so close to you, gut twisting uncomfortably as one man’s breath crawls across your shoulder blades. They’re both so close. Too close.

“Wow, this little kitty cat’s got some claws, don’t she?” You feel hands curl around each bicep, a bruising grip right below your armpits. Your body is hoisted up, your balance off at the jarring upheaval.

Possible escape routes flash across your mind but all seem impossible. Would trying to shake off the still faceless strangers even work? And even if you sprung free, would you make it to the back office before they caught up? Should you try to scream? Would Aizawa hear you?

Before you can make any moves, you feel the flat side of a knife at your collarbone. A chill rattles down your spine at the contact, two inches of metal keeping your entire body compliant.

Their intent is clear, you’ll be coming with them, and by the sharp point of a blade digging into the first layer of skin-- you’ll be coming quietly.

A mixture of shock and disbelief compels your body into compliance, dragging you to the front door and closer towards an awaiting trunk.

“Your carriage, princess.” You hear the shorter man on your right, his voice at your neck sounds waterlogged through the blood rushing in your ears. Any protests die at the knife against your skin, digging in shallowly and pricking a small trail of red along your clavicle.

A sharp snap sounds behind you, like a piece of thin wood under a heavy boot. One of your captors falls in a pile next to you. You’re turned around to meet a familiar pair of venomous, black eyes, Aizawa’s words roll from his tongue with a growl.

You’re pulled at the wrist, stumbling back into the strong chest of your appointed bodyguard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my bunny?”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[ashintheairlikesnow]

if you’re still doing the ask game, I’d kill to see number five for either Jake, Jameson, or Jax. you know how I love my drug whump

I have so many prompts sitting in my inbox that are numbers to ask games that I can't remember what the prompts were... but I remember this one. This is as good a time as any...

CW: Pet whump, dehumanization, drugged whumpee, beating, described body/bones, brief emeto ref, restrained, sadistic whumper, collared, chained up

Direct Sequel to Deep Breath / I'm Ready. Part of the Jameson's Backstory mini-series.

-

"I have a system, dog. I have a method. I have a way these things are done."

Robert punctuates each sentence with another kick to his ribs, and the pet grunts with the impact, telling himself to let some of the pain bleed out into the man's boot. With his hands tied behind his back, a short rope linking them to his ankles, he's forced into an arch that leaves his most vulnerable places entirely unprotected.

Open.

On display.

Inviting the next blow.

At least whatever was forced down his throat dulls things a little bit. It's a mercy, he thinks, because Robert isn't done with him yet. The world roils and spins around him like the ocean on a stormy day. The pet is a white-capped wave when the next kick comes and something snaps inside him.

Watch it rain, a soft voice says somewhere inside him. A small hand grabs his own. Watch the rain fall, Johnny. Don't you love rain?

He whimpers, sweating into the blindfold, shivering reflexively as cool air hits the sheen of wet over his skin. He doesn't know who Johnny is.

"Please... please..." His pleading is weak, voice cracked and breaking.

But he just wanted to do the only thing he could to help the young man in the bathtub. He just wanted to help.

Now he's helpless.

Robert's boot, pulled back for the next kick, pauses at the sound. "What's that? You not enjoying this?" He exhales, letting out a thready laugh, before he drops into a crouch, running his hands over the pet's hair. Robert watches him flinch back, unable to see it coming. His thumb finds a spot rubbed bald by the straps of the muzzle and he runs over it, humming, finding the scarred places where the muzzle has cut in enough to make him bleed, over and over. The pad of his thumb is rough, calloused from his job. "You don't like taking your punishment, hm? Is that it?"

The pet holds as still as he can, panting, trying to push past the throbbing ache on his left side. Broken rib, maybe, or just bruised. He'll find out if it heals right or doesn't.

"Please-... please stop," He whispers.

That only gets him another laugh, meaner this time. "That boy had two more weeks of life left in him," Robert says, in a tone of perfect rationality. "I chose him special, and you got it in your head to ruin everything. I just don't see how I'm the bad guy here."

He sighs, and rips the blindfold off over the pet's head.

The pet looks up, struggling to focus, only to take a fist to the face as soon as he does. Knuckles crack into his jaw, but nothing breaks. It's a miracle he hasn't lost any teeth.

His head bounces off the floor, a flash of white behind his eyes. He hears a rough voice cry out in pain and realizes it's his own. The world, already a seasick cruise ship, bobs even more dangerously around him.

He's being blown around in circles, saltwater coming in too fast to bail out. He's going to be sick. He's going to throw up on the floor and drown.

Just like he drowned the man in the bathtub who begged him to do it, who said I'm ready, who held his hand, who struggled at the end and then stopped, and then-

And then...

The air had gone briefly cold after the man had stopped moving and the pet had felt a breeze through his hair, as if something in the man was leaving and moved past him on its way somewhere else.

He starts to cry, unwillingly.

His sobs comes out through gritted teeth, tears forced out of eyes he's closed as tightly as he can to try and keep them hidden. His body shakes.

"Two weeks you've robbed me of," Robert says, standing back up. He groans, and the pet can hear him moving around the room. He doesn't dare look up to watch him, not now. "Two weeks, and now it's all wrong. Now nothing happened the right way, it's all fucked up now. I have a system. I have a method, I have a routine, and you fucked it all up!"

The last words come out a deafening scream, and the pet cries out again, trying as hard as he can to duck his head and hunch his shoulders, wanting only to protect himself in whatever meager way he can. The sound of Robert's voice bounces around inside his fucked-up skull. The water is pulling him under now.

The waves lurch and break against him as Robert grabs him by the arms and drags him. Hog-tied, he can do little more than squirm as he's pulled back into the hallway, to the grimy bathroom.

The young man isn't in there anymore.

"I should kill you," Robert snaps, depositing him back on the cold tile, wet now with water splashed out from when Robert found what he had done and had dragged the body out, trying to revive it so he could hurt the young man more. "I should fucking kill you, you stupid dog. You ruined everything!"

The pet tips his head back until it touches the floor, looks up at Robert looming over him, all malevolence and rage. Beyond his fear, the pet finds a core of something that burns bright and hot, stronger than the smell from the basement. Something sharper than the knives he is cut with, something stronger than Robert's shouting or his fists.

The pet makes an expression that could be a smile or could be a snarl. It could be appeasement or bared fangs. His lip busted at some point and he feels blood on his teeth, tastes it on his tongue.

It makes him think of Nanda.

He lets the blood shift into his mouth, lets it pool on his tongue. Tastes the copper-salt, the hint of sweet. The taste of love, of Nanda's mouth, of his low voice, hands in his hair or on his hips.

Once he has enough, the pet spits blood into Robert's stupid fucking face.

"I hope the next one goddamn kills you first!"

Robert goes still, and silent. His eyes are ringed in white, like a horse about to bolt. Then his hand comes up to slowly wipe away the smear of pink-tinged saliva on his cheekbone running down to his jaw, marked with a five o'clock shadow.

"Fucking dogs don't know how to stop their bark," He mutters to himself. Whatever his plan in the bathroom had been, it's clearly not enough. He pulls the pet up, then lets him fall again. Stares around, eyes bouncing over the still-full tub, the ring of grime around the tub where the water still sits.

Then he just shakes his head. "No, no, no," He mumbles. "No no. Calm it, Bobby. Calm it. Think think think."

The pet stares up at him. His body holds more disgust in that moment than he ever thought possible.

Robert disappears back into the hallway, leaving the pet where he is. Outside the barred bathroom window there's a soft birdsong and the faint hint of sunlight. What time even is it? The pet never knows. The bathroom is the only window that isn't covered with heavy blackout drapes almost all the time.

He focuses on breathing, keeping things shallow to hold the pain in his ribs at bay as best he can. His wrists hurt from the ropes rubbing them raw, his muscles are pulled painfully taut and stretched.

Robert returns with the gag-muzzle, forcing the plastic bit between his teeth. His tongue pushes against it uselessly, working to try and make it comfortable even as his jaw already protests what it knows is coming. The straps slide over the bald spots, buckle into place. The pet shudders at the familiarity of the feeling and tries instinctively to jerk his head to the side.

Robert grabs him by the hair and forces his head back, giving a humorless rictus grin at the pained grunt forced from the pet's throat. "Oh, you don't like that, huh? Shoulda thought of that before you fucking ruined my system. My method. My routine."

You said that already, the pet thinks, but it occurs to him Robert probably doesn't remember that. He's never sure what Robert actually knows about his own words, how much sinks in to memory. He's always repeating things like it's the first time he's ever said them.

The rope between his wrists and ankles is cut and Robert pulls him up to his feet, shoving him forward. The drugs keep the pet struggling to hold himself upright, stumbling to one side or the other. He can still feel the waves - inside him, battering, trying to pull him back under the cold dark water.

He goes willingly enough, shuffling with his hobbled ankles, until Robert has him at the basement door.

The pet rears back in a sudden panicked realization, a muffled, unintelligible babbled plea coming out around the bit, behind the leather muzzle already making his skin pour sweat. He shakes his head wildly back and forth, tries to yank himself free.

Robert's laugh is wild and crazed this time as he shoves the pet forwards and it's either go down the stairs or fall.

The pet's foot finds cool smooth old wood that creaks and he whimpers, the smell flooding his nose making his stomach twist and turn. The next step. A third. A fourth.

The light is on in the basement, a single bare bulb shining a thin circle of light over the disturbed earth on one side. The other side is untouched except for some boxes and the chemical barrels, wreathed in dark shadows that let nothing escape.

"You like 'em so much, you can spend the night with 'em, huh? Just have a little sleepover with my friends here, hm? How's that sound? How that fucking sound?!"

The pet whines as Robert screams in his ear, shaking his head again and again as he is forced step by step down into the basement where they die, where he buries them. His bare feet touch down onto the earthen floor, coolly dry down here, chilly compared to the upstairs. The pet is shivering but it isn't really from the cold.

Goosebumps burst all over his arms and legs, a thrill of terror down his spine as Robert pulls him over to the shadowed corner where the boxes are. There's a hinged metal collar with a chain that attaches to the wall, and the pet realizes that Robert must use it when they're down here just before Robert throws him down on the ground and closes the metal with a snnnnkt over his leather collar, around his neck.

There's thigh bones, he thinks, in a pile over underneath the lightbulb. Just a bunch of fucking goddamn femurs, like Robert comes down here to play fucking barbie dolls with dead people, taking them apart and putting them back together.

Welcome to Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse, he thinks, and a manic horrified laugh bubbles up his throat. John Wayne Gacy edition.

A padlock is hooked through the front of the collar, cold metal slapping down against the top of the pet's collarbone. He looks up at Robert, who is right in front of the light bulb from his perspective, his face black and unreadable.

Please, he tries to say. I'm sorry. Please. All that comes out is muffled animal whines.

"You love them so fucking much, you can be best friends." Robert ruffles his hair. He grins, and the yellowy white of his teeth is all the pet can see of his face. "Enjoy your sleepover, dog."

He turns and leaves, ignoring the pleading whines of the pet as he climbs up the stairs, the creaking like a chorus, a harmony to the pet's cries for this to not be real.

The light seems to shimmer around its edges - it's just the drugs, he tells himself, it's just whatever was in those pills - and shift. Dead people could hide down here in the dark places, with their bony fingers reaching out to grab him.

He whimpers again, softer this time.

He manages to shuffle himself on his ass backwards until he hits the basement wall, smooth stone older than the house itself. His hands are still tied behind him and his ankles are still hobbled. Tears run from his eyes, drift along the edge of the muzzle, drip down from his jaw into the dirt. He sobs around the bit gag, whining until he can't remember if he even is human at all any longer.

Then he sees a face and gives a full-body shudder.

At first he thinks it's the drugs, but it's not. The young man who begged him for help, the reason he's down here at all, isn't buried yet. He's just lying on the ground under a worktable on the other side of the basement. His hands are still tied together in front of him, his soaking wet hair has begun to dry, frizzy and tangled.

Something about the face, though, gives him pause.

He's seen them dead before, their faces etched in horrified screaming, empty eyes wide and terrified. He's seen them trapped in their final agonies long after they're gone.

But the young man across the basement looks like he's gone to sleep there on the floor, that's all. His color's all wrong but the dim light keeps that from being too obvious.

He looks like he's sleeping.

He didn't die screaming under Robert's knife, or begging for it to stop as the blows kept raining down. He isn't tied to Robert's bed, he isn't anything like that at all.

The pet's fear is still in him, heart beating jackrabbit-fast against the inside of his chest, but he stares and stares at the young man's body and begins to understand that... he doesn't need to be afraid of them.

He doesn't need to be afraid.

He needs to be angry that they die like this, not afraid of them.

Anger is what keeps him breathing, what keeps him thinking, what keeps him alive.

He made Robert furious, but more importantly he took a victory from him, he took power from him. He took away control. He made it so Robert can't feel like he owns the young man in his death, like the body is his because he made it.

No.

As long as he isn't dead, that means he isn't out of time. As long as he keeps breathing, as long as he keeps thinking, as long as there are parts of him that Robert doesn't know, doesn't own, that he can't control.

As long as he stays angry.

As long as he has hope.

I'm going to get out of here, he promises the young man's body, the pile of bones, the rest of them under the soil. I'm going to escape. I'm going to do something, someday, when he gives me the chance.

I'm not like him.

I'm not like any of them.

I want to be like you, instead, but alive. I want to live.

I'm going to live.

For a second he smells water, he hears a voice he can't understand and tastes the young man's voice on his tongue, the taste of sage tea with milk.

The pet swallows and closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose, holding the air, breathing out again. The air shifts around him, touches his face just above the muzzle.

In the perfectly still basement, a breeze shifts along his skin, rustles his hair just a little.

Something moving past him on its way to somewhere else.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary @burtlederp

[in-my-feels-probably]

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter Fifteen

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of. 

Chapter Fifteen

Once all the attention was on the Darkling and the Fold, the Crows quickly lifted a cargo hold, scrambling below deck. The volcra could be heard in the distance, and it sent a chill down Elham’s spine.

Jesper was cleaning his revolvers, groaning. “This is a bad idea.”

Kaz sounded calm, but Elham could feel the worry in his tone. “I think it’s rather practical.”

Jesper scoffed. “What? Why?”

“I don’t see how we step off this boat without you pulling those guns. So, cleaning them is a good idea.”

A screech was heard in the distance.

Jesper chuckled, motioning from his guns to the skiff around them. “Oh, I don’t mean this. I mean this! We are in the worst place in the world on a ship full of people who want us dead, surrounded by monsters who want us in their gullets. I should have brought Milo.”

Inej was glancing around towards the upper deck. “Who’s Milo?”

“The goat!”

Elham rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Jesper, those guns, the goat, my powers, all of it doesn’t matter, it’ll do fuck all if the Darkling intends on using his powers against us. We get it, you miss Milo, and we’re all scared without any comfort, but your constant need to list off the reasons we’re in danger is no comfort to any of us. Do you need a hug or something?”

It was quiet for a minute. Jesper pondered for a moment, before standing and moving towards her. “Yeah, I do, actually. It’s been a shit day.”

Elham let out an actual laugh at that, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. She could feel his hands shaking against her back, and she squeezed him tighter. She put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him out and holding him at arm's length away from her.

“It has been a shitty day. But listen to me, we’re gonna be fine, yeah? Have you seen how many times we’ve all been in a situation where we should have died? How many times have we saved each other's asses? We’ll make it...well, at least Kaz will. He’s got the survival instincts of a cockroach, I suspect he’ll outlive us all.”

Kaz almost grinned, and Elham could feel the sarcasm laced in his voice. “Someone has to run the Barrel. Might as well be me. I’ll miss you all dearly, though. I’ll make sure to light a candle for you.”

Jesper seemed to relax, and Kaz nodded at him. “How many bullets do you have?”

Another screech was heard in the distance, this one closer than the last.

“Not enough.”

---

The Crows had been standing for a while, listening to the screeches in the distance, as well as the uneasy murmurs of guests on deck. All of a sudden, a giant rumble came from above, and a small light was cast over the slats in the ceiling. The Crows looked around uneasily, trying to gage what had occurred.

“So? What's our play?”

Kaz was still looking up. “We wait.”

“For what?”

He spoke like it was obvious. “For whatever the general has planned.”

“You figured him out?”

Elham scoffed. It would take a century to figure out the depths of the Darkling, and she suspected no one would still be around by then to pick his brain. No one except Alina, that is. She felt pity for the girl who would be the only person in their lifetime to live long enough to see the Darkling rise and fall.

Kaz just shook his head. “Not quite. Consider the scenario. The Sun Summoner fled from his palace, and now she’s tied to the deck. We’re sailing for a city where another general hired Arken to kill her. And I saw his face as he boarded. I know that look. He’s a man consumed with vengeance.”

Jesper scoffed. “See it enough in the mirror, do you?”

Kaz looked unamused, and Jesper continued. “So? What kind of revenge is he planning exactly?”

“We know it requires the Sun Summoner, which makes her valuable to us. She’s the one keeping everyone safe in here. If we have control of her, then we call the shots.”

Elham felt her stomach drop. “Kaz, what if he found a way to use Alina’s powers with his? Like how he would do with mine when I was at the Little Palace? That would mean--”

Kaz stiffened, slowly putting the pieces together. “...We need to threaten her life.”

Suddenly, Inej popped up from behind a barrel, holding a knife to a man’s neck and a gun to the head, exclaiming at the same time as Elham.

“What?”

The Crows quickly turned, moving to defend themselves. Kaz took a step forward, half shielding Elham from view. Still, Elham let flames pool in her palms while she stared, and she watched the man glance between the Crows and her hands.

Jesper leaned forward. “Who’s this?”

Inej responded. “A stowaway. Why pick this of all skiffs?”

The man spoke, raising his hands in surrender. “To kill the general and save Alina.”

Jesper cocked his gun, taking a step forward, his tone menacing, the most intimidating Elham had ever heard from him. Sometimes, she forgot just how ruthless the Crows could be.

“I’ll ask again. Who are you?”

“Mal Oretsev.”

Kaz eyed him, and then moved to stand in front of him. Elham and Jesper followed. Elham had let the flames in her palms die down, and instead, she had unsheathed her sword, gripping it in her hand.

Mal was still glancing at her. “You have a Grisha on your side? You’re sure she isn’t sworn to the general? Can’t be too sure these days.”

Elham rolled her eyes, lifting the tip of her sword to land under his chin. Mal swallowed, tilting his head to get away from the tip of her blade. She pressed further.

“And just when I was starting to like you. Yes, I’m a Grisha, but I’m a hell of a lot better swordsman. No, I’m not sworn to the general, I would rather die than swear allegiance to him, and I would kill him myself if I had the chance. Now, what were you saying?”

Kaz swung his cane to tap her leg, and she grudgingly pulled her sword to her side and stepped back next to Jesper. He gave her a glance, silently telling her to stay in line and follow his lead. He turned back to Mal.

“You know Alina?”

“I do.”

“Who’s in control of her?”

“The general I’m going to kill.”

Kaz cocked his head to the side, analyzing, before deciding. “Inej, give him his gun.”

She squinted. “Why?”

“Because if he isn’t with Kirigan’s crew, he’s with ours.”

Jesper holstered his gun, and Inej handed Mal his gun. Elham sheathed her sword, and Mal turned to her. “Sorry. Wrong impression.”

Elham let out a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “Don’t worry, love, you didn’t hurt my feelings. Maybe turned my stomach up a bit at the thought of joining the Darkling, but you didn’t hurt my feelings. I would watch how you talk to people though. Words like that around powerful people just might get you killed.”

He grinned at her, holstering his gun. “That would involve living long enough to make it to those people, and so far, I think I’m doing alright.”

---

The Crows and Mal spent as long as they could below deck, biding their time, when the screaming started. The sound of a whole city being swallowed by darkness and claimed by volcra was echoing in Elham’s ears, the screams on board deafening. Elham brought a hand to her mouth, holding in a scream herself.

Jesper leaned against Elham’s side, pulling her closer to him. “What now?”

Kaz turned to them, and he was almost as scared as Elham had ever seen him. She hadn’t seen that look on his face since they were in his office with Pekka Rollins, or when he broke his leg the night she first touched him. Still, he was unwavering.

“We wait.”

Inej stepped forward. “Kaz, you can hear him slaughtering a city.”

“So you understand the scale of his power, then? Good.”

Mal shook his head. “The bold move is to strike now.”

“And the smart one is to get clear of the damned Fold first.”

Msl nodded, heading for the stairs that lead to the cargo hold door. “I never said I was smart.”

Jesper scoffed, eyes wide. “Can you believe him?”

Inej shrugged off her coat, pulling out her knives. “I’m going with him.”

Before Elham could grab her, she ran up the stairs. Elham turned with desperate eyes to Kaz and Jesper, who didn’t look any calmer. They waited a moment, before Jesper groaned, throwing off his jacket and moving towards the door.

Kaz panicked. “We wait!”

Jesper shook his head. “The action’s up there.”

“They have the advantage.”

“Only because I’m not in the game.”

Elham shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. She felt more vulnerable than she had in a long time, and she hated it.

“Jesper, please don’t go. I can’t lose one of you, you’re all I’ve got. You know it’s a suicide mission.”

His eyes softened, and he sent a small smile her way. “I’ve got to, love. I’ll be ok.”

He rushed up the stairs, leaving Elham and Kaz alone. Elham turned to him, and he knew the look on her face.

“No. Not you too. I don’t care how good you are with a sword, or about your fucking powers, no.”

“Kaz, I have to! They’re not gonna get hurt, or Saints forbid, die, when I could have been up there to stop it. I’m going up there.”

Elham took a step up the stairs, when Kaz took a hold of her hand, holding her back. The look in his eye was unfamiliar, animalistic, and she felt her heart race. His voice was a murmur now, a desperate plea.

“Don’t. Not you too. Otherwise I’ll have no choice but go up there, make sure you stay alive.”

Elham scoffed, but she was all too aware of his gloved hand still clutching hers, holding her back, gripping her like she would crumble and slip away at any moment.

“Why won’t you let me go? Am I that important, above Jesper or Inej? If we survive this, I’m just gonna get handed over to Heleen, so why not let me go, let me at least try and do some good before I go out?”

Kaz’s face contorted into anger. “You’re not dying, and you’re not going to Heleen! Yes, you’re that important, so I have to protect you!”

Elham’s mind was reeling now, but she knew she had to say it. She had to know.

“Haven’t I been the one saving your ass all these years? You have to protect me, now? Because what, you always protect your investments? Your Valkyrie?”

No. Well, yes, of course he would protect her because of that, but that’s not what she is to him. Not entirely. Not anymore. She was so much more than that to him.

She was ineffable.

She was ineffable, and he realized that. And while now wasn’t the most optimal time to say it, he knew he might never get the chance to say it again. He took a deep breath, squeezing her hand in his.

“No. I protect my girl, El.”

Her eyes widened, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek. He let go of her hand, raising a gloved thumb to wipe it away. She gave him a nod, slowly reaching for his cane. He raised a brow, but let her take it. She tapped the base of it to his ankle, and he let the smallest of smilest appear on his face.

She handed it back to him, nodding towards the stairs. “I’m gonna be fine. We’re gonna be fine. We’re in this together, Kaz. Come on, we have to help.”

He could feel his heart beating faster than it ever had, but he just nodded, and they raced up the stairs into the chaos.

---

A/N - we're getting close to the end. i haven't decided if i'm going to do an epilogue chapter or not, i was thinking of marking this book as complete when it's done, and adding the epilogue in before i write the second book and there's more show content, or maybe i'll make this one long book and when i start writing for it again i'll just add it to this one and mark it as ongoing. that's all undecided, and not an issue for now, but i'd love any ideas or feedback about that. i hope you like this chapter, let me know what you thought. there's about half an episode worth of content left, a few more chapters, and Ineffable will be complete. thank you so much for the support!

[noemibalbii]

Six of Crows duology quotes

“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.”

“Kaz leaned back. “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.

“No mourners. No funerals. Among them, it passed for ‘good luck’.”

“The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.”

“When someone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.”

“He needed to tell her… what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.”

“I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

“What do you want then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome, You, Inej, you.

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.”

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“Better terrible truths than kind lies.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you some day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.” “There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance.”

“Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.” She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. “What would be the point?” He took a breath. “I want you to stay, I want you to… I want you.” “You want me.” She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. “And how will you have me, Kaz?” He looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set, It was the face he wore when he was fighting. “How will you have me?” she repeated. “Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?” He released her hand, his shoulders bunching, his gaze angry and ashamed as he turned his face to the sea. Maybe it was because his back was to her that she could finally speak the words. “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, “Impossible!” They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“He’d broken his leg dropping down from the rooftop. The bone didn’t set right, and he’d limped ever after. So he’d found himself a Fabrikator and had his cane made. It became a declaration. There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.”

“Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?”

“Facts are for the unimaginative.”

“When we get our money, you can burn kruge to keep you warm.” “I’m going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.” “Why don’t you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That’s what the big players do.”

“How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.” “I am indeed.” Kaz leaned back slightly. “You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those who take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach - the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.” “Do you always speak in metaphors, Mister Brekker?” Kaz smiled. “It’s not a metaphor.” He was out of his chair before his chains hit the ground.”

“A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he’ll keep to any deal you strike with him.”

“You couldn’t train a falcon, then expect it not to hunt.”

“The life you live, the hate you feel - it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.”

Jesper: “If Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Kaz: “I’ll just hire Matthias’s ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” Matthias: “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

“But all he could think of was Inej. She had to live. She had to have made it out of the Ice Court. And if she hadn’t, then he had to live to rescue her.”

“He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When i couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

“Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to write magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.”

“Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don’t forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for.”

“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or want to kill us?” “So?” said Kaz. “Well, usually it’s just half the city.”

“She smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.”

“No mourners. No funerals. Another way of saying good luck. But it was something more. A dark wink to the fact that there would be no expensive burials for people like them, no marble markers to remember their names, no wreaths of myrtle and rose.”

“Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?” “Guns?” asked Jesper. “Ships?” queried Inej. “Bombs?” suggested Wylan. “Political bribes?” offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered.

“We meet fear. We greet the unexpected visitor and listen to what he has to tell us. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.”

“You don’t look like a monster.” “I’ll tell you a secret, Hannah. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Until this moment, Wylan hadn’t quite understood how much they meant to him. His father would have sneered at these thugs and thieves. a disgraced soldier, a gambler who couldn’t keep out of the red. But they were his first friends, his only friends, and Wylan knew that even if he’d had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose.”

“They were twin souls, soldiers destined to fight for different sides, to find each other and lose each other too quickly. She would not keep him here. Not like this.”

“At some point, Jesper realized Kaz was gone. “Not one for goodbyes, is he?” he muttered. “He doesn’t say goodbye,” Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. “He just lets go.”

“I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’m not some sort of a monster.” “No, you’re the man who sits idly by, congratulating yourself on your decency, while the monster eats his fill. At least a monster has teeth and a spine.”

“But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.”

“You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are. […] It’s shame that lines my pockets, shame that keeps the Barrel teeming with fools ready to put on a mask just so they can have what they want with none the wiser about it. We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“She could feel the press of Kaz’s fingers against her skin, feel the bird’s wing brush of his mouth against her neck, see his dilated eyes. Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again. A foolish wish, the sentimental hope of a girl who hadn’t had the firsts of her life stolen, who hadn’t ever felt Tante Heleen’s lash, who wasn’t covered in wounds and wanted by the law. Kaz would have laughed at her optimism.”

“No matter the height of the mountain, the climbing is the same.”

“But when someone does wrong, when we make mistakes, we don’t say we’re sorry. We promise to make amends.” “I will.” “Mati en sheva yelu. This action will have no echo. It means we won’t repeat the same mistakes, that we won’t continue to do harm.”

“Van Eck promised us thirty million kruge,” said Kaz. “That’s exactly what we’re going to take. With another one million for interest, expenses, and just because we can.” Wylan broke a cracker in two. “My father doesn’t have thirty million kruge lying around. Even if you took all his assets together.” “You should leave, then,” said Jesper. “We only associate with the disgraced heirs of the very finest fortunes.”

“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan’s lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”

“A proper thief is like a proper poison, merchling. He leaves no trace.”

“She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.” Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz had built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty. “We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“I just don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life hiding the things I can’t do. Why run from the amazing things you can do?”

“She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. For a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of the sea.”

“Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz Brekker had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark - he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.”

“She wouldn’t wish love on anyone. It was the guest you welcomed and then couldn’t be rid of.”

“Brick by brick. Brick by brick. I will destroy you.” It was the promise that let him sleep at night, that drove him every day, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay. Because a quick death was too good for Pekka Rollins.”

“Kaz narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some character out of a children’s story who plays harmless pranks and steals from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Inej had once offered to teach him how to fall. “The trick is not getting knocked down,” he’d told her with a laugh. “No, Kaz,” she’d said, “the trick is in getting back up.”

“It was because she was listening so closely the she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.”

“Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.”

“This isn’t… it isn’t a trick, is it?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. The shadow of something dark moved across Kaz’s face. “If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the Barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” For some reason, those words had comforted her. Better terrible truths than kind lies. “All right,” she said. “How do we begin?” “Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he said as he led her out of the salon, “don’t ever sneak up on me again.”

“They fear you as I once feared you,” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone’s monster, Nina.”

“You still may die in the Dregs.” Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. “I may. But I’ll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.”

“Shame holds more value than coin ever can.”

“None of us move on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

“Why do you wear gloves, Mister Brekker?” Kaz raised a brow. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Kaz had heard them, too. Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone - a single brush of his bare skin caused your flesh to wither and die. “Pick one,” Kaz said as he vanished into the night, thoughts already turning to thirty million kruge and the crew he’d need to help him get it. “They’re all true enough.”

“You have no finesse,” a gambler at the Silver Garter once said to him. “No technique.” “Sure I do,” Kaz had responded. “I practice the art of ‘pull his shirt over his head and punch till you see blood’.”

“A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse.” [...] “What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking?”

[silvereddaye]

I love you the dragon Au's with Vader and the twins! They just makes me happy! (I hope there are more in the future!)

Here’s a sequel to the previous AU. 

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Summary: Luke and Leia live with their father, Vader, who has been cursed into the form of a dragon. The family dwells inside a place known as the Vault, which holds mountains of treasures and untold riches. 

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 

“Daddy, will you always be a dragon?”

Big round blue eyes stared up into golden yellow eyes with black slits. But no answer was given to the little boy that day. 

Luke’s arms strained from carrying several scrolls and books from the archives back to his room. It was a long trek of long hallways and several flights of stairs. He could have just stayed in the archives or cleaned out one of the dusty learning halls, but there was something comforting about his room. About being close to the only other living beings for miles, to his family, to his sister and father. Solitude was far too easy to find here. 

His room was actually a suite of rooms, and he placed the scrolls and books in the sitting room near a cluttered table. The rest of the room was equally as cluttered with not just books but swords, wooden and steel, and models of boats and horses and tapestries and banners. Some were gifts from his father or sister, a few were things he had found, and a very small few were items his father didn’t approve of but Luke had snuck them into his room anyway.

“Luke? It’s dinner. Go get some water and wine,” his sister called from the hallway. 

Luke sighed. His feet were tired from carrying the scrolls, but he left his room. Leia, whose room was right next to his, was already gone. He made his way down flights of stairs and down hallways lined in firestones that took him deeper into the Vault until he came to the great wine cellar. The room was huge and filled with rows upon rows of racks of wine with dozens of barrels stacked in the very back. 

His father had once tried to explain to his children why wine was considered a treasure. Why it would be kept here. Something about how grape harvests vary from year to year and thus the wine from certain years is better than the others. He really didn’t care and mindlessly selected a random bottle. 

Wine in hand, he headed back up. He paused when he came to a large landing where several hallways met and stairs descended and ascended in several directions. On the floor was a large insignia surrounded by small sunstones. The symbol was of two pairs of wings with a straight line coming out of the middle and a starburst in the line. It was the symbol of the Jedi, the original keepers of the Vault. 

The Jedi . . . 

Luke shook his head as he entered the kitchens. It was a long room with multiple ovens and fireplaces for cooking fires. There were a few large wooden tables lining the center of the room and hooks and shelves filled with pots, pans, spoons, and knives. It was all covered in a fine layer of dust and some cobwebs except for a well-worn path leading through it to the door on the other side. It led to a small room with a well in it. He grabbed one of the many buckets, filled it with water, and this time hurried back across the kitchens.

Luckily the family hall was close. He soon was past the huge double doors and into the large semi-circular room. This place felt more like home than any other spot in the Vault. Their father had provided everything a house should have. A bedroom, dining room, sitting areas, and a play area. This is where Luke had his first memories. He remembered fondly curling up in the bed next to his sister while his father curled up beside the bed. At times he missed it, but he also enjoyed his independence and freedom. 

The bed was long gone, but many of the things were still there like the huge dining table that could a dozen of guests. Leia had just opened the small trunk near the table and pulled up a large, heavy, thick, rolled up table cloth. She placed it on the end of the large table and rolled it out. It covered the full length of the long table. Luke placed the bucket of water at one end and held the bottle of wine. 

Leia walked up to the middle of the table and clapped twice. Instantly, the table was filled with plates, platters, and bowls filled with fresh steaming food. The aroma instantly made his mouth water. He finally placed the wine down as Leia went to fetch the tableware. 

“You’ve been in the archives,” Vader rumbled from his usual spot nearby. 

“How can you tell?” Luke asked taking a corkscrew from his sister. 

“You’re covered in dust,” she said waving a fork at him. 

“You smell,” Vader replied. “The archives have a unique smell, and you reek of it. Be sure to take a bath tonight.” 

Luke turned his back to the large dragon and rolled his eyes. He took a seat across from Leia and the two started to eat. The magic of the tablecloth never ceased to amaze him. It looked so normal, though it was perhaps a bit thick. That was to hide all the small magical stones sewn into it. But he couldn’t help but wonder what runs and formulas had been used to produce food out of thin air. Any time he or Leia had questioned their father about it, he would avoid the topic or say ‘There are no limits to magic.’ 

Did the food come from somewhere? Was this someone else's food the magic had teleported away? Or did the magic cook up all this food in an instant? There were no answers like so many other wondrous items in the Vault. 

“Father,” Leia said about halfway through their meal. 

Vader had been lightly dozing and opened his large yellows eyes. 

“It’s almost our eighteenth birthday,” she stated. “That means we get one request, right?” 

“It does,” their father said slowly. 

Leia took a deep breath. Goosebumps spread down Luke’s arm. What was she going to ask? She hadn’t talked to him about this. 

“Then I would like to go down to the valley and--”

“No!” Vader roared. He jumped up to his feet. “Never!” 

The table shook and the plates trembled. Luke grabbed his wine glass to keep it steady. Leia had jumped up to her feet and was glaring down the darth dragon. 

“Never?” she growled up at him. 

Vader’s eyes had turned into slits and he bared his teeth. 

“You will never leave the Vault,” Vader hissed. 

“So we’re just supposed to rot in here with you?” 

“Leia,” Luke muttered as his eyes darted between his small human sister and his large dragon father. 

Leia ignored him. “So we can’t go out and find love and get married or have children? We have to be locked up in here like . . . like your stupid treasures?” 

Vader’s breathing was loud and he pulled in sharp breaths through his teeth. The silence went on for a few moments until the dragon let out a frustrated growl. He spun away, his tail swinging wide above their heads, and he marched out of the great hall. Luke stared at the large doorway and the hallway beyond waiting to see if their father would return. It did not look like he was. 

“Well, that answers that,” Leia said as slumped down into her chair. 

“Answers what?” Luke demanded.

“Father never plans on letting us leave here.” 

Luke looked down at his half-touched plate. The thought made his heart sink, but it wasn’t that surprising. Part of him always knew that. 

“Unless,” Leia said slowly. She glanced to the hallway to make sure there were no dragons listening. Then she leaned over. “Unless we figure out a way to cure father’s curse.”

Luke groaned. “Not this again, Leia.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

heiress - 4

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: based of today’s wandavision episode i’m bringing you the flashback part of this series. also i no longer know if this is gonna be a four part series or how many parts theres gonna be so we’ll see. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

“if i had only felt the warmth within your touch. if i had only seen how you smile when you blush or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough i would have known what i was living for all along”

previous chapter

The soldier held her hand as they rushed through the dark halls, trying to make the least silence as possible. A black duffle bag hanged from her shoulder, gun holstered to her thigh with one of his knives. The plan was simple enough; the soldier had discovered a plan from one of the girls in the Red Room to escape along with one of the protectors, Alexei, and instead of busting it, he bargained a deal to take her with them. She was good, too good and in no time they were gonna snatch her way from him and make her prove her worth, make her prove to them she is ready to leave the Red Room and become one of their operatives and he would not allow that. He wouldn’t allow them to force her to kill someone; no, she was too good and if there was any good he could do it would be to protect her own goodness. It was simple enough, simple enough had it not been ...

     - Find her now. She can’t be far. - he could hear Madam B barking orders from further up the hallway, following my an inundation of steps. The soldier grabbed the girl by his side, pushing her against the wall.

    - You have to go, Daisy. - he whispered. - Now.

    - I’m not leaving you here. I promised you I wouldn’t. - she held his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly to calm down her own problems.

    - Listen to me, doll ... - he cupped her face in his hands, appreciating every single detail of her face from the colour of her eyes, to the warmth of her skin. He wanted to look at her one last time before he forgot what she looked like, before he forgot she ever existed. - You have to go have a life, okay? A good one, do something else, not this. You can do so much more.

    - I am living my life and I am definitely��not gonna go and start a new one at your expense. We can do this. 

    - No, we can’t. The longer they take to find you the most likely they’ll find me and make me hurt you and I don’t want to hurt you. - he took his own gun from his holster handing it to her. - You gotta shot me. They can’t force me to go after you if I’m wounded.

   - No. - she moved her head side to side, stepping away from him, gun lowered to the ground. 

    - GO GET THE ASSET. SHE’S NOT LEAVING THIS FACILITY. - one of the Red Room protectors shouted.

Y/N looked around her surroundings, she had been trained for this, she should be able to get out of situations like these but on one side was Alexei waiting for them to make a move and on the other side the Red Room operatives were on the move for her and the soldier. Bucky watched her internal struggle, that tinge of doing what’s right, the spark which ensured she would have a good life. He had no internal struggle, he knew what he had to do. He put the gun barrel against the limit between his skin and the metal of his arm before pulling her flush against him.

     - I will find you, I promise. 

     - No ... we can go some other time. It’s fine. - she tried to reassure him, but her words seemed to reassure. her more than him. She could buy them more time, she could do something, she had to do  something.

     - I love you, Daisy. - he brushed her hair which had flown from her red hair tie away from her face, leaning down too kiss her one last time. Y/N made sure to make it last as soon as she could, maybe they could get caught, maybe they could have more time, maybe they could do  something. He had a different idea and took her distraction to push her finger against the trigger, causing the bullet to go through his shoulder. She pushed back trying to hold him as his muscles relaxed and contracted due to the pain. - GO!

    - No!

    - We have to go. - Alexei looked over the hall but Y/N remained static, looking at the soldier pressed against the wall. - We’re running out of time. 

    - Go, Daisy. Right now. 

    - I’m not leaving you here, I’m not gonna let them hurt you. - the tears started forming on the corner of her eyes. - Please, we can figure something out.

    - Go. It’s only for a bit, I’ll find you. I promise you, I’ll find you.

    - Y/N. - she held his hand in hers for the last time. - That’s my name, okay? I’m gonna be waiting for you.  You better show up.

She stared at him with lips half opened as her ears filled with static noise sound. It was as if the walls were closing in on her and she could no longer breathe. She had always known what to do since she left the Red Room, she had prepared for everything, she knew how to act in every situation but this? This she did not know how to act in. 

     - Y/N. - she looked over Bucky’s shoulder to see Wanda standing in the kitchen. - Calm down.

Y/N looked over at her hand glowing white mist. She relaxed her hands, the mist disappearing within her skin. Bucky stood there waiting for the answer, not having even noticed her powers, he just noticed her. Maybe he was too naive to expect an answer as once Wanda walked towards her and placed her hand on her shoulder, escorting her out the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder, looking at him as Wanda took her away. She didn’t know if to thank Wanda or not for saving her from that moment. What she knew was that whatever the soul stone had given her manifested when he asked that and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him again. Wanda led her into one of the control rooms within the hex, closing the door behind her before leaning against it. 

    -  Now, if Monica asks I never deleted anything but ... -  she pressed one of the keyboard keys, the screens lighting up with footage from the recent Red Room mission. She watched as the old cameras recorded the moment, the white beam of light expanded from her and made every object that it touched disappear. - As someone whose powers get stronger when life decides to fuck me up, I thought you might need that hidden. 

    - He knows, Wanda. - she sat on one of the conference tables’s chairs. - He knows and he asked me if I loved him and I couldn’t even answer.

    - I think Agatha got to him ... whenever I try to get into his mind it feels exactly like it did when I tried getting to hers. Y/N, she’s trying to see what you can do under pressure and as long as he’s here, the more uncontrollable it’s gonna become.

     - What do you suggest? It’s not like element control is that great for world domination so whatever she wants is to use me to get to you most likely.

     - I might not know as much as Agatha thinks she knows but there’s chaos, destruction and creation and both of us seem to fit nicely in the three categories. I don’t want you to make same mistakes I did, Y/N.

   - What? Create a Bewitched-themed like reality where I’m married to him? Because you know, my father much like Endora would not like it. I don’t think I can do that. 

   - We don’t know what you can do. I think we should try and ... train you.

   - Wanda, you barely know how you did this and I don’t even know how I did that or what it is inside of me for that matter. - Y/N sighed, looking at the paused video on the screen. - It has only happened one time before. 

   - It has happened before? - the Scarlet Witch cocked her brow, sitting in the chair close to her. - When? There’s no report of it and you know Hayward, he would’ve definitely used it to his advantage.

   - Red Room. - she mumbled. - I don’t really wanna talk about it.

   - Do you want to show me? - Wanda rose her palm up. She had been working on allowing other people to show her select memories. So far she had gotten Billy and Tommy to show her their first memory of her and had even gotten Yelena to show her some memories too. - You don’t have to.

Y/N rose her hand up to Wanda’s and reality melt away to show the dorm where she used to sleep. Things were so different from what she remembered, the room was smaller than she remembered and even she was different from what she remembered in her dark leggings and shirt issued to her by the supervisors. She was sat on her bed, hands on top of her mattress as her eyes looked to the door every second, waiting for the soldier to come fetch her. Back then, she didn’t know his name; his handler called him the asset but she hated that name so she called him soldier or Winter. 

The clock kept ticking and ticking - one hour, two hours past the time he told her he had told her he’d come fetch her. As the third hour approached, she gave up her wait and grabbed her bag from under the bed.  He was never late, he was as precise as time itself. If he wasn’t here it had to be because of something else and she did not like it one bit. The halls were dark with flickering fluorescent lights as a much younger version of herself passed down the hall, towards what she could still remember as his own quarters. It was nothing special, in all honesty it was even worse than the girls’ quarters; metal bed, thin mattress and old grey sheets. Peeking inside he wasn’t there, there was no sign of him, just the jacket he had left lingering on the floor. She grabbed it, searching for any indication he had gotten hurt. She would soon get her answer when she heard screaming coming from down the hall. She holstered the jacket over her shoulder before running down the hall to find those screams came from one of the medical bay. 

They had him shackled to a chair like an animal, mouth guard stuck in his mouth which prevented which screaming from being louder as a head cage like structure shocked his head. Her hearing ceased as all she heard was static noise and the further voices of the doctors and guards were mere echoes.

      - Get away from him! - she yelled out, her eyes glowing white as the guards. pointed their guns at her. - Please, you’re hurting him.

A white beam surrounded her and expanded throughout the whole room. The static sound returned but she ignored it, running over to the soldier whose shackles had disappeared. He looked at his own wrists, wondering if this was a case of his own hallucinations but no, she was there. Everything was gone, everything was gone but him and her, but it didn’t matter, she stood there in front of him, duffel bag over his shoulder.

      - Y/N. - Wanda pulled her own hand towards her, removing both of them from the memory she had hidden from the front of her mind for so long. - What happened to those people?

      - I don’t know. I tried tracking them using SWORDs data after I escaped but they have never showed up again. - she sighed. - Whatever I am, Agatha knows. 

      - You’re not suggesting dwindling with Agatha, are you?

      - I don’t know, Wanda. What I do know is that right now I’m a danger for everyone and that Buck ... - she stopped herself before she could say anything she would regret sharing. - Agatha knows more about this than we do.

     - Let me try and help you, Y/N. Let me try. I know what you’re going through but if you ask Agatha for a favour she will use your own pain against you, she will make you a means to an end.

     -  You’re the Scarlet Witch, Wanda ... - Y/N got up from her chair and walked to the door, stopping to collect her own thoughts. - I’m just my father’s project gone wrong. 

It was late and she didn’t want to think anymore so she just left; after all, she was very good at leaving, leaving Bucky, leaving Wanda. Yet what could she do? It wasn’t like she had a magic mirror which she could ask what she could do or what she controlled or manipulated. She barely even knew who she was outside of who she had been so far. She knew her Red Room file, she knew her SWORD file, she knew her birth certificate but outside of that who was she? She wasn’t really anything outside of that and her bedroom was the picture perfect definition of that. No photos on the walls, no photographs, just a standard bedroom. Except for one thing ... 

She knelled by her bed, pushing a large black box from under her bed with her initials monogramed on gold on top of it. Most of her memories were there; from the photo of her and Monica’s class at SWORD, the first Christmas with the twins outside of Westview,  a group photo of everyone after a successful mission to the jacket she had kept from Bucky on the night she escaped. The leather was still almost as shiny as it was when she first saw him in it; however, his scent had long faded away from nightmare filled nights, his soldier number ripped from the tag. She watched herself in the mirror, caged by the ghosts of her own repressed memories and so she made a decision. She grabbed the jacket from the box and yanked his dog tags from her neck, exiting her room and walking towards the west wing. She knocked on his door, a sleepy Bucky opened the door followed by whining from Sam and she lost her courage.

    - I just wanted to give you this. - she extended his jacket and dog tags towards him. Sure, that won’t make you look weird or anything. Bucky rubbed the sleep off his eyes, taking the jacket and his tags from her. - Huh, yeah. Uhm, if you want we have a laundry service so you can get that properly washed.

    - Is that all? 

    - Yeah. - she scratched the back of her neck turning on her heels to return to her bedroom before she stopped dead in her tracks. - Sergeant Barnes ...

     - Yes?

     - About what you asked me later ... - she stared at the hall in front of her. Somehow, she could do this when she wasn’t staring at him. - She did love you. I don’t think she ever stopped.

Bucky’s mouth dropped open as he tried to find the words he so certainly had prepared to say the moment he asked her that question; yet now she had the upper hand. Yet again he shouldn’t have been surprised, Y/N had always had the upper hand even when he thought he did. She was a smart girl, too smart for her own good. Before he could even collect himself to say something other than mindless mumbling, she was already gone. He looked around like a crazy fool, wondering where she could’ve gone.

She, as per usual, had taken to go to the outside swing Vision had tried to set for the twins and ended up giving up on it leaving it for Wanda to try. The twins rather play with their own new found abilities rather than a swing; yet Y/N particularly enjoyed it. It stood near the limit of the hex, giving the outside world a blurry sort of glow. It was peaceful, at least it was peaceful enough for her. It meant while she was inside the hex, nothing could harm her. She couldn’t particularly blame Wanda for Westview, were she to be able to do that, she would’ve done it the minute she left the Red Room. Despite Agatha having put a version of Bucky she had never met in Westview, the emotions and the experience of having him at home with her as if they were a regular couple in suburbia. 

   - I’m starting to think I taught you too well. -  she turned her head to the side to see Bucky sat on the swing next to her, jacket in his hand. - I thought to bring the jacket if you were cold. 

   - I’m fine. - she held onto the rope. - It never gets too cold inside the hex. 

   - So ... what is this thing we’re in?

   - An alternate reality within our reality. Wanda can warp everything she wants into anything she wants. The only thing she can’t do is bring people back from the dead in our own reality. 

   - What can you do?

   - Element control mostly and the rest I don’t know. Turns out HYDRA does not give you an instruction manual after they’ve experimented on you as a baby. - she chuckled dryly. 

   - I owe you an apology, Y/N. I prom...

   - Please do not apologise to me about that. - she interrupted him. - You don’t even know the half of it.

taglist: @lookiamtrying​

[kaz11283]

Chapter 5

Characters: Clint, you, Loki

Warnings: this is a SLOW burn, slight angst, fluff at the end, Loki starting shit.

Summary: life has never really bwen this complicated. Or well the life that you think you know has never really been this complicated. Living with the avengers, learning new things, yeah its gonna be a long road but what else do you have to look forward to other than the random runins with the god of mischief.

Loki Masterlist

~~~~~

It had been about a week since you had arrived at the tower and just as long as your incounter with Loki, you hadnt had much time to think about it though since you were normally nose deep in class work or training with Nat and Clint since Tony had sent you the message "If your gonna be an avenger you have to train like one, training starts at 6." You had left him on read after that, you had never been a morning person and you sure as hell wasnt about to start now.

"Alright y/n, lets try you on the bow today." Clint smiled walking into the arena where most of your training took place.

"After I finish this." You said pointing to your coffee. "I swear, you would think that after saving lives you would want to sleep in." You grumbled.

"Bad guys dont sleep, we dont get to sleep." Clint said wiping down a few of his practice arrows.

"You didnt get back till like 3 this morning. Im really starting to wonder if you sleep at all." You tossed your cup away and got up starting to do your stretches.

"Get over here so I can show you how to hold this thing." He saod holding out the bow.

"I know how to use a bow, I was in archery in high school. Top of my team." You grabbed the bow feeling the cool metal in your hand. His bow was diffrent than what you was use to, as light as air almost were yours had been heavy.

"This bow is probably a little different than what your use to. The metal is vibranium, the strings are made of some type of industrial woven string that Tony invinted in his lab. Might be a littlw hard for you to pull back." He smiled looking at the bow like a child.

"It is very beautiful." You examined it looking down the sights has you pulled the string back easily. "Absolutly magnificent peice of weaponry." You looked over at him and seen that he was staring at you wide eyed. "What?"

"No one else has ever been able to draw the string back like that." You let the string gently go back into place amd handed it back to him.

"I told you, I was in archery while I was in high school."

"Theres no way that someone no matter how skilled they are can pull that back."

"Well if your forgetting, apperantly Im not from here either."

"Yup almost forgot, Asguardian. Anyways. You know how to use one of these so lets set up a few targets and get to work. Tony wants to try you out on a few different things, eval you, and see what suits you best. Im already leaning toward you being good at the bow."

After he talked you through some of the basics that you had informed him you knew and he insisted on stating that it was 'mandatory' you were finally able to pick up one of the training bows.

"These bows suck. Stark has all the money in the world and he buys walmart brand bows? If you pull this one back to many times the string will break. Why cant I just use yours?" You roll your eyes looking back at Clint.

"My bow, my baby. If you want ine bad enough you can start off at the bottom and work your way up. You have a card why dont you buy one?" He countered, just then the foor opened drawing your attention.

"Sorry, didnt realize that the area was occupied today, I just wanted to get a few throws in woth the new daggers Stark and Banner decided to enhance for me. Wanted to make sure that they wouldnt bloe up in my face." Loki said walking over to the bay next to you and Clint. You hadnt had a moment alone with the trickster since in the hall weeks ago and now he was here acting as of nothingbhad happened. You looked down at the daggers that he had laid out.

"Wow, those are beautiful." You noticed that not only had he laid down two simple green handeled knives but he had also laid down a set of electric blue ones and a set of gold handle ones engraved with ancient symbols and roses with the stems winding down the hilt. "May I?" You asked leaning down to get a closer look.

"Of course y/n, you are the one that gave me those." He answered casually. Your breathing hitched and you turned to look at him.

"Thats not funny Loki."

"I dont know what your talking about. I was simpl-" he started before you cut him off.

"You know damn good and well what I am talking about. What did you expect? Me to pick it up and everything come barreling back to me? Here I'll do you one even better." You stormed up to the daggers and grabbed one of the gold ones up throwing it at the target on the far side of the room. You had expected it to fall short and clink to the floor but you never hears it fall. When you looked at the target you noticed you had hit the middle.

Clints jaw had dropped as he was looking around the wall to see what you had been yelling about. Loki looked at you with a smug expression. "I assume they must have had knife throwing classes at the school you attended as well."

"Shut up. Clint are we done, I have some studying for class that I really need to do." You looked at clint as he knodded still awestruck. "Thanks, I'll talk with Tony about getting a better bow for me to practice with." You took off toward your room.

Later after you had taken a hot shower and changed into some leggings and a baggy shirt you decided to go to the one place in the tower that you had decided to claim as your own little study corner. It was located on of of the high up floors that happened to be more of an observation deck, you could watch the team leave on missions, see the ocean, and watch some of the most beautiful sun sets that you had seen. You had notice while checking the place out that there was a fairly large window seat that you could spead your work out on as you looked out over the city, this small part of the tower was your little hid away, you hadnt seen any other member of the team up here so you figured when you needed the alone time you could come here. It had seemed to work for the most part until today.

You notice the shadow of the figure standing over you before looking up into the eyes of Lokis confused ones, you had noticed his lips moving before rolling your eyes and taking out your noise canceling ear pods.

"What do you want Loki?" You sighed placing them back into the chsrging dock.

"Well if you hadnt had those things in you would have heard me tell you that I was sorry for earlier." He sassed crossing his arms.

"How did you find me? No one really bothers coming up here." You pulled your legs under your chin and covering you feet with the throw that you had brought up with you this time.

"The AI system has no bounderies when it comes to privacy, it can tell you were anyone is in this god forsaken place." He responded. "May I sit?"

"And if I say no?"

"I'll sit anyways." He shrugged.

"Then what is the point in asking?" You leaned forward moving your papers and books out of the way. He reached down and grabbed a few of the papers to help you.

"Your doing a paper on Shakespeare?" He asked as he sat down reading over the page.

"Umm, yeah. Part of my agreement to come here is so that I can finish up my collage classes. Drama and Art Major." He hamded the paper back to you so that you could stick it in your binder. He gave you a look that you were use to getting from him. "Don't say it Loki." You out your hand up to stop him before he could even open his mouth.

"I wasn't going to say anything." He held his hands up.

"Hum, interesting. The god of lies actually sucks at lying. I should remember that." You smiled. This was the first time you had actually felt half way confortable around him.

"I could never lie to you." He smiled back. "You have always had a knack for seeing right through me."

"I wish you wouldnt do that." You sighed leaning your heas agints the window behind you.

"Do what exactly?" He askes mirroring your position.

"Where you mention something about my past. Its annoying and it breaks my heart."

"Well Dove, how do you think I feel? The worst part about it for me is that while you remember nothing I am stuck remembering everything. Your past, my past, our past together. It truly is the worst pain that I have ever felt. To have something that you have wanted for so long in front of you and they dont even want you back." He sighed looking out the window.

"Loki," you crossed your legs and placed your elbows on your knees. "I have never said that I didnt want you. I just dont know what is what."

"So you do want me?" He laughted.

"That is not what I meant and you know it." You leanded back again. "Tell me about us. About how you and Thor know me." He eyes lite up.

Chapter 6

Tag list:

@high-functioning-lokipath

@serpentargo

@drbaureid

@poetic-fiasco

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@rosaline-black

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@natandersonnla

@delightfulheartdream

[saturnznct]

attack on titan!au, mark lee x reader

word count: 3.4k words

warnings: head injury, physical fighting (for training purposes), descriptions of death, mention of knives and cult

note: will be working through this series slowly! hope u all like this xx

nct dream aot au masterlist

The first time you laid eyes on Mark Lee was in that iconic dusty courtyard. Bearing in mind he was being ripped into by Commander Shadis.

‘And what about you, Lee?’

A twelve year old Mark Lee’s eyes shone with tears of fear. He was clearly somewhat sheltered from the horrors of this world; hailing from the town of Jinae, southern Wall Maria alongside fellow cadet Marco Bott. The two of them were the image of innocence, although they barely knew each other, both round-faced and freckly.

Mark had cowered beneath Shadis’ gaze, likely having never been spoken to in such a way, especially not by his loving family. You felt drawn to him. What was he doing here?

That night he barely said much, nibbling on stale bread. You could tell he did not want to eat, but food was scarce, so he kind of had to. He listened intently to the words of Eren Yaeger who spoke about his experiences with the Colossal Titan on that infamous day two years ago.

Days faded into weeks. You passed your own balance test with flying colours, as did Mark, who’s face would become screwed up whenever his feet left the ground.

While you formed a casual alliance with Sasha, promising to go easy on each other during combat training, Mark swapped anecdotes with Marco and sharpened his wooden knife with Reiner.

One day Commander Shadis had demanded you pair up with Mikasa (likely because he was sick of you and Sasha throwing fake punches) and you were so distracted by Mark that she easily flipped you over, an ‘oof’ escaping your mouth as you hit the ground. When your back makes contact with the sand, your head snaps back, hitting the ground hard.

‘Wait, I didn’t mean that,’ Mikasa mumbles, seemingly unsure as to what to do.

Everything goes pitch black for a split second. When your eyes do open, your head is spinning, black spots dotting the sky above you like stars. You hear Commander Shadis yelling for the first-aid specialist cadets.

Admittedly in that moment you had absolutely no clue who was part of that squad. At this point in your training years, you were especially focused on yourself, working on your own skills and specialities. But when Mark Lee comes barrelling across the training yard your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

‘Are you alright?’ He asks you as soon as he kneels down beside you, ‘can you see?’

Mark sounds far more concerned and more urgent than you feel, which you find somewhat charming, but your head is still spinning.

‘Mark, remember the procedures,’ Thomas Wagner seems to be somewhat supervising him.

‘Oh, uh,’ Mark holds up three fingers and waves them around as if to confuse you a little, ‘how many fingers am I holding up?’

He’s peering over you, almost like a pet trying to get your attention. You feel your chest swell at how cute he looks.

You blink, trying to decide whether or not you should play up your injury for his attention or get up so you can continue training.

‘Three,’ you mutter, deciding that returning to combat training was worth more than gaining the sympathy of a cute boy.

Mark and Thomas exchange a look.

‘Do you think you can sit up?’ Mark asks, eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

‘I don’t know,’ you mumbled, ‘I’ll try…’

You prepare yourself to have to lift yourself off the dirty ground, but you jump about a mile in the air when he holds the back of your head in his hand, slowly supporting your head as you sat up.

‘I’m sorry, Y/N,’ Mikasa apologises quietly.

‘It’s okay,’ you croak, ‘it’s my fault.’

‘Come on Y/N, we’ll have to take you back to your dorm room to lay down,’ Thomas has a sharp tone of authority, so you don’t even try to argue.

‘Dude, she can’t even stand,’ Mark points out.

‘How about you carry her then,’ Thomas huffs, turning on his heel to deal with some other cadet’s grazed arm.

‘I-I-Is that okay?’ Mark stutters, hand still on the small of your back as he held you up.

You nod groggily, ‘it’s okay.’

And so he scoops you up in his arms, and you automatically cling onto his neck. Mark is incredibly gentle, hand under your leg splayed out as to not touch your thigh.

You’re sleepy at this point, so the walk back to your dorm house is slow.

Mark tilts you to the side to twist the doorknob, the door loudly creaking open.

‘Which bunk is yours?’

‘Right beside the window,’ you mumble, ‘bottom bunk.’

He walks you over slowly, almost as though you were a baby in his arms, before gently lowering you down into your bed.

‘Are you comfortable?’

You nod, shifting around under the duvet to try and get comfortable.

‘Good. I’ll send one of the girls in occasionally to check on you,’ he says, ‘I hope you feel better soon.’

And then he shuffles out, clicking the door shut as quietly as possible.

‘How’s your head?’

‘Huh?’

The cafeteria is relatively empty, it being late than the normal scheduled eating time. You had finished up with your cleaning duties a bit later than usual, hence why you were eating bread at nearly 10pm.

You had been interrupted by a certain Jinae resident.

‘Your head… have you been feeling better? I’ve been worried.’

‘You have?’ Your heart nearly skips a beat at the thought of him worrying about you, hoping that you’re alright, ‘I’m just fine Mark, all thanks to you.’

You don’t miss the way a pink blush creeps up his neck, and he avoids your gaze.

‘It’s what I’m trained to do,’ he brushes it off, ‘what kind of medic would I be if I couldn’t help?’

‘You’re incredibly selfless.’

‘Not really,’ Mark shrugs, ‘it’s the right thing to do.’

’Still selfless.’

He looks up at you then, trying to read your emotions.

‘I just mean that, in this world, people are selfish. People always care more about saving themselves than saving others. So you’re different, in that way.’

‘You think people care more about themselves than others?’

‘I-I saw a lot of things during the fall of Maria.. When my town was under attack, the titans had destroyed some of the houses, and there were people inside, who couldn’t get out. And they were shouting- screaming for someone to help them move the wood or the rubble but nobody listened. I told my dad to help them, obviously I couldn’t myself because I was only nine, but he didn’t. He told me that we had to leave ourselves, that we were responsible for ourselves. Now I know that those people died. They died because my father refused to help, because I was too weak. That’s most of the reason why I’m here, to help people if that were to happen again.’

‘I think your dad just cared about his family.’

‘In the refugee camps, I saw people steal food from other families, have knife fights over money and blankets. We were all in the same position, displaced and traumatised. I don’t know why people were so unwilling to help each other.’

‘Where are your family now?’ Mark asks innocently enough, but you feel your heart sink a bit.

‘My dad was sent out on the recapture mission, you know, when they tried to retake Wall Maria. He died.’

‘Oh I’m-‘ Mark looks at you with wide eyes, as if he had no idea how to react.

‘I don’t really feel any way about it,’ you admit, interrupting him, ‘he was comfortable letting those people trapped in the houses die terrified. I’m sure he had enough time to prepare himself for death before he left, and as he rode his horse out of Trost. I knew he was going to die when he said goodbye to me, and I was quite numb to it then too. My mother left me and my siblings alone in that camp and went to work in the interior to actually make money. I imagine she’s a prostitute or something. I don’t know. I don’t hear from her.’

‘Does she know you’re here?’

‘Maybe. My siblings may have told her. Anyway. Enough about me, what about you?’

‘My older brother is in the Military Police,’ Mark explains, ’the grand jewel of our family… I think my parents want me to follow in his footsteps. But I have no idea what I want to do yet.’

‘Do you think you’ll get in the top ten?’

‘Probably not. I’m not as fit or strong as Reiner, or even Annie. And I don’t have Armin’s brains or intellect. I’m kind of just in the middle.’

‘You have Eren’s will,’ you point out, ‘you care about helping people.’

‘You’re really comparing me to Eren?’ Mark chuckles.

‘I’m not saying you’re arrogant, just that you have the passion.’

‘I know. I just don’t think I have the passion for being a member of the Military Police. I don’t think they really help people as much as I want to.’

‘They’re very culty,’ you grimace, ‘so weird.’

Mark chuckles, ‘you’re not wrong. Every time I see my brother he’s walking around the interior with a huge gun, probably bullying some random kids.’

‘Do you know what regiment you want to go into?’ You ask.

‘I’m still weighing my options,’ he shrugs, ‘the Garrison always seemed like the easy route, just patrolling the streets and sitting around all day. But now they’re basically partners with the Survey Corps. If the walls get broken, they have to fight alongside each other. Either way, I’m fighting titans. It’s mainly just a decision of how often I want to.’

’Wall Rose hasn’t fallen,’ you point out, ‘it’s been nearly three years.’

‘As time goes on, it gets more likely,’ he remarks darkly, eyes fixed on the table, ‘by the sounds of it, this colossal titan seems intelligent. Who knows when it will decide to strike next. Our lecturer said that titan behaviour is incredibly unpredictable.’

‘Don’t you think we’ll be prepared enough to fight by then?’

‘It’s the Royal Government that comes up with the evacuation and fighting strategies. They care more about the preservation of the interior than those in the outer walls. They probably half-arsed the whole plan. As for our training, remember what Commander Shadis said on our first day. Most of us will just be titan feed in the end.’

‘You’re strong though, Mark,’ you state gently, as if he were sobbing and you were trying to console him.

‘You think so?’

‘I know you are. I watch you fight for future every single day.’

Mark stays silent, mulling over your words.

‘You really inspire me to try harder myself. And you’ll be an incredible soldier.’

When Mark continues to be silent, your eyes dart around the room. You catch the gaze of Sasha, who is stuffing her face with the tiny amount of leftovers.

She wiggles her eyebrows at you teasingly, before getting up and walking out of the cafeteria.

‘Nice one Y/N!’ Mark yells as you land a kick on Sasha’s shin, prompting her to fall to the floor clutching her leg.

‘Ow, Y/N!’ She shrieks, ‘I thought you said you would go easy on me!’

‘No titan will go easy on you, Braus,’ you hear Annie comment flatly.

Sasha huffs while Mark comes up behind you, gently turning you around by your elbow and giving you a high ten.

‘You’ve gotten so much better recently,’ Mark compliments, ‘I’m so proud of you!’

’Thanks Mark,’ you grin, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat by his words.

‘Yeah, nice going,’ Sasha grumbles, wiping down her now dusty thighs and shins, before turning on her heel and walking off to find Connie.

‘I still feel as though my fighting skills are a bit lacking to be honest,’ he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

‘Really? Who have you been practicing with?’

‘…Armin.’

‘Ah.’

‘Not to say that he’s weak or anything- he’s definitely not. There’s just a certain level you can get to where you just can’t improve anymore.’

No, I know what you mean,’ you try to empathise.

‘Maybe we can practice together? I-I mean, your usual partner is kind of… limping away, and I just think that you’re really great at this kind of stuff-‘

‘Mark,’ you giggle, reaching out and touching his shoulder, ‘it’s okay. We can fight. But just know, I’ll win.’

You take a few steps back as he laughs nervously. You drop your smile for a much more intimidating glare, raising your arms up.

‘Ready, Lee?’

Mark nods, awkwardly holding his own arms up to mirror your own.

You both stare at each other for a few seconds before either one of you strikes. You lunge forwards at him, swinging your right arm around his neck, to trap him in a headlock. He splutters in your ear, flailing his own limbs around in an attempt to wriggle out of your grip, but fails to do so when you throw out your leg and clip the side of his ankle with your foot, sending both of you to the ground.

He lands first, back impacting against the ground with a thud and a grunt from Mark.

You had imagined that he would let you go as he tumbled to the ground, but he doesn’t, clinging onto your arms and bringing you down with him.

A split second later, you’re also making contact with something, but not the ground. Your abdomens clash together, causing you to make an automatic ‘oof’ sound.

It takes you a while to adjust to the situation. You’re face to face, legs tangled together. There’s orange dust in Mark’s hair, sweat glistening on his forehead, eyes squinting while trying to get used to the sun, cheeks and nose red with the heat, lips-

There’s a few moments of silence, the two of you studying each others faces.

‘Ar-are you ok?’ You stammer, and for a few seconds he does not respond, still just staring at you.

‘Oh! I’ll get off,’ you shake your head, unraveling your twisted legs and clambering off of him, much to Mark’s silent disappointment.

‘Uh, you did good!’ You murmur, ‘just, um, try not to be caught off guard, next time.’

When you turn to walk away, you don’t fail to notice the way Krista and Mina are sitting on the steps of the watchtower, whispering frantically to each other.

You don’t see Mark for a few days after that. Training becomes infinitely more rigorous, since you were split into four groups and sent to different parts of the forest for field training.

You had spent several days trekking through the rain and snow with your backpack on, and afterwards spending a few days recuperating.

Mark was in a different group than you, hence why you did not see him. It feels weird that he’s not there, like there’s a part of you missing, but overall you somewhat enjoy your few days away.

It also gives you the perfect opportunity to completely forget about your weird moment during your fight, and focus on building relationships with other cadets.

‘You don’t think Marco is cute?’ Mina exclaims with wide eyes.

‘No, I mean he’s ok-‘

‘Just okay?’ Hannah Diamant replies, absolutely stunned at your indifference.

‘She only says so because she has her eyes on Lee,’ Sasha teases, sticking her tongue out when you turn to glare at her.

‘Do not!’ You argue.

‘Do too!’ Sasha is in fits of giggles, ‘and he clearly likes you too.’

‘I doubt it,’ you mumble, suddenly feeling quite embarrassed.

’Nah, he definitely likes you,’ Mina chimes in.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain blonde had been paying a bit of extra attention to your conversation.

Hence why you were here now, violently stabbing at your dinner with a fork, glaring holes into Krista Lenz’s back while she whispered to Mark Lee.

‘I thought she was going out with that Ymir girl?’ You don’t have a clue who’s speaking to you. Your brain is swimming with anger, so fuzzy you can hardly think straight.

When Krista goes to whisper in Mark’s ear again, she places a hand on his shoulder, after which you’re plotting ways in which you could cut her fingers off.

’I wouldn’t worry,’ Sasha shrugs, ‘we know, and I mean we all know he’s in love with you.’

‘Even if you’re right, which you are not, I’m not her.’

‘Don’t be so worried you idiot,’ Mina half snaps half chuckles, ‘you’re gorgeous. And a total catch, obviously. Mark Lee would be dumb to not want you.’

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

‘What the actual fuck,’ you mutter, sitting straight up in your bottom bunk bed, coming centimetres from smacking your head.

You whip your head in the direction of the source of the noise.

And there he stands, Mark Lee, in the purple night at your window.

‘What the hell?’ You mouth.

He beckons, asking you to come outside.

You give him an incredulous look, trying to be as quiet as physically possible while getting out of bed and putting on your jacket and boots.

‘What sort of time do you call this?’ You exclaim, exasperated.

‘The best time to go to the lake.’

You can’t help but notice the smirk on his face as he turns on his heel, walking down the gravel path.

You quickly look around for possible bystanders, before following him.

His lantern lights the way as you walk down the hill in a comfortable silence, arms swinging at every bump and skip in your step.

The lake is glittering at this time of night, especially because of how high and bright the moon is in the sky.

‘I like to sit and have picnics in the moon rather than the sun. The food doesn’t melt and I don’t get sunburned.’

‘We’re having a picnic?’ You practically squeak, eyes widening to basically the same size as the moon above.

‘Well, uh, no, we are in a food shortage,’ Mark stammers, ‘but I did swipe some bread from Armin. Well I mean, he gave it to me, said he would take one for the team or whatever…’

’Thank you Mark,’ you interrupt him, grinning uncontrollably, ‘this is really sweet.’

‘But if it’s any constellation, I would’ve loved to have made you a picnic. When they take back the wall I promise I’ll make up a nice spread of food.’

‘Where’s all this come from, Mark?’ You wonder aloud.

‘I’ve just had a realisation recently,’ he admits, gulping.

‘What is it?’

‘I really like you, Y/N,’ he confesses, taking both of your hands in his and rubbing them with his thumbs, ‘and I know that you probably don’t feel the same, and that we definitely have much bigger things to focus on, but-‘

You cut him off by practically launching yourself at him, kissing him.

For a moment he is stiff as a board underneath you with his surprise, before relaxing and reciprocating your kiss.

For a while you sit there, under the watchful eye of the moon, eventually peeling away from each other when you become breathless.

‘I like you too, Mark. Being with you takes me away from this horrible reality. And I don’t know what the future will be like, but I know that I want you in it.’

‘I feel exactly the same way,’ he whispers, still holding your hands.

‘We have to pick our regiments really soon. I think that I might join the survey corps,’ you say, staring out into the lake.

‘I’ll go wherever you go,’ Mark murmurs, rubbing your cheek with his hand, which you lean into.

You sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, your head resting on his shoulder, Mark occasionally turning his head to kiss your hair.

‘What made you decide to tell me this now?’ You ask.

‘Well, let’s just say I got some encouragement from Krista and Sasha.’

’I should’ve known,’ you chuckle, ‘I’ll get them back later.’

Mark laughs, perking up slightly as though he had remembered something.

‘Ready to crack open the bread, baby?’

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@hiqhkey​ @eyyyyyyyow

[veorlian]

spinning blades

for @kanejweek day 1: mythology (gods & saints).

read it on ao3 here!

pairing: Kaz Brekker x Inej Ghafa

rated t for stabbing and past abuse mention

Inej hadn’t known how to fight when she’d joined the Dregs — Kaz had taught her. First it was throwing a punch, before they moved onto blades. Training knives at first. I don't want you ruining my suit, he’d said. You can have a proper knife when I know you won’t trip and fall on it. She'd wanted to hit them, then. She suspected that that was why he'd said it. 

He was a strange boy, Kaz Brekker. She didn't trust him. She’d told him so, and he'd only said: Good, you're a quick learner.

They practiced in an alley behind the Slat. The others largely left them alone, save for the boy named Jesper’s occasional visits to offer encouragement. But mostly it was just her, Kaz, and whatever crows and stray cats wandered by.

"I heard once that there was an honour code for fighting," she said during their second makeshift lesson. She shifted the unfamiliar weight of the knife in her hand and lunged forward. Kaz stepped back, deftly avoiding her attack. She turned around to face him just a fraction too late.

Before she fully registered it, Kaz swept his cane forward, hooking it behind her legs and knocking her off balance. But she was most at home in the air and she easily flipped around, using the momentum to push herself back up on her feet.

"Rules are for the merchers and the aristocracy. Barrel gangs fight dirty," he replied. 

"I'm not that," she said. Kaz shrugged nonchalantly.

"If you want to fight fair, it's your funeral," he said. 

"Or maybe yours." 

Inej nimbly launched herself forward, feet first. Her intention was to hit Kaz square in the chest, but he stepped to the side a second before she would've connected. She landed neatly, rolling into a somersault and back onto her feet in an instant. They circled one another warily.

"Better," he said. "But too slow. Don't waste time talking. You'd be dead before you landed."

"Most people don’t see me coming," she pointed out.

"Surprise is good, but it won’t save you if you're cornered by a dozen thugs with rifles."

Inej raised an eyebrow. "If I have to fight that many, then it can only mean one of your plans has gone wrong."

It didn't provoke the reaction she'd wanted. His expression didn't change, still that infuriatingly bored look.

"There are dozens of spiders in the Barrel that could take that many," he said. The rest of the sentence was left hanging in the air between them. If you can't, then I don't need you.

The world slowed around her. Sudden panic clawed at her throat, white-hot, at the thought that she might be sent back to the Menagerie. Brekker wouldn’t do that, would he? 

She looked at his eyes, so dark they were almost black in the growing shadows. She knew his reputation. Greed was his god, it was said, and cruelty was his creed. He wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of her if she didn’t make herself useful. 

Alright, Kaz Brekker, she thought bitterly, it’s your funeral.

She held herself very still, in the way that she used to before putting her first foot on the wire. She could feel his eyes on her. Good. She was at her best with an audience.

Watch closely, ladies and gentlemen. 

Inej turned her gaze to Kaz. Looked at him the way she assumed he looked at the world — checking for weaknesses. Not the leg; she’d tried that before. Her wrist was still sore from where his cane had hit her. She’d had cause to learn that there was a knife up both of his sleeves, and another in his shoe. Best to go for the face. It felt as though she was seeing herself from a long way away, as though she wasn't in her body anymore.

Prepare yourself for a sight unlike any you've seen before.

She launched into a handstand, grabbing dirt from the ground as she went. Like at home, covering her hands in chalk before sailing from rung to rung. She vaulted over Kaz's head, spraying the dirt into his eyes. He raised a hand to block it, but she'd already landed behind him, the flat of her knife against his throat.

There was a wild, dizzying moment where she considered stabbing him. She’d only been in the Dregs a few weeks, she hadn’t seriously hurt anyone before. But her blood was still roaring in her ears, the acrid tang of copper lingering on her tongue. 

I’m not this, she thought. She forced herself to relax and step back. She needed space to think. She needed to pray.

"It's a start," Brekker said, entirely unruffled.

Inej stayed on the roof of the Slat that night, her eyes fixed on the harbour. She thought of what she was working towards. Leaving Ketterdam. Finding her family. Just this once, she thought, the ends justified the means. She stayed up on the roof till the sun rose, glinting pale pink along the horizon.

She'd fallen into the habit of visiting Kaz’s office first thing in the morning. She'd always been up with the sun, and she didn’t allow herself to sleep in. Not anymore. Her first week at the Slat she’d tried going down to the main room, but it was generally filled with snoring teenagers sprawled along the tables and floor. So, she went to Kaz’s office to get her daily assignments. From what she could tell, Brekker didn’t sleep at all. He was certainly always awake when she arrived, drinking his horrible bitter coffee. This morning was no exception.

“Hello, Wraith,” he said when she entered. She was certain she hadn’t made a sound. On her first visit to the office she’d made a note of which floorboards creaked, which hinges squeaked. That didn’t seem to matter to Brekker. 

He didn’t look up at her, only motioned to the knife on the desk. It gleamed in the morning sun, refracting light across the room. She reached for it, wrapping her hand around the handle. It felt unnervingly right, in a way that the training knives hadn’t. The metal was cool against her palms — like the rungs of the ladder leading to the wire.

“Maybe I’ll use it on you,” she said, turning it over in her hands.

He sighed. “If only you were that bloodthirsty.”

Sankt Petyr, she called the blade. She prayed her Saints would understand the things she did to stay alive.

Inej had never learned how to fight with knives. But she had, on slow afternoons, learned to throw them. It was part of the act; throwing the blades at a moving target, deftly avoiding the person tied to the board.

"I'm nervous," Inej had admitted, before her first time assisting. Her aunt had offered to show her how it was done, to help her feel more safe. Inej had accepted. She’d learned to throw knives from the very best. She could hit a target at 80 paces on a rainy day. And it was always rainy in Ketterdam.

She hadn't mentioned this to Kaz.

He pulled a dagger from his sleeve and demonstrated how to hold it, how to use its weight to throw it. Inej could imagine her aunt kindly critiquing his shoddy technique. There was no showmanship to Kaz’s throw, only grim determination.

Inej nodded and stepped forward. One moment, Sankt Petyr was in her hand, and the next it was embedded in the wooden pole Kaz had set up, immediately next to where his own knife had landed.

"Like that?" she asked politely. The change in his face was almost imperceptible. She might've missed it. She didn't.

"If you're expecting applause you're going to be sorely disappointed, Wraith," was all he said. She still wasn't used to the name. It felt like stepping into dark water; one wrong move and it would drown her.

Inej retrieved her knife, and threw it again. And again. And again. The pole was entirely intact, save for one specific spot, slowly whittled away. The same spot every time. She could almost imagine that she was back at home, practicing with her family. The worn-down alley behind the Slat, the look in Kaz’s eyes, everything seemed to just fall away. There was just Inej, and her dagger, and her Saints. It was as though Sankt Petyr was guiding her hand, reminding her of who she had been. Of who she was.

"Warn me next time before you plan to waste my time," Kaz said after the sixth throw.

“Would you have trusted me if I told you I could throw a blade?” she asked, wiping wood shavings from her knife.

“What information is relevant is up to me to decide,” he said. Everything sounded like a threat, in his voice like scraping stone. “Are we understood?”

“Fine,” she said, after a moment. The ends justified the means. “I’m going to need more knives.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He turned on his heel and left.

She stole her second knife, the one she called Sankta Lizabeta. Too recognizable to fence, but right at home strapped to her thigh. Her third was a gift from Jesper, on one of the very rare occasions that he had cash. The rest were stolen and given and earned, one by one.

She collected her blades and wrapped them around herself like you might wrap a blanket. Each night she cleaned and sharpened them until they were shining. A ritual, of sorts, something familiar amidst the chaotic mess that her life had become. She listed their names as she raced across the rooftops. Her Saints, protecting her.

Kaz had taught her how to fight, but she'd made it her own. She was light on her feet from years in the air, and deceptively strong. Ketterdam was just another wire, and she walked it with ease.

Barrel gangs fight dirty, Kaz had said, and that was true. The gangs of the Barrel were unscrupulous and ruthless, taking any opportunity to rig a fight. But they lacked imagination. There was no finesse, no art to their combat. They could never anticipate her moves. Surprise, Inej learned, goes a very long way in a fight. She’d always been a fast learner.

She didn't fight Kaz again. At least, not with blades.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Someone, Broom in Hand

Kaz died before he turned sixteen. That’s the story. When he reappears, it’s at the side of the Dark General, wearing the thin fluttering robes of the Sun Summoner. Jesper travels to the Little Palace to punch his fucking teeth out.

Kaz[/&]Jesper | 7.5k | content note: nonlinear narrative, past and offscreen abuse

The purple kefta is too big for Kaz. Jesper doesn’t want to think about why he dumped his coat over Kaz’ head, except that Kaz looks weird and cold in his ugly fancy yellow paper taffeta shirt, his one layer that he’s wearing apart from the underpants that leave his knees bare.

That he looks uncomfortable at all should be nothing but a trick of the violent light: there are two separate lit fireplaces in the bedroom, so awkwardly placed that they were probably retrofitted by a Fabrikator. It might have been David, though then Jesper would surely have heard a treatise on the stones used to erect the Little Palace, or Gaz, or Lizaveta or any of the other Materialki Jesper’s been bunking with but—but anyway, if Kaz felt like wearing more, he could order an attendant to fetch another shirt or two. Unless there’s nothing he owns that isn’t thin and revealing and fucking yellow. Unless he’s not allowed… Unless he can’t even dress himself anymore without a gaggle of attendants. Man moves up in the world and forgets everything he knew: tale as old as time.

“Just like you forgot us,” Jesper mutters, less viciously than he should.

The Kaz-doll makes no comment. No protest. No further manipulation of Jesper’s old affections. No snide mockery for Jesper passing his kefta on to the man that less than an hour ago, he tried to kill.

He just pulls the coat on. With his odd bare fingers—no claws after all, just thin and human—he closes button after button, including the top four that Jesper’s never once used, struggling to pull the material over the bone-tines sticking out of his chest. (And who back home would believe that Dirtyhands has ordinary fingers and a totally fucked up chest?) It would be easier to leave it open, but Kaz, even now he’s a sunny lapdog, doesn’t do easy. When he drops his arms, the too-long sleeves fall down over his hands, and with his thumbs he traps the fabric there. Sad little improvised half-gloves, more than Jesper’s seen him wear in the month since he let himself get conscripted into the Little Palace. He looks back at Jesper.

There’s no Thank you—Kaz Brekker never knew that word, and it seems in the two years they had him, whatever else they forced on him the Ravkans failed to teach him any more manners—but there is something new in his glare. It’s not just the purple washing the colour off his smooth—his way too smooth face. No. It’s something old: defiant, and angry, and scheming, just barely breaking through the placid paint and the rust beneath it.

Bit by bit, as he buttons up Jesper’s kefta Kaz simultaneously pulls on the moth-bitten coat of Dirtyhands he’s kept way back in the wardrobe of his brain, the ruthless killer, Bastard of the Barrel, Dregs lieutenant and future gang boss unless he gets murdered first. And it didn’t stick the first time. Pulls it over whoever it is that he was before. Over the doll beside Kirigan.

Over that person in the corner, that cornered boy, brittle and alone and stripped of armour and weapon and self, and Jesper wants to kill every single fucker in the Little Palace.

“Back home, you had a plan for everything,” he says instead. “I’m not assuming it’s a B or even a Z or a Q squared, but I know you. I know you’ve considered it. What do we do now your beloved long-lost friend’s shown up to help you steal the Sun Summoner?”

☼

Yesterday, Kerch accepted the terms of the Ravkan crown. Ex-crown. Dark fucking empire. Whatever. Test all children and send the Grisha to the Little Palace, conscript some people into the First Army—though what they still need an army for when they have the Fold is anyone’s guess—send food, booze, and, worst of all to the fastidious greedy Kerch, pay tribute without receiving anything at all in return. It was in the mouth of every paperboy on the streets, every mercher, every gang boss. By Ghezen how could we just surrender? they moaned, and Do you want to end like West Ravka? and Didn’t you see him? Kirigan’s going to crown himself king of everything. He’s unstoppable. And that boy next to him, the Sun—

Honestly? Jesper doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s paying fifty kruge just to sit on Inej’s bed for an hour and braid her hair. Ketterdam can burn to the sopping wet ground for all he cares. The world can rot. Like the Dregs did. Like everything Jesper cared for.

Inej, though, watched it.

“I had to see,” she’s whispering into Jesper’s ear, barely moving her miserable red-painted lips even though his hair should block out most lines of sight already. Inej’s smart, though, and desperate: if Jesper keeps returning to the Menagerie as nothing but a smitten small-time gangster with an incredibly vanilla hair fetish, he won’t catch attention. Tante Heleen will have fewer reasons to raise Inej’s rates. Jesper can barely pay for a visit a month as it is, and even those he allows himself mostly because he’s given up the hope of ever paying off her indenture unless he wins big.

“I snuck out yesterday. I had to see. Heleen got a new girl from Ravka six months ago, and she believes, too. Had a cheap pamphlet with her, last thing she had, of the new Saint. The illustrations… they looked just like Kaz.”

“Fu—” Inej elbows him. Jesper presses his lips into the braid over her ear. “Forget about Kaz Brekker. You’re the only one who matters now. He died, and you ended up here.”

She’s trapped in the Menagerie now because Kaz disappeared into the harbour like so many orphans before him; because he didn’t tell Jesper jack shit about Inej’s situation that might have helped him keep her safe in the Dregs; because he allowed senile Haskell who knows the names of all his five hundred thousand miniature boats and literally nothing else to stay in charge of the Dregs instead of killing him as soon as possible, which allowed Haskell to let the payments for Inej’s indenture lapse, which meant three months after Kaz just disappeared from his life Jesper got back to the Slat to find that Inej, too, had gone without a trace, and it was only luck and a pervert old Dreg that Jesper soon afterwards ‘accidentally’ shoved off a roof talking about the girls at the Menagerie that meant he found her again. Found her, only to realize he can’t help her at all.

Inej pulls Jesper’s ear back to her mouth. “I saw him, Jesper. I saw Kaz. Kaz is alive. He was there. I saw him.”

“You what?!” A sharp elbow darting out of her red sad nightgown that would have slipped right in-between his ribs if it was one of the knives she still mourns, and he’s not even given anything away. Heleen’s a hell bitch, but what use would she get out of random surprise?

“I saw Kaz. He’s the Sun Summoner. I was far away but—it was Kaz, standing next to General Kirigan, holding his hand, when the Merchant’s Council signed the terms of surrender. It was Kaz. I’m certain. Sankt Kaz.”

“I—” Jesper burrows his face into Inej’s hair. “You didn’t happen to have a knife on you, did you? A really tiny one she couldn’t confiscate. A super lethal one. Might never get as good a chance again.”

“Jes—”

“Fuck him sideways with a rusty shovel. That traitor. Did you forget how you ended up here? He left us. Saw a bigger pile of cash and skedaddled, I bet. He always wanted to be king. Guess becoming the Darkling’s queen was the next-best option.”

Inej doesn’t even defend Kaz. Jesper pulls away from her so he can look at her face. She always looks sad these days, unless she has specific painful orders to perk up, but it’s deeper now. She’s not doing the gesture, not holding her hand against her chest. Faith, now, is just one more thing Kaz Brekker took from her. Jesper can’t blame her, even though he never believed. Not even when Ravka’s new ‘Sun Summoner’ started gaining them the whole continent. Power’s power, though, no matter whether the stories around it are true. If Kaz truly is the Sun Summoner, then it’s not just Kaz Brekker who sent her back to the Menagerie—but one of her Saints. Fucking asshole.

He buries Inej in his arms. It’s all he can do now, to hold her until this month’s hour is up, because it’s not like he can just murder the Ravkans special weapon in retribution, can he? Can…

“This changes nothing,” he whispers. “The only priority is still paying off your indenture. Kaz quit the Dregs. He left us, and that means he’s nothing now. Less than nothing. I have a good feeling about the Makker’s Wheel at the Emerald Palace this weekend. Lots of pigeons there for the ‘Fete of Unity with Mother Ravka’ or whatever, and the minder thinks I’m hot. It’s risky, of course, but if I do this right—”

☼

Jesper’s just about to crawl right back out from under the bed—weapons raised, since hell knows what Kaz was planning back there, and fuck Jesper for apparently still harbouring enough trust in the guy to follow his lead two years after he deserted—but then, a series of clicks and rumbles heralds the opening of the door. Footsteps, and it slides shut again.

Shit, that was close.

And Kaz wasn’t bluffing, after all. Well, well… it certainly means something that Kaz, beloved Saint and Sun Summoner and ally to the Darkling, just told his attempted murderer slash old friend and-or stooge to hide. Kaz never did anything without a motive, be it profit or power or vengeance, and even this degraded, polished version surely isn’t so far gone as to engage in ideas as base as altruism. Ergo, Kaz will want to use Jesper for—something, though what is there he wants when he’s basically a prince of—but he isn’t, is he? He’s in a cell. A cell Jesper can unlock.

Three pairs of footsteps move around the room. One of them might be Kaz, but without his limp, it’s hard to recognize him. None of them says a word, which… it probably means this is a routine visit. Whatever’s going on, they all know their role.

Two pairs stop moving, while the third one—circles around them, it sounds like, and then someone else stumbles a little and catches themselves. Jesper hopes they’ll hurry up. He’s in mortal danger, technically—Kaz can still choose to reveal the intruder inside the Sun Summoner’s private room and-orprison, but, prison. Jesper’s far more useful alive, and so, hiding under the bed is fucking boring.

There’s not even anything interesting in-between the slat frame and the mattress. It’s the only place where you could hide anything—that Jesper can think of, at least, but there’s just nothing there at all, and Kaz used to be a real magpie. It’s a gaping void, just like everything else in this room. Like everything else in this palace, a chasm painted over with gilt and power. Unless—something’s stuck to the underside of a cross brace. Jesper slides a fingernail under the edge, and it comes loose easily enough. Not exactly a cache worthy of Dirtyhands, and anyway, it’s just a… a mangled piece of paper. A paper that looks like it’s been chewed on and spat out—and an entire corner actually torn off, or bitten, maybe—and whatever used to be printed onto it mostly rubbed off except for a couple of letters here and there, RAV. Curved lines and tiny hats. What would Kaz need to hide in his room? Apart from weapons he doesn’t have. Other people’s jewellery, dito. The only thing that Jesper knows about him now is that he’s trying to open the door. Trying to leave. It’s probably a map, then.

Which means an escape is planned, and Jesper’s just providing the desperately sought means. Good. That means he should have even more leverage here.

Somebody stumbles again, this time taking two steps to catch themselves. Almost as if they’ve jerked away.

“You’re falling behind,” slimes the smooth, rich voice of the Darkling. “On second thought, our people would miss you at the celebration. I’ll inform the staff that you wish to dance, all night long.”

☼

“You’re hanging around here because you heard that General Kirigan and the Sun Summoner are due back this hour, aren’t you?” The woman in a tidemaker’s kefta that just sidled up to Jesper speaks unaccented, high class central Ravkan. Even if her dark skin is an indication of Zemeni heritage, she came to the Little Palace long before the Darkling’s recent territorial acquisitions. She’s no ally, just like the rest of the crowd that surrounds them: an old-school Grisha, veteran Second Army, not someone whose loyalties may yet be pliable. Not someone like Jesper, whose skin started crawling the moment he showed his skills to a Ravkan occupation officer so he could sneak into the Little Palace. She’s friendly, though, and looks at Jesper’s face with clear appreciation. “You must be new. Hi. I’m Nadia.”

“Jesper,” he says, throwing a flirtatious grin like a blanket over his nerves and anger. It’s almost fun, playing the suave infiltrator assassin Grisha. Except Inej’s still in the Menagerie. And Kaz is still a piece of shit. “Yeah, I just got here! They didn’t test for Grisha ability in Novyi Zem when I was little, so I barely knew who I was… but once I heard about the Darkling, about this place, I crossed the True Sea as soon as I could!”

“That must have been so hard. So lonely. This place is…” She grimaces. “This place was our sanctuary. You’re lucky you’re Materialnik.”

“Why?” It’s the first time since his arrival that anyone’s had even a neutral opinion of Durasts, let alone good, and granted, it’s not like he cares that much about the ability his Ma died from, and he’s only talked to a dozen people since arriving yesterday, but…

“Listen, I know you want to see the Sun Summoner, and don’t tell anyone I said this but…” Nadia pulls Jesper a few paces away from the crowd on the training grounds, into a corner formed by two enormous bales of hay. Well-chosen: he can barely see the crowd that just surrounded them peek out behind the yellow stalks. “You’re sweet—”

“Listen, you’re gorgeous, but we just met—although, on second—”

“No!” She laughs, but it’s bitter. “You’re cute, but no. It’s my duty, to her, to protect you. The new ones. You’re Materialnik, so you’re not combat, so you’re not going to actually meet the Sun Summoner. Ever, if you’re lucky.”

“He’s that bad?” Kaz was always a dick, if Jesper’s honest—it was part of his charm—he was just a charming magnetic one, and back with the Dregs Jesper hated his ruthlessness just as much as he admired it. He was worst to his fellow Dregs and his enemies, though: he could charm a mark when needed. So it’s a tad unexpected that Kaz earned himself the hatred of a Grisha indoctrinated from childhood to see him as her Saint and saviour. Apparently, he’s just that talented. That obnoxious.

Well, Jesper’s not complaining. That makes his plan much easier.

“He killed my best friend,” Nadia whispers urgently. “The last time I saw her they were taking a walk, and then I found her, blisters and burns all over her body. Who else? There’s a reason he’s not allowed to have weapons. I heard the Darkling doesn’t let him go anywhere alone, or he would murder us all. He killed Baghra too, I’m sure—she was our teacher, but she disappeared two years ago. Just stay away from him, alright? He looks harmless, but he’s a rabid dog. Oh. There he comes.”

Jesper barely manages to whisper, “Thank you,” before she pulls away from him and returns to her previous place. Back to the crowd of Etherealki and Corporalki on the training field, but she finds her place in the last row, standing—hiding—behind two men much taller than her.

Jesper follows into the crowd. No need to alert Kaz that the past is hot on his heels, and then—

Well. There he is.

There someoneis, anyway.

If Jesper trusted Inej just a hair’s breadth less, he’d have cursed her and sneaked back out of the Little Palace the second he sees the person holding General Kirigan’s hand. Sure, the Sun Summoner is male, with dark brown hair and dark eyes and pale skin, and just a little bit taller than Kaz was at fifteen, but that’s where the similarities end. Dirtyhands had his impeccable mercher’s suits in a grim mockery of Ketterdam’s upper class, and gloves to feed the rumours, and a cane to walk and kill. His hair managed to be at once floppy and severe; just like his gaunt face, in the right light, made him look utterly captivating and not just like an annoyed scheming rat. He looked exactly like the Bastard of the Barrel should. Not pleasant or easy, but the person Jesper once would have followed into any lion’s den.

This—this Sun Summoner, on Kirigan’s arm, is beautiful. Healthful. Pristine.

Barely even a fucking person.

It’s the face, mostly.

You could never tell what Kaz was thinking, just looking at him, because he was, after all, thinking in layers upon layers of incomprehensible schemes at all times of the day and then went to bed and dreamt about ploys and deceptions. Jesper could barely follow him the three times total he deigned to explain part of his plans. But you could always tell that Kaz was thinking. Planning, scheming, plotting his greedy bloody vicious way out of and into every possible house on every possible street.

The Sun Summoner looks empty. He’s staring straight ahead, but he’s not even doing thatwith any kind of purpose. He’s like a pet on the Darkling’s arm. He looks more airheaded than all blackout drunk heirs and heiresses in Ketterdam combined.

It’s incredibly eerie, because now he’s searching for it Jesper can sort of read Kaz Brekker back into the Sun Summoner’s face. This face is much smoother, without the marks of past firepox, plumped and rosy-tinted, but that might partially just be a testament to the quality of Ravkan cooks—or, how skint the Dregs always were. He has a normal haircut. It probably suits him better, unless your standard for beauty is Dirtyhands, and unfortunately Jesper—anyway. The Sun Summoner doesn’t have a cane, either, and he doesn’t need one, apparently, because he isn’t limping. Ravkan royal healthcare, but honestly, Kaz could have pressed a Grisha healer into service back in Ketterdam only he always insisted—well, whatever. Fuck his words of wisdom. Fuck him. Fuck Kaz. Jesper shouldn’t even be remembering that snake.

Kaz Brekker betrayed Inej, left her to rot in the Menagerie, so whatever role he’s playing right now in whatever scheme this is—because it has to be a scheme that put Kaz into the yellow robe he’s in right now, so thin it’s translucent, and sleeveless too in the Ravkan winter. The Dregs tattoo on his arm is gone. Two Inferni are flanking him and the Darkling, their hands perpetually on fire just so Kaz can parade about in a robe no Menagerie slave would go outside in, but still, it’s Kaz. It’s definitely Kaz Brekker. Jesper can see it now.

Fuck him. He traded the Dregs for this. He abandoned them to Haskell’s mismanagement and let Inej go back to the Menagerie. He betrayed them all.

(Of course, Jesper abandoned Inej now too, and without a word, but—after that last catastrophic loss in the Emerald Palace, there’s a zero percent chance the Dime Lions wouldn’t have strung him up by his own entrails—or sold him into indenture, trying to make back at least a fraction of the fifty thousand kruge he owes—so really, he had no choice. It’s the next best thing, right? If he can’t help her anymore, at least he can kill the bastard that started all their troubles.)

Kaz just walks off, hand in the Darkling’s grasp, towards the Little Palace. Carelessly following the other man’s lead.

The old Kaz would have noticed Jesper.

☼

Footsteps and then, a series of clicks and pieces of wood and metal rubbing stones. The door. Kaz’s legs, taking steps backwards to the bed in a perfect, healthy gait. The rich soft creaking of the bed as he sinks down again, and in front of Jesper—the same two muscular, pale, bare, identical hairy calves. Like the legs of a statue, or one of those de Kappels he used to like, except the right leg is trembling finely. Barely noticeable if it wasn’t right in front of Jesper’s face. Those Ravkans maybe aren’t so crafty after all.

Then: nothing.

After what feels like an hour in which Jesper doesn’t dare move, even though the Darkling must have left already, a hand drops off the edge off the mattress. Middle and index finger erect, then crooking twice in quick succession. It takes a moment to connect. Jesper hasn’t seen those signals in such a—move, path clear. Yes. That’s what it was.

Jesper wriggles out from under the bed, annoyingly free of dust. Pristine. Empty, just like everything else.

“Didn’t think the Sun Summoner needed to use our secret code, boss,” he drawls up at Kaz from the floor. Kaz, with his barren black eyes and his new porcelain doll face, picking at the wide open collar of his yellow shirt.

“Never drop a tool you can still use,” Kaz says. A beat. “Didn’t think I was your boss anymore.”

“You aren’t.” Jesper turns his head away, looking at the spotless floor and the intricately painted walls from his low vantage point. Exquisite, imposing, empty: a Saint’s cage, as beautiful and terrible as Inej’s room in the Menagerie. The bare wall hiding the inaccessible door. “That guy really fucking hates you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. Jesper turns his head back to watch him again, even though that won’t give him anything more: Kaz used to be willfully inscrutable even back in the Barrel, but after whatever Grisha surgery they did to him, there are only traces left of the real person trapped inside him. Dollface, Jesper thinks again. Who’d have expected they’d turn fucking Dirtyhands into a dollface?

It’s Kaz who turns away, fingers clawed into his neckline. His voice is rough, even if it’s a shadow of the damaged rasp that used to be him. “I thought about it sometimes, back then. The first time.”

Every fibre of Jesper’s being wants to interrupt with, What are you talking about? I don’t speak cryptic anymore. I’m out of practice. He should get off the floor, raise his guns, resume—but whatever it is, whether it’s some stupid new Grisha power, whether it’s zowa, or his memory of Kaz is just coming back, he doesn’t—

“It was like this. I was on my bed already, usually, when it grew hard—and I thought you would be up for not being on the bed, and there wasn’t much else in my room. I imagined watching you. I didn’t touch it. That was better.”

Uh. What.

“He probably knows I threw up after we—I tried to hide it. I thought I could manipulate him into seeing me as his partner, I thought I’d healed, that I’d practiced enough—but he just saw that I was still weak. He saw he could control me. But if he didn’t do it again because I threw up, I’m—”

He was right. Jesper would have stayed on the cold hard floor back then for him. Even now, Jesper would crawl around like a worm jerking off for the fucking asshole he got himself trapped in the Little Palace to murder, if that meant Kaz never had to—

Kaz pulls the neckline of his flimsy thin single ugly yellow shirt closed. The shirt that doesn’t protect him. The shirt he didn’t choose.

☼

Jesper’s imagined the Sun Summoner’s quarters, of course. Most of the Grisha in the Little Palace are wretched gossips—or Jesper’s been charming as many people into spilling as many secrets as possible to him so he can plan his attack, same difference—and anyway, he needs a backdrop for his imagined kill shots. It’s Kaz Brekker, after all. Dirtyhands. The ex-Bastard. You’d want to rehearse that death. Think of some witty one-liners.

Nadia said it was gorgeous inside, like a dollhouse. Lizaveta, who Jesper’s been told to shadow so he can learn how to become a proper Durast, insisted it’s totally empty. Grzegorz said there were live kittens inside, so the Sun Summoner could sate his lust for innocent blood, Sayyna thought there was a giant swimming pool, and a lovely naïve boy from the edge of the permafrost up at the former border insisted it was just like the quarters of all other Grisha, except with a little more privacy. Since they’re all siblings fighting for a world that will be kind to Grisha.

Jesper, privately, imagined a few stolen paintings and a mishmash of furniture. Because he’s an idiot.

This is just like—

If it is the Sun Summoner’s bedroom at all. It should be. Jesper did his homework: he followed the Darkling and his Sun Summoner creature that wears the skin used to house Kaz, and a variety of Materialniks, to the end of this specific corridor, five times in total. Watched the Materialniks unlock a hidden mechanism, and then the two most powerful men in Ravka—in all charted countries, ruling everything this side of the True Sea but pockets of Shu Han and even that’s a matter of time—they walked inside, hand in hand. The Darkling always left, after a while, alone, and so it only made sense to assume that the hidden room that Jesper just snuck up to and unlocked is, in fact, the Sun Summoner’s room. Kaz’ room. It’s the best time for breaking into it, too. There’s going to be a party in two days, so hopefully everyone’s too busy, and even if the Sun Summoner’s out doing preparations then Jesper can just hide in here and kill him in an ambush. That’s probably easier, actually.

First, though, he locks and hides the door again, because… yeah, he went to Ravka expecting to get caught. At some point. This is a suicide mission for revenge, after all—suicide is in in the title. But it’s no fun if he gets caught before the gory glorious revenge part. Before Kaz admits he was a piece of shit. Both guns cocked and ready, he turns around, and actually inspects the room he broke into.

No. Nothing changes, even when he blinks and blinks again. That wasn’t a faulty first impression.

The room still looks like a fucking prison cell.

A fancy, clean cell, but a cell nonetheless. It’s empty except for the bed, and Jesper owes Lizaveta more money than he has on him (though to be fair, technically, Jesper’s fifty thousand kruge in debt anyway, so does it really make a difference at all if he’s a few Ravkan coins more in the red), and even the windows—Jesper’s had enough training now that he can look at the windows and see the subtly reinforcing mesh inside the glass. No curtains. No curtain rods. Nothing—there’s a subtle mesh inside the bedclothes too and the frame of the bed looks far too sturdy to be torn apart by anyone who isn’t a skilled Materialnik. There are meshes in front of the fireplaces.

Nothing in here that can be used as a weapon.

Not against others, and not against oneself.

No escape.

There’s nothing in this stark white massive room but a person, acting like he never did before and still looking more like himself than when he was walking through the training grounds. It’s probably the distance from other people. He’s got his back to Jesper and he’s in the furthest corner from the door, which should be a tactical misstep because he can’t escape from there but really—it’s as good as any other location, in this room. There’s nothing of use to anyone left, not even to someone as shrewd as Dirtyhands used to be before he lobotomized himself into the Sun Summoner. Or before he was—

Kaz pushes himself up from his kneeling position using the walls he faces. He mutters, “I beg your forgiveness for keeping you waiting, Aleks.” His voice sounds odd.

“Are you crying?”

“Jesper?!”

Kaz turns so quickly he has to brace himself against the wall again lest he fall over. His translucent shirt ripples. His dark eyes in his weird new too-handsome face trace over Jesper, again and again. If they were fingers, Jesper would feel like he’s being caressed. No, that’s the wrong thought. A thought from a book he won’t admit he’s read. Jesper’s got his guns out. He came here for a reason. A bloody, glorious reason.

“Inej wouldn’t want me to do this, but she’s locked up in the fucking Menagerie,” he announces, just to see whether Kaz can feel even a shred of guilt. “Just so you could be a Ravkan prince in ugly yellow lingerie.”

“Just follow my—”

No, then. Or maybe it’s just the new face Jesper can’t read. Not that it matters. “Shut up. Do you remember what you told me when I joined the Dregs? About what you’d do to traitors? Well, I have added a couple of my own ideas.”

“Shut up, Jesper. You can monologue when we’re done, but—”

Jesper aims right between his weird, smooth pebble eyes. “When you left us, you knew it would all go to shit. Inej’s in the Menagerie, and there’s no way to get her out again. Haskell let the Dregs collapse after you disappeared. No Dregs, no kru—”

Kaz flinches. “Quick. Get under the bed. Now.”

Whether it’s surprise, a sex instinct, or—far worse—a lingering sense of loyalty, Jesper obeys instantly.

☼

“We’re lost,” Jesper moans. They’ve been surrounded by trees for four days. He’s not even sure they’re trudging vaguely southwards anymore. Everything looks the same. What wouldn’t Jesper give to be back in Ketterdam already, with its lovely street names and pedestrians and garish landmarks (and gangsters about to string him up), or at least somewhere in Novyi Zem where he sort of understands the landscape. Or what’s left of Shu Han, so Kaz can unclench.

“We’re not lost,” Kaz rasps. “Keep going.”

“How do you—the map.” The half-chewed-up map hidden under Kaz’ bed, the map he snuck into his coat—Jesper’s kefta, whatever—even though he probably already knows it by heart.

“Yes. The map.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me to choose where we’re going if you’re memorized the map?!” What an asshole. Jesper just clean forgot what a piece of shit Kaz is. He forgot it so utterly he’s helping him break out of Ravka, without even extracting anything in return. He’s a fucking idiot. “Is it so you can blame me when we get caught?”

Kaz, the dick, rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t I rather not get caught at all? Think, Jesper—what’s the one advantage you have over me?”

“I’m prettier,” Jesper shoots back. “My winning personality. I have a better tolerance for hard liquor. Fashion sense. I’m funny. No, wait—I’m a much more generous lover.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Kaz hisses, making the pronoun sound even more slimy than the guy it’s referring to, which is honestly quite a feat. “Do you think this is my first attempt? He’ll send people to every single route out of his core territory that poses any advantages. He has enough soldiers for that. What he doesn’t have, though, is enough soldiers to watch every route your bird-brain might pick at random.”

And then, he stalks ahead viciously. No. Limps ahead.

It’s been growing much more pronounced over the days. At first, even without a cane he walked just like any person with two healthy legs, and that’s what Jesper expected. The Ravkans healed their Saint’s leg, didn’t they? That’s what they would do. Only Kaz can think around enough corners to make his bad leg into an advantage. But with every passing day, Kaz’ gait has grown closer to what Jesper remembers from back before the world went to shit. Kaz was touchy about accommodations back then, though, or people being nice in general, so Jesper hasn’t even brought up improvising a new cane. All he’s dared to do is slowing down his own steps to what he remembers would have matched Kaz, back then.

And insisting on taking breaks. Like he does now.

“It’s almost night, you refuse to make light despite being made of sunshine, and I’m hungry,” he complains.

“I’d assume that Ketterdam has made you soft,” Kaz rasps, “o cherished crown jewel of crime and commerce, and what’s the difference.” He limps back to the fallen tree that Jesper has chosen as their camp site, though, so he must be a just few steps short of utter collapse.

Jesper unwraps the two woollen blankets he’s been carrying on his shoulders. They didn’t get a chance to steal much, mostly because Kaz was a prick about it and didn’t even let Jesper go back to his room: apparently there was time for Kaz to fold up a paper bag into a facsimile of an envelope and write an address in Djerholm onto it and have Jesper talk a stable-hand into riding out to deliver it, right now, but no time to search anywhere else for supplies. They took just whatever they found in the stables, which amounted to extra coats, some boots, the blankets, and horse feed. And gloves. Kaz declared it was time to run as soon as he’d found gloves.

Balefully, Jesper chews on his oats. Even wrapped in his blanket, the night is cold, and Kaz—who’s still wearing nothing but underpants besides the robe/gloves/Jesper’s kefta/stolen coat combo and ill-fitting boots without socks—is shivering violently.

“We should steal you some real clothes from the next house we see,” Jesper mutters. “And some decent food.”

“We’re not stealing anything until we’re in Shu.”

They’ve had this argument before. Jesper shouldn’t be as thrilled about that as he is. There’s no way to resolve it, until they find the border—or until Kaz keels over from hypothermia, because then even his rational fear of detection won’t keep Jesper from finding some trousers. For the time being, though—

“I’m going to sit closer and steal your body heat. In exchange, you can wrap my blanket around your legs.”

Kaz glares. He can do it masterfully again: just like the limp snuck back as soon as he left the Little Palace, his face over the days grew thin and pockmarked. Vicious. Jesper’s commited it to memory, in case Oily, Tall and Dark steals it again.

“If you freeze to death tonight, this was all for nothing. I could be sleeping in a palace right now. Well, a dingy side house, with the other Materialniks, but joke’s on them. This whole escape would have been much more complicated if I’d been a Squaller. Or a Sun Summoner, who refuses to even use his power to warm us up.”

“Leave it.” Kaz runs a finger roughly over where his collarbone should be, and he shudders. The temperature, or something worse, some new pain he’s not revealing—but carefully, he leans his blanketed side against Jesper, and allows Jesper to throw his own blanket over him, too.

“I’ll make you a new cane tomorrow. With a head, too, if we can scavenge enough metal from the buttons. Not a crow. You haven’t earned that until we free Inej, but maybe… a worm.”

“That’s just a stick,” Kaz mutters. “Go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say: Kaz is taking the first watch, and so he’s not balancing on a fallen log in the cold without a blanket, trying to fall asleep sitting up while leaning against Kaz’ shoulder with as little contact surface as physically possible. After some hours or minutes, though, Jesper’s suffering is too much for even Kaz to handle. Who knew there was a limit! Who knew Kaz had heard of mercy! Maybe he just doesn’t like Jesper wriggling next to him. He fists a lock of Jesper’s curls and pulls his head down into his lap.

“I didn’t help you because I want to fuck you, just so you’re aware,” Jesper jokes, because this is actually—it’s actually almost comfortable curling up on the fallen tree with his head on the blanket on Kaz’ thighs, even though there’s the remnants of a branch digging into his hip and they’re on the run from all Grisha in the world and also the new, expanded Ravka that covers nearly every country on this continent and Inej’s still imprisoned and if they actually manage to get back to Ketterdam, Jesper’s going to be in so much shit. And still, it’s… “I mourned you, you know, when Haskell told me you’d died. I wasn’t just angry because the Dregs were a shambles without you.”

Kaz is quiet. Jesper sort of wishes he’d touch his hair again, or his shoulder—and he never seemed to have any trouble touching the Darkling, so what, is Jesper not good enough—but he also looked like a void back there, like in order to endure it maybe he had to smother—

“That’s not why I mentioned that fantasy back there,” says Kaz, lyingly. Sure. He just happened to invoke Jesper’s obvious past crush for no reason whatsoever. The awfully convenient infatuation Jesper didn’t have sense nor skill to hide back then. Kaz is exactly the kind of person who’d exploit someone’s first love. The person who’s realize, long before Jesper did, that maybe, he’s not actually completely over—but maybe that wasn’t the important bit then. It went on. And that story about the Darkling—

“You thought I’d help you out of pity?” Jesper would have done, if he hadn’t been so angry—if he hadn’t been already so freaked out by the placid expression, the clothes that looked expressly designed to torture the Kaz he knew, the cell… It wasn’t pity. What is it you feel when a person you knew—maybe not his secrets or his past or his thoughts or what trouble he just dragged you into because he’s a secretive dick, but still, you knew him, it was burned into your heart, his movements and the codes he taught you and just when a heist was about to trigger one of his fears he’d never mentioned and you needed to get him out now… What do you feel, when that person comes back from the dead, and comes back wrong. Like a stag with too many tongues inside its mouths and its hands locked behind its throat. Except the other way round, because Kaz Brekker was terrifying, and what he was made into or what pretended to be was only scary because it wasn’t. Anyway. Kaz is a manipulative commandeering asshole again, so it doesn’t matter. “You despise pity.”

“It’s a tool, just like everything else. One he couldn’t take. And pride just gave me—pity got me out of the Little Palace, didn’t it?”

“Something did.” Jesper tips his non-existent hat, and Kaz slaps the top of his head to make him stop wriggling. He keeps the hand there this time, knotted tight in Jesper’s hair. It stings, but it’s also… Jesper closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep before inevitably, it’ll leave.

“Pride. It was my fault.” Kaz’ voice almost sounds the way it did back home. Harsh, vicious—and damaged. Human. “I thought I could bear it. He was—the Sun Summoner could have no weaknesses, he said, nothing for our enemies to use, and I allowed myself to think… ‘our’ enemies. I practiced. It was easier, after a while, to bear touch. I thought—it seemed like the best option, to stand at his side, and to make him see me as his partner I should… I was tired of being a prisoner. I thought I could use him.”

That’s bad enough, but… “But you’re limping again,” Jesper hisses. “If he’s forming you like a clay doll to make you his perfect Sun Summoner, he should have started with healing you.”

“They did, when I first came to the Palace. I didn’t want—but I learned to accept it. After my first escape, he broke it again, personally. Had it tailored over, afterwards, every few days. Incentive for cooperation.”

There’s nothing Jesper can do to fix this stagnant, lifeless voice. He could hug Inej, at least, but this—

“It’s what I would have done, too. He was just better than me, and he didn’t need another one, so he had to change me.”

“By dressing you up and making you look like a doll. If you tell me it was a sex thing, at least I could—no, still couldn’t relate. His taste’s shit. That beauty was pretty ugly,” Jesper mutters into Kaz’ thighs.

Kaz pulls at his hair again—probably a rebuke, but the sting travels down Jesper’s spine to—well, it’s time to change the subject rather quickly. What’s there to… oh yeah, his head’s on a blanket. That’ll do. “I just had a great idea,” he says, and—yeah, his voice is still completely normal and steady. A little loud, maybe. Kaz hasn’t moved his hand away, though, so it can’t be too obvious.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off, my bright idea of breaking into the centre of Grishadom to kill you in a murder-suicide attack because what else was I going to do, let the Dime Lions grind me between millstones to press out the fifty thousand kruge I may perhaps still owe them—”

“You what?!”

Jesper powers on, because that’s really a conversation best left for when he’s not lying in a forest with his head in Kaz’ lap and trying to forget, desperately, the way it felt when Kaz pulled his hair. The way it feels when he does it again. “I’m just saying, it saved you. You’re welcome. So anyway. We only have one pair of trousers. I was going to suggest we alternate wearing mine, but we both know I wouldn’t get them back.”

“Your so-called idea is… interesting,” Kaz mutters, voice almost pulled asunder trying for both disturbed and mocking. “But I’m far more interested to hear about the fact you skipped out of Ketterdam without paying your debts. A crime punishable by death in every gang. Every gang in Ketterdam, the city where you want us to go.”

And yeah, that’s occurred to Jesper, but… “That’s a problem for later. You’ll think of something, boss, if we make it that far. You always have a plan. For now… I wouldn’t—well, I would carry you if your legs freeze off, but it wouldn’t be fun for either of us, so… You sewed yourself up constantly back home, and I’d wager sewing is just like swimming. Once you know, you can never forget.”

“Skills are useless if you lack every materia—Jes—”

“Yeah, I definitely can turn a button into a needle now. We just need to tear the second blanket into some vaguely trouser-shaped pieces, and for thread—well, we could just tear up your Sun Summoner robe, it’s useless anyway.”

“Jesper,” Kaz rasps again.

“I’m a genius?”

“No, you’re still an idiot. Why not, though?”

☼

Kaz Brekker disappeared between Sunday and Tuesday night. That’s all Jesper knows, and it’s that precise only because Kaz has been experimenting with the payroll recently. Apparently, handing out wages on late Tuesday maximizes the chances of flushing as much money as possible back into the coffers of Dregs-owned establishments, and he’s also taken to handing out the money personally. Some weird power play that Haskell hasn’t yet forbidden: everyone knows Kaz barely bothers to keep his accomplices informed about the job they’re currently doing, and the big boss tolerates him mostly because Dirtyhands is still more useful insubordinate than dead.

It’s Wednesday now, though. Wednesday afternoon.

And Jesper still hasn’t gotten paid.

Kaz is gone.

Jesper’s in Haskell’s office, inquiring about everyone’s money. Too irritated by the games of Makker’s Wheel he was forced to miss out on last night to perform anything but the most pro forma I remember my boss’ boss is technically my boss and can kill me pleasantries. Instead of promising to kick Kaz’ ass, though, like Jesper hoped, Haskell just tells him Pasko will give him his wages tomorrow.

Haskell won’t say anything else. Just, “That boy got himself mixed up in something he couldn’t handle alone, and it fucked him. You won’t like what you find, when you go looking for the dead.”