#who cares about the card game i wanna stare at that art for hours

[legendary-cookies]

(Source)

OH MY GOD IT'S THE M

[angelz-dust]

masters of none - part 4 (jason todd x reader)

summary: after many months, we are back in action and back in reader’s head. pls enjoy these jason crumbs. if you need a refresher on the plot, the other chapters will be linked below!

word count: 3.7k

warnings: food/eating. alcohol. cursing.

part 1 /// part 2 //// part 3

gravity

ever since i ever felt ya, right there life couldn't seem better. tulip flowers in my sweater. ask me now, is this forever?

…

you rested your chin on the table before you, your arms hanging limply between your knees as you listened to your manager, dana. you were really just watching her mouth open and close while she pointed at a powerpoint. god, what you would've given for an extra hour of sleep. the all nighters in the studio were starting to take a toll. 

the feeling of the back of daisy’s soft hands brought you back to earth. the smell of cocoa butter dancing beneath your nostrils as her smooth engagement ring rolled across your cheek. you breathed in her smell, exhaling in content through your nose.

“you good?” she mouthed and you closed your eyes, giving her a little nod. the bassist rubbed her calloused fingers against your forehead, pushing strands of your hair past your hairline. you pouted when she eventually pulled away, leaving you only with the sensation of touch that once was.

you heard tyler shift in his seat and then felt some air graze against your hand. you looked under the table, noticing he was holding something out to you. you two made eye contact briefly before you scooted back in, grabbing what felt like an envelope. looking down at your lap, you saw a sticky note attached to it. jason’s money was what it said. you carefully put the envelope in your jacket pocket, sitting back in your seat now and looking at dana’s powerpoint. she was going over reports from your publicist, jerry, which you didn't particularly care about.

“now, i have to ask,” dana’s words pierced your bubble of inattention. “have you all thought about what i said about this next album?”

jordy raised his hand like a school kid. “yes?”

“y/n and i decided that we'd be okay with making our album a group project. it has been, admittedly, kinda hard and boring without everyone else. we’d honestly be doing ourselves a disservice by not doing it together,” jordy explained, dana clapping her hands together.

“wonderful,” she nodded, keeping her hands clasped. “i know you two were excited to do your own thing, but i was talking to jerry and he was really pressing me to get a group album from you guys. the people wanna see you guys as a unit of established artists, which you all are. so what's the concept? we never discussed it.”

“uh,” you verbally paused, raising your arms above your head to stretch. “disco, jazz, and funk. it's a mix of those.”

“retro is in right now,” dana nodded, pacing around the room. “how far back will this set us on a release date?”

you grimaced, leaning back in your seat, the back of the seat lightly bouncing as it absorbed your weight. you pondered the question for a moment. “if it’s gonna be a group thing, it'll have to be significantly longer. we have a decent starting off point but i'm gonna need way more songs now.”

“what about the rest of you? any tracks that we could swing?” dana asked, looking at the rest of the group. 

grabbing a pen and piece of scrap paper, you started jotting down notes as everyone spoke out to you. dex and quinton didn’t have anything, but they wouldn’t be a problem. you just needed to give them a beat to rap over and you’d be set. the twins had a finished song already that fit the concept, which was good. with tyler’s voice and aly’s excellent song writing abilities, you doubted very seriously that anything else needed to be done to it. daisy and hector had plenty of lyricless songs, too. funk and soul was their specialty, after all. misha even had a demo track she was willing to share. 

you looked over the notes you had taken, tapping your pen on the table as you hummed to yourself. “this could probably work. we’ll need to go over everything in the studio, though.”

“we should just do it now. no one is doing shit else today, right?” dex asked the group, who all shook their head. 

“i have a request,” you raised your finger, looking at dana. “i want gotham to be involved in this project.”

“gotham…” dana repeated slowly, unsure of what you meant. “care to elaborate?”

“music videos directed by student directors from gotham university, commissioning local artists for album art. dancers, actors, musicians, whatever. all of them have to be from gotham. i don't want any of the money we put into this project leaving this city,” you stated firmly, dana giving you a blank look. 

“i like that idea,” hector said, giving you a kind smile before turning to dana, shifting in his seat. the drummer was like a big brother, always backing you up in moments like these. “accessibility to the arts is really limited here and we should change that.”

“i’d rather give back to the city, too,” quinton agreed, playing with the gold cross hanging from his neck. “we’re one of the only groups in gotham known outside of gotham. we should use that as an opportunity to rep our city.”

“it sounds like you have your minds made up on this,” dana narrowed her eyes, letting out a sigh. “it would definitely be good PR.”

“because god forbid we do something out of the kindness of our hearts,” misha laughed, rolling her eyes. “we're trying to put the city on and you're worried about how it makes us look.”

“that's my job, misha. don't you want me to do my job?” dana retorted. “besides, i'm more concerned with the funding. you all don't have disposable income, believe it or not.”

“but i know someone who does,” she said with a singsong tone, giving you a look.

“i hope you're not referring to me,” you deadpanned. your income was far from disposable.

“i’m referring to our good friend, bruce wayne,” she explained, grabbing a business card out of her purse, handing it over to dana. “ever since i got invited to that charity gala, i've had a direct line to a representative with the wayne foundation. i say we ask them to help fund the project.”

“now that could work,” dana admitted, eyeing the card as she tapped her foot. “if we pitch for more youth involvement, it'll probably go over better. we all know how much bruce wayne loves saving the children.”

you frowned at how dana described bruce’s initiatives as a philanthropist. you were sure his motivations for favoring youth projects were good intentioned, considering his parents had been killed when he was just a little boy. you wanted to go into this good intentioned, too and you hoped that they'd agree. they being the wayne foundation and subsequently, bruce himself.

“ty and quinton could do something with forrester. if we’re going for the youth involvement route, i mean,” aly spoke up. 

“forrester correctional. our old stomping grounds,” quinton sighed wistfully as he patted tyler on the shoulder. “i think that would be a good idea.”

“they use the arts as an outlet for them, so it could be beneficial for everyone,” tyler nodded. “there are a lot of good kids there. just unfortunate circumstances, that’s all.”

“wasn’t one of bruce’s son’s a troublemaker before he was adopted?” aly continued, not noticing the look you and tyler shared. “i’m sure he’d probably be interested in doing something with them if his son comes from the same background.”

“it’s settled, then. you all keep working on the music. jerry and i will handle the rest. we need this album out before hector and daisy’s wedding,” dana said, grabbing her suitcase. 

…

hey, i have your money. did you still want it?

you stared down at the unsent message, your thumb floating over the send arrow. you hadn’t spoken to jason since that night after the race, as per his request. your mind kept wandering back to it, even as time still went on. what happened was scary, to say the least. fun, but scary. you wondered how the hell jason didn’t get the two of you killed. that part, you didn't want to think about too hard. everyone in gotham had their secrets and it was an unspoken rule amongst citizens to not pry. secrets were secrets for a reason. nothing good ever came from unearthing them.

speaking of secrets, you hadn't exactly told tyler and quinton what happened that night. not in detail. you conveniently left out the chase and stopping to get something to eat. omitting the first part was obvious, but the second one was for your own sanity. you didn't need them teasing you over nothing. besides, all that mattered was no one was dead or arrested. and for the way the three of you used to get down, that was a win. 

you considered texting jason earlier this week, just to check in on him, but you decided against it. he obviously wanted you to text him and you obviously had to do the opposite. his little mind game wasn’t going to work on you. you pressed send, frowning immediately as you did so.

maybe it already had.

“it’s too many people in this bitch,” dex sighed, the cold of the water bottle you had asked him for against your hand bringing you back to reality. blinking, you were suddenly very aware of the chaos surrounding you in the studio as you put your phone back in your pocket. you looked to your left, where jordy was leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone. to your right was aly, who was scribbling in her songbook in the chair next to you. you remembered you were supposed to be working, too. “we need a new stu.”

“i’m working on it!” hector hollered from inside the booth as he and daisy were setting up equipment and instruments. you glanced up at the glass in front when you heard his voice, accidentally catching the pair share a little kiss. you quickly averted your gaze, smiling to yourself.

“new stu, new view, what it do?” quinton began to freestyle to a beat he was making on the coffee table in front of him. “off 92, posted up with southside crew.” 

“okay,” dex laughed, noddinh his head as he was vibing with the beat, making his way out of your line of sight. you heard someone, presumably tyler, join in and add some depth to the beat. it sounded like he was hitting a pencil against a shot glass.

“i got a new boo, but i’m tryna slide with misha, too,” quinton continued, dex adlibbing in the back as quinton lowered his voice to his signature melodic whisper. “on the low, nobody gotta know.”

“would you shut the fuck up?” you heard misha say, followed by a barrage of muffled smacking noises and verbal objections from quinton, who you assumed was on the receiving end of what sounded like an assault by pillow.

laughing to yourself, you leaned your head in aly’s direction, not fully facing her. “pass me the flash drive?” you held your hand out weakly. once you felt the plastic in your palm, you leaned back over and put it into the computer, pulling up the proper files. 

“we’re done back here,” daisy smiled at you, she and hector coming out from the booth. 

you clapped your hands together. “wonderful. everybody shut up, please.”

you pulled up the twin’s song and let it play, your eyes fixed on the colorful audio loops on the screen. the green ones were tyler’s vocals, the purple were aly’s. it looked like blue was reserved for instruments and red was any added sound effects or layered sounds. 

“you two sound really great,” jordy walked up behind aly’s seat, leaning against it as he swayed his head to the beat. 

“thanks. i wrote it with our mother in mind,” aly said, the words coming out of her mouth uncomfortably. you placed your hand on hers and gave it a little squeeze, which earned you a look of appreciation.

“it's missing something, though,” tyler scratched the back of his head. “i need the producer squad to give us some assistance.”

“oh, say less,” dex laughed, snapping his fingers to the beat with one hand and holding his glass of hennessy in the other. he danced his way over, taking aly’s seat as she, tyler and jordy moved to give you all some space. 

misha sauntered her way over, sitting against the table and flipping her hair over her shoulder. the smell of her sweet perfume floated in the air around you. “i think it just needs some fluffing up. some snapping might work. more vocal layering in certain spots.”

“i agree,” you nodded, dex letting out a satisfied sigh as he took a sip of his cold drink. 

“is it good?” misha asked him teasingly and he took his final swig, letting out a more dramatic and drawn out sigh. this time, though, it was on beat with the song. you were pretty sure it was unintentional on his part, since he and misha just shared a laugh before returning their attention to the screen.

after a moment of pondering, you swiveled around in your chair, looking at tyler. “okay, hear me out…”

…

two weeks of very diligent working between the nine of you had given you a lot to work with for the album. all that was left was to start putting things together. you still had a ways to go, but you had a good starting off point. as much as you hated to admit it, it was a good call on dana’s part to have you all do a group album. the fans seemed to be greatly anticipating the release and the work ethic the nine of you shared was incredible. even in that cramped little studio, you all made it work.

you all agreed to take the day off, but you were still working at some capacity. you had just traded one small space for another, working in your walk-in closet/home studio for the day. you still needed said walk-in to function as a closet, so there were still garment bags pushed up into a corner and shoe boxes haphazardly stacked, surrounding your desk that you had shoved in there. there was just enough space for you to move your chair and safely get out without twisting an ankle, a fate you often flirted with in that room.

in the spirit of your day off, you hadn't done anything too difficult. you were just trying to decide what order you wanted the completed songs to go in. it may seem like an insignificant detail, but the order was important. the transitions between songs couldn't be jarring for the listener. everything had to flow together with natural progression. at this point, it didn't matter since you weren't done with the album, but it was just giving you an idea of how to fill the gaps with future songs. 

the sound of your growling stomach indicated that it was time to stop for the day. you quickly saved all your work and headed to the kitchen. you popped some leftovers in the microwave and scrolled on twitter while you waited. the microwave beeped at you, so you set your phone back down and grabbed the bowl, mixing up the contents with your fork. the flash of light coming from your phone got your attention. a text notification.

are you home?

oh, so now he wanted to respond? cute.

despite your annoyance with the situation, you quickly responded with a yes and set the phone back down. you leaned against the counter, eating what little food you had in your reheated bowl. you mixed the contents around with your fork, grumbling. stupid jason and his stupid inability to text back. he could have at least had the decency to leave you on read. he probably didn't even have read receipts on. you weren't sure which was worse. tossing your now empty bowl into the sink, you grabbed your phone to read his next message.

i’ll be over soon. 

soon was very vague and you wished that you would've demanded an exact time, but that opportunity had passed by the time you thought about it. you busied yourself with tidying up, trying to make your place look presentable. you even lit your new candle, which you found yourself focusing your attention on while you waited for him to show up. staring at the flame was much more entrancing than you anticipated.

you heard the door buzzer go off. you weren't expecting anyone else, so it had to be him. you leaned against the wall, pressing your finger to the button.

“who goes there?” you presented the question as a joke, but your tone was a little flat.

“it’s the irs,” jason’s voice came through and you buzzed him in. 

not too long after, you heard him knock on the door. you cracked it open and the first thing you noticed was his cologne. it was a strong but pleasant scent. spicy and sweet. it was very intoxicating, actually. so much so that you almost forgot you were angry at him.

“hi.”

“hello.”

you opened the door fully and handed the envelope to him. jason eyed it suspiciously. he opened it up and began to count it out in front of you. he made an effort to do it very slow, the sound of the crisp dollars echoing in the quiet hall. his eyes stayed glued to yours as he counted out loud. you leaned against the doorframe as you watched.

“six… seven… eight,” he said, pulling out his wallet and stuffing it with the cash. “thought you would've skimmed some off the top.”

“i should have with how long you made me wait,” you said matter of factly, letting your annoyance be known now. 

“i know. i’m sorry,” he sounded honest but you couldn't see it in his face or in his eyes, which was worrisome. it was a nice alternative to listening to a sputter of excuses, though. “let me make it up to you?”

“how do you plan on doing that?”

“i’m so glad you asked,” he smiled. “as it turns out, i've recently come into some money. let me spend it on you?”

“so you like throwing money at your problems?” you asked him. well, you weren't really asking. it was more like you were telling him. 

“no,” he said, sounding a little offended. “i just thought-”

“you just thought that throwing money at me would make me forget about the fact that you ignored me for a month.”

“no, no,” he shook his head, sighing in frustration. “listen, i-”

“i really don't wanna hear it,” you said honestly, watching as his frustrated look turned into kicked puppy. you almost felt bad. “i don't like feeling stupid, jason. that's how i feel right now. i want you to make it up to me but you'll have to be a bit more creative than this.”

“you want me to make it up to you?” jason had repeated, confusion on his face. 

you poked him harshly in the chest. “you do that or you leave me alone. those are your options. goodbye.”

you shut the door in his face and let out the breath you were holding in. you weren’t sure how jason was going to react to your little ultimatum, but those were your terms. you liked him but you weren’t going to stress over someone you barely knew, especially with your assumptions about him floating around in your head. 

“i’ll be right back,” you heard him say through the door, catching you off guard. 

“what?”

“don’t go anywhere.”

you didn’t respond but you heard his footsteps getting quieter as he walked down the hall. the elevator ding indicated that he had left. you stood there, confused as to what it was he was trying to do. you were still stewing in your negative emotions, so you went and busied yourself again. you decided the dishes needed washing and got on it right away. in the middle of scrubbing the stubborn sauce stains out of your plate, you heard your door buzzer go off again. 

so he did come back after all. interesting.

you buzzed him in like you did before and waited by the door for him. he knocked and when you opened it, you were met with two gifts: a bouquet of pink tulips and a small box of something from the bakery around the corner. 

“i shouldn’t have ignored you. it was rude and stupid and i’m sorry. it won’t happen again,” he said to you, holding out the items to you. you hesitantly accepted them, taking the opportunity to look through the plastic opening of the box to see chocolate covered strawberries. 

“it better not happen again,” you pouted, looking up at him. you had to appreciate the effort he put in at such short notice. it was a sweet gesture and he actually looked sorry this time. 

“it won’t,” he assured you and you smiled.

“i forgive you. but you’re on thin fucking ice,” you reminded him and he grinned at you with a nod.

“i’m going to make it up to you. just you wait,” he said confidently. “not all of us are naturally creative like you, though. you gotta give me some time to think of something else.”

“seems like you’re getting your feet wet with the flower selection,” you noted, taking a whiff of the delicate and fresh scent. they’d look nice on your coffee table.

“lady at the shop said they would convey my sincerest apologies,” he explained, a hopeful look in his eyes. “did it work?”

“for now,” you shrugged, setting the items down on the table next to the door. 

“i can accept that.”

“you’re gonna have to because that’s all i’m giving you,” you said firmly. his charm wasn’t going to get him out of this one. not completely. “now go away. i want to eat my berries in peace.”

“i’ll text you as soon as i get the chance,” he told you as you were shutting the door. you peered at him, narrowing your eyes before shutting it again. “i’m serious!”

“goodbye, jason!” you said through the door. you heard his faint farewell as you walked away, plopping on the couch with your dessert in hand.

were you still a little mad at him? yes. but you weren’t going to pass up free stuff, even if you had made all that fuss about the money earlier. at least the gifts had some thought behind them. so long as he held up his end of the deal, you had a feeling being friends with jason wouldn’t be that bad.

hopefully, anyway.

[hoe4almondmilk]

Safety Net: Chapter 2

Present! Carol Denning/Reader 

It’s been three days since you’ve been at max and it’s been honestly quite awful. You stared at the tray of food in front of you poking at it with your fork instead of eating it, you weren’t hungry and you were restless from not being able to sleep. Who could even sleep here? The lights are on constantly.

“Making art, (L/N)?” you looked up to see who the familiar voice belonged to, it was Piper with her fiancée Alex. Piper was starting to become a little more tolerable now that she was reunited with Alex. You were happy for them and honestly glad to have them here with you even if you were never particularly close with either of them during your time up at camp. 

“I don’t know if I’d call it art but it’s something.” you chuckled, continuing picking at the food. “I miss camp, I feel like I'm always on edge here.” 

“I definitely agree with that, sleeping with this fuckin broken arm hasn’t been pleasant.” Alex replied as she began eating her food. God, you almost felt nauseous watching someone eat. Food disgusted you right now. “You’re not pulling a Sister Ingalls are you?” Alex asked half jokingly but also sounding a little concerned.

“No, I just haven’t had much of an appetite lately, I feel sick looking at food, it’s probably just my anxiety. Also the food here looks repulsive..” you sighed. 

“I don’t blame you, I would feel anxious too if I was sharing a bunk with the head of C-Block.” said Piper.

You turned your head to the left over where Carol was, she was playing cards surrounded by her posse. You and Carol haven’t really spoken much or been around each other since she basically scared you off the other day. It was kind of an unspoken rule, if Carol was in the room you stayed out of her way and hung around somewhere else until she came out which was pretty often since she was mostly out here playing cards. You were so deep in thought you forgot you were still looking in carol’s direction when you snapped back to reality you saw her staring straight at you with an emotionless expression, you quickly looked away. 

“She’s actually not that bad, I mean besides telling me to get the fuck out the other day. She’s quiet and clean. except for when she’s looking at those magazines of men, that’s when it gets a little uncomfortable. I feel more sorry for you being bunkmates with Badison, Chapman.” you chuckled as Piper’s eyes rolled hearing her roomie’s name. 

“Oh please don’t get her started, it will never end.” Alex groaned, rubbing her temple with her functioning hand. 

“She’s giving you trouble?” You asked, actually concerned. 

“Trouble doesn’t even begin to describe it. She’s a bully!” Piper exclaimed. “There is something deeply wrong with her.” Piper was normally a pretty dramatic person but you knew she wasn’t exaggerating when she was talking about Badison. You’ve only known Badison for a few days but there really was something wrong with her. 

“I think there’s something deeply wrong with everyone here.” Alex replied. “They’re in maximum security for a reason.” 

“I wonder what Carol did.” You said thinking out loud. “Everyone obeys her, shit even Badison is scared of her.”

“All I know is that one of her girls, Creech, is my bunkmate and I want no trouble.” Alex said, continuing to eat her food. 

“Aw, look at that, all of the new cookies eatin’ together. What is this a fuckin pride parade?” you recognized that god awful bostonian accent, it was Badison as she began to sit down at your table. 

“Well you know what they say about us gays, we hang out in flocks.” Alex replied sarcastically. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

“I would’ve never guessed you were a carpet muncher, Mouse. I guess you learn something new everyday.” said Badison. “I better be careful, don’t want you developing a crush on me or anything.” 

“I’m picky with my women, you have nothing to worry about.” Your eyes widened realizing you said that out loud. It would’ve been an awkward silence if it wasn’t for Alex’s small chuckles.

“Oh you’re a funny little thing, now aren't you?” Badison replied, still shocked by what you just said.

“I meant that I'm not really interested in dating while i’m in prison, you know?” you said trying to cover your ass for what you just said. 

“I got what you meant.” Badison said slowly coming closer to you. “You should really be more careful with who you smart off too though. Don’t wanna start off on the wrong foot with anyone here. Remember what I said on your first day. We can make you want to live or die.” Badison whispered and walked her way over towards Carol.

“I’m so fucked.” You said worryingly.

“Badison’s not gonna do shit, she just wants to scare you two.” Alex said, trying to comfort you. 

You nodded. You looked over your shoulder once more to see Badison next to Carol as she played a card game with the other girls. You couldn’t help but feel a small pit of worry in your stomach. 

Later that evening a few hours before lights out, you decided to go take a shower, something you had been avoiding for the past few days. It’s not that you were unhygienic, it's just you had been slightly depressed from the big transition of moving from up the hill to down the hill. 

You took a quick look around the shower room, thank god it was empty. Empty showers were a rarity in any prison. 

It was when you were washing your hair that you heard a couple of footsteps walking in. Well, that was a nice five minutes of peace and quiet. You ignored it and continued to rinse the shampoo out of your hair. Suddenly, you felt an arm wrap around your chest and something pointy and sharp being pressed against your right jugular. 

“If you scream, I swear to god I will push this into your neck. You got that?” You nodded trying to hold back your tears. The arms around you flip you over and you’re faced to see two of Badison’s friends Eckelcamp and Teng. 

“What did I do?” you asked quietly and shakily, almost choking trying to hold back your tears. You’ve mostly kept to yourself this whole time here, actively trying to avoid any trouble, you certainly don’t remember doing anything to these two. This is the first time you’ve even spoken to them.

“You disrespected Badison, bitch.” Eckelcamp said, still extremely close to your face. She wrapped her hand around your neck tightly with the shiv still firmly pressed against your neck. You were barely able to breathe. “Next time Badison talks to you, have some fucking manners.” she said slamming your back hard against the shower wall. You did your best to hold back a yelp. Getting stabbed in the neck with a dirty shiv was not the move for today.

“Next time you see her, apologize.” said Teng, “We’ll be watching. Let’s get out of here before a CO comes.” 

Eckelcamp nodded in agreement and looked at you once more and yanked your hair pulling you down to the hard wet tile of the bathroom and left. 

You waited till you heard their footsteps disappear to crawl into a ball and sob under the now cold running water of the shower. So this is what Badison meant when she said live or die. Your hands gently rubbed your possibly bruised neck. You finished your shower and got dressed before anyone walked in and saw you like this. 

Once you returned to the common room, your eyes scanned the room for Badison. You looked over at Carol’s table, her usual spot but she was absent. You met eyes with Eckelcamp and Teng. Ignoring them you made your way to Badison and Piper’s cell. You really hated the fact that you were being practically forced to apologize to her but this bitch was not worth a stab in the neck with a dirty shiv. 

Once you got to the cell you saw Badison laying on her bunk and Piper in hers reading a book. You lightly knocked on the open door. 

“Hey, (L/N).” Piper said smiling but her smile quickly faded almost as if she could sense something not right with you.

“Hey, Chapman.” you smiled trying to not seem suspicious, as much as you liked Piper she had a tendency to involve herself in situations that she didn’t belong in. 

“The fuck do you want, Mouse?” Badison asked sarcastically as she laid up from her bunk. She knew exactly what the fuck you wanted. 

“I was wondering if I could have a word with you.” You asked. “Out here. In Private.”

“Whatever you need to say you can say it here with me and Gapman.”

“Please, Badison.” You were trying to hide the impatience in your voice. Piper was already looking at you suspiciously. 

“Only because you said please.” Badison said she climbed down her bunk making her way out the bunk. 

You walked over under the stairs. “I wanted to formally apologize to you for disrespecting you.” You said trying to sound sincere.

“I see you met Eckelcamp and Teng.” She chuckled looking at your neck. “Oh, those are gonna be some ugly bruises tomorrow.” 

“It’s not like I have anyone to look beautiful for here.” you said rubbing your neck.

“Aw, you don’t wanna look pretty for your lesbo girlfriends.” Badison said, as she made a pouty face.

“You mean Chapman and Vause? Just because we’re gay doesn’t mean we’re dating eachother.” You were actually confused. Was she actually that dumb?

“What?” She looked visibly confused. “Anyway, That was a shitty apology.”

“What do you want from me, Badison?” You said already fed up.

“I don’t like you. I can look past that though if you fill up my commissary for the next two weeks. Don’t be stingy with me, (L/N). I know you got plenty of money.” She said with that sleazy fucking smile.

“Fine, deal.” You really didn’t want to do this but you also didn’t want anymore trouble with Badison or the rest of Carol’s gang.

“I accept your apology.” Badison said.

As you were about to turn around to leave you felt Badison’s foot slide under yours causing you to trip and fall hard on the ground. You heard Badison let out a loud laugh. You could feel your eyes well up with tears again and this time you didn’t even bother to stop them from flowing. Let them see you cry, you didn’t care anymore. 

“Oops.” Badison said as she continued to laugh.

“(L/N), are you okay?” You heard Piper's voice as she tried to help you up. You must have hit the floor hard enough if Piper heard you fall from her cell.

“I’m fine, Chapman. Just go, don’t make this worse for the both of us.” You snapped as you stood up from the ground. You wanted to yelp from the shock of pain that shot through your body. 

You looked over to see everyone at Carol’s table laughing, except for Carol. Your red puffy tear filled eyes locked with hers for a second. You looked away embarrassed. You hurried as fast as you could up the stairs to your cell. You wanted to lay down and hope you woke up from this fucking nightmare.

As soon as you reached your cell you climbed to the top bunk and crawled up into a small ball and just sobbed. You hated being seen as weak here. You didn’t like giving these people that power over you but you couldn’t help it. You were so wrong on your first day, you were finally beginning to crack. You weren’t sure how long you were crying but your sobs finally turned to small sniffles. 

“You new cookies really do crumble quickly.” You heard that stern cold voice say. You lifted your head up to meet eyes with Carol. This is the second time she’s ever actually spoken to you. You quickly wiped your tears away. “Are you gonna say something or are you just gonna keep looking at me all pitiful?” Carol said as she leaned against the wall of the cell with her arms crossed. 

“I don’t really have anything to say.” You continued to sniffle. “At least not without having to worry about getting shanked in the shower.” 

“Oh, so that explains your neck.” Carol chuckled.

Damn was it really that noticeable already?

“I thought you would’ve known, your girls are the ones who did it.” You replied with a slight attitude putting your head back down. 

“Whatever Badison has the other girls do has nothing to do with me.” Carol replied. 

“I’ve been here for three days and you’ve never bothered to speak to me. Why the sudden change?” You asked. 

“Am I bothering you?” Carol replied almost as if she was slightly offended.

“No, you’re not. Sorry, that sounded a lot ruder than it did in my head.” You rubbed your eyes, Please don’t beat my ass. You prayed. You had enough ass beatings for the rest of your sentence.

“I’m talking to you because I believe you have potential, (L/N).”  Carol said with a slight smirk.

“Potential?” You asked, confused. What the hell does she mean by that?

“I want you to work for me. I can tell you’re smarter than most of these other girls here. It also makes sense considering the fact that we are sharing a cell together.” Carol said. She did have a point. Carol was not someone to be enemies with. 

“I mean I guess. Look Carol, I’m just trying to keep my nose clean, do my time and-“

“And what? Avoid getting in any trouble? What happens if you get into another disagreement with another inmate and she starts a fight with you? You’re gonna get fed up with being someone’s punching bag and you’ll fight back. The COs aren’t going to see it as self defense. They’ll happily throw you into the SHU and add more time onto your sentence. Stick by me and I’ll make sure Badison or any other girls never lay a finger on you.” Carol did make a good point. “See me as a type of safety net, if you will.”

“Can you give me time to think about it?” You asked not sure if you would be able to do it.

“The offer is off the table then. Continue getting your ass beat. It’s not hurting me.” Carol said, trying to hide her annoyance. 

You sat and thought about it for a minute. You knew you weren’t going to be able to just continue getting beat on. You were going to break at some point. You looked up at Carol and took a deep breath in. 

“Okay, I’ll do it.” You had three years left on your sentence, that’s not a lot of time, you could do this. 

“Shake on it.” Carol said coming up to you with her hand out. 

You looked at her, a small smile forming at the corners of your lips. “Okay, boss.” You said as you shook her hand.

“Sit down here kid, I’m gonna show you how to play Bridge.” Carol said sitting on her bed as she began to shuffle a deck of cards.

“Bridge? Is that the game you’re always playing?” you asked as you slowly began to crawl off the top bed. Trying to ignore the pain in your sore arms and legs.

“Yep, It’s best I teach you now, you’re going to be playing a lot of it.” Carol said, laying out the cards in front of you as you sat down. “Shall we begin?” 

What the hell am I getting myself into. You thought to yourself as you watched Carol explain bridge to you.

Chapter 3 here

[littleoldrachel]

"how much did you drink?"

for the utterly wonderful @gumnut-logic who asked for how much did you drink? with virgil and scott from this prompt list. tysm my lovely 💚💚💚💚 this ran away from me a bit and i am Not Sure but i hope you still enjoy!

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu! but beware i am slooooow]

Scott slinks through the sliding doors, relishing the cooling sweat on his skin as the sky begins its raspberry ripple across the tropical island. His dawn runs are the only time he gets to really be - he loves his family with everything he has and more, but that half hour with just the consistent crunch of earth beneath his feet is his own perfect sanctuary.

And goodness knows he needs it after the past couple of days.

A flash of Alan’s terrified face as the grapple line gave way and he’d plunged -

Scott screws up his face, crumpling the image like one of Virgil’s discarded “rubbish” (read: brilliant, if rough around the edges) sketches.

Speaking of which, it’s time for Scott to do the rounds and check in on his sleeping brothers.

There’s Alan, sprawled haphazardly across the floor of his bedroom - the only sign of his near-death encounter in the careful bandaging around his forearm (“I can too still game like this, Scott, I’m not balancing the controller on my wrists??”). Gordon too, is starfished on his duvet, but beginning to stir as fractured sunlight dances across his room.

Virgil, however - most unusually - is not burritoed in blankets, which sets Scott’s choir of alarm bells ringing. He hesitates, then sighs, patching through to Thunderbird Five even as he makes his way to Virgil’s studio (also empty).

“John?” he asks quietly, because John works on an unpredictable sleep schedule that gives Scott more stress than he cares to admit, but he would like John to be sleeping right now.

“John is sleeping, Commander. May I be of service?” EOS’ voice is more than a little grating in comparison to the bird song that floats through Virgil’s open windows. Scott resists the urge to grit his teeth - he is trying, okay?

“EOS. Hi.” He rubs his chin, eyes catching on the top sketch of Virgil’s messy pile: Thunderbird One streaking across a stormy sky mid-lightning strike. “Can you tell me where Virgil is?”

“Virgil is in the hangars, where he has been for the last thirteen and a half hours,” EOS says primly.

Scott’s head snaps up, even though there’s nobody there to stare at. “What? Did he fall asleep down there?”

“No, Commander, he is very much awake.” There’s something in her tone that riles him up, a pre-rehearsed nature to it, but he deliberately sets it aside for Future Scott. He’s given a curt thanks to EOS before he’s even registered that he’s striding down to the hangars, concern driving him with a speed usually reserved for rescues.

He hears Virgil before he sees him, a loud swear and a clatter of tools as he’s rounding the corner into the workshop.

Virgil is kneeling over a workbench, picking glumly through the jumble of parts skidding across the surface. Dark brows knitted tight, skin pale beneath fluorescent white lights, a graveyard of abandoned mechanisms, drained mugs, and scraps of graph paper all around him.

"Virgil."

It comes out a little sharper than intended, slicing through the silent workshop and causing Virgil to start violently.

"Scott! What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you the same thing?"

"I'm…" Virgil gestures vaguely at the chaotic work surface. "Fixing."

"Have you had any sleep?

Virgil frowns. "I'm fine, it's not that late yet."

Scott stares, concern steadily rising. Virgil is known for losing track of time when absorbed in a task, but only usually with his art, and only for this period of time when he's upset, working something through, or...

Only then does Scott take in the way Virgil's hands tremble around the pieces of metal in his fingers, the jittering beat of his leg like helicopter wings, and slight dampness of the unstyled waves of hair across his forehead. He blinks at Scott, squinting a little in that way that Scott knows means a killer headache is brewing.

Methodically, the Commander of International Rescue surveys the room, searching for the source of the issue. His eyes land on the culprit: a coffee-stained jug, completely drained save the dregs of coffee grounds plastering the sides of the container.

It’s a big jug.

Scott swears.

“Virg. How much did you drink?”

Virgil’s eyes dart all over, not resting for a second on Scott’s face. “I - I don’t know. I just had some whenever I got tired and now I’m-” He wrings his hands, sending metal parts spilling from his palms.

“But why? What the hell were you thinking?” Scott’s tone is chiding, too harsh, and he makes a deliberate effort to reign in the reprimand that’s rearing up inside him.

“I just... “ Virgil swallows, meeting his eyes for a moment, looking away at the disappointment there. “I just needed to understand what happened to the grapple lines. To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Oh, Virg.

Scott softens, Commander melting back into Protective Big Brother because he gets it. God knows he gets it. He steps towards Virgil, wraps a hand around his elbow, feels it shake beneath his touch.

But why like this, Virgil?

“For thirteen hours?”

Virgil blinks and the genuine surprise in his eyes is enough that Scott accepts that this wasn’t a deliberate act of self-destruction and that loosens the anxious knot in his chest a little.

“I didn’t mean -”

“I know.”

Virgil ducks. “I just needed to find out -”

“I know.”

Virgil bites his lip, and Scott knows the image of their littlest brother’s panicked face is stuck on repeat in his mind. Scott closes his eyes, allows the video to roll in his own head, and the pain that rips through his chest has him tugging Virgil into his arms for a hug. Big as he is, Virgil is never one to say no to a hug, and he folds himself into Scott’s chest with a sigh. Scott can still feel the tension thrumming through Virgil’s body, and he instinctively tightens his grip.

Trust Virgil to hurt himself with his bean-juice addiction. Frankly, they’re lucky this hasn’t happened before with the amount of the stuff he pours into his body.

“I know I’m not having a heart attack, but -”

“You know I love it when you begin a sentence like that -”

Virgil tries to laugh but it comes out a little shaky. "Shut it, you." He rests his head on Scott's shoulder. "My heart is going so fast it hurts. Feels like a goddamn panic attack."

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Mild caffeine overdose,” Virgil’s voice comes out muffled. “Sorry.”

“Mild. Caffeine. Overdose.”

Virgil laughs again, a little surer this time and pulls back from the hug. “I’ll be okay. Just gonna feel horrible for a bit, I think.”

“You think. Let’s see if Grandma agrees.”

“No! Let her have her time away - this is - it’s stupid. I’m fine.”

Scott gives him a Look, but Virgil glowers right back.

Scott loves him, but Jesus, does he wish he could trust Virgil to be honest with him about his health.

“Don’t make me set you up in the infirmary. You know I’m not bluffing.”

The glare intensifies. “I’m fine, Scott.”

Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes with a truly Herculean effort. “I want to do a scan, just to be sure.” “Scott -”

He plays the trump card (regrets playing it at the look on Virgil’s face, but needs must). “I could have lost Allie too, Virg. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Virgil sags. He taps his watch. “EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Please can you pull up my vitals for my dear big brother to fret over?”

“Of course, Virgil. Though I don’t understand why you want Scott to fret, he seems grumpy en-”

“Thank you, EOS.”

A holograph flickers into view, and Scott scans them, relaxing slightly at the lack of danger. Virgil’s heart rate is too high, as expected, and he’s dehydrated and exhausted, but otherwise, he really does seem okay. Still, Scott knows how dangerous dehydration and exhaustion can be, and more to the point, so does Virgil.

“You’re a stubborn idiot, you know that, right?”

“I learned from the best.” Virgil’s smile is teasing, but he’s okay, and Scott releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, Scooter, whatever you say.” Scott glares. “Right. You’re grounded for at least a day -” To his credit, Virgil only looks a little crestfallen. “- And you’re going to rest.”

Scott can practically see the cogs turning in his brother’s mind as he seeks a loophole or way to escape, but for now, he’s going to ignore it. Another problem for Future Scott, poor guy …

“Let’s go. Up to the lounge, now.”

“I should clear up -”

“Nuh-uh. Lounge. Now.”

Virgil lets out a loud sigh, and with much griping about leaving the workshop messy for Brains, leads the way up to the lounge. Scott follows closely, eyeing how Virgil’s feet drag with exhaustion even as his fingers tap away with restless energy.

Scott deposits him on one of the couches, tosses a throw over him, and resists the urge to tuck him in, but only because -

“I’m not sick, Scott. I’m okay! This isn’t necessary,” Virgil calls after him. Scott returns seconds later, a glass full of water.

“Drink all of this. And then have these.” Scott drops two electrolyte tabs beside Virgil. “Now excuse me, but I’m going to consult a qualified medical opinion before I believe you.”

“I am a qualified medical opinion -”

“- Who hasn’t overdosed on caffeine this morning.”

Virgil scowls. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

*****

Scott returns with Gordon, whose concerned professionalism quickly morphs into a shit-eating grin when it becomes apparent that actually, Virgil - for all his brilliance and talent - is an idiot.

But he’s surprisingly gentle when he fetches Virgil another glass of water and suitably soothing as they take a calm stroll around the flatter paths of the island to help Virgil burn some restless energy. The waft of pancakes draws them back into the lounge where Scott has stacked up thick, fluffy pancakes that melt on their tongues and warm them inside out.

By now, Virgil is visibly less shaky, and Gordon’s concern has dissipated to the extent that he blatantly steals three pancakes off Virgil’s plate. To be fair, Virgil probably doesn’t need six pancakes, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

Scott - bless his heart - has also queued up the latest series of the ocean documentary that Gordon and Virgil gush over, but that Scott himself finds mind-numbing. The three of them squash together on one sofa, chomping pancakes and squabbling over blankets as the sun rises on another beautiful day.

Alan strolls in, nose first and still half-asleep. “Pancakes?” he says hopefully.

He catches sight of Virgil and seems to shake himself awake immediately. “Virgil? What the hell are you doing up?”

“Language,” Scott says thickly, the effect lessened by the mouthful of pancake and chocolate spread inside it.

“What the heck,” Alan waves a dismissive hand. “It’s barely ten, Virg?”

“Tell him what you’ve gone and done,” Scott says, because damn straight is he going to hold onto this one the next time Virgil’s yelling at him for taking a stupid risk. Well, at least I can drink coffee without poisoning myself, Virgil can just hear it now. .

“I drank too much coffee,” Virgil tells the ceiling.

“Sorry, V,” Gordon says, his smile wicked. “Allie didn’t quite catch that.”

Virgil sighs. “I overdosed on caffeine,” he says loudly.

“That’s a thing?!” Alan splutters. And then he bursts out laughing and Virgil wants to glare because he’s exhausted and his head is throbbing and there’s an anxious wriggle in his chest that keeps poking at his limbs.

But he also thought for one terrible moment yesterday that he wouldn’t get to hear that laugh again. The relief is infectious.

It never takes much to set Gordon off, but cracking Scott is a true victory, because for a second, the lines around his eyes crinkle with something other than stress.

Alan sets himself up with pancakes (far too smug that he’s allowed the chocolate spread on his where Virgil was only allowed syrup), and plonks himself down on Virgil’s right, bandaged arm and all. Whilst Gordon and Alan quarrel over species of tropical fish, Scott looks over at Virgil, raising his eyebrows. Are you okay? it says.

Virgil smiles and nods.

Inevitably, Scott and Gordon are called away on a rescue, just as Alan has grown tired of the nature documentary and is demanding something more exciting. Virgil consents to the first movie Alan picks out, because he’s too busy watching Gordon fly his beloved ‘Bird away with an expert hand.

God, he’s so tired. His limbs are heavy and aching from the tension of holding them in place all night and his head pounds in beat with his too-fast heart..

He’s utterly exhausted. If only his mind could get the memo. Instead it careens between thought processes: the grapple lines, his failed calculations, the disaster zone he’s left the workshop in -

It doesn’t matter though.

Because Alan’s alive and that’s all that matters.

Alan, whose gentle hand snakes through Virgil’s hair in a tender, soothing way that plucks at the knot of anxiety in Virgil’s chest, whose ministrations are a blessed, momentary pain relief for his sore head.

*****

It’s dark when he wakes, though he doesn’t remember his overwrought brain finally giving into sleep. His limbs no longer feel like they’re spasming out of control and his head aches with a more manageable pain, but he’s still drained. On the floor next to him, Alan is snoring at the centre of a nest of blankets - at least two of which Virgil is sure were wrapped around himself before...

He raises his head to look for his water glass, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of his oldest brother standing in the shadows, watching. He’s still in his uniform, which suggests Thunderbird One just docked - presumably her engines through the open patio doors are what woke him.

“What the fuck, Scott?” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Scott says, though he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. He moves into the light, and repositions Alan so that he can rescue one of the blankets for Virgil once more. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did the rescue go okay?” Virgil asks instead, relieved at Scott’s easy nod - and relatively clean, dry appearance.

“Gordon’s heading back now, all good. And no issues with grapples today, thank God.” Scott’s voice is low but Virgil still flinches from it.

“I’m going to find out what happened, Scott, I swear -”

“I know you will.” Scott’s voice is so firm, so strong that it momentarily steals Virgil’s breath how much faith Scott has in him. "I know you’ll figure it out, Virg. But you don’t have to do it on your own. You and Brains will work on it and find a solution, John’s going to identify the person responsible, and EOS will make sure they can never do it again. But it’ll be when you haven't overdosed on caffeine. Do you understand?”

It’s the kindest of reprimands. The same kind of pleading why won’t you just take care of yourself tone that Virgil finds himself using more and more on Scott these days, but with so much understanding and love, Virgil finds himself blinking back tears.

He can only nod and Scott steps back. “I’m going to go shower. Get some rest, Virgil.”

Scott turns to leave and Virgil forces himself to muster up his barely replenished energy reserves. He snags Scott’s sleeve, “Scott - thank you.”

Scott smiles a smile that’s just them, soft and trusting and concerned. “God knows you’ve looked after me through far worse hangovers than this. But don’t you dare do this again, Virg. I mean it. Don’t make me confiscate all the coffee on the island, because you know I’ll do it if I have to.”

“I know you will.”

Scott runs a hand through Virgil’s messy waves fondly, letting his hand rest at the nape of his neck where the headache pain is regrouping. “Sleep, Virg.”

And he does.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 3

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 4k

content warnings: mention of rape and victim-blaming (talking about Clea's previous job in sex crimes— not her personal experience).

masterlist

this chapter is drawn from the season 1 episode 17 episode "A Real Rain," which is supposed to be in New York, but I didn't wanna write about New York so I changed it to Boston.

I drop a second sugar packet into my coffee before taking a tentative sip. my face twists in discomfort. previous to working here, I would bring my own thermos from home and it would last me all day, but I've had to up my caffeine intake to two or three cups.

"you get used to it." JJ walks over to me, steeping her tea. despite the fact that it's early, she's perfectly put together. her hair is tied up and her eyes are sparkling.

"how?" I laugh. she points to the coffee pot, which is fresh and yet somehow tastes slightly stale.

"when you've been up for twenty four hours, you won't care how it tastes."

I avert my widened eyes at this.

"you could do what Spence does and just add a bunch of sugars." she tilts her head towards Reid, who is rocking back in forth in his spinny chair with a huge volume open in front of him. he doesn't even notice us staring at him.

"ew, what?" I giggle. JJ nods.

"hey, Spence!" she calls across the office. his head pops up to frown at us.

"yes?"

"how many sugars do you use?"

"five. occasionally six." he says this without a hint of the shame it deserves. my eyebrows shoot up and I take another sip of the bitter drink, trying to ignore the taste. it coats my tongue.

"see?" she smirks. "just so you know, we have another case. meeting in five." she sashays away to the conference room, leaving me standing there with an overwhelming urge to sweeten my drink. I keep it at three and add a splash of creamer to drown out the bitterness, then walk briskly to my desk to grab a few of my things.

"we have a meeting, Reid." I say across the divider between our spaces. he holds up an index finger, slams the book shut, and grabs his things. I wait for him to get collected before we head up.

"what were you reading?" I ask, peeking at his workspace. books are lined up against the divider, loose papers scatter the surface, and there are three uncapped pens littered about. his disorganization surprises me.

"War and Peace." he replies, checking his watch.

it's not even nine am.

...

I'm staring out the window of the jet while Morgan and Prentiss battle out yet another card game with Reid. there's not much to see until we slice through clouds and fly over Boston, which is glittering in the early light. I sigh and turn back to my book, tucking my legs up beneath me.

"this is not how I planned to visit." Morgan notes, looks through his cards.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Boston." Spencer smiles softly. at this, all of us look up.

"you've never been?" Morgan asks doubtfully. Emily snorts.

"we've never had an unsub there." Reid doesn't seem to think this strange at all. Morgan and I share a glance before he speaks.

"Reid, it's an hour-and-a-half flight."

"I'll show you around if we have some time." Emily smiles reassuringly at the boy genius.

"it's an easy trip, man." Derek chuckles. Spencer isn't bothered by our teasing. instead, he draws another card from the deck and focuses on his game.

"I've never been either." I state. the team turns to me with surprised expressions, causing my cheeks to flush.

"you, too?" Morgan makes a face like I've disappointed him.

"I've been meaning to go." I shrug. "there's an exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts that I wanna see."

"what exhibition?" Spencer doesn't look up from his hand.

"uh, Titus Kaphar." I haven't had the opportunity to travel much, so a lot of the art I've seen has been from a computer screen or in class in college. it would be nice to actually get some experience seeing things face-to-face.

"Shifting the Gaze!" Spencer's face snaps up to beam at me, referencing the piece so vehemently that it makes me laugh.

"yeah, exactly."

"I went to his talk a couple years back."

"no way. really?" I shut my book and lean forward while he nods. Prentiss and Morgan are watching our conversation like a tennis match. while Reid rambles about all the things he heard at the lecture, I listen intently. it's good, because I don't really feel like talking right now; my head is pounding all over again, and this is distracting.

"do you ever go to the art museums in DC, then?" I ask once he's finished. Reid gets this crooked smile on his face like he wants to say a bunch of things, but is holding his tongue. his face is animated when he tells me about the other exhibits he's seen at the Smithsonian and apparently abandons his cards. Prentiss and Morgan have lost interest in our conversation; they start their own game and let us talk for the rest of the flight.

when we touch down, I immediately feel overwhelmed by the crush of people around us. our first crime scene is a taxi cab in Hyde Park, where the driver has been blindfolded, shot in the chest, and stabbed right through his ear. the blade, broken off from the handle, is lodged in his brain.

despite the fact that his kills are violent and seemingly random, the unsub definitely isn't disorganized. he carries his MO out the same way each time, which makes all of us question if we've missed a connection between victims.

"it's possible he's a sort of serial killer groupie." Spencer notes as he examines the inside of the cab, which is splattered with a mix of rainwater from the night before and blood. I shift where I'm standing to try to follow his line of sight.

"what do you mean?"

"Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris drove ice picks into their victims' heads and broke off the handle." he explains.

"well, if he's doing that, then he's presenting a mixed profile." I frown.

"exactly."

"mixed profile?" the police officer next to me asks.

"yeah. the fact that this guy is shooting his victims first suggests that he needs a quick and effective means of controlling the situation, which means that he probably doesn't think he can overpower them." I say.

"he could have a physical problem-- or maybe he's just not confident because he's small." Reid is still examining the taxi for any further evidence, but it seems sort of pointless.

"plus, he's organized and hunts at night. that tells us he most likely has a steady job."

"so," the cop stares between us with a perplexed expression. "we're looking for a small, angry white guy with a day job?"

the sarcasm in his voice makes me smile a little.

"I know it doesn't narrow down a lot right now, but we know that this guy isn't blitz attacking his victims. it's more of an execution."

the officer nods at this and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I turn to Reid.

"we gotta go."

Spencer nods curtly, straightens, and starts to immediately walk back to the car. I shake my head at his behavior, then follow after.

...

we get called to visit a new crime scene in the morning, this time in a church. Hotch holds the door open for me and I walk in to see a body laid out in front of the pews. an older woman sits towards the back, comforted by a nun.

"how'd they find him?" Prentiss asks the police chief as she leads us to the victim.

"night janitor." she nods to a man being questioned by cops in the corner.

"did he see anything?" I ask her.

"no, but he remembered a parishioner who was here earlier," we walk past the older woman. she stares at us expectantly as the chief talks. "so there could be a potential witness."

we stop at the body of a priest, his eyes covered and a blade lodged in his skull, unsurprisingly. Emily and I stare down at him, realizing the same thing.

"first public killing." she notes as she bends down to examine his wounds. "he's getting bolder."

"the presentation is just as important as the kill." I join her on the ground, snapping my gloves tighter on my hands and turning his head to the side to get a better look at the blade. semi-dried blood coats the tied fabric around his eyes.

"I'm gonna go talk to that woman." Emily leaves. the crime scene agent crouches down on the ground across from me, and I bite my lip before making a strange request.

"would you mind... sliding that thing out of his ear?"

the agent blinks at me in disbelief, probably not wanting to pry a knife out of someone's head, but nods and does so carefully. I squint down at the wound. then I realize something.

"Reid?" my voice carries across the room. Spencer is talking to an officer when he hears me and walks over.

"this doesn't look like a normal blade, but I don't know what it is." I point at the now half-buried weapon. it sits unpleasantly out, the blood catching warm light. Spencer gets down next to the crime scene agent and examines it more closely.

"this is flint." he says slowly, turning to me with a concerned expression.

"like the stone?"

"flint is the symbol for protection and retribution in Egyptian mythology. with hieroglyphics, they used to display dangerous animals like scorpions and snakes being cut with flint knives in order to render them powerless."

"oh." is all I can manage while I process what he's saying. Spencer waits for me to say something else, but instead I bend my head down to pull back the silk tie.

"there's no way that using flint is a coincidence." I reason. the blood is all on the inside of the tie as well, which gives me pause. Reid recognizes this a second later, his eyes lifting to mine. they look almost brown in the candlelight, flecks of gold sparkling in them while his mind whirs endlessly.

"I'm gonna call Garcia to see if any of the victims have been charged with a crime." he tells me.

"good idea." we both stand, the crime scene agent scurrying off to do something else. I head back over to Emily and hope that we're right about this. flint is too specific of a weapon for it not to be intentional, right?

...

we deliver the profile by the end of the work day, our unsub a serial vigilante with a personal edge to all of his killings. my body is slightly shaky from downing cups of coffee without any actual food, so the promise of eating out after we finish makes my stomach eager.

we go to a Chinese restaurant by the station and keep talking about the case, despite having promised ourselves not to do so. I sit between Prentiss and Reid while I dig into my dumplings. I like listening to them swap theories and past cases, how they weave together all their stories.

"you forgot to add something to the profile earlier today, Aaron." Rossi says as he piles more noodles onto his plate. our attention immediately focuses on the Italian.

"what did he forget?" Prentiss has a ghost of a smile on her face. I've noticed that she tends to speak like she's on the inside of a joke that other people don't understand. the intonation of her words feels like a secret.

"I didn't mention the possibility of our unsub being a cop." Hotch takes a sip of his ice water. there's a moment where we all reflect on this information before Morgan breaks the silence.

"I mean, they do know the system."

"they could easily take matters into their own hands, given what they see every day." Prentiss adds. I nod.

"when someone like our victim is killed, police refer to it as a public-service murder." Reid struggles to get the noodles onto his chopsticks, which I notice but don't say anything about. he tries again, the food slipping back onto his plate. Morgan notices this shortcoming of Spencer's and I see that he's about to start teasing him, so I change the subject.

"I saw a lot of rapists walk when I was in sex crimes," I put down my dumpling while I talk. Hotch watches me intently. I haven't spoken much about my previous job with anyone on the team, especially not him. in fact, he barely knows anything about me. "a lot of the victims didn't feel safe pressing charges, or the juries said they were asking for it. it's enough to make you wanna explode."

"it's a long way from feeling like that and actually committing a murder, though, don't you think?" Emily asks.

"not really." I turn my gaze back to my plate and start to feel nauseous. there's a clinking of plates and silverware as we continue in silence. Emily nudges my arm gently with hers and offers me a supportive smile.

I hear Spencer next to me, getting the attention of a passing waiter.

"excuse me," he says in a low tone. "can I get a fork, perhaps?"

Morgan snickers as the waiter takes off to get the utensil. at this point, there's a palpable tension as we wait to see who makes fun of Reid first. he drops his chopsticks into his bowl with a defeated clatter and Derek gently pushes his knuckles against Spencer's cheekbone.

"having some trouble, kid?" he asks. Spencer smacks his hand away.

"don't be mean." I giggle, reaching onto my wrist to grab a hair tie. "here, try this." I wrap the thing around the end of Spencer's chopsticks so that they're easier to use, handing them back to him.

Spencer tries again and it works-- if not somewhat clumsily. he gives me a little appreciative smile and I smile back before returning to my food, listening to the stories that Rossi doles out. he even pays for dinner despite our half-hearted protests.

the entertainment for the evening is pretty nice, but when I've stuffed myself with Chinese food, Emily leans over to me.

"do you wanna go to that museum you were talking about earlier?" she whispers. I peek at my phone to check the time.

"I doubt we'd have much time before they close, but yeah, definitely." excitement bubbles up in my stomach as I realize I might actually get to poke around for a while. Prentiss throws her napkin on the table abruptly.

"Clea and I are going to the Museum of Fine Arts. anyone wanna join?"

I look around to gauge some reactions.

"I'm interested." Morgan nods.

"I've already been several times." Rossi takes a sip of his drink as he politely declines. Hotch shakes his head.

"I have some paperwork I need to finish."

"again?" Prentiss complains.

"I'll go." Spencer sits up straighter as he looks at his brunette friend, folding his napkin neatly on his plate. my eyebrows raise a little, although I'm not surprised that he'd be interested in visiting any museum. we stand and get ready to go; Hotch warns us to be ready to go at seven in the morning tomorrow. a little weight is lifted off my chest as I realize that there will be some reprieve during this case, and then we're wandering out into the evening air.

we ate dinner sort of early, so the sky is still slightly aglow with a bruised shade, preparing to sink into its favorite darkness. after finding the route to the museum, we hop on the train.

Boston is lovely in the kind of way that aches of neat corners and airy lights. stores crammed with antiques and novelty products line the sidewalks, people wander about as they take in a pleasant night. somehow disjointed and cohesive all at once.

whatever bit of conversation we had on the way dissipates into breathlessness once we get inside the enormous entryway. it's cavernous, extravagant, gorgeous. we flip through brochures advertising different exhibits. Emily raves about Impressionism and decides that that must be our first stop, so we head off with the rest of the museum stragglers who have decided to feed themselves with art until they're forced to leave.

my head is constantly spinning to admire something else in the enormous white rooms. it's a bit overwhelming at some points, what with the gargantuan canvases that greet me at every turn. but it's impressive, too, and I find myself hungrily reading all the small plaques. I venture out of the Impressionism vein and into Korean art, my feet carrying me away from Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer broke off a while ago; to where, I have no idea.

I check out vases and pottery, sculptures, renderings of historical events. images from the crime scenes fill my head intrusively. there's no use in trying to shut them out; they've been in my dreams for a while now, the kind that wake me up in a cold sweat. I haven't told anyone about them— I'm sure others get them, too— and I don't want to seem like I can't handle it. every time I close my eyes, I begin to feel the pressure of a knife against my temple.

"a lot of these are from private collections."

the voice causes me to jump, my skin erupting in goosebumps as Spencer stands beside me. he holds his bag against his side and follows my line of sight to the 18th-century bookshelf screen.

"that's interesting." I reply. what else is there to say to that?

"really makes you think about what other art pieces won't ever be seen by the public." he turns and starts walking onto the next work, seemingly done with this conversation. my brow furrows while I watch him go, his posture miserable as a result of his skinny build. he's quite tall.

"what do you mean?" my voice comes out quiet, but it carries in the otherwise empty exhibit. Reid turns around and stops in his place, allows me to catch up briefly. we start to read another plaque by a silver basin.

"you could have a Cézanne just rotting in your attic and it would never be examined by the right scholars." he shrugs.

"I really doubt there's anything nearing that value in my attic." I laugh.

"you ever seen 'Antiques Roadshow'?" he asks non-sarcastically. I balk.

"sure."

"you never know." he's not a man of many words, apparently. I get his message regardless and we continue to walk, him setting out facts for me in neat rows, simple and easily taken in. he's definitely a know-it-all, but not in the way that makes me want to escape his presence. it's sort of comforting, having someone around who just understands everything. his absolute lack of social graces makes him easy to be around, too; I don't need to force conversation because he doesn't care.

we wind up in the mummy section, where the walls tingle with an energy that could only be described as magical.

"spooky." I nod to the domineering sarcophagus lid of Kheperra. a spotlight illuminates all of its intricacies and I make a beeline for it. Spencer trails behind me and we fall into silence as we peer at the exquisite details. it's intimidating, for sure, hulking and made of carved black stone. "you feel that?" I whisper to Spencer, who is enthralled in the image.

the way the spotlight spills over onto him is interesting; it emphasizes the shadow below his jaw and the delicate quality of his bone structure, his cheekbone prominent at the place where his ear meets his face. his lashes are long and lovely, his Adam's apple poking out of a slender throat. he turns to me with a curious expression.

"feel what?"

"the energy change," I smile. "from the ancient dead bodies."

"it's probably just the dark lighting and the media associations you have with mummies." but his eyes begin flitting about the room in a slightly panicked manner. I feel a smirk tug at my lips as I step closer to him.

"are you scared?"

"no," he scoffs and makes a face like I've made the world's most absurd accusation. "why would I be scared?"

"because we're all alone in here..." I use a lower tone to freak him out a little. "who's to stop them from coming out and... snatching us?" when my hand snakes around behind him to pinch his arm, he jumps.

"what the--" he catches sight of the devilish grin on my face. "don't do that!"

"sorry, Einstein." I laugh and turn in the other direction, him following me to the next piece. Spencer doesn't seem to have more thoughts to give on the exhibition, probably still a little creeped out. part of me begins to feel guilty for startling him, even though he constantly does that to me. his footfalls are weirdly soft.

I wonder what Spencer is like outside of work. what he does when he gets back to his apartment. how could someone like him entertain themselves? maybe he just reads books until his eyes glaze over. he definitely doesn't go out often, but maybe he has other nerdy friends. I hope he does. there's something in his eyes that's too viscous for me to grasp, something swimming and pocketed. I'd like to understand it, although that doesn't seem like a great idea to pursue. he barely gives his closest friends information about his life.

we end up at opposite ends of the room, him still examining an entombed husband and wife couple while I check out a canonic jar. the silence in this room is tangible. I wasn't lying when I felt an energy shift— it's like gold and clay and it smells like cracked cinnamon.

I'm trying to get a better look at the detailing when I feel a cold hand wrap around my forearm, easily encircling it. I jolt.

Spencer stands behind me with a playful smile, like he's quite pleased with himself.

"Reid!" I yank my arm away from his long fingers and see him let out that rare laugh. it's pleasant and fills the room with a warmer light as I rub my arm where his fingers held me. I'm surprised he was willing to touch me at all; it's pretty obvious that he's got a problem with germs, which is understandable.

"who's scared now?" he tries to defend himself with his palms when I reach out to gently smack his shoulder.

"you know, I was starting to feel bad for you." I laugh. he smiles brightly and keeps walking into the next room. I realize that the way we move is like two weighted ends of a string. he drifts out on his own, I follow, and vice versa.

I appreciate that he's beginning to loosen up around me, so much so that he smiles at a joke I make in the English Regency section. we walk quickly to absorb as much as we can before the museum closes, but we still don't get through all of it. Spencer isn't much of a conversationalist, and he doesn't really need to be. he listens to me talk, I listen to his erudite observations, smiling when he uses certain terms that sound like they're from someone much older.

by the time a curator tells us we have to go, we've completely lost Prentiss and Morgan and end up meeting back at the entrance. it's pitch black outside; Boston is still bustling, except my legs are tired and I'm ready to crash in bed. we have another packed day tomorrow.

[alittlebitmaybe]

making concessions

so i, uh, maybe wrote the nichest, dumbest cracky au ficlet in the world. i blame @yoursummerfrost who is possibly the sole audience for this. i hope you’re happy.

anyway, this is what i described in this post, aka “Geralt and Jaskier meet at a Magic: the Gathering tournament that Jaskier has no business being at but somehow he beats Geralt and then they try to have sex in the bathroom”

featuring a complete disregard for like, legal cards or real decks or any actual knowledge of MTG tournaments beyond living with someone who plays it a lot

rated M for like frottage and marking and stuff

--

“Fresh meat,” Yen mutters, perched against one of the folding tables, knees spread. She punctuates it with a snap of her bubble gum.

Geralt folds his arms across his chest, eyebrow raised. “This is a low-tier Magic tournament, Yen, not a grade school playground.”

“Doesn’t make him not fresh meat. He’s gonna last five minutes, tops. Someone is gonna OTK that poor bastard.”

“We’ve all got to start somewhere.”

“That kid, Geralt,” she says, “is starting nowhere.”

The man Yen calls that kid does look more like he should be at Coachella than at a Magic: the Gathering tournament—bandana, loose tank top, cuffed jean shorts, and all—but, Geralt thinks, clearing his throat, he’s definitely no kid, not with the definition in his arms and the chest hair and the light scruff along his jaw. He is, though, going around and asking people to show him their decks, which he takes from them and riffles through clumsily while oohing and ahhing.

“Good for me, at least,” Geralt adds. “One less actual competitor to knock out.”

Yen punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Sure, if you can keep it in your pants. You just went all googly-eyed. Those baby blues suck you in already?”

He drags his gaze back to her. “He’s alright. If he touches my cards like that I’ll kill him. They’re worth more than his life.”

“I know, dear. I know. Well, gird yourself, because if you both win your first matches you’re against each other.”

Geralt smiles. “No problem. I’ve been playtesting against every meta deck for weeks. My win ratios are favorable against almost anything. This whole thing is mine.”

“Nerd,” says Yen.

Geralt tugs at the hem of her vest, and she kicks out at him with her boot heel. “You’re literally a judge here. You’re certified.”

“Exactly. I’m in a position of power, but you’re just here to show off. Nerd.”

“Keep it up and I won’t share the prize.”

“Half the prize money would barely buy me dinner at Applebee’s, but thanks anyway, darling. You can keep it, I think I’ll manage.”

And well, that’s fair, actually.

“It’s not about the money,” Geralt protests.

Yen snorts. “Obviously, or no one would be here. We all just bow to the whims of MTG. And thank them. And hand over our credit cards.”

Coachella man has dropped someone’s deck all over the floor and is apologetically gathering the cards back into a haphazard pile. The spectacle has drawn stares.

“Who’s the fool, really?” Yen asks. “Him, or us?”

“Hm,” Geralt replies.

--

“Geralt,” says Geralt. “Bant ramp.”

“Jaskier,” says Coachella man, smiling brightly and taking the proffered hand as he settles himself across the table. “Was that last bit English?”

“It’s…my deck,” Geralt explains dubiously. “Bant ramp? Green, white, blue?”

Jaskier pulls an impressed face. “They’ve got names for things like that? You really know your stuff, Geralt.”

“Uh,” says Geralt, nonplussed. “Yeah, thanks. What are you playing, then?”

“Oh, I’ve got this great deck! It’s got all the colors because I couldn’t pick just a few, and all the cards have such pretty art, you know? I had to put in the best ones. A few of ‘em are even shiny. She’s treated me well so far, this deck. I love her.”

Geralt scans down the list of players on his tourney pamphlet. Next to Jaskier’s name it says only Five color aggro???

Geralt huffs out through his nose. That is nonsensical, and—most importantly—not something he ever playtested against. But no matter what is in that deck, Geralt’s got this in the bag. There’s no way this Jaskier guy has the land base needed to support five colors. Especially if he chose his cards, apparently, based on the art.

Jaskier begins slowly pile shuffling his deck of utterly unsleeved cards. Not even inner sleeves, much less double sleeves. Geralt’s blood pressure ticks up.

“So, uh,” he begins, “you’re new to this, huh? What got you into Magic?”

“Ah, my friend Essi plays here and there, she mentioned this and it seemed like it’d be a lark. New experience and such. And hey”—Jaskier looks up and grins—“maybe I’ll win!”

Geralt thinks about the hours and weeks and years he’s spent studying cards and losing games and analyzing pro matches. “Good luck,” he says.

“Thank you, you’re sweet.”

Jaskier continues placing each card meticulously on its own stack. Geralt shuffles his own deck again and again as he waits.

“Do you want me to, uh.”

Jaskier looks up and says, “Oh, would you? That would be so helpful. I’ve never quite got the hang of the—,” he makes a riffle shuffle gesture, “—whole shuffling thing.”

--

He loses the coin toss, which, he realizes a few turns later, is not an auspicious beginning. But even with Jaskier on the play and him on the draw, certainly it won’t make that much of a difference. Not when Jaskier has to squint at his hand like he’s reading all the card texts for the first time ever. At one point he even goes “Oh, that’s an interesting one,” as if surprised. It cannot make that much of a difference to go second.

And it doesn’t. Because he can’t draw shit to save his life.

While Geralt draws white mana after white mana, Jaskier throws down creature after creature, ignoring effects and the stack entirely in favor of big numbers and building a “board aesthetic.” Whatever the fuck that means. He drops a land on every turn and his mana costs curve out perfectly, despite the stretch over five fucking colors. It’s nothing short of miraculous.

Finally, Geralt is staring down a board of attackers against the lone creature he’d managed to play, and Jaskier says “Ooh, I’ve got enough of the land thingies to play this fella!” and drops—of all fucking things—a Craterhoof Behemoth. Like Geralt isn’t already nearly dead on board.

Geralt eyes the board wipe in his hand that—for fuck’s sake—requires blue.

A single blue mana needed, and a stack of Plains in front of him a mile high.

“It resolves,” he grumbles.

“Woooooo,” says Jaskier. “I mean, that’s good, right?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “For you.”

He’s got one more draw step to try to dig for an Island. One fucking Island, a fetch land, a mana-producing artifact, anything. He’s spent way too much money on his mana fixing for this to happen.

On his draw, he takes into hand a worthless green creature.

“Fuck!” He scrubs a hand over his face, drops his hand onto the table. “That’s the game. Good one.”

Jaskier looks confused. “What do you mean? You mean I win? But I didn’t get to, you know.” He mimes pushing his attackers across the table like an advancing army. “Kill you.”

“I’m dead on board and have nothing.”

“But I wanted to attack with my big fella!”

Geralt sighs and faintly hears Yen laughing her ass off down the table. And they play out Jaskier’s turn. In which Geralt immediately dies.

As Jaskier celebrates and gathers his cards, Geralt levels him with a tired stare. “Look, be straight with me. Is this a fucking hustle?”

Jaskier laughs brightly. “What, didn’t think I could play, eh?”

“You can’t,” Geralt says. “Obviously. Unless it’s a hustle.”

“No hustling here!” Jaskier then wiggles his eyebrows lasciviously. “Unless you’d like to hustle me later. If you catch my drift.”

Geralt does. “That is not a real come on.”

“Sure it is, since you know I’m coming on to you.”

“Let’s just play out the match,” Geralt says with finality.

He’s down one, but he just needs two wins. Two wins against a deck that will, eventually, be inconsistent and impractical. He shuffles his own deck—tested and massaged until its consistency holds up to real life statistics—four times, just to make sure.

Then Jaskier holds out his deck and Geralt begrudgingly shuffles that, too.

“You have nice hands,” Jaskier comments, following his fingers on the cards. “Big. Strong. Capable.”

“Shut up,” Geralt mumbles, and pretends to ignore it when Jaskier says, Yes, sir.

--

He loses the match on game two, and it’s his own damn fault, this time, because Jaskier drops an infinite combo and doesn’t even realize it until Geralt opens his dumb fucking mouth.

“There it is,” he groans, resigned, as Jaskier lays down the last combo piece. “Lucky draw.”

“Eh?”

“You comboed out?”

“Eh?” Jaskier says again, fingers still on the card like he’s thinking of taking it back, face utterly perplexed.

“You—holy fucking Christ.” Geralt throws his hands in the air. “You don’t even know you have that combo, do you.”

“I—do not, per se, know that, no.”

“That effect will untap your artifact, which lets you—oh, who cares. Fine. You win. Congrats.”

Jaskier’s expression brightens. “I win? Really? But I didn’t even attack!”

“You win. Really.”

Geralt wants a beer.

“Oh!” Jaskier is now beaming. He glances at his watch, a gold-trimmed gaudy thing. “Well, that was quick. We’ve got some time before the next round, if you wanna—uh—”

“Yeah,” sighs Geralt. Heat curls in his belly alongside the mingled anger (shame? embarrassment?) and disappointment. “Whatever.”

Might as well.

--

Geralt shoves Jaskier back against the bathroom door as he locks it, and Jaskier promptly wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. Without a moment of hesitation Geralt leans in, biting at Jaskier’s lips, feeling arms circle his neck and hands weave themselves into his hair. Their bodies align perfectly and when Geralt thrusts forward, Jaskier gasps into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, like that.”

A growl leaves Geralt in response, frustration with this stupid, clueless man bubbling up within him. Jaskier tastes like red Gatorade and smells like that body butter Yen keeps on her bathroom counter.

It’s less off-putting than it should be.

He keeps going like that, not because he was told to but because it’s infuriatingly good, Jaskier’s body warm and firm and pliant against his as he rolls his hips.

“Oh, God,” Jaskier groans on a thrust that results in a particularly good drag, which separates their mouths enough for Geralt to redirect his attention. With one hand he drags down the idiotic bandana tied around Jaskier’s neck and starts to suck harsh marks into salty skin. Jaskier keeps up a noisy litany of gasps and muffled, bitten-off encouragements. “Oh, that’s—good, fuck—your mouth—like it rough, don’t you…”

Geralt doesn’t particularly like it rough, actually, when he hasn’t been fucking hustled at his own game, but Jaskier still doesn’t seem to have caught on to the part where Geralt is sort of fucking furious about this whole situation.

Instead of explaining himself, he just bites down on Jaskier’s pulse point and curls his hand around Jaskier’s waist where his shirt is rucked up, nails digging in.

“Yeah—” Jaskier says, and tugs at Geralt’s hair, and then there’s banging on the door.

“We can hear you, assholes. There’s a line out here and we gotta piss,” an angry voice calls from the other side.

“Use the ladies’!” Jaskier yells hoarsely. “There’s never anyone in there. This one’s occupied.” Geralt moves against him again. “Oh, that’s—more.”

“No,” says the angry voice. “No more.” Another round of banging. “We’re calling property management. They’ve got a key.”

“Shit,” Geralt says, dropping Jaskier, who makes an indignant noise. He unlocks and opens the door.

There is, in fact, a small crowd around the men’s room, headed by a red-faced man half a foot shorter than Geralt.

“Can’t you mind your own business?” Geralt says.

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” the man sneers back.

“Technically,” Jaskier pipes up, straightening his bandana and swiping at his hair, “nothing ever came out of any pants.”

“Jaskier,” says Geralt, “don’t help.”

An official-looking group of people rounds the corner, accompanied by Yen, who spots Geralt and nearly falls to the floor in a mirthful fit. He rolls his eyes.

The officials don’t like that at all.

--

A few months later, Jaskier kneels on the other side of Geralt’s coffee table, considering his hand. He licks his lip and taps a few lands to place an enchantment, which Geralt promptly counters.

“You and your fucking—control decks,” Jaskier sighs. “Let me play one some time.”

“Make your own,” says Geralt. “You can use my collection.”

“Ah, maybe I will, and then you won’t be able to play anything at all, ever, and how would you like that?”

“Do you have anything to get rid of my flyers?”

“Unfortunately, no, Geralt, I do not, or I would have played it by now.”

“Then you should probably concede.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He picks up his cards, sleeved properly, and slides them over to Geralt’s side. “Shuffle please.”

Geralt shuffles them.

“Shame we can’t go to the tournament today,” says Jaskier wistfully. “Banned. What rot. We didn’t even get off that day. Rudely interrupted.”

“Yeah, well, someone had no business being there, anyway.”

“I still think I could have gone all the way. Beat you, didn’t I?”

“Haven’t since.”

“Only because you learned my tricks.”

“Jaskier, you don’t have tricks.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, and Geralt can’t help but smile back. When he places Jaskier’s deck back on the table, Jaskier’s hand rests on top of his. “I am, though, Geralt, absolutely thrilled that we met. Whatever the circumstance. Or consequence. If it needs saying.”

It doesn’t, but Geralt meets his eyes and says, “Yeah, me too.”

[limeblood-exe]

A Singular, Bloody Mattress (part 2)

So much fluff, you guys, it’s tooth-rutting. And a lil bit of Raph angst, too because why not. Ok, but it’s also mainly fluff. Enjoy!

He can’t sleep. It’s three in the morning, and Raph lies completely awake, staring at the cracks in his bedroom ceiling.

Out of all of his brothers, Raph has no problem sleeping. Mikey might have the occasional bad dream or he might stay awake playing video games or doing art, but for the most part Mikey has taken to heart Raph’s lectures about needing to get a good amount of sleep each night. “It’s important for a growing, young turtle,” he had explained. However, he wishes that his other younger brothers would have taken that advice. 

Donnie and Leo are Raph’s headaches when it comes to making sure all of his brothers are taking care of themselves. Donnie has an even worse habit of staying up too late, but it’s mostly because he gets so absorbed with a new project that time passes without his knowing. It’s common for Raph to find Donnie either passed out on his worktable in his lab, or stumbling into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. But while his younger brother does stay up late occasionally, he enjoys sleep probably the most out of any of them, so it’s easy for Raph to convince his brother to sleep (convincing, as in Raph mentions the time to Donnie, who replies with “Wow, would you look at that,” and then promptly sleeps for the next twelve hours).

And Leo just doesn’t sleep sometimes. Honestly, just even knowing the fact that Leo has insomnia was actually discovered from pure luck. Raph didn’t even know his brother was having problems with sleep until he accidentally came across him on his way to the bathroom just hanging out in the family room, binging some Jupiter Jim films. 

He tried to talk to Leo about it, but every instance he brought it up his brother had an annoying ability of dodging the topic. Finally, with Raph having to resort to the “I’m gonna tell Splinter” card, he had admitted that sometimes he has issues falling asleep, but that it wasn’t anything to worry about, and he would let them know if it got worse. So Raph had agreed to let it go with that promise in mind. That didn’t stop him from staying up a couple of nights spying on his brother just to make sure the problem didn’t, in fact, get worse. He never saw Leo leave his room those nights, so he either must have gotten through his sleep drought or knew Raph was watching him and used his portals to secretly escape his big brother’s view.

He doesn’t know which one it was, to be honest.

And he feels he should have done more, Raph comes to realize, because this whole “not being able to sleep” thing is just awful. The stinging sensation in his eyes, the restlessness of both mind and body. He can’t understand how Leo would try to hide this instead of just asking them for help. He has no idea how long Leo might have been suffering from insomnia, but one night and already Raph feels like splitting his bed in half, despairing that sleep has slipped from his clutches.

But he's no fool, he knows the cause of why he is not currently sleeping. 

It's because of the fact that his aforementioned brother is currently holed up in their infirmary.

No matter what he tries, Raph can’t stop thinking about what had happened just a couple days prior. They had come so close, too close, to losing their brother. Not just when they were cornered by their enemies; as soon as they got back home, it was a fight to keep their brother alive, restoring his lost blood with blood donations from Mikey, who argued that he wanted to do it, he wanted to feel helpful, and stitching together torn skin and shell.

He was fine, though. Damned lucky, their father had said, but he managed to pull through.

And yeah, they cried when he opened his eyes for the first time since they got back home, but that doesn’t matter. What mattered was that their team had not been reduced to three.

Leo is gonna be fine, things are heading back to normal; so how come Raph can't stop thinking about how useless he felt during the entire ordeal?

Sitting up abruptly, Raph decides that staring at the ceiling isn't gonna help him get any sleep. 

He leaves his room quietly so as to not disturb any of his brothers, who desperately need the rest just as much as he does, and departs for the kitchen. He's thirsty, so it seems like a reasonable first destination. 

He walks mindlessly, his mind swallowed by too many thoughts.

Water sounds nice, maybe that’s what I need. A glass of cool water, and I’ll head back to bed, Raph thought to himself. 

Entering the room, he turns on the light, looking for the fridge hoping to find-

This is not the kitchen. An easy discovery, what with the lack of kitchen essentials and instead he sees humming machines, a curtain, an occupied bed-

Ah, he’s in the infirmary. Without thinking, his feet had unconsciously brought him here.

He immediately slaps the light switch off, worried he woke his brother from his needed rest. He hadn’t meant to come in here; he didn't want to be in here. Not right now. He’s supposed to be trying to keep his mind off things.

He can just go back, he didn’t hear his brother wake up; didn’t hear a groan or even a peep, so there would be no harm in him just walking away.

But he might as well check that Leo is asleep as he’s already here and all; he does have a track record of hiding any of his sleep issues.

Raph pads to the side of the bed, spotting his brother cocooned in a hill of blankets. The only parts of him he clearly can see are his head and his arm that sticks out, dangling over the edge of the bed. Raph lays his hand on Leo’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his steady and constant breathing. Raph can't see them right now, but he's painfully aware of the large swath of bandages that cover his middle.

Content that his brother is indeed asleep, he grasps Leo's dangling arm (noting he has one of Donnie’s techy bracelets strapped to his wrist, most likely monitoring his vitals) in his gentle hold, and positions it back in his warm bundle. Tucking his brother in, he smiles softly before he makes his way to the kitchen to grab something to drink.

"Raph?" a soft voice mumbles before he even takes a single step, and he definitely did not give a little yell of surprise, no matter what Leo says.

"Leo! Sorry," Raph u-turns instantly and puts a hand on his brother's head, patting it gently like a parent would to a kid. "I didn’t wake you, did I?"

"You did," Leo gives a jaw-cracking yawn before he continues, talking into his pillow, Raph straining his ears to hear him, "but it’s fine. I feel like I’ve been asleep for too long anyway."

"That’s pretty normal, and you’re gonna have to get used to it. It’s going to be awhile before you’re back to normal, buddy," And the events of that night once again rush to the forefront of Raph's mind. He looks to the ground, unable to look his brother in the eye, afraid that Leo will see through his eyes and read his thoughts.

"Huh? What is it?" Leo looks more alert due to the seriousness his face had suddenly morphed to, struggling weakly in his blankets to lean up against his pillow.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Leo squints up at him with a disapproving look. Like he’s gonna believe that for a second.

“Now, why don’t I believe that? Are you lying to me, bro?”

"No-it’s just-I’m not lying to you,” Deflating under Leo’s sharp glare, Raph nervously rubs his hand together, gathering the courage to speak. 

“…Back then, I couldn't do anything. I'm supposed to be the leader, Leo, and I did nothing." His face scrunches, and his hands clenching together in a show of anger. "And I'm… I'm sorry, Leo. I’m sorry that I couldn't protect you."

Raph would expect his brother to do many things after his revelation; make a joke to lighten the mood, ignore the apology altogether, saying something along the lines of “please don’t embarrass yourself by talking any longer”, etc. He did not expect for his brother to grab his wrist suddenly and pull him close to the edge of the bed, and with one large motion, wraps his arms around Raph’s neck. If he wasn’t too shocked, he would have admonished Leo for moving around so much, since he just got mortally wounded, but the hug feels so good at the moment that all he can do, all he wants to do, is hug his brother back.

“I don’t blame you Raph, you don’t have to ever apologize for something like this,” Leo comforts. His voice is gentle and kind and so unlike Leo’s usual carefree tone that Raph lays one of his hands on the back of Leo’s head checking for a fever.

Not finding one, he buries his face in his younger brother’s shoulder, and Raph has to choke down the sudden lump in his throat to softly mutter, “But I should’ve done, you know, more. I’m the eldest, it’s my job to protect you guys. And at that moment, I failed. And it’s not just that, I couldn’t come up with a plan. My mind felt so gooey and slow and I just-because of that I put you at serious risk, Leo. If you couldn’t-if you didn’t-”

“But I did. And stop putting all the blame on yourself,” Leo adds. “If you wanna play the blame-game, then I think I gotchu beat.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. We wouldn’t have even been in that situation in the first place had I never gotten hurt. I let my guard down, Raph, and I paid the price for it. And so did all of you.”

“That’s not fair, Leo. You couldn’t have known that those paper guys would have been any more dangerous than the ones we’ve already fought before,” Raph pulls apart their hug, going into his lecturing mode. “You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. It was a sucky situation, so you can’t blame yourself as our leader when things go bad, because it’s not just on you. We’re a team, and we’ll fail together as a team.”

While bleak sounding, it sparks an understanding in Raph.

We’ll fail together as a team.

He understands where Leo is coming from. He always thought that the pressure of failing would be on his shoulders alone; he’s the leader, and a good leader takes responsibility. A good leader would know better than to lead their team to their deaths. 

But a good leader would also know that you can’t win every fight. Raph doesn’t want to accept that as a possibility, he might never be able to, but he can know where he stands when it does.

He’s lost this argument, so Raph just slowly nods. He still feels like he could’ve done better, and he knows it might take awhile before he accepts what Leo had to say, but he feels relieved, the burden of feeling so alone lifted from his shoulders.

Raph, thickly says, "Thank you, Leo."

"Anytime, brother." Leo replies. As Raph rubs at his eyes, clearing away beading tears, Leo adds, "Now, pay up."

"What? What do you mean?" Raph asks, confused. Leo sticks out his quivering lips, his eyes pouting upwards. Leo raises his arms towards Raph, his hands making a grabby motion in the air.

"Carry me."

"What? No! Why would I do that?"

“Because I’m bored! I’ve been lying here for, what has it been, three days?”

“Just two, actually.”

“My point being! I need a change of scenery.”

“Uhh, but you’ve been sleeping for the past couple of days? How can the scenery bother you when you're not awake to see it. Besides, you’re still recovering.”

"Oh, come on! That's not fair, and you know it. I'm healing just fine," Leo doesn't give up and increases his efforts to be held, mimicking a petulant child demanding attention. "Please, Raphie, I don't like the infirmary."

"No."

"Pleaaaase-"

"Alright, fine!"

Leo laughs victoriously as Raph leans down to pick up his brother. Leo wraps his arms around Raph's broad neck, and his big brother puts his arms behind Leo's back and beneath his knees, making sure to do so around his blanket as well. He doesn’t want his brother getting cold, after all.

Straightening his back, Raph glares disapprovingly at Leo, who just smiles happily in return, snuggling his cheek against the dip between Raph's plastron and his neck.

"Where am I going exactly?"

"Anywhere is fine."

"Uh-huh."

Raph is convinced that Leo made a big fuss just to be held, but who is he to deny his brothers want they want. After all, it wasn’t just Raph that went through a tough ordeal. If Leo wants to be held, it's the least Raph can do.

With the choice being left to Raph, he decides that the family room is the perfect spot and makes his way there.

Leo begins to doze in his hold, snuggling close to the heat of his brother.

Why would he need a change of scenery if he was just gonna fall asleep anyway.

Raph doesn't have it in him to wake him back up, so he sits cross-legged on the floor as soon as he arrives and holds his breathing brother close.

This was not how Raph thought his night was gonna go, with Leo asleep in his lap and the night continuing to tick by. Content regardless, Raph rests his chin on top Leo's head, appreciating the living movements of his brother: his breaths, his sleepy snorts, his leg twitches, they're all proof that he's alive.

Being up so late and having the comfort of his younger sibling close, Raph feels himself starting to doze off as well, imagining the swell of sleep that would finally overcome him. Ready for the bliss of sleep to take him, the thundering of distant footsteps startles him to full alert mode. With the frantic, but familiar, steps coming closer Raph looks to see none other than Donnie rounding the doorway, whipping his head around in search of something. Spotting the two of them on the floor, Donnie rushes forward.

"Is Leo ok?!" Donnie asks.

Taken aback by the urgency in Donnie’s voice, he says, "Uhh, yeah. He’s fine.” Looking down at his dozing brother as if to confirm his own statement, he looks back to Donnie as Leo sleepily mutters into his chest. “He's sleeping right now, so if you could be quiet, Donald." Raph slightly scolds Donnie for his loud shout. 

"Wha-excuse me!" Donnie, offended by his brother's admonishment, stares incredulously at his only older brother. "I just thought, you know, that something must've happened, Raphael, with my tech informing me that one of Leo's stats changed. I had gone to check on him when, to my surprise, he is nowhere to be found."

Oh. That would explain Donnie’s panic. The tech bracelet on Leo’s wrist was meant to monitor his well-being, so of course Donnie would have had any sort of change being directly messaged to his own wrist-band, alerting him if anything were to happen. That must have included his sleep cycle, and with Leo awake long enough to have a conversation with Raph, he was awake long enough for Donnie to be alerted.

"Oh, my bad... Sorry, Donnie, I didn't know."

Donnie breathes a deep sigh, the act calming himself and he regains a more collected composure.

"It's fine, I was just worried that he did something stupid again, like trying to use the bathroom on his own when he can't even stand properly." He takes in the sight of his two brothers cuddling on the floor together, fully registering what's before him. "Um, but might I ask what you two are doing?"

"I couldn't sleep, and I think Leo was getting bored of the infirmary." He slightly shrugs his shoulders. "So, here we are."

"Bored of the infirmary? Does he not understand the whole concept of 'I nearly died and I should take it easy?'" Donnie crosses his arms, "I swear, sometimes I wonder where his head can be. He be just as bad as Mikey sometimes-"

Donnie pauses, leering suspiciously at Raph.

"Wait, what did you mean you couldn't sleep?"

"It means that I couldn't sleep, Donnie." That was before his talk with Leo, and as much as he loves his heart-to-hearts with his brothers, he doesn't feel it in him to do one more for tonight. "And besides, that was way earlier. I'm better now."

His brother just mm-hm's to himself. Donnie then joins Raph on the floor, sitting next to his side with his legs sprawled out in front of him. A moment passes as Raph waits patiently for Donnie to speak first. 

"Do you still want to talk about it? I'm up now, you might as well take advantage of having me all to yourself. Not many get the privilege of that, dear Raphael."

Raph gives a good natured eye-roll, but before he can give his own snarky response, someone beats him to the chase.

"Wow, conceited much?"

"Shut up. Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" Donnie asks at the same time Raph mumbles to himself, "Are you ever asleep?"

Leo slowly morphs his face into a smirk, then replies simply with a cheery "Nope."

He continues to say, "And how can I? You guys keep waking me up. For once I have the chance to get a full night's rest, and you guys are ruining it."

His brothers have no argument to counter him with, so Leo counts that as a small victory.

“Well, speaking of sleep, I’m gonna go back to bed now that I know Leo's not gonna crack his head open on the toilet or something,” Donnie stands, stretching his arms above his head. “What are you gonna do?”

“Me and Leo are good here,” Raph says.

“You’re gonna stay like that? On the floor? Call me crazy, but that doesn't sound very comfortable, Raph.”

“Yeah, I know. But we’re already here, sooo.”

Donnie gives a thoughtful hmm, hand to his chin in a contemplating manner. After sometime, he raises a pointed finger to the ceiling, eyes bright with newfound determination.

“You know what, I actually have a brilliant idea. Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

Curious as to what Donnie has planned, Raph complies with Donnie's order. He watches the descending back of his brother and wonders just what he has gotten himself into tonight. He grows impatient when minutes tick by, and even Leo starts to huff in annoyance, the waiting anticipation keeping him up.

Ten minutes later, Donnie reappears with a sleepy Mikey in tow, both loaded with pillows and blankets, which are so stacked it's nearly blocking their view.

"You didn't have to wake him up, Donnie."

Mikey just shakes his head, setting down his load by Raph’s feet.

"It's fine, Raph, no biggie. Dee told me we were gonna have a sleepover in the family room," Mikey smiles through an obnoxious yawn, laying out the blankets (some, Raph notices, are from his own room) to form a giant pile on the floor. "And I thought, ‘Oh, man! We haven’t had one in so long!’ It sounded nice, especially after everything that’s happened."

Now that Mikey mentioned it, they haven’t done this for a long time. They’ve been so busy dealing with the whole mutant outbreak that sleepovers kind of took a back-burner to their list of priorities.

Raph, with Leo in his arms, mumbling something he can't quite make out, moves to stand a distance away, making space for Donnie and Mikey as they prepare the rest of the room. 

Donnie and Mikey make quick work, busying themselves with preparing a blanket fort by using nearby objects to hold up the blankets, ranging from Splinter's recliner to using the projector as a tether for the fort's ceiling. And since this just so happens to be the genius and artist of the family, the fort they create is a mix of both their technical and artistic skills. 

The fort, while not only being huge, would put most other blanket forts to shame in just style alone.

Mikey suspends numerous low-lit strings of light on the ceiling, giving the fort a warm glow while Donnie works to construct the cushions and blankets on the floor to maximize their comfort. Throwing in a couple of stuffed animals along with some glow sticks they found in Raph's room, their blanket fort is complete.

Donnie grabs one end of a blanket, acting as a curtain for the entryway, while Mikey grabs the other and simultaneously they pull them back to reveal the inside of their new masterpiece with a bow. Raph “aah’s” at their display, entranced with the sight.  

Raph lays Leo in the middle of the fort, who sinks delightfully into the cottony bliss, exhaustion overtaking his body which has reached its limits for staying awake for so long. Mikey leaps into the fort and lands next to Leo, giving a mirthful shout as he immediately grabs one of the blankets covering his sleeping brother and bundles himself next to Leo, snuggling into his shoulder and wrapping his arms around one of his big brother’s.

“Be careful, Mikey,” Raph warns. Mikey would never intentionally hurt one of them, but Raph thinks it safe to at least warn his brother that Leo is still recovering from an injury.

“I know!"

Leo gives a little huff, turning his face towards Mikey and blowing a quick gust of air into his face. Mikey makes a face, grunting, "Ew, your breath stinks," while Leo replies with, "Some of us are trying to sleep, Miguel."

Mikey giggles into Leo's shoulder as he says, "Sorry," but he doesn't sound all that reproachful.

Raph is next to settle down, laying on Leo's other side, grabbing Donnie's wrist, who was distracted admiring his and Mikey’s handiwork, and pulling him down with him. Having lost his own snuggle buddy to Mikey, Donnie has become his next victim, squashed between Raph's massive arms. But he only gives minor complaints, so Raph doesn't feel all that bad.

The combination of soothing lights from the ceiling and the glow sticks and the cushions beneath them lull the turtles into a comfortable daze. Next to him, Raph can hear the sleeping forms of his youngest brothers, cuddled together with their limbs entangled. 

"You know, next time you have problems with sleeping, you can always come to one of us. You always help us when we can't sleep; of course, we'd want to do the same for you," Donnie gently mentions. Patting Raph on the arm, he adds for good measure, "You're our big brother, but we can still help you."

We're a team.

Surrounded by the warmth of his family, knowing that everything has finally gone back to normal, Raph smiles.

"Yeah, I know, Donnie."

Donnie hums, accepting his answer, and in a couple of minutes his own breathes become slow and even, deep in sleep.

His brothers, all of them, are right here, safe and sound. Raph still might have self-doubts as a leader and as a brother, but for now, he'll let go of his troubles and join his brothers in the blissful land of slumber.

In no time at all, Raph feels the dregs of sleep consume his mind, falling asleep with a peaceful smiling gracing his lips.

[raendown]

First entry for @madatobiweek this year! Today’s story is for the prompts magic au and de-aged.

Companion art for this story found here!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 10,519 Rated: T+ Summary: All the magic he could possibly want at his fingertips and yet he can't stop one big brother from meddling. Forced in to revealing both his heart and his deepest secret, in the end Tobirama is happy - and happily plotting revenge.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Small Problems

“What do you mean you don’t know how this happened?”

“I’m not sure how else to say that so you can understand it.” Tobirama was aware of the dryness in his tone, aware that was one thing that never failed to rile this man up, but in a situation like this he simply could not be bothered to modulate himself. 

Not when the brother who should have been two years older than him sat across the room with rounded baby cheeks, chubby little toddler legs, and a face he hadn’t seen since he himself was about five years old. What on earth his brother had been doing to land himself in such a predicament was uncertain but the two remaining adults both understood one thing without having to voice it. 

They needed to right this wrong before Mito returned from visiting the Uzushio Temples or there would be hell to pay. 

“Haven’t you memorized basically every damn book in the entire library here?” Madara demanded. “Take a look around! You could say which ones here have spells in them that could do this!”

“I have read many of them, not all. I would need another hundred years at the very least to merely skim the entire collection.” Not that he hadn’t been giving his best shot at doing so. Almost every spare moment not spent bored in council meetings or crafting charms for gullible tourists to buy was spent with his nose in whatever books he could get his hands on. If not for Hashirama occasionally dragging him out of his study he might not eat some days. 

“Ugh. What even is the use of you?” His companion crossed both arms and turned his head away, dark hair swaying forward until it almost concealed the way his eyes traced back over to watch Hashirama very intently pluck at a loose thread on the cushion underneath him. 

To be fair he did make for an adorable sight. Despite reverting to an age when he had once sported an abominable bowl cut his brown locks remained as long and smooth as ever, long enough to give the effect of a permanent cape draped over tiny shoulders. His fingers were clumsy, tongue sticking out one corner of his mouth in concentration, and the look in his eyes was about as vapidly thoughtless as any seven year old had ever been. Whatever nonsense he’d been fiddling with had well and truly brought him back to childhood. 

“Anija?” Tobirama kept his voice soft since he’d already discovered that speaking sharply led to even easier tears than normal. “You said you can’t remember what you were, ah, playing with. Do you remember anything at all?”

“I remember Tobi! Up! Up!” It was disgustingly hard to resist the cuteness of a tiny Hashirama holding out both arms with a beaming smile. 

Madara stared at him when he inevitably capitulated, snagging the miniaturized man under both arms and hauling him up to rest on one hip. “I never took you for a softy, Senju. You like kids or something?” 

The tone was clearly meant to be a mocking one but the sneering laughter cut off at a calm nod from the one he was trying to poke fun at. Even as a child himself Tobirama had adored taking care of other younglings. Children were uncomplicated, innocent, and they never judged unless they were taught to do so by an adult. None of their endless questions had ill intentions. Sometimes he very seriously considered taking his brother’s frequent suggestions to get out of the house and take up a second job as a teacher of some sort but the thought of not having an out for the times when he just couldn’t concentrate around his latest obsession always brought him back down to reality. 

When Hashirama began to babble he listened at first, hoping his question was actually being answered, but it only took half a sentence for him to recognize the usual nonsense and tune it out. He looked to Madara instead with a contemplative expression. 

“How do you feel about children yourself?” he asked, unsurprised when the man narrowed both eyes suspiciously. 

“Don’t hate ‘em, I guess, why?” 

“If you want me to figure out what part of this mess caused my older brother to become my younger brother then I’ll need some time to dig through it all. Can you watch him? I won’t get anything done if I have to constantly pull balls of paper out of his mouth and drag him away from things that could hurt him in this state.” 

Watching those dark eyes widen and fill with horror was one of the simpler pleasures in life. “Me? Watch tiny kid Hashirama? Have you lost your entire mind!?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend?” Tobirama snorted. “One would think you knew him well enough to keep him entertained for a day or two. Or is childcare too much of a challenge for one such as yourself?” 

That had exactly the effect he suspected it would. Madara spluttered and grumbled about how he was perfectly capable of watching one child for a few hours, how hard could it be, and other such nonsense. Amusing as that was, Tobirama did his best not to laugh. He truly wouldn’t get anything done with Hashirama underfoot and being obvious about his amusement would only send the very sexy bane of his existence storming away with no offers of help. 

Honestly if the man weren’t so attractive both in mind and body Tobirama would have drowned him in a water sphere years ago. As long as he drew all the moisture out of the room afterwards it would be the perfect murder. No way to trace it back to him. But of course he had never lowered himself to fantasize about shutting that infuriating mouth up before - murderously, amorously, or otherwise. Wanting anything from someone he argued with so frequently would be a futile exercise and Tobirama was nothing if not a practical man. His time was better spent buried in books as he had been for the past two centuries. 

If he learned enough about the world sometimes he wondered if it would make it all feel less lonely. 

“Does he even know who I am?” Madara’s capitulation was as easy as that, although he made a point of not verbally agreeing, which was just like him. It was a good point, though. Tobirama hefted the child on his hip and cleared his throat.

“Anija? Do you remember who this is?” he asked.

“Maddy!” 

“Yes. That’s exactly who this is.” Tobirama’s lips spread in a shameless smile. “Maddy.”

The sounds of spluttering from across the room were music to his ears, doubly so when the teasing hadn’t even really come from him so he couldn’t be blamed for it. Just for that he resolved to be a little less angry when everything was back to how it should be. Only a little though.

“You’re going to go play with Madara for a while, alright? Be good for him. And use your manners.”

“We’re not going to play,” Madara groused. He seemed to regret it immediately when Hashirama began tearing up. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, but the tears had extra impact when spilling out over chubby cheeks, big brown eyes even wider than normal when set in such a tiny face. 

“B-but I wanna!” he cried, chin wobbling dangerously. 

Madara backtracked wildly even as Tobirama stepped across the room to hand over the man-child. “No no! Of course we can play! I have lots of board games at home and a pack of tarot cards you can read and I think I still have some kid-friendly runes in one of the cupboards. Kagami likes to play with those. That’s good, right? Please stop crying.” 

The way he took Hashirama’s small body in both hands like a sack of potatoes spoke to a certain inexperience with kids and yet once Hashirama finally quit producing tears and giggled at his best friend’s high pitched tone Madara looked much more comfortable, enough that when he set Hashirama on one hip the motion was as smooth and thoughtless as any full time parent. It did ridiculous things to Tobirama’s insides. Attractive, intelligent, and apparently decent with children. If it weren’t for the fact that he just couldn’t see it happening he might have been tempted to pursue something that would definitely end up terrifying everyone around them. 

Unfortunately he had many times gotten the impression that Madara did not find displays of intelligence as arousing as he did - usually seemed more annoyed by it than anything else - so the thought was set aside just as it had been every other time it showed up again. While the other two whispered together about how they would fill their time for the rest of the day Tobirama looked around the room and tried to decide where he would start first. He’d initially found his brother buried under the small mountain of scrolls and tomes in the eastern corner of the room but it was all too possible that he’d simply knocked some things over in his struggle to understand this new body. Still, it was the only lead he had and it wasn’t any better or worse than starting somewhere else. 

“Right.” Cracking both wrists in preparation, he turned to lift one eyebrow at the co-conspirators giggling away by the door. “I should get started if we want him back to normal before the next meeting of the Magic High Council.”

“We’ll get out of your way,” Madara took the hint, thankfully. 

“Don’t forget to feed him. No sugar though, he was a demon whenever he ate sugar at that age.” 

“Got it.” 

Hashirama whined but Madara was already turning to leave with a little extra bounce in his step to distract the tiny body on his hip. 

Although he did his best not to be obvious about it Tobirama watched them until the door closed behind his favorite pair of mischief makers. Only after their voices began to fade down the hallway did he turn and cast a weather eye over the messy study. How his brother got anything done in here was beyond him. Every inch of him itched to clean up, mourning briefly that he hadn’t been born with an affinity for air magic. With air he could have simply waved his hand and called the spirits to help him tidy the room without so much as moving from this spot, could have spent his hours in the library calling books to him without getting up, but alas he had been born with a connection to water instead. 

The pile where he started took more than an hour to sift through and at the end he found nothing but the tear stains left by a confused young-again toddler. It probably wouldn’t have taken him half that long just to look at all the book titles and determine whether they were a likely culprit but his instincts demanded that he organize as he went, sorting the books in to categories by subject and gathering the papers that seemed to go together in separate piles as well. Several of the scrolls were unmarked and those he set aside for later. Messing with unknown, possibly magical artefacts was a mistake he’d made several times before. Now was not the time for a repeat. If the rest of the chaos around him yielded nothing he would look in to the unmarked items with due caution and only after advising someone else to come check that he wasn’t dead afterwards. 

From there Tobirama began to move around the perimeter of the room, going through each new spot of chaos with a fine toothed comb, leaving order in his wake when he moved on. It saddened him to know that all this effort would probably be ruined in less than a week after his brother was free in here once more. 

Beneath one pile of debris he discovered a couch and under a different one he found a table. In one pile after several hours of labor he found some books that he had loaned to his sibling and never gotten back, told they were mysteriously lost somewhere. From now on anything he loaned this idiot would be tethered to a tracking rune and carefully monitored; then the first time Hashirama tried to say something was lost he was going to go dig it up out of this trash heap of a room and commit violence with it. 

Maybe he would even let Madara watch. The man did always seem like he could use a good laugh.

Over half the room had been torn apart and rebuilt in to piles of satisfying organization before Tobirama finally unearthed a clue as to what his brother had been messing with. Bundled under a few tomes about interdimensional flora trades he found one that he himself hadn’t read yet, though he remembered mentally noting it for a future subject of interest. Age manipulation was one of the few subsections of time magic he had yet to turn his attention to. His last experiments in those areas had led to tears from several of their neighbors and angered Kawarama so badly his youngest sibling had refused to speak to him for a whole year. Not truly such a large portion of their extended life spans but he’d felt the loss all the same and no matter what others thought he was capable of learning from his mistakes. Even if the mistake he interpreted was not being sneaky enough with his research. 

There were probably at least a dozen other ways that Hashirama might have landed himself in the state that he did but finding materials specifically to do with age regression magic in his possession was fairly damning evidence for that possibility. Just in case, Tobirama took a moment to pause and look around the rest of the room. One corner that he hadn’t yet gotten to was an area he very rarely saw his brother digging in to and had thus left it to be dealt with last. Now he looked a little closer and noticed that several piles of nonsense had all been very carefully arranged to give the appearance of being the same old stacks of garbage while concealing a cleared area in the very center, a suspicious little set up if he’d ever seen one. Tobirama set down the thick Treatise on Age Manipulation: Techniques of the Elemental Nations and padded his way across the carpet on silent feet as though if he made too much noise he might startle away whatever lay in the hidey hole before him. 

As soon as he poked his head around one tall stack of paper he was frowning deeply, more suspicious than ever. In the very center of the mess, hidden from sight at any other angle but the one he was looking from, a small area had been cleared out to set up an obvious workspace. He remembered when they were little and Hashirama had been so fond of building himself little forts or secret hideaways where he could practice with the natural magics in his blood, making games out of pretending to be some Master Enchanter conducting secret experiments. 

Fun as it was to think back to such innocent times from two centuries before, not even the nostalgia of childhood was going to save Hashirama from his wrath if it turned out the idiot had done all this on purpose. With a deep scowl scoring lines in his forehead to match the tattoos on his cheeks, Tobirama slid carefully in to the cleared out space and hunkered down, pulling several open notebooks towards himself to read through his brother’s familiar handwriting. 

His fears were proven disgustingly true in but a few pages. Judging by the typically scatter-brained notes, it seemed that not only was this not an accident but that Hashirama had actively sought out this brand of magic for the specific purpose of regressing himself to a toddler. Why he wanted to be seven years old again was not mentioned in the initial notes and so Tobirama read on with a headache already forming from clenching his jaw too tightly. 

Two more notebooks of terribly organized outlines and vague descriptions of eighteen different experiments granted Tobirama no more clarity on the situation, although he did pick up enough crumbs of information to piece together a decent knowledge of the subject matter. His temper was barely contained by the time he worked his way down to the final notebook. Fascinating as he had always found it comparing the theories of one spell to another, he needed to figure out which one had actually been used that morning in order to properly reverse it. Truly a regrettable restriction. 

Well, regrettable from Hashirama’s point of view, probably. He was the one who would suffer the wrath of an angry water mage until Tobirama had worked out the frustration of this moment. 

The last notebook left unread sat open to a random page that Tobirama smacked his hand down on in a temper. Dragging it towards him across the worksurface made the distinct sound of crumpling paper as he did so. Instantly mired with an instinctual scholar’s guilt, he very carefully lifted the book to peer underneath and assess whatever damage he’d just done. 

A lone sheet of parchment fluttered back in to place where he easily identified it as a letter. The frown that already might as well be permanently etched in to his face deepend at the sight of his own name at the top. Why in the many interdimensional worlds would his brother need to write to him? They lived right next door to each other! Setting the notebooks aside, he used both hands to smooth out the rest of the letter and held the edges down so he could skim the contents. The moment he reached the bottom his eyes snapped back to the top for a more careful read through since clearly he must have hallucinated what he thought he’d just read. 

Nothing changed. Tobirama’s hands were shaking with rage as he read through his brother’s words for a third time like they might somehow change in to something less stupid. 

Dear Tobi

If you’re finding this then my plans are in motion! You will be very proud of me, I’m sure, for how carefully I conducted my experiments and research. Just like you! 

Watching you and Madara dance around each other the way you have been for half a century is starting to get ridiculous. I really hate seeing both of you so lonely but you both refuse to do anything about it so I decided to do that myself. You’ll thank me, I promise! 

The spell I’ll be using will bring my body and mind back to when I was a child - but I guess you’ll already know that when you find this. Don’t worry for me, I still have all my memories. But there is only one way to break the spell and bring me back to normal. All you have to do is say a few simple words. Easy, right? I hope so because the words I chose for my release incantation are words you should have said a long time ago. 

You have to ask Madara on a date! Isn’t that fun? I told you that you would thank me later! You can’t just say any old words, though, you have to say it exactly like this: “Madara, it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.” You deserve to be pampered. He should be the one taking you out and treating you nice!

I can’t wait to see how happy you’ll be when I’m back to normal!

Love, Hashirama (the best big brother in the world)

The sound of crumpling parchment filled the air around him, fingers clenching in to the letter with white-knuckled rage. Happy was not even close to any of the feelings chasing red hot through his blood. After he managed to get this idiot back to his usual height Tobirma was going to punch the man right back down to the ground. Stagnant thought it may be, his love life was his own damn business.

His first instinct, of course, was to tear his way through the final notebook in search of which exact spell his brother had ended up using. Almost every curse and rune and incantation that had ever been crafted could be broken or cancelled out by something if a man was desperate enough to do something stupid - and Tobirama was fairly desperate not to get backed in to such a ridiculous corner. Of all the hills he’d been prepared to die on over the years this probably ranked among the pettiest and yet that knowledge did nothing to stop him from slapping the notebook back down in a rush of fury when he discovered what he had most feared. 

For a very stupid man Hashirama did have his moments of evil genius. All the notes appeared to be there just as they had been for the rest but here the letters were blurred with some sort of privacy seal, visible only to Hashirama’s eyes. The only thing keeping Tobirama from whipping the entire thing across the room was knowing he would feel compelled to go clean up whatever mess his little hissy fit might cause. 

Dragging both hands down his face, he leaned back in what small space was available and tilted his head back to look up blankly at the ceiling, wracking his brain for a way to get around this. He knew dozens of counter-enchantments that could be attuned to different spells but of course Hashirama had known those would be his answer. Without knowing how to attune them he could end up hurting the idiot before he had a chance to murder him properly and that was far from what he wanted. Revenge would be sweet - but deliberate. 

It couldn’t hurt anything to go home and do a little research of his own to see if there was some solution that might not be occurring to him in the panic. He had salvaged dozens of seemingly hopeless experiments over the years long after something appeared to be impossible, he wouldn’t know until he tried. With any luck he might stumble upon some hidden nugget of information to save the day and prevent him from making such an utter fool of himself in front of Madara by asking questions he was fairly sure he already knew the answer to. No need to expose himself like that. He’d been lucky in his experiments before, there was no reason to think he might not be lucky again.

Except for perhaps the fact that fate was often a bitch like that, abandoning him when he needed her most. 

There was nothing really to pack up since none of the materials around him would be very useful so it only took a moment to squeeze his way back out of the little fort before he could head for the exit. Concentrated as he had been on the task of figuring out what the fuck was going on, his brain had rather easily filtered out the muted sounds drifting over from the other end of Hashirama’s ridiculously oversized home. Thanks to some rather clever seal work designed by Mito the inside of the house was nearly three times as large as the outside, new rooms and wings added on whenever Hashirama took a fancy to some new hobby or another. Until he was intercepted halfway to the front door Tobirama hadn’t realized one of the newest additions was a nursery. 

“Play!” Hashirama’s tiny voice demanded with childish imperialism. “Tobi play!” 

“Get back here you miniaturized tree! How the hell do you move so fast- oh.” Madara froze in the doorway, arms outstretched where he had clearly been attempting to capture his runaway charge. 

“Having fun, are we?” Tobirama murmured. He tilted his head down to see two wide brow eyes staring back at him as though he’d hung the very stars in the sky. It’d been years since any of his brothers looked at him like that. Some small corner of his heart melted instantly, fingers twitching with the need to pull this tiny figure up on to his hip for a good cuddle. 

Madara straightened up and cleared his throat. “You don’t need to check up on us, you know.”

“Up!” 

“Not now, Anija.” Absently patting the man-child’s hair, Tobirama lifted one eyebrow. “I was on my way to look a bit deeper in to our options for this rather unorthodox situation. My own laboratory is much better equipped for such research so if the two of you would excuse me. Anija, please let go now.” 

Hashirama’s bottom lip wobbled dangerously. “No. Tobi has to play!” 

Difficult to tell at the best of times, it was even harder to figure out if his emotions were real or put upon with such an earnest and tiny face. He hadn’t lost his memories, after all, only his emotional and mental maturity. Which wasn’t all that great to begin with but Tobirama had been given enough lectures on the subject not to mention that anymore - at least not where sensitive ears might carry his words to a vengeful Mito. 

“I can’t stay and play, Anija, I need to work on getting you back to normal.” And planning his revenge, of course, though he refused to give any hints of that. Surprises were supposed to be fun, or so he’d been told. 

“But Toooobiiiiii!” Hashirama’s pudgy fingers curled around his leg in a stubborn embrace. “I already said how! I wroted you a letter! Play!” 

“The correct word is ‘wrote’,” Tobirama corrected him out of sheer habit. He may not have accepted any of the teaching positions offered to him over the years but there would always be an educator buried somewhere in his heart. 

Nodding furiously, the limpet clinging to him faithfully repeated his correction. “Wrote! Now come give me piggyback rides? Madara’s really good at them but his hair is all slippy and I keep sliding off!” 

Listening to the strange mesh of adult language and the childish need to bastardize grammar was bound to give him a headache in less than five minutes. Hashirama’s pronunciation was perfect, it was clear he was aware of every mistake in his sentences, so Tobirama was left to conclude that it was all very deliberate. The undersized nuisance was acting as childish as he could to play it up. He had to be. Nothing else could explain how he remembered writing that letter but ‘didn’t remember’ how to properly communicate as such. 

Even worse, it was working. Tobirama could feel his resolve weakening with every tug as Hashirama pulled insistently at his fingers. In his current state he had next to no strength and barely a fraction of his usual body weight, there was really no reason he should be able to pull a fully grown man around, and yet Tobirama found himself shuffling forward in half steps anyway. As an instinctual defense against his own stupidly soft heart he made sure to roll his eyes heavenward in an expression of great suffering. From the quiet snort that Madara let out he could guess that his efforts were wasted. So much for all-consuming rage.

As he allowed himself to get pulled in to what looked like the aftermath of a tornado Tobirama quickly revised his plans. He would allow himself to be distracted for ten minutes or so, just enough time to appease Hashirama, then he would head home as planned and see if there was anything helpful to be gleaned from his personal library. 

“Maddy helpeded me build a tower!” Hashirama scurried over to show him the wobbly structure made out of wooden rune blocks, imitations of the stones and charms Tobirama himself often peddled for money. Not exactly work to be proud of but it was fairly easy income and quick fingers meant he could produce them fast enough to give himself lots of time for the research he was truly interested in. Pride was all well and good until it got in the way of his experiments. 

“It’s a very...tower.” Try as he might Tobirama couldn’t bring himself to compliment that architectural monstrosity. 

“He worked very hard on that,” Madara pointed out.

Tobirama turned to level him with a flat stare. “I have my own hard work to be doing right now.”

“Awww but you haven’t even given me a piggyback ride yet!” Abandoning his tower, Hashirama toddled over to strike an admittedly very cute pose. “Stop trying to run away, little brother!”

“Which one of us is little right now?” he snapped back. 

Madara didn’t even bother to stifle the bark of laughter that jerked his entire frame, although he did turn his face away to let out a long bout of snickering. Being mocked by him was nothing new, that was pretty much the basis for most of their interactions, but it still wasn’t pleasant to realize he was acting so childishly in front of the man he had such unfortunate feelings for. Tobirama just barely stopped himself from crossing his arms; that would have really driven the nails down in his coffin. 

Instead he appeased himself with a pointed glare down at the little body dancing from side to side near his feet. He’d sort of forgotten just how fidgety his brother had been at this age. Of course, the years hadn’t really dulled the habit all that much, just enough that he was able to pass for a semi-respectable adult for short spurts at a time. 

“One ride,” Tobirama offered stiffly. “I will take you once around the room and then you will let me leave. Do we have a deal?”

“No! You have to play with both of us!” 

“What on earth led you to believe you have any sort of bargaining power here?” 

Daring to produce a sunny smile, Hashirama giggled in his face, clearly unaware of the massive hole he was digging for himself by the minute. Vengeance would be sweet once he was returned to a mental state that would understand the sort of tortures Tobirama had in mind. 

“If you don’t play with me I’ll tell Maddy what I wrote in the letter!”

Tobirama had never snatched a child off the ground so fast in all his life. Doing his best to ignore the curious and increasingly irritated questions from Madara, he settled his brother across both shoulders and began trotting about the room. When Hashirama demanded it he even gave a very flat neigh. If they had been alone, if this were any other child on his back, he would have had so much more enthusiasm for play. Normally he loved kids. With Madara doubled over in the corner and both hands wrapped around his stomach to contain the mirth it was a little harder than usual to lose himself in the joy of youthful innocence. 

Once around the room was deemed far from enough when he tried to stop. All it took was one glance over at Madara for him to set off again with barely a grumble. Mortifying as this was, making the other man laugh was preferable to letting him catch his breath enough for curiosity to set in again. He must have heard something about the letter. Or maybe he hadn’t and the spirits had for once decided to have mercy and allow Tobirama to escape this room without embarrassing himself with the one thing he would never recover from - his feelings. 

For perhaps a whole five minutes he was allowed to have hope. Hashirama directed him like a little general on several laps around the nursery before dragging him over to the blocks and demanding he help make an ‘even betterer’ tower. With his guidance the results were at least structurally sound, if not entirely practical. He wasn’t so sure how necessary it was to have so many rooftops. After playing with the rune blocks Hashirama cheerfully announced that he wanted to play dress up and that, unsurprisingly, was where Tobirama drew the line. There were many things he would do to save himself from the fate his brother had chosen to be his doom but putting on a fashion show for a toddler and a man with the power to burn memories in to his own mind was not one of those things. Just the thought of whatever monstrosities might be hiding in this home, waiting for his tortured form to be stuffed in to them, was enough to turn his stomach. His brother was not known for any sort of fashion sense. 

“Alright, that is enough,” he declared, standing up to brush imaginary lint from his pants. “You asked that I play with you and I have. Now I will be going-”

“But you didn’t play with Maddy at all!” Hashirama’s tiny legs fluttered him across the room to hang off his best friend’s sleeve.

“I don’t think he’s all that heart broken about it,” Tobirama pointed out flatly. 

To his horror, Madara chose that moment to feel a little mischievous. “How would you know? Maybe I’m just torn apart inside with despair that you could possibly think to leave me out of the fun. Come now, Senju, stay and play with me too!”

“Oh! We could have a sleepover!” Clapping both hands to either side of his face, Hashirama’s eyes practically glittered at the very thought.

He wilted sadly when Tobirama shot him down with a short, “No.”

“Whyyyyy!?”

“Because I have work to do.”

“No you don’t!” Hashirama stuck his tongue out. “You just want to go and read a bunch of books a-’cause you’re trying not to ask Maddy-”

“FINE!”

Both of them stared at him with wide eyes for such an unexpected outburst. Madara’s eyes quickly narrowed again in thought, a dangerous expression. The man may have been famous for his manipulation of fire magics but only because there were so few people who had witnessed just what those dangerous eyes could do and lived to tell the tale. And as much as Tobirama knew that should have sobered him with fear he could only mentally sigh at the warm burst of intrigue that bloomed in his chest. 

Clearing his throat, he did his best to smooth away the panic from his expression and coached his voice to more normal, less panicked tones.

“If you absolutely must then you may have your...sleepover.” The word came out through gritted teeth.

“Why do I keep picking up hints that there’s something you don’t want me to know?” Madara asked.

“Because there is something I don’t want you to know.”

The offended squawk was amusing, at least. Madara always had this way of bristling like an angry hedgehog whenever they traded their usual insults and that, Tobirama realized now, was probably the origin of his downfall. He couldn’t help it if his poor taste thought it was cute to see an already wild man made even wilder as his hair spiked up and his cheeks puffed out with indignation. 

Before his thoughts could run too far away and bring any sort of damning color to his face Tobirama followed tiredly along with his little-older brother’s instructions to set up the room for a good old camp out. In a magically expanded mansion like this one there were a dozen or so futons to choose from. Hashirama picked out the ones he declared the cushiest and conducted his two temporary slaves to drag them through the halls, hemming and hawing with all his seven-year old eye for decorating, demanding they rearrange things four times before it was perfect. If he were honest it looked completely the same to Tobirama in each iteration but he knew better than to say so. He wasn’t looking for a three hour lecture on home decor from someone whose voice had reversed to prepubescence. 

When all was about as perfect as he wanted it to be Hashirama threw his tiny body in to the very middle of the mess and began squirming around with all four limbs flailing. Irritating as the situation might be, that was still an adorable sight that forced Tobirama to hide a smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to wait at least until the little idiot fell asleep before he slipped away to hit the books. He just hoped that whatever spell had shrunk his brother would not have any adverse effects with lengthy exposure; it would be just his luck to finally have everyone back to their correct age only to discover that he had accidentally saddled himself with a man forever stuck in the mind of a child. 

Not to mention that Mito would have his head for that. 

He wasn’t the only one who seemed suspiciously okay with the proceedings. As unselfconsciously as though he were entirely alone, Madara straightened to pull off his outer robes and reached back to sweep the great mass of his long hair behind him. While he listened to Hashirama chatter excitedly about the bedtime stories they should tell he separated his hair in to three sections and began to braid the lot of it in to a thick rope. It was entirely unfair how much more approachable he looked without all that snarled black wire bristling around his head. 

Tobirama looked away before anyone could catch him staring. He occupied himself instead with fussing at some of the blankets, turning the edges down and pulling them in to place a little better. Presumably Hashirama would be sleeping in the center and even at his full size he somehow managed not to hold on to any body heat during the night. All the blankets around them might feel excessive but they were probably necessary.

In an effort to relax himself he allowed his body to flop down over the mess of bedding, grateful when his head landed at least somewhat over a pillow. There would be no escape until little eyes had fallen asleep so he might as well get comfortable for now and since he had no long hair to braid or extraneous outer layers to remove there was nothing to do but consciously loosen the muscles in his body until he felt himself all but melting down in to the futon. Someday when this nursery was occupied by actual children he was pleased to note that they would undoubtedly be quite comfortable with soft beds, tasteful decor carefully chosen for a soothing atmosphere, and so many spells layered together for climate control he didn’t think it was even possible for one to grow cold in this room - unless you were Hashirama. A good place to raise children. 

Crude as it was, his plan of waiting until Hashirama fell asleep to make his escape sounded perfectly fine right up until the tiny traitor passed out sprawled over his lap in the middle of a story he used to recite for their younger brothers. As soon as Tobirama realized what had happened he fell silent with a baleful glare.

“What’s he done now?” Madara asked with a snicker. “I thought the whole point of telling him stories was to make him fall asleep so what’s with that look?”

“I didn’t mean for him to do so on top of me.” 

“Guess you’re trapped here with us, then.” Strangely enough, he didn’t look all that upset about it for a man who’d never seemed particularly enamoured with his best friend’s little brother.

Heaving a deep sigh of resignation, Tobirama closed his eyes and prayed to the spirits of water for patience. This was exactly the sort of situation he did not want to be in. He’d been stupid enough to admit that he was keeping something from Madara specifically and now here he was trapped in place at the other’s mercy. If he wanted to move he would risk waking Hashirama who was even more likely to simply blurt out his secrets than he was to reveal them on purpose. With despair he noted that it seemed Hashirama’s plan would be coming to fruition after all, the bastard. There didn’t seem like a way out of this now. If he woke Hashirama and left his Anija would simply tattle on him but if he stayed here Madara’s relentless personality would not stop until he had the answers he knew were being kept from him. 

Staring back at the expectant grin watching him like a hawk, Tobirama could already taste defeat heavy on his tongue. He wasn’t going to get out of this without making a fool of himself. At least, he consoled himself, it wouldn’t be all that hard to avoid the man for a decade or so and by then either his feelings would hopefully have faded or Madara’s memories would have.

“Anything you want to fess up to while we’re stuck together?” 

“You,” Tobirama snarled, “are not stuck anywhere. He’s not even a little on top of you.”

“I forgot how cute he used to be - in a dorky sort of way. The lack of bowl cut is a definite improvement.” Already sitting with his legs crossed, Madara folded himself a little tighter so he could lean down and inspect the small sleeping face between them. 

Tobirama did his best not to track the movements of that thick braid or think about how much he wanted to unravel it loop by loop with his own fingers. It took a sizable chunk of self control but he managed to meet the other’s gaze once Madara finally sat upright again. “After a prank like this one I am tempted to recreate the bowl cut while he sleeps. He deserves to be laughed out of town.”

“Oh come on, he’s just trying to get you to open your mouth as far as I can tell. So why don’t you just make your confessions and then everything will be fine, ne?”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that, won the throne.”

“Ugh.”

Even that was enough to spawn some very interesting pictures in his mind, images of this man in dark robes lounging on the throne of hell, which made Tobirama glad that he had more self control than most. Otherwise having his brother spread across his lap would have suddenly become twice as awkward. 

“Go on then, putting us both out of our miseries now would save a lot of time and badgering,” Madara said. 

“And yet I still find myself reluctant to say anything,” Tobirama shot back. 

“It must be extra embarrassing then; I’ve got to know!”

With a scowl he turned his head away and declared, “No, you don’t.”

“The more you protest the more curious I become,” Madara laughed. The truth of the statement brought one of Tobirama’s hands up to drag tiredly down his face. 

“Right. I should have expected that. Would the reason why we’re in this situation satisfy you? That sounds like a decent compromise to me - and brother is always whining at the two of us to compromise more.” It wasn’t as though they didn’t get along at all but they were both possessed of cantankerous personalities that led to bickering more often than not. Hashirama hated it but Tobirama was often grateful for the way his feature naturally affected a scowl, neatly hiding the fact that he actually enjoyed their verbal spars. 

“Sounds entertaining, at least!” 

“Hmph.” 

Entertaining the other was the last thing he was after, no matter how deviously attractive Madara looked when he was bent over with laughter at someone making a fool of themselves. Right now his biggest concern was mitigating the damage. With that in mind he shored up what little courage he had left the matter and cleared his throat.

“In a stroke of brilliance that I was unaware he possessed - and will happily beat out of him later - Anija located a spell that requires an incantation to break. He chose a certain phrase that he would like me to say, something he has made the decision on my behalf that desperately needs to be said out loud no matter my personal feelings on the matter.” Tobirama took a deep breath in an effort not to get himself riled up. “In short, I am under duress to make confessions I would rather not. Does that satisfy you?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Madara declared with a grin. 

“You cannot be serious!”

His companion fell back in to the bedding with a bark of laughter. “If anything I’m even more curious. So he won’t turn back in to an adult unless you say whatever he set as the decantation?” 

“Mn.”

“Would just be easier to get it over with, wouldn't it?”

“Not really.” Tobirama studied a spot on the wall without actually seeing it. “One doesn’t just say things like this without expecting the consequences to be remembered. You do, after all, have quite the long memory when it comes to mocking others. Not so much when it comes to important dates.”

“I forgot his birthday one time! One time!” 

For a moment he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. Madara seemed content to be distracted by going off on a rant about how it should be completely forgivable that in several hundred years he had only missed one of Hashirama’s birthdays, too deep in his studies to see the way time marched on around him. It was a state that Tobirama could more than sympathize with, although that did nothing to stop him from throwing it in the man’s face whenever he needed a good distraction. 

To his poor luck, however, today his foolproof distraction failed him at last. Madara’s rant ended after only a handful of minutes when he snapped his jaw shut with a suddenness that clacked his teeth together. A curl of his top lip slowly blossomed in to something downright evil looking. 

“Something you don’t want to say to me but Hashirama thinks that you should.” He cackled softly under his breath. “Oh this promises to be so embarrassing. Perfect! I have to know!” 

“No, you don’t,” Tobirama said again.

“I really, really do.” 

A growl slipped out between his teeth as he gnashed them together. “What would it take to convince you to just drop it?” 

“More than you could ever afford,” Madara answered promptly. 

“Would begging help?” Tobirama’s voice carried a note of mounting desperation. 

Yet still Madara shook his head, expression filled with malicious delight. His toes were practically wriggling with it. If it weren’t for the visual comparison spread across his own lap Tobirama might have been tempted to call the man a child for looking so pleased over something so cruel. 

Why, in the name of all things holy, did he find that so attractive? Clearly there was something wrong with him. 

“I’m afraid you just talked yourself in to a corner by piquing my interest even more. Which means that you have two options.” Madara held up his fingers in a V shape. “One, you tell me whatever this gift wrapped blackmail is yourself. Two, I wake Hashirama up and we hear it from his mouth instead.”

Tobirama stared at him with his heart sinking in his chest because the man was right. He had only two options and of those two he knew which one would feel worse. Saying the words himself was going to end in pain - for more than just himself if his plans for revenge had anything to say about it - but cowering in the corner like a shy child ashamed of his own feelings while someone else exposed his vulnerabilities? Just the thought of standing back and letting that happen made him shudder. It took several tries drawing breath deep in to his lungs but eventually he was able to force his chin up, shoulders square. He held Madara’s gaze for all of three second before his eyes skittered away of their own accord to stare at the wall instead. 

“Madara,” he breathed, “it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.”

“W-what?”

“AH!” The booming baritone of Hashirama’s voice was startling after an afternoon of listening to his seven year old squeaking, almost more of a distraction than the way his body returned abruptly to its usual size with a rending crack that echoed off the walls. When he sat up he did so with the clumsy movement of a new faun learning its own legs. “Did I fall asleep? How did the story end? Why does my voi- oh! Oh brother! You must have asked him! I’m so proud of you, I can’t wait to hear how your first date goes!”

Shoving his giant lump of a brother off, Tobirama ignored the indignant whine as he surged upwards to his feet and stormed towards the door. “Don’t hold your breath. The answer is no.” 

“You said no!?” Hashirama exclaimed, turning to his best friend who sat very still with a poleaxed expression. 

“I didn’t say anything…”

“He never said anything, Tobi. How do you know what his answer is if you don’t let him speak?”

“Easy.” When he paused at the door to look over one shoulder he could meet neither of their eyes. “There was never a chance he would say yes.”

Without waiting to hear a response from either of them he turned back to the door and left, down the hall and through the many twisting corridors of his brother’s stupidly large home. Drafting seals in his mind to cancel out the magic expanding the inside of Hashirama’s house was so much easier to think about than the fact that he would probably have to avoid Madara for the next couple of decades. The man did have a long memory. There was really no guarantee he would ever forget but hopefully the shine of mocking Tobirama for his feelings would have faded away by the time he allowed them to talk again. 

His nose wrinkled against the cold when he finally managed to find his way outside to the cobblestone streets of the capital city. Council meetings; he’d forgotten that all three of them sat together on the Magic High Council. That would make it infinitely harder for him to avoid conversing with either of those morons but he was sure he could find a way. Maybe he could design a rune that would remove his voice for a while.

No, that would make it difficult to sell his wares when he needed money. Not to mention that many of the spells he spent his time researching required incantations. He would have to think of something else. 

It wasn’t exactly a long journey to his own modest home next door, although with his head lost in the swirl of dark thoughts it felt like it took forever to get there. Stepping in to the ring of fae-fire light illuminating his front step brought with it the familiar shiver of wards scanning him for ill intent and he was glad to have his attention pulled back to reality. Thinking about Madara wouldn’t do him any good. It never had before. Tomorrow he could lock himself away with several notebooks and brainstorm some underhanded method or another to minimize the contact between them until he could meet the other man’s eyes again but for now the best thing would be to just get some sleep. 

The house was dark and Tobirama didn’t bother to turn on any lights, familiar enough with his own layout not to need them. Living by himself as he had for so long meant that he really felt no desire to expand the inside as his brother had. What need did he have of more space? He already had more rooms than he knew what to do with, filling most of them with books and the results of failed experiments, so the thought of adding more felt ridiculous.

Even without light enough to see it Tobirama could feel the comfort of his living room the moment he stepped inside. Well worn carpet buoyed his steps on his way to collapse down over the threadbare couch. Not many things in his house had been replaced in the past couple of centuries. Impressing the rare guests who entered was far less important to him than the precious memories attached to every item here that had been with him through discoveries, achievements, and heartbreaks. He gave the cushions underneath him a chance now to help him through one more of the latter as he stretched out on his back to stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. Would that he could turn his mind off. To not think any thoughts for several hours would be a wonderful boon at the moment but sleep felt as far away as the ocean.

A good thing, as it turned out. The spirits of water only knew what sort of reaction he might have had to being awakened by the sound of booted feet storming in to the room and a violent hand smacking the light switch without looking. Despite knowing exactly who had invaded his home - he knew those footsteps, would always know the pattern of that confident stride - Tobirama pulled himself in to a sitting position where he could glare down his unwanted guest. 

“I have never understood,” he growled, “how you always bypass my wards.”

“Don’t need to. They let me in just fine.” 

“They shouldn’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

Shifting forward to the edge of his seat, Tobirama pointed back down the hall. “Get out. I have better things to spend my night doing than being mocked by you - like figuring out what loophole you’ve found that keeps letting you in here.”

“They’re intent based, aren’t they? I get in because I have no intent to harm you in any way.” In deliberate ignorance of being asked to leave Madara stepped further in to the room. Somehow he managed to look both his usual confident self and oddly hesitant, arms folded closely to his chest.

“Like hell you don’t. It’s not just physical harm they’re supposed to guard me against. Just leave. I don’t want to listen to whatever-”

“Just let me talk!” 

Sitting down while the other hovered menacingly over him felt like weakness, like offering himself as bait, so Tobirama stood to fold his own arms with a frown. “I’m sure I don’t want to hear whatever it is you came here to say.”

Whether that be mockery or some kind of apology for not returning his feelings he really didn’t want to listen. Both options would hurt equally as bad. It was something he had observed long before falling prey to the same thing himself; beings like themselves with lives extended by the magic in their veins tended to harbor their pains much deeper and much longer than the humans with more natural lifespans. He’d been in love with Madara for so long it was hard to remember when he first decided to push it all down and simply forge ahead. Learning to let these feelings go was going to be even harder than learning to ignore them had been. 

“I think you do. But first I need to know; did he make you ask me that because…”

“Don’t make me say it,” Tobirama said quietly, looking away. 

“So you do... Then you meant what you said to Hashirama? You really think there’s no chance at all that I could ever say yes to you?” Madara took another step forward only to pause when Tobirama took a step back in answer. 

A glare probably wasn’t enough answer so he forced himself to say, “Obviously.” 

“W-What do you mean ‘obviously’? That’s not- Like hell!”

“Either make sense or leave. Actually, just leave. Now.” Tobirama took a step back with the intention of turning and walking away. His bedroom was much more heavily warded than the rest of the house, he would be safe in there from whatever the hell was going on.

He froze when Madara blurted out, “I would have said yes!” 

“I...beg your pardon?”

The particular shade of red currently spreading across Madara’s face was one Tobirama had long ago learned to associate with an impending explosion, generally one of words and almost always directed at himself. Some part of him braced for impact out of sheer habit even as the rest of his body hung loose with shock and his thoughts ground to a stuttering halt. He watched Madara fidget and held his breath.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. You like me, I’m allowed to like you back!”

“Since when!?” Tobirama demanded. Then, because that didn’t feel like enough, he also spluttered his way through, “How? What? Me?”

“Of course you! It’s always been you! You’re the only one who knows how to properly yell back at me, you’re so smart already and you still spend every day lost in your studies, you’re more attractive than I know what to do with; who the hell wouldn’t say yes to all that?” With a toss of his head Madara scoffed and tried to stand casually as though he weren’t blushing redder than his own family crest.

Tobirama could only stare. “I don’t...what?”

By the determined expression on the other’s face Tobirama figured he should probably turn tail and run when Madara began marching across the room towards him. As luck had it, he was still too deep in shock to do anything but stand there like an idiot until his collar was bunched up in a pair of fists. 

“Fuck it,” Madara snarled. “Neither of us was ever any good at words anyway.”

Despite all the clues laid out so neatly in a row for him Tobirama’s first thought when he was yanked forward was that he was about to be headbutted, a ridiculously mundane attack considering how much magical power they both wielded. Nothing could have possibly surprised him more than Madara’s lips crushing against his own in a kiss that began as brutally as their clashes ever had only to soften, taking and taking and then suddenly asking, exploring, reaching out with a question he could finally understand. It took several heartbeats for him to respond through the shock but when he did-

Oh, when he did. Centuries of yearning coalesced inside him and faded away to dust as he slid his fingers in to midnight hair and tilted his head for a better angle, a deeper kiss. Madara sighed in to the affection like he too had been waiting much too long for this moment. The feeling of that strong body pressed against his own was like finding the other half of himself and finally finally coming back together again. Tobirama held tight and prayed that none of this would disappear when he woke the next morning. 

“Was that clear enough?” Madara asked him in breathless words, quiet as though he didn’t want to disturb the moment. 

“I will have a lot of questions,” Tobirama warned him. “Later. Just- again.” He was grateful that his incoherency made sense to the other, pulled in for another kiss that felt like learning how to breathe for the first time. 

They could have made their way to the bedroom, to the couch he was still right next to, up against the wall or anywhere really. It was late and the day had been filled with more emotions than either of them were accustomed to dealing with in such a short time span. Still they remained where they were. Even when the kisses began to fade and the desperation in their movements settled in to the confounding knowledge that this was truly happening they stood where they were, wound together with their eyes closed and their cheeks pressed against each other in silence. Tobirama breathed in the scent of smoke and ash, closed his eyes, and smiled. 

Maybe he wouldn’t kill his brother after all. It was possible - unlikely as it sounded - that Hashirama had been right in the end. And as much as Tobirama protested the methods used to force his words in to the light he was self-aware enough to know that he would never have said them otherwise, too wrapped up in his own interpretations to see the truth. 

Another deep breath and Tobirama admitted to himself that he should probably thank his brother. Without interference he might have never had the opportunity to feel the beat of Madara’s heart against his own, the way their chests pressed together with every synchronized breath in. His eyes cracked open but it was only to crinkle at the edges with a smirk as evil as he had ever been accused of being. Thanking Hashirama could come after the revenge he was equally owed. A few smiles, a day or two of playing nice, and he was sure he could weasel out of the man which spell he had used to reverse his age. Tobirama was patient. Locking his brother in that limited body for a week or so would be so much sweeter after Mito came home and he could leave the idiot to her lack of mercy. Only after apologies had been given on bended knee would he relent. 

“You’re thinking something evil,” Madara’s voice rumbled in his ear. “Your fingers always twitch when you do.”

“Sorry-”

“I like it. You’ve always been a mean son of a bitch and that’s part of what I like about you. Share whatever evil thoughts you have in your head?”

Tobirama bit his lower lip to keep himself from laughing, curling tighter around the body in his arms as he whispered, “Stay.”

“Always,” Madara whispered back. “I always meant to stay.”

It seemed like it should be impossible to have everything he wanted handed to him as easily as that but Tobirama was hardly going to question it. He questioned enough in his research. All thoughts of giving thanks or revenge could wait until after he’d spent at least a few good hours memorizing the way it felt to finally hold this man in his arms. 

Pressing their lips together again was more of a rush than any magical discovery had ever given him, dusting his cheeks with a pleasant warmth, and Tobirama decided that he was happy to stand here for the rest of time if it meant he never had to do anything but trade gentle kisses just like this. It felt like the events of tonight had gone by so fast he wasn’t entirely sure how any of this had happened but that was alright.

“Always. I like the sound of that.”

[lu-undy]

Idea: the support team was sent on a mission lu and mundy keep flirting with eachother while a very done medic is trying to keep them focus

Excellent idea! I probably could have turned it into a long story but I have other plans for now. Thanks for the idea though! And here it is: the support mercenaries off to rob a museum of an Australium piece for the Admin! I hope you’ll enjoy it! :D

"You remember what you have to in there, ja?" Medic asked from the van. 

It was the middle of the night and the Administrator had been very clear. The support classes had to go to that museum at night and retrieve an artefact that was made of Australium.

"Yeah, and you remember what you have to not do in my van?" Sniper answered and saw Spy roll his eyes. 

"Not touch anything, ja, now go, and keep me posted." 

"Can you see us clearly, Medic?" Spy asked. 

"Yes, those thermal binoculars work wonders. I should probably include that functionality in my glasses. Imagine how simple procedures would be if one could just see the temperature of the patient in real time! That would surely-"

"Medic?" Spy interrupted him. 

"Yes, yes, I know, sorry." 

Spy rolled his eyes and Sniper smothered his own chuckles.

"Bien." Spy looked at Sniper. They were against the museum walls, on the outside. "Sniper, you let me go first, I will unlock the window on the East for you. By which point, you enter and wait for me. Be careful, there will be two guards in there. I will signal you and-"

"I know, I'll take one down and you get the other one…"

"Do you have your equipment at the ready?" 

"Yeah, always."

"Have you made sure you have the tranquilisers instead of the real bullets?" 

"Spook…"

"I must insist. This is your first sneaking mission. One wrong move and we are caught."

"Who's gonna catch us if they're all asleep?" Sniper asked.

"You never know." Spy's eyes flashed in the night and they exchanged a smile. "Alright, I will get in, boost me up, please." 

"Right…" Sniper leaned his back against the wall and got himself into position. Spy approached and put his foot in the Aussie's hands. 

"One, two, and three!" 

Sniper pushed on his feet and thighs and practically launched Spy in the air. He caught the windowsill with the tip of his gloved fingers and slipped in. 

"You in?" Sniper asked and Spy heard him through his earpiece. 

"Oui." Spy started slithering in the dark museum, looking for the control room to power off the building. 

"You put on some weight, Spook." 

"When did you ever carry me?" 

"Last week, Friday night, you ended up more drunk than Demo, I had to carry you to your room." 

"Nonsense." Spy whispered. 

"Nah, you were way past drunk… Also, I'm next to the East window and waiting." 

"I might have been tipsy but I don't remember you complaining that you had to carry me. On the contrary, you enjoyed yourself. Besides, I can see the control room. There is one guard outside."

Sniper heard a muffled gunshot noise through his earpiece. 

"Not anymore, unless you missed your shot, eh?"

"I didn't and I usually don't. You of all people should know that I never miss my target." Spy answered. "I'm going in the control room."

"That's not what you said last night when you were all 'Oh, Monsieur Sniper, I miss you, ohlalaaa…'!"

Spy reloaded his gun with a suppressor as the body of yet another guard fell limply on the floor. 

"First, I never call you 'Monsieur Sniper.'"

Medic rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

"Uhm, maybe we could focus on the task at hand, Spy and Sniper?" He asked. 

"But we are." Spy put his gloved finger on a button. "Sniper, get ready to come in in three, two, one and, go." 

He pressed the button and all the power in the building shut off. Then, he went to the East wing of the building, bodies falling after him as he slithered along the walls, as silent as a shadow. When he reached the room, he opened the door and the two guards who were at the table, playing a game of cards, raised their heads. 

"Bonsoir, Messieurs." He said with the most smug smile before raising his gun and shooting one of them. 

[Good evening, Gentlemen.]

Sniper stepped out of the shadow and shot the other one with his blowgun. Both guards fell to the floor. 

"You took your time, darl'." Sniper taunted.

"Ah, that is a first." Spy's eyebrows jumped but his smirk remained.

"What?"

"I have rarely heard you complain about me taking my time, hm?" Spy winked and turned on his heels to exit the room. 

Sniper followed him closely and smiled while Medic who was still in Sniper's van rolled his eyes again after he saw Sniper's body temperature rise. They walked in the corridors of the museums, priceless paintings, sculptures and knick-knacks all around them. 

"Y'know where we're supposed to find the thing the Admin wants?" Sniper asked. 

"Not exactly. We just know that it is in the East wing, so keep your eyes peeled for any golden object." 

"Well, I got my eyes on another masterpiece, eh…"

Spy turned and saw Sniper staring at his backside. He smirked and turned again to walk as elegantly as a cat, swinging his hips seductively.

"Such a tease you are, Spook." 

"Am I?" He answered arrogantly as he stopped in front of a glass showcase. 

"Tssk…" Sniper joined him and slipped his hand in Spy's back pocket on his backside. 

"Sniper…" 

"What?"

"Your hand."

"What about it?" 

"There are signs everywhere in the museum. Have you read any of them?" Spy asked with a smirk. 

"Nah, I was told to be here to rob the bloody place, not to do some Sunday afternoon tourism, love."

"The signs say 'Do not touch the works of art.' So remove you hand, please." Spy teased. 

"Oi, oi, that only works for their stuff. This," Sniper squeezed Spy's backside in his palm and Medic saw a jump on Spy's body temperature. "This is mine, not theirs, so they can bugger off with their signs, I'm keepin' my hand where it is."

Spy chuckled.

"I'd put it somewhere else but Medic would hear ya likin' it. Not really decent, eh?" Sniper added.

"Ahem, Spy, Sniper, please, do you see the artefact?"

"We are standing in front of it." Spy answered as he pointed in the showcase. 

"It's a vase?" Sniper asked. 

"Oui." Spy picked the lock of the glass door and made it slide open. "Here, we have it." Spy put it in Sniper's bag.

"Gut. Now come back here before the guards wake up."

[Good]

"Don't worry, I prepared those darts. They're powerful enough to put a hippo to sleep." Sniper answered. 

"Does that mean we have some time?" Spy asked. 

"No!" Medic answered. 

"Yeah." Sniper contradicted him. 

"Très bien," Spy took Sniper's hand in his and slid his fingers between his. "Medic, I would recommend you take a break."

[Very well]

"Spy, don't be foolish now, you have the artefact, get out!"

"Take a nap maybe, or listen to some music." Spy turned to Sniper and lazily laced his arms around his neck as he addressed Medic. Sniper smirked, he knew where it was all going just by looking at Spy's half-lidded eyes… 

"Ach… Fine, I'll remove my earpiece too. How long will you take before coming back?" Medic asked and Spy looked up at Sniper. 

"We have a few hours." Sniper answered. 

"Then, count a couple of hours." Spy said, his smirk never disappearing and at that, they all disconnected their earpieces. "I think you did well for your first sneaking mission."

"Well, you could take example then, eh?" Sniper's hands slid and kneaded Spy's sides.

"You have grown quite arrogant, mon amour."

[My love]

"I learn from the best." Sniper bent down and took Spy by his lips, making him melt in a moan. 

"Shall we have a free tour…?" Spy suggested. 

"Yeah, that first." Sniper answered and they started walking around. 

"And then what?" Spy asked. 

"Oh come on, you're the one who asked for extra time here."

"And you're the one who loaded the tranquilizer darts way too much."

"Yeah, it's almost as if I knew we'd want extra time here, you and me, eh?" Sniper teased.

"Indeed, and why do you think I would want that?" 

"Cause you wanna do it in a museum, while we rob it." Sniper answered with a chuckle. 

"Why do you laugh at me? Don't you like the thrill of it?"

Sniper stopped walking and turned to Spy. He pushed him against the nearest wall and put his hands back on Spy's waist. The Frenchman was powerfully sandwiched between the wall and his lover.

"I do, yeah. But you've also been teasin' me too much…"

"Was it effective?" Spy asked as if he didn't already know the answer. 

"You're too bloody sexy when you smirk like that…" Sniper said as he held Spy's chin between his fingers.

"Am I…?" Spy teased further and that did the trick. Sniper bent down and kissed him, crushing him against the wall on all his body. A satisfied moan escaped Spy's lips and as Medic took a glimpse through the binoculars, he saw two very hot and very close bodies. 

He facepalmed and threw the binoculars away before sighing and leaning back on his seat, to take a nap. He turned on the radio to drown what his mind could hear from Sniper and Spy even if his ears couldn't.

[spell-cleaver]

The Mourners

This year I got to participate in @grishaversebigbang and it was so much fun! So many thanks to my gang:

Corporalki: @dirtyhandsnet

Materialki: @dthieno, whose art is here, @mooni-mars, whose art is here, @phantomscpera 

Summary: When Kaz Brekker goes missing in the middle of Ketterdam, Inej and Jesper team up to look for him, and think about what he means to each of them along the way.

Read it here on AO3, or under the cut!

The Mourners

Inej Ghafa was feeling relaxed, which then made her feel suspicious.

She'd been perched in the rafters of the Slat for several hours now, sharpening her knives with a sort of lazy precision, only half of her attention focused on monitoring what was going on below. Anika and Pim had started bickering with Bastian, and Big Bolliger was staring at them with an odd look on his face—she made a mental note to investigate that later. She knew Per Haskell was upstairs, reviewing the meticulously kept records Kaz had given him on the Dregs' profits; he'd want to talk to Kaz as soon as he got back. So did she.

The assassination of the Zemeni ambassador still unnerved her. She wanted to spin more theories about it with him, wanted to find a way it could make sense, because if this assassin could pull off something the Wraith couldn't fathom... she didn't like that at all.

But Kaz wasn't back yet. He'd taken Jesper and Seeger to East Stave to scout out something Inej apparently hadn't been privy to, but that had been at noon. Now it was nearing eleven bells, and he wasn't back yet.

That was... strange.

She was not Kaz's keeper. But this, just as much as that assassination, unnerved her.

The Slat came alive whenever Kaz Brekker came home. She'd been crouched up here for hours, observing it all; she certainly hadn't missed his entrance.

Something must be wrong.

He'd grouch at her for fussing, but... something was clearly wrong.

She stood, nimble and balanced as a crow on its perch, and scampered along the beam, then along the wall, dropping nimbly onto the flight of stairs that led to the upper levels. Then she made a beeline for the ground floor, where Anika and Pim were still caught in their argument with Bastian. Anika's crop of yellow hair was easy to pick out.

They jumped out of their skins when Inej cleared her throat behind them.

 "Do you know where Jesper is?" she asked lightly, but tactically. It wouldn't do to reveal that she was worried about Kaz, but Jesper? He might give her a few clues.

"Last I heard of him, he was going to the Crow Club," Pim said with a shrug, turning back to glare at Bastian. Inej nearly rolled her eyes; the Dregs could fight about the strangest things sometimes, and she was tempted to place a bet on how strange this disagreement would end up being as well. "Why?"

She shrugged. "He's my friend. And he owes me a game of cards."

"You'll find a game of cards at the Crow Club," Anika snorted, the corners of her lips curling upwards in a smirk. Inej ignored her and just pulled the hood of her jacket up, ducking out of the doors of the Slat to head on her way.

She kept her head low in the nighttime air, squinting against the dim yellow lights. The bridge over the canal, she crossed with speed, eyeing the cluster of people on the other side but walking straight forwards; they didn't look too dangerous, and if they tried anything she knew how to make them regret it.

But they didn't approach, and she continued on.

The Crow Club loomed; she gave a grim nod to the bouncers outside then ducked in. They knew her face well enough from whenever Kaz had asked her to run an errand and they didn't bother making a move to stop her.

She grimaced when she entered, squinting at the sudden change in light and noise. The music nearly blasted her off her feet, and the lamps on the walls and the glittering decor provided a stark contrast to the dull outside atmosphere no windows available to let in the night.

She glanced around. Most of the denizens were... not well-dressed but not poorly dressed either, out for a night of fun and pouring kruge into Kaz's coffers, while she was wearing the same dark clothes she always wore, but she passed unnoticed through the crowd anyway, like smoke.

Jesper... Jesper, where was—

She heard the spin of Makker's Wheel and glanced in that direction. He wasn't there. Instead, he was—

She heard raised voices.

Frowning, she headed for the toilets off the side where the back door onto an alley that wound its way to the canal stood open. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the... alley... that wafted in, careful to shut the door that led back into the main room of the club, and then she heard the voices again.

"You think I had any choice about this, Rojakke? I didn't know Kaz was gonna let you go! I can't stop him."

Inej started forwards. That was definitely Jesper—he leaned against a wall a little was along, his lanky body as disproportionate as the ramshackle Slat. And there was Rojakke with him. She hesitated, then just stood there a little way away from them—close enough that they could see her if they looked, they were her friends and she wasn't about to eavesdrop on them without giving them a fair shot at spotting her—and listened.

"He trusts you, you gotta tell him—"

"Kaz? Trust me?" Rojakke was grasping at straws there and they both knew it, because— "Kaz doesn't trust anyone."

Rojakke grunted. "Yeah, well. He's wrong. I ain't no cheat."

"You wanna say that to his face? Or his cane?"

"I wasn't." That was a lie, Inej was pretty sure, but she couldn't help but feel bad for him anyway. "I ain't no cheat, and I'll tell him myself—where is he?"

"I don't know."

"He was with you, now where'd he go?"

"Rojakke, I don't know, now get out of here and get another job."

"Where's the Wraith? I'm sure she'd—"

"I don't know," Inej said, stepping forwards. Rojakke damn near jumped out of his skin, and she was pretty sure she saw Jesper reach for his guns before he realised who it was. "That's why I was looking for you, Jesper; where's Kaz?"

"Why does everyone think I know that?" Jesper grumbled.

"Because you were with him last!"

"I—"

"Rojakke, you've been let go." Inej cast him a look. Weakness wouldn't help here, and he'd been close to taking out his gripe on Jesper with his fists. "Get out of here, bluster about Kaz isn't gonna help you."

"I ain't got paid for my last shift yet!"

"And you're not gonna get paid if you've been skimming."

"So what, Brekker kicks me out without having the guts to come do it himself? Sends a little girl and a gunslinger to do it instead?"

"Kaz didn't send Inej—"

"Yes," Inej said flatly, slipping her hand into her pocket. Her brass knuckles fit snugly around her fingers. "Get out, Rojakke."

Rojakke reached for her, scowling fiercely. "I ain't leaving until I get what I'm owed, from Brekker or from—"

She struck him in the cheek. Once, twice. He staggered back.

"Rojakke..." Jesper said.

Rojakke ignored him, staring at Inej. "I thought we was friendly!"

Inej ignored that. 

"You're a great dealer, Rojakke, you can get a job at any gambling den on East Stave. How about you just get out of here before Kaz comes looking to settle this debt himself, instead of sending a little girl and a gunslinger to do it, hmm?"

Rojakke scowled even more fiercely. She met his eye solidly; the only sound was the rhythmic lapping of the water against the nearby canal.

Finally, without a word, he left.

*

Inej led Jesper to an unused private gambling parlour before sitting him down in the dealer's chair. She didn't take one of the five seats around the table; instead she perched across two of the armrests, one boot planted firmly on the floor, the other perched at her knee.

"So?" Jesper raised an eyebrow at her, studying her. He could never tell much about her from her expressions, she rarely gave anything away, but something about the tension in her posture, her shoulders, her face, told him she was worried. "I appreciate the help with Rojakke, but what's this about?"

"You were with Kaz earlier. Where did he go? It's nearly twelve bells and he hasn't come back to the Slat since noon." She fixed her eyes on him: right now, she seemed so tense and taut that it was hard to imagine anyone ever not being able to notice her, but the shock she'd given him in the alley was proof enough of just how easy it was for her to vanish. Sometimes,  Jesper, wondered if she genuinely was part-wraith after all.

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair, his left leg bouncing where he sat. 

"Hell if I know. He just dumped me here, told me to let Rojakke go, 'cause he'd been skimming or something, then took off into the night." He tapped at his knee. "You don't know where he is? You know everything in this city."

Inej snorted. 

"I wish." Jesper couldn't but notice as her fingers ghosted across her forearm, the mangled scar there, but didn't dwell on it. "But no, I don't know. And I don't like it."

"Because Kaz always tells you everything?"

"As if. I usually tell him most things, and I get nothing back. But it's not like him to take off into the night like this."

Jesper raised an eyebrow.

Inej rolled her eyes, a short laugh escaping her. 

"Not for so long," she amended. "Not after he's spent so much time on some mysterious task with you. Did anything strange happen at... wherever you were, today? If he was distracted..."

"You think Kaz got jumped?" He shook his head. "You're fussing, Inej."

She wrinkled her nose.

 "No." She slid off the chairs and back onto the floor. She didn't pace, what she did was more graceful than that, but— yeah, no, she was pacing gracefully. "This is odd. Especially with the murder of that Zemeni ambassador."

"No one who goes after an ambassador is gonna go after Kaz."

She gave him a look.

 "What were you two even doing? I don't understand why Kaz is still being so secretive about it."

Jesper debated telling her for a few seconds. If Kaz hadn't already told her—and he told his Wraith everything—then he probably didn't want it shared. But he also probably didn't want Inej up and fussing about him all night, which would just harm his reputation.

"We were spying on the building works for the Kaelish Prince," he said easily. "Kaz is pissed off about something, he's intent on Pekka Rollins. There's no way he suddenly got the money to buy that building and start working on it, not from what we know about the Lions' coffers. Kaz wanted to check it out, see what Pekka's hiding."

Inej narrowed her eyes. "You were spying on Pekka Rollins?"

Right, he thought bitterly. That was usually her area of expertise. 

"Nah. Just scouting the place around. You know Pekka's got good security; he probably doesn't want to send you in unless he knows there's something worth investigating. Doesn't want to risk you like that."

She snorted, glancing away.

 "I could handle it."

Jesper winced. 

"Look, I'm sure it's not that Kaz doesn't trust you."

It came out more bitter than he'd intended, and Inej stopped her pacing to glance at him. Good; at this rate, he thought as he bounced his leg some more, they were both going to wear out the gaudily patterned carpet.

"Kaz doesn't trust anyone," she said softly, repeating back what he'd said to Rojakke. How long had she been standing listening to that conversation, anyway?

He sank back in the chair with a slight sigh. 

"I'm sure he'll be back soon, then you can interrogate him on wherever he's gone to your heart's content," he offered.

She took it as the joke it was, and smiled. 

"He'd sooner break my arm with that cane of his."

"Nah." He kicked his legs up and got to his feet, heading for the door. "Then he'd have to wait for you to heal before you could spider again, and he's too impatient for that."

"Thank you," she said abruptly, just after he opened the door and the noise crashed in. "Come back to the Slat with me?"

Jesper glanced back at the tables, at Makker's Wheel, then to Inej, and realised that had not been a question.

"Sure," he said, and slung an arm around her shoulders. She was smaller than him, so it was easy; it was also easy to feel the way she tensed up momentarily, until he relaxed his grip and she leaned into him properly.

They walked back like that, the song of the canal the only sound.

*

The next morning came, and Inej woke to the sound of Per Haskell's fury. Kaz was not yet back.

He was spitting, shouting something at Anika or Pim or someone, and Inej was fairly sure he'd be shouting for her next; who else would know where Dirtyhands had gone than the Wraith who kept his secrets?

But she didn't know where he was.

And that meant, she thought grimly, counting her blades where they laid tucked against her skin—Sankta Alina, Sankt Petyr, Sankta Lizabeta—she had to go and look for him herself.

The first plan of action she ought to take was to go to the Kaelish Prince herself, and scout out what had happened. That was the last place he'd been reliably, other than a brief visit to the Crow Club and disappearing, and... well, Inej would be lying if Kaz didn't always seem to have a vendetta against Pekka Rollins. From time to time he'd get a vicious look in his eye; he'd say nothing but he'd stare into the distance, hand tightening on his cane and mouth tightening in a way that made the harsh lines on his face even more severe, eyes narrowed minutely. It was a tiny expression that she doubted most people would pick up on, but he had been the one to teach her to notice things. He couldn't give her a knife then expect her not to use it.

So, by all realms of logic... the Kaelish Prince was where she'd be headed. To investigate Pekka Rollins more, and therefore investigate what by all the Saints Kaz was up to.

But she didn't. Kaz would not have returned there—she knew that. She'd go there as a desperate measure, but if Kaz had merely been on a night stakeout mission to watch a place, he would've told someone.

He would've told me.

Instead, when she climbed out of the tiny window of her tiny, ratty room and vaulted over ramshackle rooftops, she headed west—towards West Stave. It was morning, there would be a fresh wave of pigeons flowing in from arriving ships, ready to be plucked and ushered into various dens of iniquity, and wherever profit was being made, Kaz was right around the corner.

She clambered over the rooftops, just enjoying the way the crows swooped overhead and the early morning sunlight played against the still-dewy cobblestones. They distracted her from her worry.

She shouldn't be worrying. Kaz knew what he was doing. Kaz didn't need her to, as Jesper had so eloquently put it, fuss.

But she worried anyway. Something was wrong.

Was she just hurt he hadn't told her? she wondered as she shimmied down a drainpipe and landed in the street, striding through clouds of tourists like a shadow. She passed the White Rose, saw Nina Zenik striding towards it. When she caught her eye, Nina gave her a flirtatious wave and Inej returned the gesture, smiling exasperatedly.

Somewhat buoyed by that, she continued on, but she had to continue thinking—was she just hurt that she didn't know? The fact that she didn't know shouldn't be unusual. She hadn't known Kaz had had dirt on those guards at the standoff a few nights ago, she hadn't known he'd be able to look Geels in the eye like that and win, and she hadn't known he had dirt on Big Bolliger. Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason, but he always had one—it just so happened that none of the rest of the poor suckers who shared this city with him happened to have any clue what it was.

She ducked down West Stave, ran along Goedmedbridge, then onto the other side. Beneath her on the canal, a boat full of flowers punted past; she could smell wild geraniums, flamboyant roses, orange lilies...

Inej appreciated flowers, but few with sweet, notable scents were hardy enough to be grown in Ketterdam. The artificial perfumes slathered on them stung her nose, and she turned away.

Perhaps it was a good thing there was no boy in this city who would buy her flowers.

She ducked into the crowds and just... observed this time, hanging around the Anvil in particular, watching people come and go. Cobbet, Tante Heleen's favoured bruiser, was stationed outside the Menagerie as usual, and Inej ducked her head to avoid meeting his gaze before she melted back into the shadows. She climbed back onto the rooftops and watched from there.

Kaz wasn't anywhere around here; she'd know the distinctive tap-tap-tap of his cane anywhere. But she still let herself scan the crowd, and listen closely at every door before she took off back towards the White Rose again, hopping back down—again—to street level. Perhaps, if Nina didn't have a client, she could talk to her; she served some of the richest and most well-connected men in the city, soothing their pains and anguishes, and it was perfectly plausible that she'd have heard something during those sessions. There was nothing entitled men liked doing more than talking.

She was heading back over the canal when someone grabbed her wrist.

She didn't cry out. She just instinctively drove her elbow back to wind them, stomping on the arch of their foot, sliding Sankta Lizabeta out from her sleeve to jag against his jugular—

And Cobbet wrapped his massive hand around her throat. Tight enough that she couldn't escape. Tight enough that it sent shivers and shudders racking through her, terrified. She could breathe, but... it was tight enough that he could change that in a heartbeat.

The edge of her blade caressed his throat in return; she was at eye level with the thin stream of dark blood that dribbled down onto his collar from the oh-so-shallow cut.

"Tante Heleen saw you spying on us, little lynx. You trying to take our secrets back to Brekker? You belong with her."

Inej could barely move her jaw, but she got the dexterity to spit, "No secrets worth stealing from a prissy, pompous peacock."

He tightened his grip and she gasped, choking, being shoved up against the wall of Goedmedbridge. Tourists and pigeons and lowlifes alike were giving them a wide berth.

Inej thought of the good maiden who'd thrown herself off the bridge to give it its name, and wondered if the event didn't have a much darker root than the story told.

She pushed her blade deeper into his neck in response, hating the savage pleasure she got from seeing him bleed, knowing she'd have to do penance for it later... but she watched him bleed, and cut deeper, and they were at a standoff until—

"You're going to drive away the pigeons with all this brutality," she whispered hoarsely.

With a grunt, Cobbet released her. She tried not to gasp, to rake in air, even as she could feel bruises blooming over her throat like the blue and purple irises which had fallen from the flower boat to the canal below. She refused to give him that satisfaction.

"Brutality from a spider who fights like a thug."

"And you're not a thug yourself?" Inej's gaze flickered when she saw a flash of blue and gold. There was Tante Heleen in her standard peacock blue regalia, if without the finer hints of it—wearing it down the street on West Stave would be asking to be pick-pocketed. She gestured with a hand for Cobbet to move away, then smiled sweetly at Inej.

Inej held her gaze, hard and fierce, until Cobbet vanished into the crowd by his mistress's side and they returned to tormenting the poor girls who hadn't escaped their grasp.

Inej turned her back and strode down to the other side, fast enough that her feet almost grew wings and took flight.

"That was a close call," quipped a voice.

She pivoted on her foot to seize the person's elbow, Sankta Lizabeta still red with X's blood—but she stopped, and scoffed, when she recognised Jesper. 

"Oh. It's you."

"Yes, it's me." He followed her farther along the canal, to where there was a tourist climbing into a gondel and wobbling like Inej's young cousin the first time he'd tried to walk the tightrope. Inej raised her eyebrows at the tourist—Ravkan, by the looks of them and the language they were speaking—and wondered if they'd fall.

They didn't. She turned her attention back to Jesper. "I appreciate your help in that situation."

"If I'd helped?" he scoffed. "It wouldn't have helped at all."

She couldn't deny that.

She had to be the one to defeat challenges when they came—she had to, or she'd look weak. And if she looked weak, the sharks would be after her blood.

She had to find her own battles, or people would start thinking she was an easy target.

But she didn't say any of that, or respond to it—this was a barbaric way to live. She just pursed her lips, and Jesper took that as his cue to continue.

"Per Haskell wants to know where Kaz is."

"Don't we all."

"He figured you'd be the most likely to know."

"Doesn't everyone."

Jesper frowned. "No luck then, I take it?"

"None."

He blew out a breath between his teeth. "How long have you been looking?"

"Not long," she conceded, bringing up a hand to rub at her throat. "I got distracted."

He gave her a sympathetic look. It wasn't pity—neither of them had the capacity for pity anymore—and she just replied with a wry smile in return.

"I'm going to check out East Stave," she said, putting a bit of spring back into her step. "I assume Haskell sent you to find me?"

"He was going to send Teapot. I thought you'd prefer my beautiful face."

She snorted; when he gave her a mock wounded look, she smacked his arm lightly and grinned. "I do prefer your face, Jesper, thank you for coming."

He grinned in response, stopping in the middle of the street to give a flamboyant bow. That, and the eyesore that was what he called appropriate dress, meant that the crowd parted for him like he was a street performer.

"Any time, my friend," he said on the way back up again. "Are we dropping by to see Nina on the way out?" He turned towards the White Rose, but she grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back on track before he fell in the canal.

"She's probably with a client, and you'll draw enough attention as it is. Do we really want her here too?" She smiled, to take the sting out of it; Jesper huffed. Those two—those three, perhaps—had a reputation whenever they went out for waffles together.

"But Inej, my dear," Jesper said as they turned onto a new street. "What's the point if you don't draw any attention to yourself?"

She laughed. "The point, Jesper..." She slowed her pace, dropped back and vanished from his side to duck into an alley and scramble onto the rooftop in three neat bounds—up onto the overflowing dumpster, grab onto the pipes, swing herself round and up.

She clambered over to peer over the building's front. In the flow of the crowd, Jesper hadn't noticed for a few long-legged paces, then he stopped and stared around, somewhat frantically, though there was a touch of amusement there too—he knew she was messing with him.

Inej took a small stone, a fragment of a loose plate, and tossed it down. It bounced off his shoulder; he looked up, then, and scowled at her.

"Is to not get caught," she finished. "Now, get up here. And do you have anything less..." She grimaced. "Noticeable?"

"No," he said baldly.

"Great." She sighed. "Get up here anyway." The unusual slope of some of these roofs—why was Ketterdam so strange?—and the sort of damp, grey mist that was clinging to the wind that blew in from the north meant that the street goers probably wouldn't notice a boy wearing bright yellow and green perched on the rooftop.

Probably.

He eyed her perch. "How did you get up there?"

"Alleyway. Dumpster, pipes, jump."

He backtracked, and scurried to eye the route. "Are... you sure...?"

"Or there's a ladder buried under the pile of rags in the corner," she said helpfully.

Jesper went to look, and sighed when he saw it. "Of course there is. Did you put that there?"

"Of course I did. Make sure to bring it up with you—we don't want anyone else to see it, and no one else will see it on the roof."

"Will do."

*

Jesper made it onto the lip of the roof, eventually, and then they both dragged the ladder up to rest lightly against the tiles. Jesper had never seen Ketterdam from this angle before, but Inej seemed to navigate the landscape here almost more confidently than she did on the ground. No wonder she was such a good spider.

He peered over the side, at the network of people who rushed through the city's streets, the gondolas that rushed through the canals, like blood around its beating heart. He felt prickly up here, fidgety; the mist muted everything and all seemed still.

Everything moved, but at its own pace. A seabird flew by to shit on the roof right next to him.

They climbed along rooftops for a while, the place a whole new terrain—Jesper was no longer sure where they were in the citywhen he glanced down, unless he could pick out a few familiar shop fronts. It was a whole new world, but Inej navigated it with ease.

After a while, Jesper was starting to tire, but he didn't want to say so. He wanted to keep watching the way she worked, gracefully slipping over peaks and shingles like she was more bird or gutter rat than girl. A few times he started panting after he hauled himself up too far, too heavy for the climb or unable to find the nonexistent handholds she seized, and his attempts to disguise it only brought amusement. He rolled his eyes, running his hands over his guns for... well, reassurance. They were pristine, even if moisture was starting to condense against them. He'd make sure to clean them later, to check they were alright, but they probably were. So long as he hadn't bashed them in the climb.

"Here," Inej said at last, settling down to sit herself cross-legged on a seemingly unremarkable stretch of roof, adjacent to the street, with a sooty chimney at her back. If she got dirty where she leaned against it, it didn't show up against her black hair and clothes.

He was a bit more protective of his nice colourful outfit, but... if he was trying to blend in, and he was tired.

He plopped down next to her, and leaned against the brick.

"Shhh," she admonished in a whisper. "Not so loud."

"Why?" he hissed back; noise hadn't been as much of a problem when he was scaling that wall back there, and grunting and cussing to the high heavens.

She just tilted her head and he heard it, then: voices, drifting. They weren't from the street, the street had its own noise, but... behind them...

"The chimney," he realised.

Inej nodded. "Something about the acoustics means that sound travels especially well in and out of that fireplace, through the vents. There are several spots along here"—she pointed, and Jesper looked ahead to see more busts of chimneys  loom out of the smog and mist, behind to see the  same; they'd come up a ridge between two—"and they lead to different rooms in the building. This one is where you usually hear the most... high end gossip."

"Of course you knew this was here," he marvelled quietly. The Wraith and her secrets—this was one he was happy to learn. "This whole spidering thing is easier than it seems."

She raised an eyebrow at his sweaty, soot-stained, shredded clothing. "Is it?"

Point taken.

"Where are we?" he asked. "What building is this?"

She tilted her head, then, towards the street that ran adjacent to their position by the chimneys. She was closer to the edge, so she had a better view, but he leaned over her to peer down...

And opposite them was a shop whose windows were full of dresses. And suits. And hats.

He frowned. He knew that tailor's shop. One of the fanciest in town—sold outfits to merchers, kingpins and Barrel bosses alike. Tante Heleen's finest came from those doors; the merchers conducted... merchering in that shop's suits; even Per Haskell owned a flamboyant hat or two, and a fine burgundy waistcoat, from the good old days when he could fit it around his waist.

He'd visited that shop yesterday. That shop was situated directly opposite the building Rollins had made—

"We are on the roof," he said quietly, "of the Kaelish Prince!?"

"Yes."

"This spot would've been so nice to know about this time yesterday."

She shrugged, a little smile playing around her lips. "Kaz doesn't know all my secrets, as much as he may like to think he does."

"Evidently." He gave her an appreciative look. "He should've asked you to go with him, yesterday."

"It's fine that he didn't. I'm sure he had a reason. He always does."

Yes. That he did. "Why are you so loyal to him?" Jesper had to ask.

"He paid off my debt at the Menagerie. I owe him a lot of money."

Jesper glanced down at her scarred forearm—where the feather tattoo had once been, and where the crow and cup tattoo sat on his arm. He'd never understood why Kaz didn't make her take on their tattoo once her old one was removed; he supposed it was one of those strange acts of generosity that sometimes seized him. Whenever they came up, before Jesper realised what exactly his ulterior motive was, Jesper usually got the urge to ask if he had a fever.

"Yes, but..." He scowled. "You fuss over him. You care about him. Why? He's a podge; we both know that."

"He is."

"He doesn't deserve you."

She smiled at him. "He doesn't deserve you either, Jesper. You worry about and look up to him as much as I do."

Jesper suddenly found it difficult to meet her gaze.

"I'm just good with guns."

"You're great with guns. But the fact you dragged your sorry guns up here with me proves you're an even better friend."

He didn't know how to take that, so he just shot her an awkward grin and they fell silent.

"How long did you spend scouting out this place yesterday?" Inej asked.

"Far too long, now that I know this was here the whole time. The Kaelish Prince just opened up, how long have you known this place was here?"

Inej shrugged. "Since we heard that Rollins was buying up the place," she said. "I figured it would be something we'd want to spy on."

He laughed—loudly, at first, then more lowly when she shushed him. "You—"

She shushed him again.

"What—"

Then he shut his mouth.

There were voices.

"This chimney overlooks several of the private parlours Rollins uses for the higher class pigeons," she murmured. "There should be interesting discussions going on in there—can you hear..."

He could.

Two... Dime Lions, he was pretty sure they were, judging by the way they spoke; they were certainly some of Rollins's gang members, even if he didn't recognise their individual voices, but he did recognise what they were talking about.

"Did the merchers leave anything in here when they were here?" one grunted—a woman, by the sounds of it. Something rattled—it sounded like a curtain on its rail; he betted they were sweeping the windowsills and crannies of the room for lingerers human and valuable. "I liked the look of them watches—"

"We gotta tell Pekka if they did. You know he don't want to piss off the merchant council. They'd be out for 'is neck."

"You take the fun out of everything," one of them moaned, and the other one laughed. There was an oomph; Jesper assumed he'd swatted his companion. "Ow!"

"Get to work on that there carpet, brush up all the shit they left behind. This is important."

"I got that, when the merchers showed up on the doorstep. What're they doin' here?"

Jesper and Inej exchanged a look. Multiple members of the merchant's council, visiting a new pleasure and gambling house on East Stave? It wasn't unheard of for any of them to visit this part of town—except maybe Van Eck; the only spine that guy had was a pious stick shoved up his pious backside—but all together? At once?

He didn't like this.

"Pekka was putting on a show, of course." The man was started to get irritated from her constant questions, but Jesper hoped he indulged her further—hoped they kept talking—

"He's always putting on a show. What was this show?"

"Taking down the competition. He made some deal with Van Eck before; he already had an in with him. So now he's trying to make a deal with the whole council to bring—" A pause, so the sarcasm and drama in his delivery could be fully appreciated. "Industry and commerce, in the name of Ghezen."

The woman burst out laughing. Even Inej rolled her eyes, and Jesper tried not to be amused at all of it.

The man sounded miffed. "Yeah, well, they're cleaning up the rats. That kid he dragged in, them who was spying—had him arrested for murder, right in front of them. And it was just the beginning." A laugh. "The Lions already rule the city, but soon there won't even be competition."

Inej caught her breath.

She exchanged a look with Jesper.

"How'd you know that?"

"I was there. Dragged that bastard in myself—him with his cane, wriggled like a worm. That kid who thinks he runs the Dregs, got Fifth Harbour cleaned up for them, keeps trying on shoving us out of there."

Jesper froze. Inej looked like she wasn't sure her heart was beating anymore, though her face was utterly frozen in that expression, leaning in to listen better...

"Brekker?" The woman scoffed. "You sure? Brekker's a demon—"

"Looked like a kid to me. Spat like one, too. Right in Pekka's eye."

"What happened to him?"

"Hell if I know. Pekka probably tested out this new influence he's got with the merchers on him, got him locked up somewhere. Outta his way." There was a thumping noise, like he'd put down his broom to shrug, and splutter. "Now, get over into that fireplace, it's gotta look presentable..."

Their voices faded into an indistinct background noise. Jesper and Inej... sat there, for ages. They didn't leave the room for what must have been an age, until the next bell, when the fussing, cussing Lions ushered themselves out. Only then did Inej... lift her head again and look him dead in the eye, and that was when Jesper knew it was bad.

Jesper opened his mouth. "Locked up—"

Inej stuck a finger up, pinched her lips together and inclined her head further down the rooftop. He nodded, and followed, until they were farther away from the grates.

"Locked up," she confirmed, still in a hushed whisper. "I... why was Kaz spying on him? What did he want to know?" She looked genuinely perplexed. "What has he got himself into? And why?"

Jesper said nothing. Then he said, "That's a lot of questions."

"And we don't know the answers."

Jesper tried to smile. "I'm up for more climbing and eavesdropping if you are. I'm up for even a few break ins if you are." He thought the eyebrow waggle might be a bit much, but he did it anyway.

Inej did laugh at that, eyeing Jesper's outfit—still eye-catching—before she nodded with a grin.

"Jesper," she said lightly, though he could hear the strain in her voice, "I am always up for a few break ins."

*

In the end, it wasn't hard to figure out where they should be breaking in. Kerch was small, and the Merchant Council even smaller—and besides, Inej had not missed the name that that man had dropped when regaling the woman with all the juicy gossip.

Van Eck.

Jan Van Eck, of the long, timelessly esteemed Van Eck family, reaching back generations. Inej had tabs on him just as she had tabs on everyone important in that city—or rather, everyone important to Kaz's schemes.

Van Eck, an upstanding, pious businessman, who did not know honest work from dishonest work but worshipped Ghezen fanatically all the same. He had a son supposedly studying music in Belendt—a son who had actually left home and refused to answer his letters, hiding in the Dregs, protected by Kaz for a reason Inej could not fathom, though she didn't admit any of that to Jesper; that was Kaz's little secret to protect and use when he wanted to—and a wife slightly older than his son. She was pregnant. He lived on one of the fancier streets and had a beautiful garden that backed on a canal; his first wife, Wylan Van Eck's mother, had died of a mysterious illness several years ago.

He had been the one to pull the strings and... get Kaz locked up?

Do something to Kaz.

They needed to see his transactions. They needed to know what he'd done, who he'd paid, what he'd gained from it—and where he'd put Kaz.

And hope that it wasn't a grave six feet under.

Inej didn't stop. She barely blinked. She kept forging onwards.

Jesper jogged to catch up. At one point they shimmied down, off the rooftops, and were instead fording through the throngs of tourists along the Lid to get to the Zelver District, then through the throngs of people in general.

"Where are we going?" Jesper asked. His stride was long, but Inej was fast, and she noticed he was half-jogging to keep up.

"Van Eck's transactions are all handled by one man—well, he has a team of lawyers and accountants and legal yes men, but they're headed by one man, and that man has the files to everything."

"Ah," Jesper said. "And we're breaking into his home to see what legal actions he's taken recently to have Kaz condemned?"

"Yes." She hopped up onto a narrow, crumbling wall between the path and the canal; a stone slipped and her foot went out under her, but she caught herself and leapt back onto the pavement again without even veering towards the water. "And Cornelis Smeet will hopefully have answers hidden somewhere in the backlog of his office."

"So we're going to break into the house of some upstanding mercher's favourite lawyer and rob him plain as day? In the middle of the day? When do I get to start shooting."

Inej laughed. "I'm not a planner like Kaz. I'll get in, get the information, and get out. Then we can go find Kaz, and you can shoot at his captors to your heart's content."

"After Kaz has cracked them across the heads with his cane and decimated them first, I presume?"

"Of course. After that."

*

They returned to the Slat, then—there was no way Inej could hope to break in there without first scouting it out, and figuring how to get past those famous dogs of his, so they had to slink back with their tails between their legs and, honestly, no further clue where Kaz was. Inej avoided all of Per Haskell's questions pointedly. No, she didn't know where Kaz was. Yes, she had tried to find him. No, she hadn't found him. Yes, she was telling the truth.

Just not the whole truth.

She didn't tell him about the Pekka Rollins situation. Or the merchers. Haskell was soft. He was old school. He wouldn't want to pick a fight with those two big bosses, even if it was for his favoured lieutenant. And Inej wasn't going to risk him telling her to leave it alone and stop poking the beast.

So she just made empty promises to keep investigating the next day—there were debts to be paid and money to be made—and slipped back to her room again to feed the crows, pausing outside Kaz's office door.

There was no one in there, of course. But she glanced around, then glanced back out hurriedly—guiltily, almost.

Jesper saw her do it, but they just exchanged a look, a nod, and didn't elaborate from there.

*

"Kidnapping and killing a mercher's son?"

"Those are the charges."

"What— Kaz wouldn't—" Jesper stopped pacing—there wasn't much space to pace in Inej's cramped little room, but he made do—paused, then started again. "No, Kaz would." Inej shifted uncomfortably. "That was what they had on him?"

"That was what they claimed they had on him."

"Of course. It's probably nonsense—Kaz would do it, but he wouldn't get caught." He paused. "Would he?"

"He didn't." Inej gritted her teeth. "Van Eck's son never arrived at the music school in Belendt, and he's blaming Kaz for his disappearance."

"Poor kid. Poor soft little mercher's kid, if Kaz went after him."

"He didn't. Wylan Van Eck came to Kaz, trying to get away from his father."

Jesper froze.

Inej settled onto her windowsill, letting her legs swing underneath her, so she could look Jesper in the eye. "He just turned up in the Barrel one day, and Kaz wanted to know why. So he had you find the kid and convince him to join the Dregs."

Jesper's mouth dropped open. "Wylan? You mean that shy little kid—"

"Keep your voice down; everything leaks in the Slat. But yes."

"No way. That—" He paused. "That explains a lot, huh."

"About what?"

"Why he's so sheltered. Why—"

"You flirted with him?" Inej sat forwards, amused, and he laughed.

"Maybe I did."

"I heard you had a slight crush on him."

"An interest is more like it, thank you very much—"

Inej laughed—then sobered up rapidly. "But... yes. Van Eck had Kaz thrown in Hellgate for kidnapping and murdering Wylan."

Jesper's lips went wan. "You didn't mention Hellgate."

"I did!"

"You— never mind. Hellgate?" His hands ran lightly along the revolvers at his sides, twitching. "I... What. Poor Kaz."

"Don't say that to his face."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it. Maybe it's more like poor Hellgate."

"Yeah."

"So," Jesper said. "We go get Wylan. Dump him in front of the Council, to prove he wasn't murdered and kidnapped. Get Kaz out of there—"

He trailed off when he met Inej's eye; they shook their heads at the same time.

"They won't listen," she said. "If Pekka wanted Kaz in there, there was a reason, and there's no way two Barrel rats are going to be listened to. They'd just claim that we kidnapped Wylan, not matter what we got him to say on our behalf; they'd accuse us of threatening him. And Pekka would probably get us silenced as well."

"So what else can we do?"

Inej smiled. "We can break into Hellgate."

*

Inej was insane, but so was Jesper, so he supposed that was why he was following her.

Apparently breaking into Hellgate wasn't the death sentence that Jesper had always figured it would be. Inej had sat him down in Kaz's office, picked the lock on a few of his drawers, and pulled out...

First, a false bottom.

Then, another false bottom.

Then, a sheet of papers in neat, cramped Kerch, covered in spidery diagrams and annotations, currents and notes about guards rotations, names and bribery prices and potential secrets to threaten with, drawings and notations of the types of locks used at each door and padlock...

"What is this?" Jesper hissed. Inej held her finger up to her mouth, stuffed the meticulously flat pages in her pocket in a few neat folds, then slipped out of the window onto the rooftop.

Jesper sighed, but clambered out after her, trying not to think about how ungainly he probably looked, with his lanky limbs. At least here, they were high up enough that only the birds had a hope of seeing him.

Once they were onto the rooftop, Inej threw her legs over a peak and slid down it silently. Jesper followed—and noticed how the wind cut out here, the breeze dying to barely a stir. She pulled the sheets out, then, as well as a small pencil he hadn't seen her stick in her pocket, and crouched cross-legged in the cranny.

"Come down here, where we'll definitely be able to talk without anyone listening," Inej said. "Kaz has multiple plans for breaking into Hellgate—though, as far as I know, none for breaking out."

"He was prioritising the wrong thing."

"Or that was something I never found out. It's possible he has them, just hidden elsewhere."

Jesper gave her a look. "You mean he didn't tell you?"

She shrugged. "I spied on him, that was how I found them."

"You spied on Kaz Brekker—"

"You can't train a falcon then expect it not to hunt," she shot back, though not without a grin.

"How many secrets of Kaz's do you know just because he didn't trust you not to find them out anyway?"

"Probably far more than he's comfortable with."

Jesper laughed loudly. "I don't think he's comfortable with any of them."

"Exactly. Now," she'd turned back to the plans. "Nina Zenik, from the White Rose, has been wanting Kaz to help her get a friend of hers out of Hellgate."

"There's no way he'd do that."

"No, not at all, and he hasn't—but he has the plans for it if he needs to. I'm sure a big, strong Fjerdan will come in useful for a plan of his one day, and when he does, Kaz will help."

"He's such a bastard."

"He is." She took the [pencil] and circled the blueprints to Hellgate, looking at it from a bird's eye view and squinting. "But he's a prepared bastard, and that's gonna be useful for us."

They'd stayed up there for ages, flicking through his multiple plans of attack and adapting it to fit their... specific talents. The one time Inej brought up going to Per Haskell to get some backup, Jesper shot her down.

"No," he said. "He... you know he won't pick a fight with Pekka over Kaz. Especially won't break into Hellgate for Kaz."

Inej frowned, but said nothing—just nodded.

Once they had the plan, they looked at each other.

"Kaz came up with the plan that's gonna bust him out," Jesper observed passively.

Inej snorted. "Of course he did."

*

In actuality, their plan wasn't nearly as refined or put together as Kaz's would've been. It was based off of an early draft and even then, cut back for convenience; if it worked, it would be a miracle, and everyone in the Barrel knew that miracles were scarce.

But Inej and Jesper went out to get their allies and get their supplies nonetheless.

Inej dropped by the White Rose that afternoon, standing waiting in the parlour before Nina's latest client—Van Aakster came out. Inej took note of him, then dismissed him. After that, she slipped right in before anyone else could.

"I'm on my break now, madam, I'm afraid— oh." Nina's sickly sweet spiel turned into something coarser and more genuine when she set eyes on Inej. "It's you."

"It's me," Inej agreed, leaning against the wall and shutting the door behind her with one smooth motion of her foot. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"And I haven't seen you, Brekker's been running us both ragged. Which means you must be here on his behalf. What does he want me for?"

"I'm not here on his orders—"

"Great, then do you want to get waffles? I don't have another client for a few hours."

Inej paused. "Waffles sounds nice," she said, smiling. "But first: how do you feel about breaking into Hellgate?"

Nina blinked.

Then she stared.

Then she bent over double in a mighty guffaw, grinning, and clapped her hands. "I'm in. You know I'm in." The relief in her voice was subtle, but there—like a bowstring that had been drawn tighter and tighter and tighter for months had finally been released. "So long as we rescue—"

"Of course." Nina didn't flinch at Inej's promise, or even the fact that Inej knew about Matthias in the first place. "But there is someone else to rescue too, and I get the feeling this is going to be entertaining."

"We're rescuing Dirtyhands himself, then? What trouble did he get himself into this time?"

"More trouble," Inej said, "than I suspect Haskell will want to deal with."

Nina froze. "You haven't told him?"

"If I don't tell him, he can't explicitly order me not to."

"Inej Ghafa, I like the way you're thinking." She was concerned—Inej understood that; so was she—but it was drowned out by the blaring relief. Kaz's plan, counting on the fact that Nina would be there, would want to rescue Helvar, was turning out to be useful. "Now, let's go get waffles, and I can hear all about this place you're coming up with."

"It's Kaz's plan. Jesper helped me adapt it."

"Jesper's coming? I like it already."

*

Jesper had grown fond of rooftops, no matter the difficulty getting onto them. He let his legs dangle as he waited for Inej to track back to the Slat with Nina in tow; when he saw their silhouettes coming from ages away—his sharpshooter's sights were useful in more ways that one—he shimmied down and hit the stairs of the Slat, jogging down to the ground floor to meet them. Muzzen was hanging around on the other side of the canal for them, the sun was setting and the night was spreading its obsidian wings over the city, so it was just Jesper and his supply of Kaz's many Komedie Brute costumes they were waiting for. They'd convene, scatter the resources to where they needed to be, then meet up at midnight.

But on the way down, with his arms full of boxes and his guns slapping against his waist, he ran into someone.

Wylan Van Eck glared at him. "Watch where you're going."

"It's a bit hard, fancypants, can't you see I'm carrying stuff?"

Wylan just huffed and grumbled something unintelligible. Usually Jesper would push it, tease some more, but... he paused. Studied him closely.

He'd always thought Wylan, with his gleaming rosy curls and button nose, wide eyes and delicate, clever hands, looked like a prince out of a fairy tale. The truth was... well, as close to that image as anyone from Kerch could be: he was a mercher's son.

It explained everything, and kicked up more questions than a horse kicked up dust in the fields at home.

What was Wylan doing, slumming it with them?

Merchers weren't nearly as glamorous as fairy tales made princes out to be, but their life styles certainly were.

"What?" Wylan snapped.

Jesper shrugged. "Just admiring your beautiful face."

Wylan glared, and hurried off.

Jesper headed down, and then they were outside and the time had come.

*

Inej had reached Terrenjel by the time they arrived so she watched them come, in the dead of night, the lanterns on the boats from Fifth Harbour bobbing like small moons over the waves. Nina stepped out first, veiled in blue in the image of the Lost Bride, while Jesper's Mister Crimson mask was one of the more hideous things Inej had ever seen, in the eerie mist and lighting of the night. Muzzen came last, sporting another Mister Crimson outfit—no one could ever accuse the Dregs of being original when it was unnecessary.

They hit the shore and she slipped in next to them, squeezing Nina's hand first. Jesper jumped, but immediately clocked who she was, in her Grey Imp image, and gave her an acknowledging nod; then they were scurrying onwards, and paying the Dime Lion who stood watch.

Inej... really wasn't happy, come to think of it, that the Dime Lions ran the Hellshow when she knew it was Pekka who'd got Kaz tossed into here in the first place, but that didn't matter. She'd bribed the right guard with the right secret to get him to pass a message to Kaz, in code, so Kaz ought to know that they were coming that day. He knew what to do.

So she stood there, and pretended her trembling under the Lion's gaze was from excitement and not dread, as he led them down and down and down into the winding staircase that led to the old prison.

Nina's hand constricted on hers the farther they went; there were no railings on these stairs, and everyone was jostling around them like it was the Lid at early light. The homely scent of cleaning liquids and... well, dedicated scrubbing, gave way to the inevitable stench of mildew, sweat, and unwashed bodies dwelling in their own waste. And the farther they descended, the louder the chanting got, until it was less a pounding and more a roaring; less like water, more like fire.

Then they emerged there, and Nina gasped next to her, the room packed with people. Inej's eyes stung from the assault of colour; her ears stung from the assault of sound. She could taste sweat on the air. Komedie Brute costumes abounded and bumped into each other, the strange lighting and otherworldliness of the room making them seem to change size and colour, as though they were peering through a kaleidoscope. Jewellery and silver zips and adornments flashed gold, like sparks, as they reflected the braziers; everything seemed to glitter.

But, as much as she could appreciate the strange beauty and ugliness of the room, Inej let her gaze be drawn to the important parts: the exit, where the crowd was thickest, and the wheel up ahead—and the men who stood beside it.

The person running the fight, a young man in a filthy, shredded lion skin cape, spun the massive wheel. The red needle clicked, clacked, clicked, clacked, clicked—

And landed on boar.

The man standing in chains—a very young man, barely older than Kaz—sagged in relief. Or perhaps that wasn't the best word for it. But he did not look quite so terrified as the lion skin man stepped forwards to unlock his shackles, and then—

There was a pounding, a grunting, a sort of groaning, and the boar thundered out of the gaping corridor that led to the animals' cages.

Inej... didn't really watch as the young man ran at it with his bare hands, something like desperation, something that certainly wasn't sanity, contorting his face. She was glad not to watch when she heard him screaming.

She just turned to Jesper and murmured, "Let's go."

He nodded back at her. She grinned.

When she looked back at the stage, the young man was nowhere to be seen, but his blood certainly was.

"Next!" the lion skin man bellowed.

The next person was brought out. And there, as they'd planned, was Kaz.

Inej hadn't seen him in... two days now, or just over. It wasn't a long time, and the differences weren't prominent, but they were there. His hair, already odd, looked like the nests of the crows he was so fond of; outside of his usual sleek, professional-looking outfits, he appeared... rougher, younger; and there was a long cut across his right cheek, now closed, which caked half his face in an unpleasant mix of brown and red.

He stepped out of the shadows like a ghost—like a wraith, a figure in black and white. There weren't many people in the crowd, it seemed, who knew that the boy in front of them was one of the darkest, brightest minds in the city, but the Dime Lions certainly did; they were snickering and pointing at him, and how he was brought so low.

He ignored them.

His gaze scanned the crowd—idly, it seemed, but when Inej skirted around in her Grey Imp costume to get a better vantage point, he locked onto the way she moved... and he smiled, ever so slightly. She couldn't help but smile back, with the same sort of wickedness to it.

The lion skin man shouted, and reach up an arm to spin the wheel against. The needle skittered around the wood and Inej watched with far more attention this time—if all went well, the outcome wouldn't matter, but when did things go well?

The wheel slowed. The needle scraped past the bear, the wolf, the snakes... and landed on the rinca moten.

She sucked in a breath.

The desert lizard.

Great. She couldn't wait to have to deal with that on the loose.

Almost time. Almost time...

She circled around again, nearer to Nina and Muzzen, to nearer the exit back into the prison. She stopped just behind Muzzen, and he slipped off his Mister Crimson cloak to reveal a guard's uniform underneath.

The guards stepped forwards, to directly in front of Kaz, to unlock his shackles.

Nina flexed her fingers, gaze fixed on the nearest guard, and narrowed her eyes.

"How down?" she whispered.

"Shut eye," Inej murmured back.

The guard went down.

Just as all hell broke loose.

There was the screech of dozens of cages and the roars and hisses of far too many animals; Inej turned away from where Muzzen had plopped his mask on top of the guard, swept him up in his cloak, to fix her gaze on the lizard lumbering towards Kaz. Bears and boars rampaged around it, the guards were screaming, but Kaz was staring this thing down like it was a city guard who thought they could push him around—

It hissed and hit; he threw himself to the side as much as possible, limping heavily. It suddenly hit Inej that she didn't know where his cane was—hopefully he'd left it at the Slat before he went spying on Pekka because otherwise—

The lizard lashed out again and this time Kaz toppled over in his attempts to get back, still glaring warily. He scrambled to get back to his feet as the lizard stalked forwards, venom dripping from bared teeth—

Inej ditched her costume. The cloak flowed behind her like smoke.

Then she leapt over Kaz's head, onto the lizard's back, and cut its throat.

"Inej," Kaz greeted in his gravelly voice.

She rolled her eyes, wiping the lizard's blood on her trousers. "You're welcome, Kaz." She glanced back at the others—Nina and Muzzen had vanished into the depths of the prison, presumably to find Helvar, though that was something she wouldn't tell Kaz about just yet. Jesper was standing by the downed guard, already taking his costume back, and brandishing that thing like a flag. It was a good thing the Hellshow didn't use bulls. "Get over here."

He followed her eyes to see Jesper, who paused awkwardly at the intensity of Kaz's gaze, of his analysis and judgement. He even waved.

Kaz limped over to them. Inej followed, silent as a summer wind, knowing better than to offer him support.

"You have bastardised my plan," he rasped.

Jesper gave him a look as carnage rained around them. "You're welcome, bastard," he drawled back.

*

There were five of them. In one room.

Nina was stubbornly not looking at Matthias, despite the fact she was stealing a few glances here and there, while Matthias glared at her constantly. Wylan was collapsed in a corner opposite them, looking baffled as to why Kaz had decided to throw them all in there.

Inej and Jesper—Inej perched on the arm of a sofa, Jesper sitting on the sofa itself—sat near to them and exchanged odd looks.

There was a thumping, a specific gait that they all knew too well, and the door burst open to admit Kaz, back to cutting his normal, intimidating profile with a coat and his cane, his coffee-dark eyes staring around at them. Jesper noticed that they softened slightly when they landed on Inej, and didn't harden until after they'd moved away from Jesper. He didn't know what to think about that.

Inej spoke up first. "So you recovered your cane after all?"

"I'm not foolish enough to take it with me when I go scouting an enemy boss, Inej." His voice was grating, like he found the question so obvious it was annoying. Inej and Jesper exchanged looks—again. "But yes."

"And the old man didn't kill you too badly for getting captured?"

"He's never happy—"

"What an understatement."

"—but he's more interested in the proposition I have for him—what I found out from Rollins."

Inej pursed her lips. "If it was this important, why did you go scouting alone? I'm always going to have a better chance at discovering the truth than you are."

Kaz just said, "It's personal with Rollins," and left it at that.

He wasn't going to explain himself. Of course he wasn't.

"There's a Grisha Fabrikator named Bo Yul-Bayur in Fjerda," Kaz announced. "He's Shu, and has developed a drug—jurda parem—that is meant to be used on Grisha. It makes them capable of feats unknown to man, miracles worthy of saints"—Kaz glanced at Inej with humour; Inej rolled her eyes and shook her head—"and he's been captured by Fjerdan authorities, who want to use it."

"Why?" Nina snapped. Her attention had been piqued the moment he said Grisha, and... Jesper wouldn't admit it, but his had been too, when he'd said Fabrikator. "Why would they want to help Grisha?"

"They don't. The drug is highly addictive and essentially makes the Grisha slaves. The Fjerdans want to see if they can turn what they view as heresy to their advantage—to serve them in battle."

Helvar looked furious. "That would never happen. The drüskelle—Brum would never—"

"Jarl Brum is dead, isn't he? He's not calling the shots anymore. And the drüskelle are helping keep Yul-Bayur captive."

Matthias looked ready to object again, Nina looked like she'd make their hearts burst accidentally if she became any more stressed by the truths Kaz was dropping like dead flies.

Inej cut through the tension to ask, "And why," she narrowed her eyes, "do you care?"

Kaz slashed his gaze to her. "Because, darling Inej, the Merchant Council is offered thirty million kruge to anyone who can break into the Ice Court and bring Yul-Bayur back to Kerch. If jurda parem is unleashed on the world, it'll be chaos. The stock markets will collapse. The economic state of the world as we know it would be changed forever." He tutted. "You know they can't have that."

"And why are we here?" Wylan finally had the courage to pipe up. Jesper shot him an impressed look, and all he got in return was a dirty one. Rude.

Kaz said, "Because, Wylan Van Eck, your father has forged an alliance with Pekka Rollins and hired him to send a team north to break Yul-Bayur out himself. And we're going to go after them, and we're going to get there first."

Matthias looked like someone had smacked him, repeatedly, in the face with a fish. Nina was staring at Wylan with raised eyebrows.

"Haskell gets twenty percent of the cut," Kaz said. "Everyone else gets four million kruge, each."

Jesper glanced around. A gunslinger, a spider, a Heartrender, a demolitions kid who could double as a hostage, and a Fjerdan who'd know his way around.

And Kaz.

The most important part.

"Think on it," Kaz said callously. "I'm not going to force you to say yes." But he gave Matthias a pointed look—Jesper suddenly remembered that the two had conversed, briefly, beforehand. He wondered what he'd offered him.

Kaz turned to leave, but suddenly Jesper was filled with an urge, the need to say something, and he opened his mouth— "Kaz."

Kaz turned back, expectant.

Jesper looked at him, equally expectant.

Kaz's gaze slid to Inej, then back to Jesper, sitting so close and looking at him with just as much weight.

His hand constricted on the head of his cane. He was wearing gloves, as always—and suddenly, Jesper remembered that Kaz had not been wearing gloves in Hellgate. He wondered what that meant.

Kaz turned back to leave the room. The door slammed; the clack, clack, clack of his cane faded down the stairs.

Jesper heard Inej sigh, but all he did was clench his jaw, stand up himself, and leave the room too.

Unlike Kaz, he headed up.

*

"Have I converted you to the rooftops?" Inej called out teasingly.

Jesper turned his head to grin at her from where he was perched on the edge of the roof of the Slat, legs swinging out over the drop below, thumping against the walls. Inej slipped down next to him, close enough to bump shoulders, as they watched the sun rise to the east over the university and financial districts, staining the skyline scarlet.

"Maybe you have. It's fun up here."

"It's peaceful. You're on your own and no one will come up here to bother you."

"Yeah." Jesper grinned down at the drop. "Also it's kind of exhilarating."

Inej laughed. "That too."

They sat in silence for a moment more. Inej was very aware of her friend's solid, warm weight at her side, the garish colours of his favoured clothing too familiar to be jarring, now, and the way his guns clicked lightly against her sheathed knives.

"Ready to go to Fjerda?" Jesper asked her.

"I'm not looking forward to it. This sounds like a suicide plan."

"But we'll go anyway." He wrinkled his nose. "Despite the fact that none of us particularly like the cold."

"We'll be able to compare Kerch's wet cold to Fjerda's frozen cold."

"Both will be disgusting, I'm sure."

"You'll be stuck on a boat for two weeks with Wylan."

Jesper raised an eyebrow. "Still can't believe he's actual mercher material. Well, no, I can believe it—it fits. But it's strange."

"It's strange that the person Nina's been fighting for the last year to save is a Fjerdan who more than anything wants her dead."

"Should we have left them in a room together?"

"Nina can handle herself."

"I know. I'm worried about the Fjerdan." He wrinkled his nose. "And Wylan."

"I'm sure Wylan has the sense to leave the room while he still can."

"For now. As you said, we're going to be stuck on a boat with them. For weeks."

Inej watched him. "You don't like boats?"

"Not at all."

“I haven’t had the best experiences with them on the sea,” she confessed. “Though canal boats are fine.”

He looked back at her, then, and the sunlight shone gold on his face. "Then why are we doing this? What's in it for us?"

Inej sighed. "Four million kruge." Jesper had just raised his eyebrows and nodded his agreement appreciatively when she added: "And the hope that we'll make Kaz proud."

Jesper let out a snort. "Has he thanked us for saving him yet?"

"No, not yet. And I wouldn't hold my breath for it."

"What a bastard. Want to help me annoy the hell out of him on the journey there?"

"Don't you already do that?"

He punched her in the shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I'm in. He deserves it."

"He'll kill us, but he deserves it."

"No, he won't," she said—a little too solemnly, she thought. The wind stirred the strands of hair in her plait and tugged at them like a child playing with string. "He needs us."

"He'll die before he admits it."

"But he needs us anyway. And we'll mourn him if he does."

"No mourners," Jesper said.

Inej said back, "No funerals," and dwelled on it.

The idea was that in Ketterdam, people got left behind. There were too many tragedies on a daily basis, too much pain and suffering, and too many people oblivious or uncaring to it. If you were shot or stabbed or slaughtered, no one would be around to scream. If you vanished into thin air... no one would notice your absence; no one would miss you.

Inej thought that maybe—maybe—that wasn't quite true.

"Kaz is who he is. He's not going to be changing any time soon," she said.

Jesper scoffed. "He's not going to be changing at all."

"I'll take that bet."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She turned back towards the rising sun, tilting her head back to let the rays touch it, closing her eyes. "If being forced to work in such close quarters to us for so long on this trip doesn't lead to some noticeable change in him, I'll take you out for waffles. And if it does, you take me out."

"Deal." They clapped and clasped their hands together, gripping them tightly. "That's even a gamble I'd be glad to lose."

[starjeno]

destined | l.mh | 3

genre: fluff | soulmate!au, genderswap!au pairing: student!mark x female!reader warnings: bad words? word count: 1973 summary: it’s a fact of life that soulmates swap bodies. when mark wakes up in a bed that isn’t his, he’s delighted. you, on the other hand, absolutely despise it. a/n: filler chapter, sorry! and i know it’s been a while since i’ve posted. also, i gave the roommate a name finally. 

the sunset filtering through your curtains fills the room with hazy light. it’s soft and golden and comforting, but it does little to placate your roommate. her arms remain crossed over her chest as you pace by the mini-fridge nervously, waiting for this interrogation to end.

“okay, but what did yuta say?” she’s already somehow familiarized herself with the names of the people involved, and while it took some time for her to get used to your new appearance, she currently seems to have grown accustomed to it. you groan, “i told you, yuta likes this whole thing. he just ignored me and then said that i should take mark into consideration.”

“why can’t mark take you into consideration instead?” she retorts. you huff, “i told you this too! mark also thinks i like this whole thing!”

“well? do you?”

you can’t help the hesitation that bubbles up in your throat when you think about the events of earlier. the rapid beating of your heart and the heat in the tips of your ears and the strange familiarity that accompanied each of mark’s words — he felt like a missing puzzle piece, like someone you loved in a past life, and you didn’t like how you unconsciously gravitated towards him as he spoke. 

then again, you only saw him for a few hours, so maybe you’re overexaggerating. you shake your head firmly, “i don’t! you know that! i don’t want any of this!”

she gives you an unplaceable look, her eyes filled with contemplation, before groaning and sitting up, “let’s go out to eat. you’ve had a rough day.”

“you’ll pay?”

“yeah,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair, “i don’t want you to confuse the cashier with your credit card info. let’s get out of here.”

it’s a blessing that your roommate has kun. she’s accumulated enough of his clothing that your new body has a decent selection to choose from. though the clothes all fit loosely, you figure tucking your dress shirt into your pants and looping a belt tightly through should make sure your outfit is secure. she stands in the doorway as she watches you change, blushing feverishly when she associates your initial meeting with yuta with the boxers that now hug you snugly. 

“where do you feel like eating?” 

you hum in thought as you grab a cap, “honestly? kun’s place. he makes such good food.”

she rolls her eyes before dialing her boyfriend’s number on the phone. it rings for a few seconds until the line clicks and you hear a deep voice fill the speaker, “what’s up? you only call at this time when you’re hungry. or horny. or both. please don’t be both.”

“uh, just hungry. also, ____ and i have something we should tell you,” she mumbles, “i’ll be over in five.”

she hangs up before looking over to me and sighing, "i'll do your hair."

as you sit down in front of a mirror and watch your roommate squeeze out a frightening amount of gel onto her palm, you can't help but think about mark again. it's hard not to since his face is the reflection and it shines with a bright optimism that you currently lack. you attempt a half-hearted smile to make his features seem pleasant; it feels wrong when his face frowns.

meanwhile, the girl behind the chair slicks your hair in a neat quiff, sparing a few strands to fall onto your forehead casually. you look handsome, and you're somewhat pleased that kun's first impression of your soulmate will be great on terms of looks.

not that you cared particularly. you don't. you aren't even sure you know what a mark is, much less feel as if others should approve of him.

"there, let's go," she hums, wiping her hands off with a towel and spritzing some floral scent on the two of you before walking out. you follow reluctantly.

kun's apartment is cute and filled with small plants that are groomed to perfection. little canvases with a dramatic ink strokes line the walls above the television and couches, and pens are littered in the corners of every room. there's even a pen tucked into the pocket of the man himself, who is still in the ironed dress shirt he went to work in.

his smile radiates as the two of you walk into the hall, but you can sense the air tension rise, “mina and . . . a friend?”

“ha ha, very funny, kun. you won’t believe who this is,” your roommate grins as you two sit down. kun pauses for a bit before backing into his kitchen, grabbing a spare pan to add on top of the stove, thinking, “uh, a cousin? your long-lost brother? i thought ____ was coming over.”

“exactly,” she huffs before motioning over to you, “meet mark, or better known as ____ in mark’s body.”

kun gasps and points the pan at you accusingly, laughter lacing his voice, “oh my god, you fucking swapped?”

you grin and place a hand to drag the pot down, “i know, it’s crazy.”

“at least he’s cute,” the dimpled boy chuckles, sighing in disbelief. he definitely knew you well.

“agreed,” you smile a bit and your roommate shoots you a short-lived glare before looking at kun, “so we came here to destress from such a horrific event by eating your food.”

“that sounds like a plan . . . ,” he muses, a small smile growing on his face as he takes out cooking oil, “you guys can just chill, and i’ll have something cooked up in ten.”

as soon as you pull your phone out, a notification slides onto a screen. you bite your lip as the social messaging app displays the message of a new follower, and when you hold down for more details, you instantly recognize the handle.

mark. he must've searched you up, and if he's managed to follow you on here, he's probably found all your socials by now. as if on cue, you see three more notifs slide gracefully on your phone, beaming with a new friend request. you aren’t sure if you’re happy or annoyed, or a bit of both, but you hold down and open the app to find a new direct message awaiting your approval.

mark1ee (online): hi! sorry if this is creepy but i figured we’re friends now, so...

good lord. you bite your lips to keep from laughing at his shyness, finding it adorable, and avert your eyes from your phone. mina glares at you quizzically, raising a brow as if to ask what you’re amused at, but you simply shake your head emphatically and begin to type back.

you: how’d you know my last name? there’s probably more than one ____ out there. mark1ee is typing . . .

"here, some cheesy ass lasagna. i put, like, five different kinds of cheese in there, or just whatever was in my fridge.” kun slides two plates to you and your roommate and grabs the nearest chair to sit. he looks at you as you tentatively poke at the stuffing, “i didn’t poison it, you know.”

“shut up, i’m critiquing it!” you laugh as you place a food-filled fork in your mouth, smiling at the instant flavor, “whoa, i forgot how good you are at this.”

he lowers his brows as he smiles, “you mean you forgot my job is in the culinary arts?” 

you face downwards as kun strikes up a conversation with your roommate and glance at the notification on your phone. it doesn’t take a moment of hesitation for you to swipe and check mark’s message.

mark1ee (online): i checked the profile pictures. it would be a lot easier to make sure i’m contacting the right person if i had your number ;) you: how smooth. how do i know this is the mark i met earlier today? mark1ee (online): already asking for pics? damn. mark1ee sent a photo mark1ee (online): i forgot that it’s basically just a pic of you lmao :/ now pls send #

you snort and look up to find your roommate and kun staring at you intently. you wave your hand dismissively, "funny meme, sorry."

they give you a strange look before resuming the conversation, and you hide your phone under your leg before digging into the meal before you.

"so, what's going on?"

at the question, yuta sighs as mark walks in, his hand rubbing a towel through his wet hair, "winwin is coming back early. a week early."

"are you not excited?" mark quips. the older male tiredly grins, "i'm excited, believe me. but i'm worried that i won't pay enough attention to your switch."

mark frowns, the wrinkles ruining the feminine face, "i'll be fine. she just sent me her number!"

he takes a seat by yuta and faces the flatscreen in front, his glossy eyes reflecting the bright lights of the video game. yuta glances at his long lashes and soft brows for a moment before resuming the screen, "damn, good job. maybe you have enough game to survive without me."

"wha- fuck you! and you'll still be here!" mark laughs, picking up the other controller.

"i'm running away with winwin, by the way," yuta jokes. he lets mark join the round before pressing the buttons again, "now that you have her number, what are you going to do? ask her on a date?"

mark freezes. he hadn't even thought of what to do, and right now, yuta feels like a personal certified love guru. what a great fucking idea! before he could spend more time admiring yuta's genius, mark drops the controller and sends a new text to you, hoping for a stroke of luck.

he didn't really need luck though. he had literally found his soulmate that morning.

you: wanna go on a date? nctzn (online): how would i get clothes, doof? i'm wearing my roomie's bf's shit now :/ you: well, keep wearing them and i'll buy myself a dress? i don't care what you wear though, i'm not a great dresser.

mark is lying to his new form. he had always considered himself as someone with a good eye for outfits and color coordination. he sighs as the green dot by your profile that signifies your online presence fades away, and he figures he should probably find another way to pass the time while you’re offline. yuta waits expectantly, “well?”

“clothing’s an issue. and i don’t even know where i should take her,” mark grins, “it’s going to feel so weird, like going on a date with myself? trippy.”

“you’ll survive, it’s not like you’re ugly,” yuta sighs as he rolls his eyes with exasperation. mark doesn’t respond. he’s too preoccupied with the idea of you to even process yuta’s words. he’s never felt so giddy about a girl before — even his middle school crushes never got him feeling this jittery. conversation with you flowed so smoothly, and even mark knew how strange it was to feel this way after one conversation. 

he’s glad you reciprocate his feelings. everything’s he heard about soulmates seems to be true: you fit him well. mark knows he should be a little more hesitant, but this is finally a dream come true. you’re a dream come true. 

you: let’s go on a date tmrw then? nctzn (online): ok why not

mark glances up at the bright orange sky. the sun has only just started to set and the evening barely grazes the warm colors. are you just as happy as he is now? is your head filled with thoughts of him, the same way he can’t stop thinking about you?

mark’s pauses, not sure if he should dare to think his next question, but the idea floats in his head anyway and he turns pink with embarrassment.

yuta turns away, silent.

prev | masterlist | next

[neshabeingchildish]

Hensley & Char: Friends or Whatever || Part 2

@henryharts @junknstu1f  @just-a-j-reallly Thanks for reading/reviewing last time and here goes another...

 Buddy (in My) System

“I’ve gotten the best grades that I have ever gotten in my life working with you!” Hensley said.

“THAT’S because you have yet to do any of the work!” Charlotte complained. 

Jasper simply observed and Hensley scoffed many times, before asking Charlotte, “Well, would you prefer that I did my fair share of the work and bring down YOUR grades?” 

Charlotte opened her mouth to retort, but then shut it, out her hand on her hip, stared at Hensley and just shook her head in disappointment and disbelief at her. Hensley recoiled. She didn’t like this. This felt bad. It was like whenever her mom was about to ground her or something, and seeing Charlotte’s cute little face wrinkled in disdain, accompanied with this disapproving body language and the face, to boot. Hensley begged, “Please, never look at me like that again. I will TRY!” She promised. 

Charlotte took a deep breath and nodded her head once.

She and Hensley had been placed at project partners for the year. If there was partner work, Hensley was her partner, and if there was group work, she was in a group with Hensley and Jasper. 

This particular assignment, they were partners. Jasper’s partner was Chloe. The four of them were simply going to study together and do their work in their separate partnerships. “Why won’t the teacher let us switch?” Charlotte asked the skies.

“Rude!” Hensley said.

“I’d take JASPER over you!” Charlotte snapped.

“Really?” Jasper asked, excitedly. Hensley threw him a look. “No offense to Chloe or to you, but Charlotte’s the smartest kid in school. I’d love to change my B average!”

“You make A’s in Language Arts,” Hensley reminded him. 

“Yeah, I know, but like… I’m shooting for the A honor roll. My mom says if I can get on it, we can get a cat!” Jasper said. 

Charlotte was already setting up her workspace, at the coffee table in the Hart living room. Chloe wasn’t there yet. Charlotte suggested that she just ride along with them, but her mom didn’t want her getting into strangers’ cars… Charlotte was annoyed that her mom’s car was a “stranger’s car,” but fortunately, she wasn’t Char’s partner. Not my partner, not my problem… 

Hensley entertained, making snacks and jokes all of the study period. More than a few times, Chloe suggested that they ask the teacher if they could switch partners.  

Charlotte heard the beep of her cellphone and grabbed her things to go. "Bye, Charlotte!" They all cheered as she left. So, they DID realize that she was there. She left and went home and was finally able to work on the current project without all of the distractions. Or, so she thought.

Why was Hensley so disruptive and unfocused? Did she not care ONE BIT about any of the grades?? What if the teacher asked HER to present the information??? Charlotte gasped and began making note cards of EXACTLY what Hensley would need to say, if called upon to speak for the group. Maybe Charlotte would ask the teacher if she could partner up with Jasper for the rest of the year. His ideas were often super off and not very great, but he at least put his all into the assignments.

Hensley, on the other hand, was more concerned with getting laughs and attention and affection from Chloe. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Chloe wasn’t even that cute! Well, she was like cute in the - you could tell that she knew about trends and that she definitely cared more about her appearance and hygiene than some people did… but just physically, Charlotte didn’t see the appeal. 

She had little rodent teeth on the same face with bug eyes, and Charlotte wasn’t even drawn to her personality, so the attractiveness of her on any level - romantic, platonic, merely having to share the same space… it was nonexistent for Charlotte. She scolded herself for ragging on another girl’s looks and wondered if she hadn’t let some type of social programming prompt those thoughts. Chloe not being pretty to her specifically was not a reason for her not to understand someone else’s obsession with her. But, she couldn’t help but be aware that *blond* girls rarely had to have qualities.

Here she was, as fashionable as she believed that they came, hair game always strong, skin immaculately cared for, perfect teeth, and perfect GPA, and people overlooked her every single day. 

Being noticed wasn’t everything. In fact, her parents would tell her being noticed is a nonfactor. “Being accomplished is all that matters,” she had been hearing from her father since she was six and got 2nd place in her first competition. He didn’t feel like 2nd place was anything to be so proud of, because she “still wasn’t the best. I WAS SIX! Why does SHE have to be the best, but blond girls just have to wear a pretty outfit? ONCE AGAIN, she scolded herself.

It was a little unfair, if not slightly untrue, she guessed. She couldn’t say for sure. Statistically, she was probably right, but to sit there and research and study it - she would not. Besides, Hensley sort of muddied that idea. 

That girl wore a plaid shirt and jeans almost everyday, with an undershirt - usually something plain, barely cared about color scheme, didn’t even keep her sneaks fresh, and her hair, IF she did anything but wash it and 2 second comb through, she just threw it in a ponytail and let Chloe sort it out later, whenever the latter felt nervously embarrassed to see her friend with that mop all over her head.

But, that wasn’t really her fault. She’d let slip before to Charlotte, whenever it was the two of them, that she never learned how to do anything with her hair. Her mother, who was ALWAYS extremely pretty and put together never showed her or her younger sister how to make themselves presentable, and even Piper was learning to do it on her own. She was just better at it.

Despite that, Hensley had other charms. She was anxious, but caring. She could be self centered, but she stood up for what was right. She was infuriating to work with, but even Charlotte found it difficult not to laugh at her corny jokes. And now, she was nowhere around, and Charlotte STILL was infested with thoughts of her. BUT, maybe that expanded her original theory. Blond girls didn’t even have to wear a pretty outfit. “We’ll just take whatever blond the world throws at us, won’t we?” She shook her head and put her work away. 

.

Hensley waved at Jasper as he got into Chloe’s mom’s SUV. “It’s so nice of her to take him home. He usually has to walk. His parents never give him rides anywhere. Can’t be good for his sweating condition,” she babbled. 

Chloe smiled and shrugged, “He’s nice. I don’t mind helping out. Besides, he’s your best friend, so that means he’s a friend of mine. See you tomorrow!” She gave Hensley a kiss on the cheek and Hensley blushed, smiled and waved. 

Chloe always went along with Hensley's affectionate side, unlike Charlotte. Charlotte never even hugged her back. She just stood there, limp in her arms, looking at her like mistakes were made. It was intimidating and made Hensley be very alert and aware to try her best not to hug Charlotte much. It was sad, because hugging her was always nice for that moment that she forgot that Charlotte didn't like people just hugging her without warning. She was small and seemed to sorta fit into little spaces against Hensley's frame that usually didn't receive any contact. Plus, she smelled really good all of the time. Like coconuts and pineapples, or peaches, or bananas… something fruity and appealing. Sometimes honey.

Hensley wasn't sure why she was comparing Chloe and Charlotte. There was no comparison, really. She spent hours today trying to get Charlotte to crack a smile and take it easy for just a moment… all it seemed to do was make her more upset until Hensley just left her alone completely and hoped that she'd feel better tomorrow.

It was stressful being Charlotte's friend. She had zero others, but still acted like she didn't care to have the few that she did, and anytime Chloe was around, her irritation was heightened, though when Hensley asked her if there was a problem between them, Charlotte said that Chloe was Hensley's friend, so they didn't have to be all “buddy-buddy,” and she never even answered the question, really. Though, Hensley supposed that was the answer. Charlotte wasn’t even that buddy-buddy with her friends, so being any level of okay with others must’ve just been her way.

Still, Hensley was going to think about this randomly throughout the week… Why was it so hard for Charlotte to like her whenever everyone else clearly did?

On the way to school, Jasper said, “Hey, Hensley. Let’s stop here, I wanna get Charlotte a cupcake.”

Hensley followed him and wondered, “Why are we giving Charlotte a cupcake?”

Jasper answered with a face a tone that suggested that Hensley should know this information, “Because every time she has to do a presentation in class, she skips breakfast because public speaking makes her queasy. Then, her stomach growls until lunch because her parents have a rule about not putting food in her backpack and she follows their rules, even when they aren’t around.”

Hensley’s brown eyes went wide for a moment, then she laughed and nodded, “Right. Right. Of course, I knew that. I’m her best friend, after all.”

“Are… are you? Huh. I thought I was her best friend. Well, maybe we’re sharing,” Jasper said. “I didn’t even realize that she even liked you. You’re always upsetting her.”

“You think I upset Charlotte more than YOU do?” Hensley asked. “She punched you in the nipple just yesterday!”

Jasper held his chest with the memory of pain, “Yeah, but.. I’m sure that I’m the only person she ever actually touches on purpose. Even if it’s usually taking a swing at me for something. Wow. Charlotte’s kinda mean, huh?” He folded his arms and looked at the cupcake, contemplating eating it. “Maybe she’s the kind of girl who’s like my mom, and not the kind of girl like you.” He decided that his mom hurts him and still loves him, so Charlotte’s still his friend and he was gonna follow through with the cupcake. 

.

Charlotte gave the presentation, with Hensley cracking jokes here and there, feeding off of her energy and making the other kids laugh through what she was sure was going to be unbearably boring, otherwise. Charlotte didn’t mind, as long as all of the information was given and Hensley at least seemed to know something. Honestly, as long as the teacher didn’t ask follow up questions, because Hensley had put the cards into her back pocket and probably wouldn’t even be able to navigate them properly in the event of additional questions. Another A! And after class, Charlotte gave Hensley what she was sure that she wanted. 

“Hey, I talked to the teacher and for the rest of the year, you get to work with Chloe on partner projects and me and Jasper are gonna partner up now,” she announced, with the most cheer that Hensley had seen her exhibit probably EVER. Wow. She was really happy not to have to be her partner anymore. 

“Is this about the cupcake?” Hensley asked.

“No, but the cupcake sure was thoughtful!” She and Jasper left, talking and working out how they would do ride schedules and stuff whenever they were partners. 

“We usually go to Henley’s,” Jasper reminded her.

“Yeah, but we don’t have to anymore. That’ll cut down at least 80% of the distractions…”

“Whatever,” Hensley grumbled. 

The school year was almost over and Charlotte wasn’t going to see them for most of the summer. “I have a birthday party!” Jasper said, giving her an invitation.

“This is in July,” she said.

“That’s when my birthday is.”

“We’ll be out of school,” she said, tucking the invitation into her backpack.

“Will you be at space camp?”

“I don’t always go to space camp!” She snapped. She sighed and said, “This summer, I’m going on a geological excavation trip and a junior student council induction retreat.”

He smiled, unhappily, “It sounds like you’re making up things, now.”

She wasn’t. 

She spent her summer surrounded by kids who were a little more like her than Hensley and Jasper were, came home, relaxed a little bit, and went to Jasper’s party in July… It was… A mess. First off, his home was a nightmare, and also 15 people went to the hospital! She tried to warn people. 

“What kind of fish is in this sushi?” She asked Jasper.

“Oh, it’s turkey sushi,” he replied, coolly. 

She stared at it, sure that the meat inside of this was raw, and knowledgeable that turkey should not be eaten raw. Still, she confirmed, “So, your mom cooked some turkey and wrapped it up in sushi, because you don’t like actual sushi?”

He laughed, “Oh no, my mom didn’t do anything here. I planned and worked on everything myself. And you don’t cook sushi Charlotte.” He shook his head as though it was a silly thought… to cook the turkey that he was feeding to people. She told people that it was raw turkey in there and after the fourth person said, “Turkey sushi,” she decided that natural selection could tell them anything that they needed to know, at that point. 

But, something that she had forgotten about when she was gone resurfaced that day. She heard, “Char!” and felt herself being lifted into the air by a girl about a head taller (had she gotten a little taller this summer) and then a kiss, right on the tip of her forehead, where her hairline was. 

“Hen…” she said, less enthusiastic, but definitely amused. 

Hensley wore a “Birthday Bestie” t-shirt with tie dye and glitter and confetti. Jasper clearly made it for her and Charlotte was slightly offended that he hadn’t made her one, even though she had only really considered him a friend for like less than a year, and some cut off shorts. Hensley generally hated showing her legs. They were all scarred up from running around and playing recklessly AND they were skinny. But, she was wearing shorts today, because it was hot, and she also had her hair cut into a short style. She looked kind of like a boy, but she was much too much of a girl to look like a boy. “You look really good,” Charlotte said.

Hensley’s face brightened and she smiled wide and shrugged her shoulders, “You only think that because this haircut makes me look like a boy. All the girls that curved me before are saying that to me now.”

“The girls who did what?” Charlotte asked, then added, “Also, no. You look really good. The haircut works and it’s nice to see you in something festive and free…” Hensley simply smiled and after a while, Charlotte asked, “Wait… Did you just…?”

“Actually, right after school let out!” Hensley cheered. “Jasper helped me make the announcement on my social media.” She smiled shyly and looked at the ground, “I like girls…” 

Charlotte’s lip dropped, but in a happy surprised way and she actually was the one this time to reach out and hug Hensley. Hensley definitely grabbed her harder and held on tight. It wasn’t often that Charlotte Page started a hug. “I’m so proud of you, Hen! I didn’t know if you even knew, but the fact that you came out. That’s huge for people twice our age. At 11? That’s HUGE.” She let go and wondered, “Are you seeing anybody?” She folded her arms, trying not to look too awkward in asking this. She didn’t want Hensley to think that she was hitting on her, but she was genuinely curious about her friend’s big news.

“Nah. My mom says I’m too young to date, but when I turn 12, she’ll allow it,” Hensley cheered. 

“Did you cut your hair to…?” Charlotte didn’t know how to finish that question. 

“I let Piper cut it,” she said.

“Why do you always let that child get you into things?” Charlotte wondered.

“I DON’T KNOW! She always seems like she has every idea of what’s going on!”

“She’s a tiny person, Hensley!” Charlotte said. They both laughed and moments later, natural selection got activated. Kids started dropping left and right. A few just toppled over and held themselves. Charlotte shook her head, “I tried to tell them.”

“That turkey sushi is just raw turkey? Yeah, even I wasn’t dumb enough to eat that.” 

They walked home from the party together. Jasper’s parents kicked everyone out who wasn’t being rushed to the hospital for being violently ill. It was the first time that the two of them hung out without Jasper, and the first time they’d hung out in a while. It was cool. 

Hensley was grateful for Charlotte’s company. People were all being a little bit different with her all summer. Her dad was always trying to find gay activities that she might like, every time that he saw her. Girls were asking her, “Did you ever have a crush on me?” SOme of them were girls that she didn’t even know existed. And, Chloe sort of had been avoiding her, though whenever she saw her, the girl pretended like everything was fine. With Charlotte, everything WAS fine. She was treating Hensley like she always had. The same level of disdain for her habits. The same level of concern for things she maybe needed unsolicited advice for. She felt, at this point, all of the people who had chilled and laughed and played with her before were all sizing her up in various ways, but Charlotte? She was just… still her friend. “What?” Charlotte asked, annoyed, because Henlsey was staring at her. Same as always.

Hensley shrugged her shoulders, “I’m just glad that you’re back. I missed my best friend.” 

Charlotte fought a smile, but it happened and Hensley took great satisfaction in it. “Shut up,” Charlotte told her, but then added, “And tell me what else you and Jasper got up to this summer…”  

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Right-Side Up AU, Part Three: It’s the End of the World {AO3} {tumblr} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter One → The Theater

“Jane Eleanor Hopper!” Max pounded on the door. “If you and Mike are making out in there, I swear to God I’m gonna kill you!” 

El pulled away from her and Mike’s kiss, her hair hitting against her face as she sharply turned to face the door. “Uh-huh,” she called, as Mike giggled, “And how is that any of your business?” 

“You’ve been sucking face in there all day and we have to go!” 

El groaned and turned the radio up. “Never Surrender” was playing on the mixtape Jonathan had taught her how to slap together, and she wasn’t going to let Max ruin everything right now. 

“We’ve got, like, five minutes.” El shrugged. 

Mike laughed, pushing a curl behind his ear- his hair had started to get curly recently, which both he and El thought was the coolest thing they’d ever seen. “Five minutes.” he nodded. 

Max pounded on the door again. “El! El, the boys are gonna explode!” 

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” El called, and Mike happily helped her by holding out his hand and using his powers to turn the volume up even farther. El giggled, and then stared as Mike started to dramatically sing along, grabbing her hands and bouncing on the cot. 

He’d moved into a spare room in the Byers’ house until Nancy could get her temporary custody- even though she was eighteen now, it was apparently taking Owens a while to process the papers or some shit. Thankfully it wasn’t too hard on the Byers- Nancy had taken a job to help support Mike, even though Joyce tried multiple times to refuse her offers of money until Jonathan finally told her, “Mom, there’s no stopping Nancy, just let her take care of her little brother.” Jonathan and Nancy both got jobs at the Hawkins Post as interns, which seemed to be helping things a bit, even with the new mall driving away a lot of the customers at Joyce’s store- a lot of customers, really, so since Hopper was pretty busy breaking up riots and protests, the girls tended to spend all day with the Byers and the boys, which worked out perfect for them. 

The room wasn’t really all Mike’s yet- for his own safety, he rarely went into town, and he didn’t want to bother the Byers by asking for trinkets or decorations. But Will had helped him put some drawings and art on the wall, and he had a corkboard from Nancy that he used to hang pictures and scraps. His favorite books were piled at the end of the cot, and El had made sure to bring him extra blankets and books and stuffed animals that she could smuggle out to him or force on him during holidays. (For his part, he liked to give her little doodles or used books he thought she’d like, which was probably the most adorable thing in the world.) 

“Mike, Mike, stop!” El laughed as Mike continued singing and bouncing. 

“What?” He stopped, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t like it?” 

“No!” 

They heard what sounded like a kick from the door. “El, open it or I’m telling Hopper it wasn’t open three inches!” 

El groaned and turned the radio down. “Hell’s sake, Max, Dad can’t do shit about it!” 

“He and Nancy-” 

“What are they gonna do?” El called, as Mike leaned onto her shoulder, still laughing. “Split us up for a year again? Mike’s got freaking superpowers.” 

“So do these three very impatient boys who wanna see a damn movie! Card games aren’t gonna cut it forever!” 

Mike’s eyes widened. “They’re doing card games out there? El, can we do card games?” 

El leaned over, flicking the radio off. “Sounds like we better head to the theater. Guess we’ll just have to make out in the back row during the exciting bits.” 

“Is that allowed?” Mike asked, shocked that this was a possibility. “Isn’t it against the rules?” 

El grabbed his hand, helping him to his feet. “Something Max taught me, bud; I make my own rules. And speaking of Max, she’s gonna murder us.” 

“I’ll protect you.” Mike said, beaming. 

“We’re coming out!” El shouted at the door. 

“Finally!” Max groaned. “I’ll get the boys!” 

“We’re finally moving out, dorks!” Max said, opening the door to Will’s room. 

Will and the boys were spread out on the floor, three cards in the middle of their circle. Lucas cheered and started to get up, until Dustin said, “Wait, wait! One more!” 

“Come on, we finally got Mike and El to move!” Lucas said. 

“We’re almost done!” 

“Steve’s not gonna be on shift forever!” 

“Sure seems like it!” 

“Just hurry up.” Max groaned, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. 

Will nodded and turned to the cards. He pointed at the one in the center, and Dustin shut his eyes. “That’s…” he thought long and hard, and then said, “Ace of diamonds?” 

“Color?” Lucas asked. 

“Red, dipshit, diamonds are always red.” 

Will flipped over the card, and then he and Dustin cheered as they saw the solitary diamond on the front. 

“Three in a row!” Dustin chanted, and Will joined in after a second. “Three in a row! Three in a row! Three in a row!” 

“Great. We know you can predict playing cards.” Max smiled slightly. “Remind me to have you on my team for poker.” 

“What’s poker?” Lucas asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion. 

“Maybe I can show you later.” Max said, smirking at him. 

“Or you could tell me now.” 

Max took a deep breath, just as El and Mike came out, holding hands. “Alright, are we going or not?” El said. 

“Sure, lovebirds.” Max groaned. “Alright, team. Move out.” 

They turned into the hall, with El and Mike leaning on each others’ arms and giggling as they walked, and Will stuffing extra drawing paper into his jacket pocket, careful not to jostle his headphones- for if the theater got too loud- and Dustin and Lucas bickering over whose turn it was to take out the trash when they got home. 

“Hey, hey, wait!” As they passed the kitchen, Joyce stopped in the doorway, pushing her hair out of her face. “When are you getting back again?” 

“Won’t be later than Mike.” Max said, which caused Mike and Will to burst into laughter; lately, her and El had taken to referring to certain numbers as the boys’ names, which they thought was the funniest thing she’d ever done. “And it’s a safe movie, Ms Byers, I’ve seen it before.” 

“And you’ll stay together?” 

“Of course, Ms Byers.” El said. “Nobody’s getting lost.” 

“You don’t want a chaperone?” 

“Steve’ll be there.” Dustin said. 

“Steve’s nineteen and has never once won a fight.” 

“And I can throw things with my mind.” Mike reminded her. “And Lucas can use light as a projectile weapon.” 

“Boom!” Lucas said. 

Joyce sighed. “Okay. But if you need anything, I’m here, Jonathan and Nancy will be here in about an hour-” 

“We know all the numbers,” Will nodded, “And Hopper’s on duty.” 

“He’s not at that time of night, so you’ll have to either-” 

“Call home or use the walkie.” Lucas nodded. 

“We’ve got this covered, Mom.” Will grinned, giving her a quick hug. “This isn’t the first time we’ve gone out.” 

“I know, but…” Joyce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “The crowds keep getting bigger, and you’re not even supposed to be seen that much yet.” 

“We won’t be.” El assured her. “The bigger the crowd, the more we blend in. Now we gotta go, or Steve won’t be able to take us to the theater.” 

Joyce sighed. “Alright. You all have fun, okay?” 

“Got it, Ms Byers!” Max nodded, and she grabbed a surprised Lucas’s hand and dragged him towards the door. “Thank you!” 

“I don’t see why you don’t bring your own bike.” Lucas said as he chained their transportation to the bikerack, the way El had shown him. 

“Well, I ride with El, and then I can go with you on the way back.” Max shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s free bike rides.” 

“You can ride a bike, though.” 

“Lucas, sweetie,” El sighed, patting his shoulder, “She likes you.” 

“Max likes all of us.” 

“Jesus Christ, Lucas.” 

“Come on!” Dustin said, tapping his foot and gesturing at the people going inside. “We don’t wanna get split up in the crowd or your Dad and Will’s mom and Nancy are going to kill us!” 

“They won’t kill us.” Will said jovially, sliding his headphones on. “Just El and Max.” 

“I’d rather not die by the hand of an angry parent,” El said, “When I’ve survived goddamn demogorgons. Now, come on, let’s hurry it up.” 

They ran into the mall, grabbing hands and giggling as they pushed past crowds, ducking by people and trying to make their way to the ice cream shop on the lower level. People glared at them on occasion for pushing past or moving too fast, but they didn’t really care until El slid to a sudden stop, pushing the group back. 

“Oh, shit!” El had recognized a face. “I think she saw us!” 

“Who?” Lucas asked. 

“Into the store!” El pushed Mike through the door, and the boys quickly followed. El and Max linked arms, just as Karen Wheeler walked by, hand-in-hand with little Holly, who was holding a dripping ice cream cone. 

“Hello, girls.” Karen said warmly. 

“Hi, Ms Wheeler.” the girls said in unison. “How’s Nancy?” El asked. 

Karen smiled. “She’s fine. How are you?” 

“We’re good.” Max knelt down and waved at the little girl. “Hello, Holly.” She gestured to the ice cream. “Did you see Steve?” 

Holly shook her head. “Robin! She’s not as nice.” 

“Holly, be polite.” Karen chided. 

“You’re doing great at remembering names, Hol.” El complimented. “Max and I are just heading to the movies. You going?” 

“Oh, no, Holly and I are heading home. It’s getting late.” 

“Well, we’ll see you around!” El waved, hoping that wasn’t as obvious a plea for her to leave as it felt. Thankfully, Karen just waved and walked off with her youngest. 

Lucas stumbled out the door once Karen was gone and said, “That store’s weird, they just sell underwear.” 

“Shit.” Max opened the door, and saw with relief that the boys hadn’t wandered far. Dustin and Will walked by her, chatting about something, while Mike, his face quite blank, simply walked over to El and grabbed her hand. 

“Hey. Do you want to say hi?” El asked, glancing back at the disappearing Karen and Holly. 

Mike, refusing to look around, shook his head. “Not yet. I… I still don’t…” 

“It’s okay.” El squeezed his hand. “Not ready, I get it. Let’s go see that movie, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

After pushing their way down an escalator, they managed to duck into Scoops Ahoy, lit up with a bright fluorescence. The group rushed past the tables, ignoring the occasional glance from other customers, and Dustin ran to the counter and pounded on the bell, ignoring the fact that Robin was standing precisely half a foot from him. 

“Hey, dingus!” Robin called, rolling her eyes, “Your children are here!” 

Steve swung open the back window, saying, “Dustin, Lucas, how many times, you can’t be coming out this much, Will and Mike-” 

Robin started. “Wait, are they actually your kids?” 

“Long story.” Lucas said with a smile, as he grabbed Will’s hand and directed them towards their temporary guardian. 

“Thanks, Robin!” Dustin said cheerily as they ducked into the Staff Only room. 

Steve sighed and moved to the back, opening the back door that led to the maintenance hallways. As the children moved past him, he said, “We will talk about this!” 

“Okay!” Dustin shrugged. 

“And if anybody hears about this-!” 

“We’re dead!” all six of them replied. 

They walked a few feet, and then El pushed open the right door, gave a few quick glances, and said, “All clear!” 

They ran out into the hallway of the mall’s movie theater, and made a beeline for Day of the Dead. “This is way better than buying tickets.” Max grinned. 

“Is it?” asked Lucas, who hadn’t yet had the opportunity to buy a movie ticket. 

“Come on, it’ll be crowded!” El said, as she once again leaned onto Mike’s shoulder. “Do we wanna sit together or not?” 

“Not if you and Mike are gonna be gross!” 

El flipped her off as they raced in, ducking through the aisles and thankfully spotting six empty seats in the middle of a row. 

“Lucas, sit by me!” Max whispered, grabbing his hand. 

Lucas blinked. “Um, okay. Why?” 

“Because I like sitting by you, you’re fun!” 

“So are Will and Dustin-?” 

“Is he serious?” El asked Mike, as they carefully made their way past the other people seated in the row. 

“Lucas is always serious.” Mike informed her. 

“We’ve been dating for six months, he’s gotta pick up on crushes by now.” 

“Not likely.” Mike giggled. 

They found their seats, and Max unfortunately found herself next to Mike and El. She groaned and turned to Lucas, whispering something about how they were gonna be gross the whole time, while Will sat beside Lucas and pulled his headphones down slightly. 

“We missed previews.” Dustin seemed a bit upset. 

“Still made it.” El said, leaning over and shooting him a grin. “See? We weren’t that late, Max.” 

“Shut up.” Max said, pulling out her backpack and passing out drinks they’d smuggled in. 

The movie began, then, with a shot of a woman sitting alone in a white room. The boys’ eyes widened, entranced; no matter how many times the girls had snuck them into a theater, they still found movies on such a huge screen to be the most incredible thing. Probably a side-effect of not having films for twelve years, and then suddenly being tossed into the world and able to see whatever they wanted, whenever they could. 

The woman was staring at a calendar, and just then, the screen flickered. They all groaned as the projector shuttered out behind them, and the lights shut down. Will shoved his headphones back on as everyone started shouting. 

“Another power outage? Can’t Starcourt Mall get its shit together?” Lucas huffed. 

“It’s not gonna be dark for long, is it?” Mike asked, and El quickly shook her head. 

“It’s not the mall, it’s the whole town. Power grid’s been busted for the last month or so.” El explained. “Dad says the rioters like to blame the mall, but it’s just some faulty wiring, it’ll get fixed soon-” 

Just then, the lights and projector flickered back on, and the movie continued. Everyone cheered, and Will lowered his headphones once people stopped clapping. 

Max, meanwhile, felt her face fall. There was something… wrong. She shivered slightly, some sort of tingle spreading over her as the film continued. It wasn’t the movie itself, it was… was it the power outage? She’d never been spooked by power outages before. 

It took her a second to realize how vaguely familiar the shiver was. She’d felt it, all last year, whenever… 

El grabbed her hand. “Hey. You okay?” 

Max jumped, startled, but nodded quickly. “Yeah.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Max slowly grabbed her coke, opening the bottle with a fizz. “Shut up. Movie’s starting.” 

El shrugged and leaned over to whisper something in Mike’s ear. And as she did, Max tried her best not to look frightened. Lucas glanced at her worriedly, too, and she really hoped he couldn’t tell exactly why she was freaked out. 

The Mind Flayer is not back, Max. It was just a weird power outage. 

You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing will go wrong. Nothing will go wrong at all.

[maikatc]

Black Sun Tale | The Wolf

i don’t know how to explain, but this is another one of those chapters i have dreamed of writing for ages, so get ready for some things to turn up 

remember this is a first draft and only has minor edits, but enjoy! comments and reception are always appreciated. 

- 

“Oliver is weird.” Ayu crouched back to the alley wall with his sketchbook. 

“What makes you say that?” Annette asked, braiding her long strands of hair together. 

The tired-eyed boy bobbed his head down, contemplating the next words.

Wouldn’t Oliver not want anyone to know?

“He- he needs a lot of help.”

Annette’s eye curved up. “Like, mental problems help?”

“That too.”

The girl rested her head upon her knees. “Is it a Black Sun gang thing you don’t want me to know about?”

Ayu chucked his pencil to the stuff-pile. “Actually, I don’t even know if it has to do with that or not.”

“Wow. That’s new,” she placed back a finger she has on the ground. “So, how’s that going for you then?”

Ayu puffed his face in pondering of her question, his cheeks growing a wrong shade of red as he held air. He blew out, “God, I don’t know I’m doing anymore. This is just wrong.” He slapped his hands against his head. “I mean, I don’t think any of this is my fault but- would it be if I let something… really, really bad happen?”

She added another finger. “Depends. Do you have good intentions?”

Ayu slipped down onto the floor. “Do you think I know if I have good intentions anymore? Almost everything I do ends up fucking itself over.”

“Well,” she drew a circle on the ground. “You don’t have to make a decision now, don’t you?”

He covered his face up with his hoodie, enjoying the new scent before it wore off. “No…”

“Then that can be your answer for now. Unless the time comes or something extremely bad happens like you said.” She scuffed up his hair. “You can just go with the flow for now and think about it in the meantime.”

Ayu matted out the mess after. “I guess you’re right.”

“Hope that settles itself soon if ya don’t want me involved.” Annette grabbed a deck of cards to the side of her. “We can make it special next week by bringing dominos,” she mumbled. 

“Annette, can I text Oliver?”

She whipped her head back to him. “We haven’t given him a walkie yet?”

“Forgot to ask you at the mall.”

“Fiddlesticks,” she snapped. “Fine, just don’t go snooping around.” She handed him the phone with Oliver’s number already on the page. The picture on the side set Ayu unsettled with how unfittingly humorous it was.

He typed using his index finger and spelled out every word until autocorrect fixed up everything. 

It’s me Ayu

Do you wanna come over soon? Or when you don’t have stuff to do? (2:33pm)

Not right now (2:35pm)

“Are you gonna stay on my phone for a while? I got War set up for you.”

Ayu shushed her. 

You busy or something? (2:35pm)

“I should use this to practice spelling,” Ayu muttered.

“Not that bad of an idea,” Annette replied. In the corner of Ayu’s eye, she squinted her eyes against the art in a single card. 

Yeah, I’m kinda busy. Dying both physically and mentally at the moment. (2:37pm)

“Fuck.” 

“What’s he saying?” Annette chirped in. She peeped behind Ayu at the phone in question. 

“Not now.” He shoved her aside. 

Oh… do you wanna talk with me while? (2:38pm)

No. (2:38pm)

“Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered to himself. 

Then text me if you want anything. Annette can just talk to me on the walkie if you do later (2:40pm)

Okay (2:43pm)

Ayu sighed and threw his head back at the wall. 

“I hate it when they say ‘Okay’,” Annette commented. 

He lowered his eyes back at her looking at the screen and handed back her phone. “Here. Delete the conversation.”

“Wha- Why?”

“Just do it,” he ordered.

Icon sounds rang as she taped through options. “Can we at least play one game before I have to go?” She scooted a set of cards to the boy. 

Ayu glanced against the thin slices of paper. “You just wanna have fun, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Annette replied. “I just don’t want you to worry is all.”

***

“It’s been two hours, Lillie.” Ayu laid against his stuff-pile. “And I feel like he’s still dying.”

“What would you do if he was already dead?”

Ayu scoffed. “Like hell would I know. I learned all his ‘I wanna die’ stuff like two days ago and figured out he eats people two weeks ago. Those are two very different things and I don’t know how to feel about both.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Do you think I could come up with an answer right now?”

She chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that Oliver’s a bit more interesting than the other monsters, isn’t he?”

“Don’t say that,” Ayu reminded. “At least… don’t think of it as a fact.”

“I wonder if you could be considered a monster too.”

Ayu snapped, “Why would I be a monster?”

“You’re the reason they’re here, right?” She joked, “Oh, what if your first wish is the reason why he’s here now?”

The boy blinked up, mouth in silence. “Fuck…” He attempted to face-palm, only to sloppily hit himself in the face with his strength, hissing and repeating, “Fuck, I didn’t even think of that!” A well of tears heated up from the pain, but the guilt overpowered it all. 

Lillie gasped. Her voiced morph to that of a child as she spoke, “Ayu! Don’t do that!”

He smiled at her young voice through his tears. “You don’t have to worry, Lil. I heal fast,” he sniffed. He waved his hand across the air, hoping to be able to grab the girl’s hand. Though all he was met with was the smoke of Obodo. 

He sighed as his surroundings greeted him with traffic again.

The sting from his hit rang throughout his entire body. He blanketed a cold hand on it again. With the other hand, he wiped up the droplets on his face. “God, damn it,” he whimpered. 

Through his sobbing, he grabbed his journal and pencil yet again to the newest page. 

November 10th, 201X

I fucked up. 

The screeches of a walkie talkie’s static cut his train of thought.

“Ayu? You’re not asleep, right? Ayu?”

He shook his head and cleared his throat before answering. “What’s up?”

“The ceiling– ah– Oliver just texted me, or you technically.”

Shit. “What’d he say?”

“Kinda vague but he just said that he’s coming.”

Ayu blinked. “Wait, right now?”

“Twenty minutes ago. Just checked my phone and yeah sorry about that.”

He swatted his hand back to his almost bruise. “Okay then, gotta look decent. Bye,” he rushed and hung up. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Akeldama! I swear to God just help me for once.” 

“For a wish?” 

“For a favor,” he whined. “Can you just hide this thing in front of Oliver, please?”

“Why should I,” he asked. 

“Because you’re the one who did the favor of hiding my entire identity from the world and this is just a small bruise, not even my eye!” He hissed at nobody.

“Ha, I thought you’d be capable enough to do it yourself at this point.”

Ayu clenched his fists. “Come on. Can you just do it already?”

“Do it yourself.”

“Wh-,” he pulled his hair. “You asshole!”

Akeldama chuckled. “You shan’t need to panic over it. Besides you better shush your mouth; Oliver’s about to arrive.”

Ayu blabbered out gibberish in reaction. “Damn it, Akeldama why do you,” he jabbered while matting his bangs over the mark. 

Two steps echoed at the alley’s opening. “…Ayu?”

The boy turned around, knees wobbling in his crouched position. What stood ahead of him was as expected. Oliver’s small figure shadowed over Ayu as his breathing quickened. “Hey,” he stuttered, his eyes crooked in greeting. 

Oliver’s hood hid majority of his face. He stepped down next to Ayu without any words and rested his head upon his arms and knees. 

Ayu spoke out after two minutes of nothing. “How’re you doing?”

“Tired,” he replied. “Hungry and tired.”

“Then you haven’t…”

“No,” he answered. “I didn’t even want to go here but I did unconsciously.”

Ayu shook his head. “How does that even work?”

“I still don’t know after four years.” He pulled down his hood more. “Just be careful. If I go unconscious for an even longer time then that’s when it’s too late.”

Ayu chewed on his cheek. “Am I gonna know when that happens?”

“No. That’s why it sucks.” He muffled, “and I’m sorry for that.” He faced away from Ayu.

The black-haired boy tensed. Anything that happens won’t be that bad though. “How much does it hurt?”

“You wanna know,” he groaned. 

Ayu nodded. 

“… Life is burning and my body is aching all over,” he stated. “And there’s a pit in my chest and stomach that keeps pounding every single second that makes it even worse.”

Ayu made a hum and nodded. A cold sweat dripped from the corner of his head. “Good to know.” 

A loud horn blasted throughout the streets following with a police siren. Ayu bolted his eyes up at the sound; however, as he strayed his eyes to Oliver, his shaken hands pulled down on his hood, covering up his entire face. 

Ayu’s expression closed up. 

“Oliver, why’re you hiding your face?”

 The covered-up kid said no words; he sat still against his now crossed up arms. Only a murmur could be heard to Ayu. “You can look yourself. Don’t think there’s any point of hiding it from you.”

You are right now though, he retorted. With a hesitant hand, Ayu slip the hood off Oliver’s head.

His face was that of a fantasy. He kept his eyes shut however his skin deteriorated from his eyelids to his cheeks. His veins carried through with a clear black against his pale brown skin. The black markings crept throughout down to his neck and further to his hands as Ayu gazed. Soon, the cursed child opened up his eyes, stricken with fear. They weren’t lavished with a soft green; they were painted over with a bloody red while the white morphed to a musty yellow. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathed.

Oliver averted his stare and sighed. “It gets worse as time goes on. Usually starts the day I have to eat.”

“Can… can anyone else see this?”

Oliver shook his head. “No. Like I guessed, you seem to be the only one.”

Ayu held no reply. The sight of someone in a state like that… God knows if I’m the one who made this happen.

He pondered over a turnover of the situation. Though, all he could turn to was a half-assed solution. 

“Since no one can actually see you like this,” he started, “do you wanna go somewhere? Like the park or something?”

Oliver stared back at him with dead eyes. 

“I mean- only if you feel like it. We don’t have to-”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Wait,” Ayu paused. “Yes?”

Oliver bit his bruised lip from what Ayu could tell. “We can go there.”

“I- alright then.” He jumped up, dragging Oliver up by the arm. He grew an off-beat smile. “Let’s get going.”

His face’s bruise still stung. 

***

The day at Felle Park went by with only clouds striking over. There was no change with the children running around and playing and yelling all over. 

Ayu let Oliver to cling on to him as support while he stumbled across the sidewalks. The extra weight was only a feather for the twig. Ayu spoke to him in casual talk, both waiting and receiving no replies. 

It was only when they entered into the playground did Oliver break away from Ayu. 

“Huh?” 

Oliver stumbled and wobbled across his path. Ayu, with only a question mark forming in his head, followed. 

“Oliver, what’d you wanna do here?”

The kid plopped his way onto the swig-set. 

Ayu cocked his head as he still got no reply. 

Oliver dug up his feet against the dirty mulch. And his swing swung itself back and forth with barely any force. 

Ayu shrugged and sat next to him on another swig. By a big kick, he already set himself flying. 

Throughout a minute, he launched himself off the swing without a shred of patience. 

There wasn’t much to remember by; there were other things at the park that was more exciting in Ayu’s favor. He looked back at Oliver, still rocking his swing without effort, digging himself a little grave for his feet. 

Ayu walked up towards him and sighed. “Don’t you wanna go on the slides or the merry-go-rounds?” He muttered to himself, “The merry-go-round is my favorite so-”

“I’m fine.” He answered in a mute tone. “I just go on the swings since I can think better. Plus, moving a lot makes it hurt more.”

Ayu’s brows furrowed. “Then why did you let me take you to the park?”

“I blacked out a little while you were asking, Ayu. Besides, it seemed like you wanted to.” He assured, “Now if you go and play then I disappear on you, don’t worry since I’m probably off eat-”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.�� Ayu paced. “Oliver, I’m trying my best to be a good person for you. I really am. But if you aren’t working together with me then… then-”

“Why don’t we go to the forest?”

Ayu paused. Oliver’s question lingered at the tip of his mouth. “What?”

“It’s quiet there, unlike here where everything is too loud.” He lifted his head up with a small crease of a smile. “Just nice there in general, yanno?”

Ayu leered at him. The words sat there in front of him, all suspicions and hunches charged up in between. 

It’s a trap, isn’t it? 

“Oliver, you remember the last time we were there?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he scoffed. “I like the silence anyways.”

“… You sure about that?” 

He nodded in boring eyes. “Yes. The children here are rather annoying in reality.”

“That isn’t him.”

“Ah,” Ayu took a step back. “Let me just… think about it for a second.”

“Why don’t we just go already,” he spat. “It’s an easy question, Ayu.”

“I-”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to be a good person for me?” 

Ayu looked back. What exactly’ll happen if we do?

“He’ll try and eat you,” Lillie replied in his head. 

But what if I can find a way to stop him? It’s not like I’ll actually die from him. 

“Are you truly risking that?”

“As long as Akeldama doesn’t do anything,” Ayu sighed under his breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he brushed off. “But let’s go to the forest like you said. 

“Thanks.” He stood up, cleaning up his cardigan from the mulch. He stepped his way towards the gate entrance of the forest. “Come on, Ayu. The playground really is hurting my ears a little.”

Please be fine. “Yeah, sure,” he replied with wary eyes but followed. 

*

The two walked across the woods of Felle with steps rigged from one another. Ayu babbled, but also attempted to study Oliver despite how distracted his ramblings grew. 

“So, you think of Lucia, right? She’s like a bad kid after Lexi died. But really, the only reason why she got mad after her death was because of her bloodline with Aria and Coco.”

“Mhm,” Oliver replied. 

“She was pissed enough to just leave the group so that meant Evie and Hiro had to do the rest of the work, which that just caused an entire mess to happen.”

“…That sounds really interesting, Ayu. I like it.” Oliver gave him a warm grin. 

Jokes on you, my writing is shit. 

The grass they stepped upon crackled onto the muddy ground. Rocks scattered throughout the pathway leaving tripping spots. 

“Are you sure ‘bout that, Ollie? I’d say my stuff is too confusing.” He scratched his head, kicking a rock and waiting for a reaction. 

Oliver perked up. “It’s not that confusing, Ayu. Just takes a good mind to understand.” He chuckled, “Like solving a puzzle you can say.”

Ayu glared. “You’re just saying that because you’re smart.”

Oliver turned to him with lowered eyes. “If you’re saying I’m smart for understanding, wouldn’t that make you smart for creating it?” 

“It’s not that I’m smart; I just don’t have any other life,” Ayu retorted. 

Oliver only giggled. And Ayu almost found it genuine. Something gratifying to hear, in truth.

The trees’ whistles were absent compared to Ayu’s walk prior. Solely crickets and cicadas chirped in the distance. The disappearance of the cars, the crowds, the animals, the flower songs, it all isolated Ayu with what only appeared to be Oliver.

They walked on with the redhead leading the path. He passed logs with ease; he stepped along the embedded footprints through his every movement. 

Ayu just tripped over a little mud valley. 

Oliver smirked at him. “You haven’t been here often, haven’t you?” 

Ayu lifted his head to see a blackened hand in front of him. He shook his head with eyes shut. “Just blame getting distracted.”

He dragged him up. “Doesn’t matter now. We’re almost there anyways.” 

This is it. “Almost where?”

Oliver walked down further. “You’ll see… right here.” He shoved off a branch of a tree, opening a recollection. 

The same stump laid barren in the middle of the dirty field. No rays of sun fell upon them as they entered. Rusty stains of blood still dressed up the grass while all the clumps of meat had disappeared. 

Ayu’s mouth ran without him. “Oliver, why did you bring me here?”

The kid went to sit on the small stump. He mouthed silent words with a blank face: 

“Sorry, friend.”

In only a blink, he was out of Ayu’s sight. 

“Shit.” Ayu turned in all directions to find the fellow. “So that’s how he does it, huh?” He took a deep breath then a big gulp. 

His eyes twitched to every direction. “S-so is it gonna be some magic?”

No reply. 

“A knife?”

Silence. 

“Your damn teeth…?” He huffed. 

His heart raced; his breathing quickened in impatience; his hands shook with anticipation. 

He whimpered out. “Oliver, I know you’re trying to kill me right now but…” He winced at pressing his bruise. “If I ever did anything, and if I ever do anything, I’m sorry. I’m just a dumbass.”

He cried to the air as his eyes burned. “I’m not gonna die but I don’t wanna hurt you. I don’t care if you can’t even hear this.” He paced his way to stand on the stump. “I’m sorry that you’re in pain; I’m sorry that your life is like this now; and I’m sorry if it’s all my fault!”

His last words echoed through the field. 

However, a rustle in the bush replied to him. 

He whipped his head back at the sound. The bush remained mute until a familiar voice rang in Ayu’s head. 

With a stone-cold voice. All he spoke to him was, “Get ready,” before the beast pounced. 

In a split second, a large yet slim figure leaped out of the bushes towards Ayu. It threatened the boy with its mouth and fangs open wide in front of him. 

Ayu jumped out of the way with lucky initiation. He tumbled against the ground through his fall. Flinching through his now scratched up limbs, he pushed himself up and his eyes met what was growling at him. 

The figure was covered up in black fur, marching around the terrain with its boney paws and cutting up grass with its bladed claws. Its glare shined bright with vermillion while a dark mist eroded from all over its wolf-like body. 

“Holy fuck,” Ayu gasped. 

The wolf pounced yet again at Ayu, only for him to jump out of every attack. Left and right, he played mouse for the beast as it continued to grow more and more vicious with its snarls. 

“Okay, what the hell can I do here,” he panted. 

“Beat it,” he replied. 

Ayu’s legs ran weak the longer the tag game went on. His late signal began buzzing in his head as he cursed it. 

Time dwindled while the wolf started to match his speed. 

“What the hell do you mean by just beat it? Like-” He brought himself to a halt before another attempt of clobbering him. 

The boy held his breath as the wolf got closer; and right before it could make a bite, Ayu socked him. 

The wolf flew off to the side of the field. It jerked against its injury and whimpered from the pain. 

Ayu’s lifted his body up from impact. His ears grew white noise; his mind turned into static. He stared blankly at the creature with dead eyes. 

“Beat it before it gets to others, Ayu.” The repeated command was the only thing he could here. 

He strolled his way to the monster, weak and immobile. It went on to cry for its pathetic life. He started with a kick, making it grimace, then kicked it again countless of times. He was deaf to its whines and pouts, he only watched it curl up and struggle to defend itself.

It took until the thing deteriorated into a black form, deep and pure in an abyss, and it transformed back into a small boy. He shook and whimpered against the hits. 

Ayu froze. 

The boy sat up in quivering arms. In only a second he vomited a dark red liquid. His skin paled and his eyes widened of shock. He pulled back his burgundy hair, no speed aiming him, just staring at the pool of blood. But like an alarm, his eyes darted up to a stilled Ayu, who only stared back with burning tears. 

“Y-you’re still here…”

Ayu got down to where Oliver sat and clung onto his shoulders to form a hug. 

He cried, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated his apologies to no end.

Oliver’s movements weren’t there, no flinches, no fidgets. He mumbled out few words. “You’re not dead…”

Ayu held him back, still holding his shoulders. “I know! But I hurt you because of it like an idiot!”

“No… no, that was fine,” he argued. “You were the first to ever- wait did I make that bruise-”

“That doesn’t matter!” He sniffed, “You’re the one that’s hurt because of me.”

Oliver’s face softened. “That’s more impressive than anything, Ayu.”

“No, it isn’t!” He whined, and he didn’t stop until his throat clogged up. 

Oliver’s voice returned. “Ayu, are you choking!?” 

He coughed, “No- just,” coughed again, “crying a bit too much I think.”

“Oh god.” Oliver pulled a hair strand. “I forgot how dehydrated you are.”

“It’s fine-”

Oliver stood up immediately. “Here. I’ll get water for you.” He flinched and pressed on his stomach. “Christ- I’ll just be paying you a favor of being, well, alive.” He dashed off without Ayu’s ability to speak. 

“Wait!” His voice rasped and burned his throat. “You don’t need to do that!” He stumbled up and ran after him. 

***

Once they gathered themselves up, Ayu and Oliver traveled back to the alleyway. The streets still filled with chatter and city smoke worked alongside the sky to keep the world grey. 

“How did you manage to buy a six pack?” Ayu sat beside Oliver. He clenched on a water bottle in his hand and sipped upon it.

“Easy: water’s cheap and I always have spare change in my pockets,” Oliver noted. His arm wrapped around his stomach; Ayu stared at the motion. 

He questioned, “You’re more awake now, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “You woke me up pretty- not entirely harsh but you were just trying to save yourself.” He hissed at the wound. “I’m still probably gonna get sleepy again after a while so… might as well tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Oliver fidgeted a hand on a loose cardigan string. His markings still laid across his body and the rims of his eyes started bleeding into a black as well. “Coincidentally enough, the day you first saw me like that, I met someone while I was unconscious… I’ve been talking to them since then ‘cause it seems as if she knows what’s going on with me.”

You mean the guy you talked to a few times? “Who is that?”

He sighed, “From what she claims, she’s my biological mom.”

Ayu choked on his own water. “What?”

“That’s how I know the fact that I won’t change.” Ayu caught the kid’s watery eyes. 

“… But what if-”

“And apparently,” Oliver rambled, “she just wanted me to live a ‘normal life’ for seven years straight until it all hit me like a brick but even when it started, she’s hasn’t been able to talk with me until now.”

An idea circulated in Ayu as Oliver spoke. “W-wait, so does she know your entire situation?”

“Yeah.”

“And just can’t say it directly?”

“Probably.”

Ayu took a chug. “Can’t you ask her about how to deal with this then? Like when you attacked me, it looked like you were using some power.”

“That’s right,” Oliver added. “I forgot but, what exactly happened while I was asleep?”

“Attacked me in a wolf form. Thought you were another monster like a moron and almost tried to kill you I think.”

“Oh God.” Oliver placed a hand over his head. 

“Still sorry ‘bout that.”

“Still more of a me-problem.”

Ayu cleared his throat. “Okay but yeah, you may be less sad if you actually know what you’re doing in the first place from her.”

Oliver remained silent, then took a deep breath. “… How did I not think of that before?”

“I dunno,” Ayu shrugged. “Maybe we’re both dumbasses.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.”

No replies or comments were made for a good four minutes. Ayu wandered in thought to reach for another question. 

“You said your mom isn’t allowed to explain things, right?”

He nodded. 

“Who’s not allowing her,” Ayu asked.

Oliver left his hand on his chin. “She doesn’t say their name, just that they’re their leader.”

“Their leader? Of what?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that too,” Oliver rushed. “My mom’s like 4 centuries old and lives in an immortal society that has to kill for their monthly membership payment.”

Ayu stilled. “Okay, what the fuck is your family tree?”

“Based on what I can tell,” Oliver stated, “fucked.”

Ayu sided his lips. “The leader’s the one who makes the rules for ‘em, right?”

“Yep.”

He took another bottle of water. “Do you think I can come with you at some point?”

Oliver raised a brow. 

“I feel like the leader may have something to do with the monsters.”

“And why do you think that?”

… There’s no evidence, huh? “Just a hunch. Like, a vague dude who’s some cruel ruler? Sounds like a normal villain.” 

Oliver squinted his eyes towards him, but shrugged. “Guess that can make sense.” 

In a split second, Oliver shook forward from the alley wall, making a yelp. “Fuck!” He pressed on his shirt. 

Ayu paled, his eyelids pinching up. “You still need to eat… don’t you?”

“It’s fine.” Oliver raised his hand towards Ayu. “I probably have enough strength to just- …”

“Just what? Eat?”

“… Kinda.” Oliver sighed. “I forgot to tell you one last thing.”

Ayu bit his cheek. “What?”

His hand rested on his left arm, grabbing it. “I’ve had my black sun mark for a while now. But, it popped up somewhere that I didn’t wanna show.”

Ayu took a glance at his movements. “Your arm, right?”

He nodded. “I should explain… Remember how I starve a lot?”

“Yeah?”

“I uh, usually tend to treat myself when I can’t handle it much longer.” He trembled. “After I think the first year, I started realizing how good… it tastes. But I didn’t wanna hurt anyone. So,” He lifted up his sleeve. 

What bared on his wrist, right on top of a vein, was his black sun mark; however, further down his mark varied in streaks of scars and cuts. The blood seeped of violent reds and purples. And through some courses of marks, black began to show through the blood scabs. 

Ayu gawked at the amount of lines made by the child. Thoughts ran throughout his little brain and screamed out to him from the sight. You’re the reason.

It almost brought him to tears again.

“The blood helps me distract myself.”

Ayu lifted his head up to Oliver, concern and guilt written all over his face. Though, Oliver faced away, and Ayu couldn’t assume any other face aside from loathing.  

Ayu took a gulp. He whimpered, “Stop… don’t do that anymore, please.”

“It’s alright, Ayu. It heals right after I get some food.”

“But that’s too much of a risk, Ollie.”

“Trust me,” Oliver reassured. “It’s okay that I do this. I’m careful about it.”

He huffed, “You have a damn good reason for starving yourself. This’ll just make it too much.” He grabbed the spot where the sun mark was. 

Oliver squeaked. “Ayu- You’re holding on too tight again.”

“Promise me to just- …” Ayu breathed, lessening his grip. “Just do it less.”

He let go of Oliver, face ridden in regret. 

Oliver swiped his arm back and covered up the scars with his sleeve again. “I… thank you.” He clenched onto his shirt as he stood up, already walking away from the conversation and Ayu. “I should probably get going.”

Ayu avoided his eyes again. “Are you going to…?”

“Not sure,” he answered. “I probably will eventually.”

“Right.” He nodded it off. 

They stayed in position for a time’s notice. 

“Sorry about hitting you,” Oliver added. “… See ya.”

Ayu didn’t watch as he walked away. He instead covered up his bruise again, shame whistling out of his entire being.

“Bye.”

-

Ten Dollars | Bread and Water | Red Eye | Crimson Capture | November 1st | A Mother | A Demon | A Child | Next >>>

[mosylufanfic]

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

Yay! Killervibe week is upon us! Here’s my story for fake dating

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

As they walked up to the museum's front doors, Cisco squinted at the people going in. "Is it me, or are there a lot of couples today?"

Caitlin looked up from her phone, where she was studying the museum's app, and looked around at the people going up the steps with them. All ages, races, and genders, but Cisco was right. There did seem to be a lot of couples in comparison with other kinds of groups. "Maybe they're here on dates."

He made a face. "To a museum? On a Saturday morning?"

She tapped around on her phone. "Don't be like that. I actually really like museums as a first date. You get to take your time and talk and stroll around and - Oh, this might be why."

"What?"

"It's a special for this weekend. Couples get in half-off."

"Two for one?" Cisco held the front door for Caitlin, and then an older lesbian couple behind her, who smiled at him before progressing through.

"Kind of."

"I didn't know museums did that."

"Well, the exhibition I want to see is romantic art pieces. Romantic with a small r, not a capital R. So -" She waved her hand. "I guess that's why. Publicity."

"Hunh." Cisco looked around the lobby at the hearts and lace, advertising the deal and the love-and-romance exhibition. Next to the stairs, he could see signs for the history of comics exhibition that was why he'd come here today. The plan had been for both of them to go see their things separately and then meet for lunch whenever they were done. "Hey, you know what - "

"What?" She saw the look on his face. "Cisco, no."

"Why? What's the harm? We're here together already."

"We're not a couple!"

He raised his brows at her. She didn't have to sound that vehement. "What's the problem if some docent or whoever thinks we are? Twofer admission is nothing to sneeze at."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You're willing to pretend to be my date just to save fourteen-fifty?"

"In a heartbeat," he said, grabbing her hand. "Come on. All we have to do is pretend for like ten minutes that we're in love and then we're in."

"Mmmmm," she said, sliding her eyes sideways at the line. She frowned at an old couple with matching canes who were gently bickering about something that had happened in 1973, and the pair of teenage nerds with matching Harvard t-shirts, making out energetically just behind them.

"If you feel that bad about it, you can stick a ten in the donation box on your way out." He grinned at her. "What? You don't think anybody will believe I could snag a woman like you?"

"Of course I don't think that! I mean - " She was blushing. "It's just so silly."

"What's life without a little silliness?" He didn't ask her if she thought the inverse, that she wouldn't have been able to snag him. Obviously she could snag him. She could have him anytime she so much as crooked her finger . . . 

Huh. Where had that come from? 

"All right, fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "Since you're so determined."

"Excellent," he said, tugging her toward the line. 

She didn't drop his hand once they had taken their places. It was cool and soft in his, familiar. He glanced sideways at her, wondering if she was annoyed that he'd basically pressured her into a fake relationship for the next ten minutes, and she gave him a little smile and an eyeroll. 

All right. She was okay. What was the harm? Just a game of pretend, that was all.

"So, lambchop," he said. "What do you want to do after this? Where are we going for lunch?"

She rolled her eyes at him again for the silly pet name, but there was a smile playing around her lips. "How about that little place where we had our first date?"

"The bistro on the water?" He lowered his voice to a sexy purr. "You know I'm saving that for when I propose."

For a moment he thought that had knocked her off her game, but she rolled with it beautifully. "Sweetheart, not that I'm not looking forward to that, but can you not make a huge spectacle of it? You know I hate people staring at me."

"Come on, you're not even going to let me get a mariachi band?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "What about a mariachi band says subtle?"

  "Couple of guys with guitars?"

"I'll accept one person with a violin."

"Okaaaaaaaay," he said. "Fine. But the ring is gonna knock your socks off."

She beamed at him. "I would expect nothing less. Lambchop."

"God, you two, get a room," someone said from behind him.

"No," Cisco said, and kissed Caitlin's cheek. "I'm madly in love with this woman, and I don't care who knows it."

"Next," said the bored kid behind the counter, and they stepped up, leaving the love-Grinch rolling his eyes behind them.

"Two please," Cisco said, pulling out his credit card. "Obviously, we're a couple, so we'll need that discount."

"Uh-huh," the kid said, ringing them up and pushing the tickets over the counter. "Next!"

"Ha," Cisco said as they walked away from the line. "And we're in." 

"Your cunning plan worked," Caitlin said, amused. "What are you going to do with your ill-gotten riches?"

"Probably buy you lunch," he said cheerfully, and realized he was still holding her hand. He let go with more regret than he was prepared for. "So, what do you say? Meet back here in two hours?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "You know, the kid at the ticket kiosk is looking this way. Maybe you should come into the exhibit room with me?"

"Keep up the charade?" he said. "Really?"

She widened her eyes at him. "He might just decide to dispatch some hulking security goons after us for the fourteen-fifty. I don't know about you, but Killer Frost doesn't feel like working today."

It surprised a laugh out of him. Caitlin so often played the straight man to his goofiness that he forgot she could be silly, too. "Okay," he said, weaving his fingers through hers. "In the name of plausible deniability."

Cisco meant to hang with her for about a minute and then go off to his exhibition. Really, he did. But his attention was caught by one of the first paintings - a man walking along, holding a woman's hand while she floated above him like a balloon. They both had giant grins on their faces, beaming with almost childlike glee.

"That's the artist and his wife," Caitlin said, reading the plaque next to it. 

"That's kind of sweet," he said, tilting his head. 

"Right? They're just so happy to be together." 

They meandered through the first room, looking at the art and talking about it. Then the second. Somehow, he still had hold of her hand.

The way the museum was laid out, they had to cross the lobby to get to the rest of the rooms, and Cisco saw Caitlin glance up at the sign for the exhibit he'd wanted to see. She went pink. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just realized I made you spend an hour with me."

"I love spending time with you," he said. "And your thing is really cool and sweet."

"Yes, but it's not why you came here." She let go of his hand.  "You can go see your exhibit now. Meet me at noon?"

"Noon," he echoed. 

She shot him another smile and started to go toward the next room of the romance exhibit.

He yelled out, "Hey, Caitlin!" His voice echoed in the marble lobby, and people in line looked over.

She whipped around. "Yes?" 

"You, uh, you wanna come upstairs with me?"

She came back to him, walking up until they were less than a foot apart. "To see the history of comics?"

"Sure. I know it's not your thing, but - "

"Well, this wasn't your thing and you still came with me," she said. She smiled suddenly, and as sometimes happened, he thought, Holy shit, she's just really gorgeous. "Yes. Show me what you've been looking forward to."

They ended up spending most of the day at the art museum, wandering through the rooms, pausing for lunch at the cafe, talking about the art and about a million other topics. Although he'd spent countless days with her, this one felt different somehow.

Not just another day. Something new.

When the museum closed, the security guards herded them out like patient border collies. They found themselves on the steps, still talking, as the sun dropped toward the horizon.

When Cisco's stomach growled, he realized he was starving. The sandwiches at the museum's cafe had been good, but they'd probably trekked four or five miles around the building that day.

"Hungry?" Caitlin said, laughing. "We should go get something."

"Yeah, we should," Cisco said. "There actually is a pretty good bistro on the water that I know. My cousin's part-owner. If I text him, we can probably get the family rate."

She tilted her head at him, her eyes impish. "Just to be clear, is this the first date or the proposal?"

"Well," he said with complete seriousness. "I was thinking first date."

She looked as if she wanted to laugh for a minute, then stopped.

"I mean," he said, suddenly awkward. "If that's what you want to do. Or -" Oh. Oh boy. Oh shit. The Awkward had turned up, a vampire on their friendship, invited in by his sudden what-if moment.

"Yes!" she said. "Yes. That's what I want."

"Great," he said, a bubble of happiness expanding in his chest. "Shall we, then?" 

She took his hand, and he remembered the first painting they'd seen, the artist holding hands with his wife as she floated above his head. 

Cisco thought he knew how she felt.

FINIS

If you’re curious, this is the painting Cisco is referring to. Let’s all pretend that a midsize Midwestern city could get this on loan.

[dreamin-when-i-wrote-this]

@diverseprotein suggested cold!

Sorry this took so long, I decided to ask for these suggestions just before my exams which wasn’t a good idea! But here it is finally. This was originally a completely different, incredibly angsty idea that I just couldn’t get right. But, this does somehow seemed to have created a College AU which I just might have to finish now...

Owen heaved a sigh of relief when his professor finally dismissed the class. It was his final lecture of a very long day and honestly he couldn’t wait to just go back to his dorm and sleep. Well, he probably wouldn’t get much sleeping done (as per usual) but it’s the thought that counts.

He reached into his pocket to retrieve his earphones and groaned at the realisation that they’d been forgotten. He rubbed his hands together in a vain attempt to fend off the February chill, already regretting not packing gloves today. This was going to be a long walk.

He loved acting and he didn’t regret taking the extra drama course at all. However, a two and a half hour class about the history and theory of performing arts was not the most pleasant way to end his already painfully long day. Not to mention it was completely off campus so he had a forty minute walk back to his dorm every week. He could take the bus but who has the money for that every week?

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the ringing of his phone. He frowned, but reached into his pocket to pick it up. He rolled his eyes when he saw the name but answered anyway.

“Hello, Curt. Are you dying?” he deadpanned. He really didn’t have the energy for his roommate’s bullshit today.

“Um, no, I’m fine?” Curt answered, seeming slightly confused at the less than warm welcome.

“Well then if you’re alright guess I’ll be-“

“No, Owen, wait!” Curt pleaded.

He sighed, but kept the phone pressed tight up to his ear. “Fine, what do you want?” he asked in a clipped voice.

“Okay listen, I need a favour from you,“ Curt started and Owen groaned.

“Of course you do, Curt. Do you ever, oh I don’t know, just fancy a chat with me?”

“Shut up, Carvour, you just tried to hang up on me when you thought I wanted a chat.” Curt’s voice was slightly snarky but lacked any real venom, so Owen decided to humour him.

“Right, what is it?” he asked, hoping the boredom was evident in his voice.

“I need you to buy me a blanket.”

Owen paused for a moment, sure he had misheard. “I’m sorry, you need what?” he asked incredulously.

Curt let out an exaggerated sigh. “Blanket, Owen, a blanket,” he said. “You do have those in Britain, right?”

“Yes, of course we do,” Owen huffed.

“Great, then you know exactly what I-“

“No, Curt.”

“Ugh, but I’m cold.”

“And that’s not my problem.” Owen had better things to do than run errands for his lazy roommate. “Now, I’ve had a very long day and I would appreciate it if you would let me have just 30 minutes of peace.” He went to hang up but Curt’s voice came blaring through the speakers again.

“Owen fuck off, you hate that walk. Also I’ve been using your earphones most of the day so I know you don’t have them.” Owen could almost hear the smirk on Curt’s face. “Talking to me is more interesting than anything else you’d be doing.”

Owen paused, trying to figure out how to respond to that. He knew Curt had broken his own headphones (he’d been complaining about it nonstop and it was driving Owen up the wall) but that did not give him the right to-

“And, it is your problem, actually,” Curt continued, moving swiftly on. “The reason this room is so fucking freezing is because you broke the damn window latch!” Actual annoyance laced his voice for the first time this conversation.

“Only because you started that dumbass frisbee game!” Owen retorted, face flushing slightly at the embarrassing memory. It had been very late (or maybe early?) and they’d both been very drunk; considering the state they’d been in, it was a wonder that a broken window and was the worst that happened.

“Hey, I didn’t force you to join in,” Curt replied, in a tone that was incredibly irritating because they both knew he was right.

“Fine. I’m sorry about the window, but I don’t even have any money on me,” Owen said. It was a barefaced lie but what Curt didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“Yes you do, you always buy coffee on a Wednesday morning.” Curt’s answer was scarily confident and what was even scarier was that he was correct.

“First, how the hell do you know that.”

“Uh, cause you fucking told me? It’s your longest day of the week and you hate it.”

Oh yeah, he had told Curt that. Again, they had both been slightly drunk. Or at least Owen had. Curt always seemed to hold his booze better out of the two. He honestly hadn't expected the other to remember, considering he himself hardly did.

“Well okay, but I only brought enough money for my coffee.” The lie was beginning to unravel but Owen was determined to keep it together. Curt, it seemed, had other plans.

“Wrong again, you took your big wallet with all your cards in it, just to ensure you’re always prepared.” Again, he had complete confidence in his answer that kind of freaked Owen out. Why was he so damn observant?

“Curt, what is it you’re majoring in again?”

“Economics,” he replied simply. Owen shook his head in disbelief, despite Curt not being able to see it.

“You really might want to consider a career change.”

“Whatever, Mr ‘Political Science’,” Curt said, sarcasm dripping off every word.

Owen chuckled softly. “Touché”

“So, will you get me the blanket?” Owen groaned at his roommates persistence.

“No, Curt!”

Their bickering quickly veered away from just talking about the blanket and continued most of Owen’s journey back. He could’ve hung up at any time (in fact, he kept threatening to) but something kept him talking. Curt Mega was incredibly irritating and knew exactly how to push Owen over the edge, but even he couldn’t deny how clever and just downright entertaining he was.

“Look, Owen, I’m begging you at this point. I’ve kept you entertained all this time and I know you must be passing the shop right about now-”

“Curt, I said no,” Owen insisted, albeit with far less vigor than before. Curt elected to ignore him and continued talking.

“-but if you think about it, this benefits you as well since the room will be cold as shit for both of us…”

Owen sighed as he stopped at the end of the street. He could walk straight on and be back to his dorm in less than ten minutes or…

“... fine, I’ll get your damn blanket,” he said, turning and waiting for the crossing signal to change.

“Yes! Thanks dude, you’re the best!” Curt’s grin shone through his words and Owen wasn’t sure why he had to hold back a smile of his own.

“But you’re paying me,” Owen said. He wasn’t going to let him get free labour off him that easily.

“Hell no, you broke the window!”

“I guess there’s no blanket then…”

“Fine, fine I’ll pay it!” Curt said hastily. “God, you’re such a pain, Carvour.”

Owen smirked. “A pain who’s saving your cold ass.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Curt conceded.

Owen rolled his eyes as he crossed the street, staring down the Walmart in the distance him with distaste. If he’s being totally honest, the place confused and concerned him. Curt had dragged him in there a few times for supplies and they had not been pleasant experiences. He really missed a simple Tesco.

“I’m going to Walmart for this, you’d better appreciate me.”

Curt hummed in surprise. “Wow, Carvour, I really am a bad influence on you.”

“Oh sod off,” Owen said with a smile. He swore suddenly, having reached the car park and subsequently nearly run over by some idiot in a Jeep.

“Are you alright?” Curt asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Yep,” Owen replied, his voice resigned. “Just your wonderful citizens trying to kill me. God, I love America.”

“Well you can’t say we don’t make an impression,” Curt laughed. “I’m just not sure it’s always a good one.”

Owen chuckled along with him as he entered the bustling shop. “Right, I’m in now and it’s busy as shit so I’m gonna have to hang up.”

“No, don’t leave me Owen,” Curt whined. Owen could practically imagine the other stomping his feet.

“Oi, I need to buy your ruddy blanket!”

“You go very British when you’re really trying to be angry with me,” Curt teased.

“Goodbye, Curt,” Owen laughed.

“Thanks, Owen,” Curt said, before hanging up the phone.

Owen was shocked by the sincerity in the other’s voice, but he brushed it off with a smile. God that guy…

“Oi, Mega!”

Owen slammed open the door and threw the folded blanket at his roommate. Curt squawked as it hit him in the chest and bounced to the floor, nearly dropping his laptop off his bed. He reached down to retrieve it with a wide smile.

“Thank you! You have no idea how much suffering I have gone through, what took you so long!” Curt lamented, unwrapping the blanket immediately and running his hands over it.

“Hey, that place is scary and confusing as hell. Just be grateful I got it at all.” Owen sat down on his own bed, spying his earphones sitting back on his pillow. At least Curt didn’t break them, he mused. He dropped his bag on the floor with a bang that startled Curt out of his fixation with the blanket. He looked up at Owen with a frown and he held his hands up in a weak apology.

“Where’s yours?” Curt asked. That was not the question he’d been expecting.

Owen shrugged. “This was the last one.” At Curt’s continued frown, he quickly tried to reassure him. “Honestly, I don’t care that much, I’ll live. I just want to sleep anyway.”

“That’s not fair though, you bought one for me.”

Owen shrugged again and flopped backwards on his bed. They shared a brief moment of silence which was all too soon broken by Curt.

“Come and share it with me,” Curt said quietly.

“I’m sorry, what?” Owen asked, his voice full of disbelief.

Curt groaned, seemingly embarrassed. “You heard me, come on. We can watch a movie. And bring your pillow.”

“Fine,” Owen conceded, heaving himself off the bed with a grunt. He really didn’t have anything better to do tonight.

“What do you wanna watch? I was about to stick on Die Hard but I’m sure you don’t want to watch it again,” Curt said, moving the pillows around so they were layered in the corner of the bed.

“I’ve never actually seen Die Hard,” Owen admitted. The way Curt looked at him god have thought he’d grown another head.

“You’ve never what now?” He asked, eyes wide.

“You heard me,” he smirked, throwing Curt’s own words against him.

“Right okay we are watching this now!”

They curled up against the pillows, the blanket draped over the both of them. Between the small laptop screen and one blanket, they were forced to practically sit on top of each other, but neither boy addressed it. Owen didn’t understand why Curt had needed the stupid blanket at all, the guy was like a damn furnace.

At some point (he had failed to notice exactly when), Curt’s head had come to rest on Owen’s shoulder. Judging by the deep breathing that followed, Curt had managed to fall asleep. Owen had to drag his gaze back to the film but I find smile now rested on his lips.

He found himself floored by the sudden change in their dynamic. Just days ago, Owen would have scoffed at the idea of the two of them doing anything together other than frostily reside in the same dorm. In fact, he probably would’ve hung up the phone as soon as it became clear his roommate wasn’t dying. But Owen couldn’t lie, he definitely preferred this. Maybe the two of them being friends would actually work.

Owen stiffened and his breath hitched as Curt snuggled closer to him in his sleep, twisting round and lying a hand on his stomach. He slowly let himself relax, reminding himself that Curt was asleep. He looked back at his roommate, trying to ignore the heat that had risen in his cheeks at the domesticity of it all.

Friends, huh?