#wylan drabble

[simplybuckley]

wylan is like... weirdly good at a lot of things. he can try something for the first time and already have this strange affinity for it. jesper is always in awe of the immense talent that wylan posses, like he is magic in some sort of way. yes, jesper is a little jealous.

what jesper doesnt see though is wylan beating himself when he isn't automatically good at something. the way wylan blinks back tears, the way his hands shake, the way his heart pounds. wylan has always felt this need to be perfect at everything he does.

he knows, deep down, this comes from the way his father treated him. if he couldn't read, he'd be perfect in everything else he did in a sour attempt to gain his fathers love. it never worked.

wylan will never admit it, but hes terrified that jesper will leave him if he isnt perfect. he needs to be perfect.

it goes on like this for months before wylan finally snaps in front of jesper. they're having fun, trying out something new for the first time, and wylan finds it... difficult. he isn't perfect at it. and he just... snaps.

wylan starts crying. its silent at first as he tries to swallow back the sobs, until he cant. it takes jesper by complete surprise.

his hands shake as he tries and tries and tries to get the hang of whatever they're doing, but he just cannot get it right.

when jesper finally grabs wylans trembling hands, he startles, eyes wide with - what jesper can make of it - fear. wylan just stares at him, expecting the worst, expecting yelling, berating, screaming, hitting-

but jesper just hugs him. hugs him so tight, so close to his chest, that wylan feels the breath squeezed out of him. it takes him a while to eventually calm down and hug jesper back, his nose buried into jespers shoulder as he relaxes.

when hes finally feeling okay again, jesper convinces him to try again. and he does. and though he isnt perfect, though he struggles with getting it right, that fear that had lingered for so long finally started to leave.

jesper helps him, as much as he can. and wylan, for the first time in what feels like forever, feels like he can be just normal, that he can make a mistake and learn from it.

because he knows jesper loves him, and that nothing in the world - not even his flaws - could ever change thatm

[jazzythursday]

Wylan leaves in the morning.

He doesn’t plan to, not exactly, but he definitely doesn’t plan on staying, either.

Wylan is no stranger to one night stands. He can’t say he gets around very frequently, but enough to know the general plot of how they're supposed to go.

Flirt, drink, fuck, leave. The order isn’t necessarily set in stone, but the list ends the same every time.

He has a good time, for the most part, and it’s always a welcome break from the awful chemical smell burned into the Tannery or the staleness of the empty rooms in cheap boarding houses (when he can afford them) that Wylan is used to. Wylan likes the freedom that comes with it, too. It’s liberating to go where he wants and do what he pleases; to not worry about who he’s seen with or sleeps with or what they might think of him after. And he likes feeling wanted, for a little while. He likes being reminded that he exists.

So Wylan does not make a habit of falling asleep with the people who take him to bed.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, really.

He doesn't remember, and yet, Wylan wakes up with his head pillowed on Jesper’s chest. With Jesper’s arm draped over him. His breath is warm where it ghosts over the top of his hair, and if Wylan glances up he can see the way Jesper’s mouth— those lips— fall open in sleep.

It’s the best morning he’s had in months, possibly. Certainly the most comfortable.

He knows it can’t last.

Wylan looks at Jesper, still sleeping peacefully next to him, and he panics.

He’d woken up in Jesper Fahey’s arms.

He’d slept with Jesper Fahey.

Jesper has a reputation, and Wylan knows it, even new to the Barrel as he is. He’d heard about Dirtyhand’s second and resident sharpshooter plenty— Can’t resist a gamble, never misses a shot, and not just with bullets. Jesper Fahey is an excellent marksman, they say, with terrible luck with the cards, and a soft spot for pretty girls and even prettier boys.

Jesper’s played the field— multiple fields— went on a seismic world tour of fields.

Wylan is very good at not being noticed. He’s also very good at listening. People tend to look past him, they never pay any mind to the too skinny boy with the wild hair and the hunched shoulders and the grime that never seems to wash off completely after his long shifts at the Tannery. Wylan knows this, knows he’s very adept at being able to disappear, when he needs to.

So by the time Wylan actually meets Jesper, he’s well aware of his place in Ketterdam’s booming rumor mill. Jesper has many, and Wylan thinks by now he may have heard them all.

And yet, none of them do a thing to prepare him for Jesper.

They’d met in a tavern.

Wylan had been nursing his drink for the better half of an hour, trying to come up with reasons not to go back to the sad cot he had waiting for him in a rented room, with the only window overlooking the brick wall of a dark alley.

So far, he’d only come up with the one.

Wylan had seen the tall Zemeni man from across the room and hadn’t stopped looking since. He was flirting with a girl at the bar, twirling one of his guns in one hand demonstratively with a drink in the other. The girl— a curly haired blond— was giggling, hand pressed to her mouth with eyes that had very clear and direct intentions.

Wylan had almost resolved himself to a night of wasting the few kruge at his disposal with little to show for it, when the man had looked up and caught him staring. The man had smiled, twirling his gun with an extra flourish and then tipped his hat. Wylan smiled back, and gave a little wave. Embarrassing, He’d thought, stop it, he’s already with someone else anyway. He’d looked down, and stared at the near empty contents of his drink until someone sat down next to him and said, in a voice like apple butter and sweet syrup, “Can I get you another of those?”

Then Wylan had looked up into the eyes of the handsomest man he’d ever seen, and thought, he has the most perfect lips.

Out loud, he’d said, “I, uh, well—” His mouth was wide open, he’d realised, and shut it quickly. Again, the man had smiled. Again, Wylan had smiled back. “Yes, please.”

And that's how he’d met Jesper.

Afterwards, they’d stumbled through the streets— I know a place, Jesper said, If you want to take this somewhere more private— until they’d passed a corner where a vendor was selling traditional Kerch sweets out of a cart.

“Stroopwafels!” Jesper had stopped. “I love stroopwafels!”

Wylan was tugging him toward the cart without really making a conscious decision to move, and Jesper had laughed, surprised and delighted.

Wylan bought them both stroopwafels and handed Jesper his with a shy smile and a shrug. “For the drink.”

Jesper looked at him consideringly, head caulked to the side, and Wylan felt himself blushing in the low light of the lamps. “You’re sweet,” he’d said eventually.

“Is that bad?” Wylan had asked, sheepish. Jesper was already shaking his head.

“It’s good. Just not that many sweet things to be had in the Barrel. It’s refreshing.” He’d bit off a piece of one of the waffles and smiled. “These are sweet too,”— he’d leaned in, smile still earnest but with something decidedly different underneath— “I like sweet.”

Jesper had not touched him like he’d been expecting to be touched. Jesper made no assumptions; he’d asked, about everything, in a way that was near gentlemanly if it wasn’t for the fact that he radiated trouble through his pores. Jesper was— not quite gentle, because Wylan had expected hot and heady and everything deep, and Jesper was all of that and more— but he wasn’t rough. He didn’t bruise, not if Wylan didn’t say yes first, and afterwards he’d laid back down and settled Wylan into his arms in a way that he had no real way of protesting— didn’t want to protest, anyway— and kissed him.

It was that that had scared Wylan the most, he thinks. Because Wylan is rarely kissed for the express purpose of it. It was always the promise of more— the rush of what was to come. But people do not generally tend to kiss Wylan for the sake of kissing Wylan. It’s different. Jesper is different, and Wylan can’t afford to be stupid enough to do something like get attached. Can’t afford much at all— really.

But Jesper had kissed him, pleased and lazy and warm, and at some indeterminate time later they had both apparently fallen asleep.

And it was nice.

It was too nice. It hurt with how nice it was.

Wylan peels himself slowly out of Jesper’s arms, careful not to wake him, and decides then that he cannot stand to be here any longer.

Jesper Fahey is not what he’d expected, he’s better.

Jesper Fahey is lovely, and beautiful, and kinder to him than anyone has been to Wylan for almost as long as he can remember.

Jesper Fahey is more than he could have ever hoped for, and he isn’t going to stick around for someone like Wylan.

So Wylan leaves, and he doesn’t look behind him as he closes the door.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Nina: Would you punch Kaz for ten Kruge?

Wylan: No!

Inej: Absolutely not! That’s too little.

Jesper: Sure, why not?

Y/N: I will pay you ten Kruge to let me punch Kaz.

[magicandpizza]

Just another silly little horny wesper drabble…

Jesper dozes, flopped on his back on the parlour floor with Wylan sprawled across his chest, both slightly sweaty and extremely satisfied following their impromptu mid-afternoon romp.

From the hallway, there’s the sound of voices, one no doubt belonging to their housekeeper, Agnes, and the other belonging to-

“Your ma’s back,” Jesper says with a groan as the sound of footsteps approaches.

In his haste to get up, Wylan almost trips over the blanket that’s draped over them. “Ghezen’s fucking hand,” he hisses, running a frantic hand through his messy hair. “Jesper, get up!”

Jesper makes absolutely no effort to move, instead enjoying the view of his boyfriend, stark naked, scurrying around the room to search for their clothes that had previously been hastily discarded. He admires the pale expanse of his back, the blossoming red marks on the backs of his thighs, no doubt from Jesper’s sharp hipbones.

Unfortunately Jesper’s wandering gaze is prevented from dropping any lower and lingering on the evidence of their earlier activities, as Wylan steps into his underwear and then pulls on a shirt at random.

“Jesper,” he urges again, and with a sigh Jesper rouses himself, barely managing to tug on his underwear before Marya is calling for them and stepping into the parlour.

He watches as Wylan flushes all the way up to his ears, one foot in his trouser leg. It’s horribly endearing.

“Hi, mama,” Wylan says sheepishly, ducking his head to try and hide his blush, and Jesper bites back a grin.

Marya glances between them - Wylan noticeably rumpled, his shirt hanging open and only just pulling up his trousers, and Jesper still half naked, the blanket now tugged around his shoulders in a vague attempt to preserve what little remains of his modesty - and a wry smile dances on her lips.

“Glad to see you boys have been having fun while I was out,” she says, offering Jesper a knowing wink and making Wylan splutter with embarassment.

[reonnex]

Kaz is the first person Wylan tells about how he really ended up in the Barrel.

There's nothing special about that day. It was just an ordinary day as any in Ketterdam. The only thing different Wylan could think of was Jesper was visting Colm back in Novyi Zem.

Maybe thats why Wylan felt the urge to seek out the Bastard of the Barrel. The only one who could connect to Wylan in a way the others couldn't.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a councilman vist?" Kaz had said as Wylan entered his office. The man was hunched over his desk, flicking through papers.

"I need to tell you something- personal."

"Do I look like a therapist?" Kaz had grumbled, but sighed. "But fine, what do you want to tell me?"

"I didn't run away." The words felt heavy on his tounge as Wylan spoke. He felt frozen in place, not being to move from the spot in the doorway.

Kaz made no motion to look up to Wylan as he continued to write.

"How I ended up in the Barrel. I-I didn't run away from my father like everyone thought I did."

Kaz had seemed to know where Wylan was going before he could even speak. He didn't look up to Wylan still, but his writing flattered, and Wylan could see a glint in the man's eyes as if he was silently telling Wylan to continue.

And Wylan did.

He admitted everything through shaky breaths. How he was so thrilled to be leaving for this music school, but also heartbroken that he was being sent away.

He told him how he watched the Barrel lights dance through the night on the boat.

How hands wrapped around his neck, and he just accepted his fate in that momment.

How Miggson and Prior got distracted, and Wylan jumped overboard into the water below.

How he swam for who knows how long back to the Barrel. The will to live being the only thing on his mind. He still wanted to live. He wanted to live.

And Wylan told him that he clung onto hope his father didn't know Wylan was almost killed. That his father still cared for him. That was until he opened the papers.

By the time Wylan was done, he was a sobbing mess. Tears caked his cheeks as his knuckles were white from gripping his pant legs.

"He tried to kill you because he replaced you already." Kaz had finally said after a few minutes of silence.

"Yes. He said he wanted the world to forget he had a son."

Kaz had nodded at that before standing up and walked closer to Wylan. He pulled out a hankerchief and handed it to Wylan, who glady took it to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

"Do you believe in the eye for a eye? Or do you still cling onto your morals?"

Kaz had a deeper meaning to that. Wylan knew that immediately. "I believe it now...But it shouldn't end death." No matter what they did."

"I see." Kaz said. "Thank you for telling me this. If there is anything else you wish to talk about. My office is always open."

And Wylan had left.

The next day, news broke out that Van Ecks throat had been slashed in his cell. It wasn't deep enough to kill him and oddly seemed to be shallow enough to avoid all the major arteries. They had called a healer, but she had been held up helping a lost man with a limp who couldn't read directions know where he was and by the time she arrived, all she could do was stop the bleeding. She couldn't heal the scar it would leave.

He would still be able to talk, but it would be much limited then before.

When Wylan visted Kaz again that day, he had asked him about the attack.

"Despite Hellgates reputation Wylan, people in there have family's still. Sons and daughters they had to leave behind. Family means everything to them. They will do anything to protect those who hold a place in their lives." Was all Kaz has said before ordering Wylan to leave, and that he was busy with papers.

Even with his black gloves freshly clean, they could never get the stain of blood off of them. Wylan noticed the spot of red that was still left on. And knowing Kaz, he would never leave that on him unless he wanted it to be seen.

Sometimes water can wash away the history that has been around it forever. It can erode the stone, break apart land and have its sentiments sink onto the bottom. But it never forgets. The waters will never forget.

[undercover-grisha]

Relapse (Jesper Fahey Drabble)

Jesper ran his hand over his hair, and sighed. His eyes hurt. His lungs hurt. He was tense, and tired, and his neck hurt from where the bouncer had thrown him out by his collar. His body moved on instinct, and he slammed his foot into the trashcan beside him. And again, and again, and again. He kicked brick instead of tin and grasped at his knee, dropping curses in every language he knew. He stamped on trash, as if the paper wrappers from street food owed him ten thousand kruge.

Kaz watched from the side, hands clasped on his cane. And waited.

“Fuck!” Jesper cried, and kicked at the wall again. His eyes were teary and red, the bright gray sheen clouded in disappointment and loathing. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Kaz waited.

Jesper finally stopped his fit, and just seemed embarrassed now. He stood away from Kaz, shoulders visibly shaking, trying to reign himself in as he made plans.

“I’ll win it back,” he muttered, flexing his fingers for guns he’d left at home. He sniffed, and scrubbed his hands over his face yet again. “I can… I almost…”

“You can’t, and you didn’t.” Kaz said, voice echoing.

Jesper ground his fingers into his hair, nearly ripping the curls from his scalp in some sort of an effort to escape his body.

“I…” he wallowed for a moment, drinking his plans and pleas and profanities back.

Kaz slowly, slowly, pressed his hand to the back of Jesper’s neck, resting on the tight tendons that suggested sleepless nights. He could almost feel Jesper’s heart beating in his neck like an out of time clock. Kaz stood there as Jesper caught his breath, looking at the street as the boy swiped aggressively at his nose. Then Jesper turned so suddenly that Kaz’s hand jerked down to his shoulder, ready to push away, purely on instinct.

“What do I do now?” He asked, barely a whisper, and tried to redeem himself with a clearing of his throat. Kaz’s eyes flicked over his face, not studying him, he knew Jesper well enough that trying was no longer required. He could just read.

“You go home.” Kaz said simply. “You talk to Wylan. Let him fawn. You lounge in your money. You stay away from the Barrel for a while. And when you feel itchy, you come find me, and I’ll give you a job. Part time. Bartender or something.”

Jesper stared at him, just an infuriating inch too tall, gray eyes big and moony. He sniffed, and wiped at his nose. “Yeah. Yeah.” He said finally.

Kaz patted his shoulder to get him going, and Jesper finally turned, albeit somewhat stiffly, and they began to walk back to the Van Eck Estate.

“You’ll have to wear the Crow Club uniform. I don’t allow gauche in my club, you know.” Kaz noted. And Jesper laughed, maybe a little too loud, head thrown ever so slightly back, and Kaz’s lips moved into a small smile.

And the boys walked home.

[toopaletogotojail]

Telling the crows that they deserve better than who they're with: (assuming they'll react honestly, prob ooc)

Inej: *hung out with Nina more often* probably yeah, but I still love him

Nina: *knows her worth, also likes making Matthias panic* oh don't I know it

Wylan: I'm aware

Kaz, Matthias and Jesper simultaneously: No. No we do not

[sky-neverending]

Stupid Boys

soc drabble!!

-

Nina hummed as she laid out a blanket across the floor of her bedroom, placing some pillows beside it as well as a few snacks. "There!" 

"Are you sure I'm not imposing?" Wylan asked nervously, picking at his nails. "I can go if you want, I just-"

"Nonsense," Nina stated, falling gracefully onto the blanket with her nightgown covering her knees. "Come, sit. We can talk about boys or something."

"Is that what usually happens at sleepovers?" Wylan asked Nina curiously.

She took a moment to think. "Sometimes," she answered. "Usually, I just call them stupid."

"Ah," Wylan smiled. "Agreed."

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

omg hi could you maybe do a high-school au where you're failing English lit and Tolya is assigned as your tutor and you had no idea he was good at English and just mutual crushing vibes over poetry and maybe he's a jock and you go to his games to cheer him on and yeah...

the song could be Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince by Taylor Swift

Okay, look. Normally I don't do AU stuff, because, so many reasons, but I looked at this request and thought about it, and then I thought about it out loud and it sent me and bestie spiralling so fast into a whole Shadow and Bone High School AU concept, that I kind of, have to write this. I kind of have to, but it will have a lot (A LOT) of AU background info so hold on tight buddy. It may get to the point where you're asking yourself "what happened to the original plot of the movie," and to that I say... Idk.

Between Classes And The Bell - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warnings: Explicit Language. Spoilers for Seasons 1 & 2 And Potential Book Spoilers Implied Throughout. Not Canon Compliant, As AU But Canon Referenced Throughout. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Word Count: 5k+

"My expectations are low," Kaz says, tapping his cane against the table as he passes Zoya, a gentle taunt. Zoya purses her perfect lips and taps her pencil against the table, refusing to take the bait. "But they can always go lower, of course."

"You really think this is an argument you'll win, Brekker?" Zoya asks, turning in her seat to look at him. He smiles, eyes darting to make sure there is no teachers to oversee the devilish smirk, and clasps his spare hand over the one holding the cane.

"Never been in a fight I couldn't," he says. Zoya looks ready to explode. And you can understand why, Kaz never loses Debate, and she was just beginning to think she had the upper hand on him, but he had only wanted her to think that.

"I don't think we need to take this so seriously," says another classmate, "we aren't being supervised."

"I think taking things more seriously when unsupervised is essential to a thriving environment," Kaz is mocking Zoya and she knows it. She wants to do something, and if she let her heated nature get the better of her, she might. But she just folds her arms, and takes in a deep breath. As Head Girl she has to be composed, and as Captain of the cheer squad she has long learnt composure. When Zoya breathes it is like even the air is competing for her attention, she is that kind of beautiful. You glance at her and she has her eyes closed, calming herself. She shouldn't let Brekker get under her skin so easily, but Zoya takes everything very seriously, whereas Kaz gives the illusion of caring about school, all the teachers think he is a perfect student, and his grades suggest as much, but it is more of a game to Kaz. But that would go unnoticed by most, after all, no body tends to look too closely at a boy with a cane. But you don't doubt he is probably the most threatening of all of you. You'd heard a rumour once that he was running a blackmail scheme and that's why his grades were perfect without trying. But you knew Kaz was smarter than he cared to display, and you didn't want to put too much stock in rumours. School is so full of them after all.

You get up as the class empties, and you try not to pay close attention to the way Kaz hovers in the room, awaiting it's empty, you cannot tell if he is waiting for someone or waiting for the silence.

Zoya is headed for cheer practice and you are quick to step out of her way, it is best not to get under her feet at the best of times, yet again when she is fuelled with rage from an argument and especially when she is running late at the expense of losing said argument.

You step to the side to let most of the crowd pass, but as the corridors empty you feel yourself getting confused about where you were going. You catch a glimpse of your science partners leather messenger bag, and watercolour eyes and you nod to yourself, science, you're sure you've got a science next... but which one? Probably Chemistry, you'll settle for Chemistry.

"You're getting all turned around again," comes a voice from behind you. You turn and the familiar face of Inej Ghafa, is closer than you expected it to be. Inej is one of The Dregs like Kaz, you hated that name, but High School will be as High School will be and names like that sort of stuck. They called them The Dregs because they were scholarship students who couldn't afford to be in the school without the scholarship, 'Dregs Of Society' as a senior had not so politely explained to you one day when you were fresh in and dumb enough to ask. You nearly jump out of your skin, seeing here so close to you, without sensing her at all. She has a tendency to do that, so light on her feet, petite and so quiet. You have often wondered if the ability to walk unheard came first or if it was something she had learned from being a gymnast. If the acrobatics came naturally and the silence was learned, you're not sure which would be more impressive. Inej is simply a marvel, her scholarship is based on her gym skills and you would never doubt why, you've never seen someone able to preform with such confidence and prowess as her. But more than that, it's her heart you've noticed most, so quiet and yet so endlessly kind.

"Am I?" you ask her. She nods.

"You have English," she tells you, pointing towards the arts block.

"I have Chemistry," you say quickly but Inej shakes her head.

"No you had Chemistry last semester in this time slot on a Thursday," she corrects you, "now you have English."

You pause, but you realise she is right. You don't bother questioning how she knows that, one of the things you were quick to learn about Inej was she seemed to know everything about everyone, it came with the quietness you guessed, that she can hear and learn everything about everyone while no one even notices she's there. You wonder if that's what Kaz sees in keeping her so close, but then again based on the way the boy looks at her, you'd guess that was something else.

You turn to thank her but she has already disappeared from sight.

You're not late but you are cutting it close when you make your way to your seat. Nina, who you know relatively well from the short time you spent in the drama department last year, at her own coaxing, throws you a smile. "Pass this back to the pretty one?" she asks, handing you a note.

You glance over your shoulder and you don't need to ask who she means, you should have guessed. Matthias is looking even less eager to be in this class than you feel, but you don't blame him. For an exchange student Matthias doesn't seem to be thrilled to be here at all, most of the time, except when he is with Nina, which he is every moment he has the opportunity to be.

Every time you hear him speak it is to tell Nina that something she is doing is improper, and where he grew up that would've never been allowed, and yet every time you see him he is staring at her with a look in his eyes that could make you believe in love all on its own.

"Please?" Nina asks, fluttering those long beautiful eyelashes at you. You've never seen anyone say no to Nina Zenik, it might not be at all possible.

"Of course Nina," you tell her and hand the note back. Matthias frowns, and you can see the thoughts bubbling to the surface. He mumbles something about etiquette and respect for educators and then recognises Nina's handwriting and stops his grumbling.

"I think I am winning him over yet," she grins before turning back to the front of class. Nina was studying to be a nurse, but after a particularly rough semester switched carer plans and now intends to be a mortician, most of her bubbliness has come back to her, but it's clearest enough when she has the blonde in her eyeline, he truly brings out the best in her.

You find yourself tuning out most of the lesson, which you know you shouldn't, your Literature teacher is old enough that you feel like you should be able to get away with not paying attention, but you know she sees everything, and you're more than a little convinced everyone is afraid of her. So you're knocked sick immediately when Miss Morozova asks you to stay behind as the class is finishing up. You hope for a moment you might have misheard her, but her cold eyes on you is confirmation that you didn't.

She beckons you to the desk with a flick of her wrist and you approach, wondering what misstep you took, but she just slides your previous paper across the wood at you, and you see your mark and goose bumps spread through your skin. Fuck.

"You're going to fail," she tells you. She has never had a knack for encouragement or being gentle with her students.

"That is not what I had hoped," you admit. She laughs, it's a cold type of laugh, all apathy and disappointment.

"Not about hope child, it's about application and effort, I am not sure if you're missing the point or if you are not trying to see the point at all, either way you're not getting where you need to be," she shuffles a few papers, "so I have assigned you a tutor, hopefully that should fix your shortcomings, if not you will fail this class."

"A tutor?" you ask, the cold feeling just continues to spread through your body. Please not Zoya, please not Zoya. You don't doubt she is good at it, you've seen the turn around of Zoya's tutoring, but she intimidates you if you're honest and you don't think that is optimal for your learning. "Who?"

"Tolya Yul Bataar," she says, not bothering to look at you, "I have already informed him, the rest he will sort out, you're dismissed."

"Tolya?" you ask. You hadn't thought about it, you know he is in the advanced class, but you'd never given it much thought. Always seen the jock first, which isn't surprising, his education likes to focus on his sports, they treat his twin sister Tamar the same. Their skills making your school highest in competitive sports, it makes the school want to focus on their athletics. But you're a little annoyed at yourself for not even thinking about it.

You've thought about Tolya more than enough to have justified thinking about his academics. But the slight crush you've had on the athlete who stands taller than you can reason and with arms you're convinced could move mountains, you have had time to think about him.

You had lunch with his sister once, just the once. Tamar is nowhere near as tall as her brother, with short cropped hair which is a contrast to Tolya's own, but her strength is just like his, even for her size she is fierce and unrelenting. She looks like she could fuck you up, and you know she has the power behind her to back that up, and she would, and is willing to if the need arises. Her girlfriend Nadia had also been present at that lunch and you'd wanted to talk more than you had. Tamar was a type of brave you often wanted to be, unapologetic in her braveness, equal parts bark and bite.

You don't try asking anymore questions, you're pretty eager to get out the classroom that you walk straight into the corridor, not thinking to look around you, and are met by a leaning Tolya, who is rested up against the notice board beside the door. If normally he makes your heart skip a few beats, seeing him waiting for you nearly makes your heart stop. You tell yourself that's a fear response, but you know you're lying. "Tolya," you say breathing a little too heavily.

"I didn't take you for the flunking English type," he smiles at you, "but then again how well do you know a person?"

You smile, trying to not blush too deeply and give yourself entirely away. "I didn't know I was flunking," you admit.

"That isn't reassuring," he says, but he isn't criticizing you, you know criticism when you see it.

"It wasn't supposed to be."

"I am sure we can fix it up, I am... fond of prose."

You're supposed to be studying Remains by Simon Armitage, but even in his tutoring state, you can tell Tolya is finding the poem just as painful as you are. You don't want to be difficult, you don't mean to be, you're stressed about the fact you're going to flunk English Lit, and you know Tolya wants to help. But this poem is driving your attention elsewhere, and in an attempt to not stare at the large, pretty, tutor doing his best to go through themes with you, you let your eyes wander around the library.

Jesper Fahey, the lean theatre student with the true talent for dramatics in every aspect of his life, right down to the way he is dressed with bejewelled collar pins and matching cufflinks, is leaning over your chemistry partner, giving him that smile you recognise. Jesper has always been a flirt, and he never misses the mark, you've seen him flirt with nearly everyone around, but he only ever gives Wylan those eyes. You'd seen it first the day Wylan has suggested pyrotechnics for one of their next play, the same day Jesper tried to pitch Rocky Horror, they were a strange match, but perfectly matched in their strangeness. You especially liked Wylan, as your partner in the sciences you spent enough time with him to know that he is so smart, the kind of smart that makes your head spin, he could be a scholarship student, but he actually is a Legacy, not that you'd know it by looking at him, or talking to him. He doesn't really talk about his family, and you never pushed, knowing he runs the tech for the drama kids and can make homemade fireworks is a decent amount of know about a person.

"Am I boring you?" Tolya asks, his voice soft.

"No," you chuckle, "but I won't lie Simon Armitage is, maybe to death."

Tolya offers you a chuckle in response. "In honesty, I would like to say there is credit in all poetry, and I think there is, something for everyone, but I am inclined to agree this is no Keats," Tolya concedes.

"Or Wordsworth, or even Larkin," you add. He smiles.

"So you do like poetry?" he asks. You frown.

"Did I leave you with the impression I didn't?" you ask. He tilts his head, and he looks so unreasonably large in that blue library seat that you bite your tongue to not giggle at it.

"I had to read your previous paper to prep," he says, "you made it sound like poetry was the lowest form of art."

"I didn't mean for it to sound like that, maybe that poem," you joke, "but not all poetry."

"So, what poems do you like?" he asks, closing the book.

"What poems do you like, I didn't take you for the type," you give that preconception willingly, hoping to dismiss it quickly, and get his true interests locked into memory in a hope to know him better.

"All muscle and no appreciation for art?" he asks. You shrug.

"I never thought you were only muscle," you say, "you've got height too."

He laughs a little too loud for the library but you're too busy smiling to care. "I like classic poetry, epic prose," he admits.

"Iliad?" you ask. He grins.

"Yeah, Homer is up there," he nods, "also The Cantos."

"Oh is that... Ezra Pound?" you check, genuinely unsure if you're right but the gleam in his eyes tells you that you are before his words do.

You sit for a while, swapping favourites and preferences and you don't hear the sound of the bell ringing, calling you to classes, you just keep listening to Tolya reciting from memory and you think you could listen to that forever.

"I hate to pull you away," comes a voice anyone would recognise. You look up and the resident Lantsov, Nikolai with his puppy grin and sparkling eyes is looking at Tolya, "but you are very late."

Tolya glances at the time, as long in you as you were in him, and gets up a little too quickly. "I lost track of time," he admits.

"I can see that," Nikolai spares you a glance, and smiles back at his friend. Nikolai is charming, charming in all the ways a politician might be without half the deceit and double the bravado. Handsome in the way that he knows he is handsome and leans on it, but doesn't rely on it solely like people as pretty as he often do. But it works for him, and you understand where it comes from. Lantsov is a Legacy student, which gets him a lot of allowances, but his older brother got expelled a few years back and he has been under a lot of pressure to not fuck up like Vasily did. So he goes the extra mile, does the extra work, head boy, and boy scout all in one, just to fix what his brother broke. The new girl Alina is hovering not far behind, Nikolai took a liking to her immediately, she looks lost in this place, she got in on a scholarship for a sport she didn't play and has been trying to juggle everything ever since. But she mostly talks about missing home, she has a boy back at her old school, a boy her heart aches at the absence of. Usually that sort of thing is a lie, but the way she talks about him, you would never doubt, you're not sure of his name, you've heard it once or twice, Hal, Mal maybe, you don't let your mind linger on the thought.

"I have to go, but I promise to meet you here tomorrow?" Tolya asks you, bringing you back to the library and out of your mind.

"I'll be here," you say. You watch the three of them walk away, the twins have been close to Nikolai as long as you've known any of them, thick as thieves and twice as protective of one another. You can admire a friendship like that.

"And the final stanza, ending with that imagery," Tolya is trying so very hard to stay on topic, but you are tapping your fingers across a very old copy of Odyssey and he knows you're trying to pull his attention away, and you know it's working.

"or six-feet-under in desert sand, but near to the knuckle, here and now, his bloody life in my bloody hands," you recite. "I know Tolya, it is ingrained in my mind I promise you."

"If you fail the next essay you won't be stuck with me anymore, you'll be failed," Tolya reminds you.

"I am very aware of my predicament," you straighten up, "fail and well fail, or succeed and be told the tutoring is effective and I must continue to spend these hours with you."

The way you tease him makes him want to forget the studying all together and just keep you in his company for longer, without explanation or reason beyond just wanting you there.

"This is such torture for you, isn't it?" He asks, not meaning a word.

"Not in the slightest," you confess. "My favourite part of the day, and not just because you bring really good snacks."

"I do," he agrees reaching to take a biscuit from the centre of the table. "Are you coming to the game?"

The question strikes you as odd, you have spent weeks with Tolya and you've discussed art and music and poetry at length, but you've avoided talking sports, you thought because he had wanted not to talk about it, but with this question you wonder if maybe you've been negligent in not asking him about that aspect of his life. If you've come across as uninterested in the athletics and dismissive because of it, and that thought fills you with an uncomfortable nervousness.

"I hadn't been planning on," you say slowly, "should I?"

"It's going to be a good game," he says, "a competitive one." You nod, trying to seem more enthusiastic than you're sure how to be about sports. "It's an important game," he admits, "and I would... like to have you there, if you want to come?"

"Are you asking me to come watch your game?" you ask, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. He smiles.

"Yeah, I kind of am," he admits, "is that okay?"

"Yeah," the blush creeps up your neck but has the respect to stay away from your cheeks, weeks alongside Tolya you've had to train yourself to blush more subtly, "I'd like that."

Genya and Nina are both fussing over Zoya in preparation for the game, Genya because she wants to be beautician and it is helpful, Nina because it's her prerogative to get involved wherever she wants to. Seeing Genya and Zoya be so friendly with one another is still a little unnerving, due to a not so friendly rumour about Genya and a teacher Genya had been the subject of a lot of hate from the girls at school. Zoya was among them. But the last year has brought everyone a lot closer, and everyone has become a lot more understanding, and Zoya with the help of Alina went around getting Mr Kirigan fired for his unprofessional behaviour, that which they could prove anyway. Genya weathered the worst of it all, and she never seemed to shake.

"Genya if you do not stop fussing me," Zoya warns her, but it's coming from a softer place than her normal warning tone. Zoya holds a lot of guilt when it comes to Genya, about not defending her, about not believing her, about not protecting her from the rumours.

Even Zoya had her fair share of rumours, the real reason as to why she doesn't date, the way her eyes linger moments too long on a pretty girl in the hallway, but again, you didn't like to put too much stock into rumours.

Genya twirls one of her red tendrils around her hand, trying to keep them off Zoya's long dark hair which she has pulled up into a ponytail. "Can I at least-,"

"No," Zoya says sternly. "David, please come get your girlfriend."

David, the reed thin brunette who rarely understands half of what is going on around him, looks up from the book he is reading, something on geology and metallurgy, to look at Genya who gives him a sweet smile, and he gives her a little wave, not having heard exactly what Zoya said. David and Genya are high school sweethearts, the type that you're not even aware you are rooting for at first, but at some point you realise the happiness of their relationship is the thing you are basing your idea of true love on.

"You're coming tonight right?" Nina asks you, throwing you a look across the room, you hadn't realised she noticed you being there, between trying to keep Genya from trying to colour Zoya's hair and Zoya from trying to kill Genya with a look.

"To the game?" Genya turns her eyes to you and they're glistening with anticipation. "I didn't realise you found your school spirit."

"I was invited," you explain.

"Yeah, by a tree with the muscles of a Saint," Nina quips giving you a wink. "I don't think it's school spirit they've found."

"Tolya?" Genya asks, tone shifting up a pitch with her eagerness.

"Don't say it like that," you say. Genya leans up on her elbows, resting her pretty face over her crossed hands.

"Like what?" she asks.

"Like," you gesture to her in her entirety, "like that, like you think you know something I don't know."

"If your truly flunking Lit, I think we all know something you don't know," Zoya says, "now can we get this show on the road, I cannot and will not be late."

"Ignore her," Nina mouths, "she's just cranky because... well because she is Zoya."

The air is brisk but you don't feel cold as you walk towards the field, you see Brekker underneath the bleachers talking with someone you don't recognise, but you pretend not to see anything.

Wylan has his arms around Jesper's neck in the back of the stands, and he looks less lost and more found. Matthias and Nina are bickering by the food queue about how acceptable sweet toppings are on savoury foods and she is too wrapped up in her fun game of wind up Matthias to see your wave, but you don't mind.

Zoya has corralled the cheerleaders and they're all pretty ready, Alina is staring trying not to get roped into anything as one of the cheerleaders in blue tries to tell her how good cheer is for the spirit.

Nikolai is trying to convince Zoya of something but you're not sure what, but you are at least sure it isn't working.

You are brought out of your people watching by feeling a presence close to your side, you turn your head and Inej is walking in stride. "Tolya is looking for you," she says, and you expect her to disappear into nothing as quickly as she appears, but she doesn't. She is a girl after all, not a ghost.

"When does the game start?" you ask.

"You have time," she assures you. She points south and you follow that guidance, and you see Tamar leaning on the gate, she is talking with some of the other players, and she looks so at home. It would be hard to believe there was a time when Tamar had to argue her way onto the team, given how much she has to offer.

Tamar gets a warning for cursing with enthusiasm and you cannot help but chuckle. If the other team wants a fight, they will definitely find one with her. You're about to ask if someone has seen Tolya when you feel the shadow casting across your shoulder.

"I'll get them back," Tamar is insisting.

"Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much," Tolya quotes, standing beside you. Tamar throws her brother an unamused look.

"Oscar Wilde," you say craning your neck up to look at Tolya. He looks different in his sporting kit, but his hair is still held back the same, and his arms are still exposed to the cold air, just not with rolled up sleeves this time. Looking at him makes you feel cold, and you want to ask him how he isn't.

"You're shivering," he points out.

"I am?" you ask, glancing down at your own body, "I hadn't expected it to be so cold."

"Here," Tolya reaches behind him into a bag and pulls out a jersey, it's for the team and is sporting his number on the back, he hands it to you with one hand. "So you're warm."

You take it slowly, mind racing with the many implications of such a small, kind gesture, and you don't want to jump the gun with this, with him. "Thank you," you manage, slipping the fabric over your shoulders. "I didn't even realise you had one of these."

"Everyone on the team has one," he says.

"No, a jacket," you tease, "you never wear one."

He shrugs. "I don't get cold," he explains, looking around to see how quickly he needs to make his way to the field.

"Then why did you carry it with you?" you ask. The jersey smells like Tolya, from being in his bag you'd guess, and you feel a weight in the side pocket, reaching in you find a small packet of dried mango. You let yourself smile at that.

"I've got to run," he says, "wish me luck?"

"Break a leg," you say, "or is that just something you say for theatre?"

"I'll take it," he says before joining the team.

You'd not given the sports of your school too much thought, but watching Tolya play you must admit you weren't giving the sport aspect much thought even now. You cheer for Tolya, not the game, you're watching Tolya, not the game. If anyone asked you what was happening you're not sure you'd be able to offer more than this name.

If you had any doubts about your schools victory they would have been quickly squashed by the victory cries from Tamar, all fervour and for more expletives than the coach is happy for there to be. She gets a whistle of a warning and a stern look which she just brushes off, letting her brother pull her into a hug.

You are leaning on the fence, which you hadn't noticed until now, with Tolya approaching you. The field is lower set than the stands but Tolya still feels very tall as he gets closer. You can understand why Nina described him as treelike. "Good game," you say. The warmth of his jersey on your skin feeling as secure as that embrace you watched him give Tamar, and it leaves you reaching out for him with eager thoughts and hesitant hands. You tuck them deep into your pockets- his pockets, trying not to give yourself away.

"Thank you," he says, the adrenaline in his smile is dizzying. "Thank you for coming by the way, it means a lot."

"Thank you for inviting me," you say. You want to say more, you want to find the words for this feeling, this gentle buzzing that is sparking between the two of you.

"Ask her you coward," Tamar calls from her place now sat next to Nadia, straddling the bench of a lower section of the bleachers, sharing a milkshake with her girlfriend.

Tolya laughs. "I made a bet with my sister, if we win I had to take that win, and take a risk," he says, and for someone so tall he looks so nervous. "And we won."

"You did," you nod, "quite well I think."

"Really well," he admits, laughter echoing in the spaces between the words.

"So what risk?" you ask, feeling yourself leaning onto your toes, needing to know, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

"I was wondering if you'd like to see me, outside of school hours?" he asks.

"Like now?" you ask, trying to keep the smile at bay. He tilts his head in a nod.

"Yeah, like now, but maybe more... just us," he says. You feel like you might fall down but you can't help but tease him.

"For studying?" you ask. He can tell you're playing with him.

"No," he says, "not for studying."

"Are you trying to ask me on a date Tolya?"

"I am trying."

"I would like that, I would like that a lot."

[seidenbros]

I swear, the way I always write (in multi-chapter at least) Wesper thinking about kissing the other one, but not going through with it, once I get to the Hockey AU, Wylan is just gonna impulsively kiss Jesper.

[ruins-and-rewritez]

DAY 5: SPICE: Wesper

The kettle releases a unearthly high pitched scream and Jesper essentially leaps over the counter before it can be noticed by any one else. Stealth is absolutely neccessary if he is going to complete this mission unnoticed.

He sticks his head into the hallway for a moment, searching for any signs of life, left to right and back in quick succession. Glancing right is a pointless endeavour since the only room on that end is a dusty storage compartment that even he hasn't visited in his time here but better safe than sorry.

He ducks back into the safety of the kitchen, determined to finish the task quickly before Wylan notices that he hasn't been by to bother him for hours. (Something unheard of with Jesper's constant energy and need to make sure that his boyfriend didn't accidently blow himself up when he was distracted polishing his pistols)

Jesper taps his fingers impatiently on the counter, counting the seconds needlessly as there's a clock hanging on the wall not five feet away, but being off by even a second could result in a disaster.

When the minute finally inches its way to seven past six, he steps quickly toward the oven, reaching out to grab the handle, hissing when he singes his fingertips. The pains of being in a constant state of overeagerness.

With the door open, hands gripping potholders this time, Jesper carefully manuevers the pan off the rack and settles it on the counter beside the other steaming dishes.

His practicing with Marya must be paying off to some extent because everything he's made at least appears to be edible, a far cry from their first attempt when he'd pulled a charred black log of something that was once mixed ingredients out of the oven's depths.

He smiles at the memory, neither of them held any particular skill in the kitchen but the mutual need to have something distracting was enough to get them to take a shot at cooking and baking recipes from unused books while Wylan was off locked up in his lab trying to somehow make explosions more efficent.

"Jes?"

"In here," he calls back hurrying to pull a set of china plates from the cupboard.

Jesper stands beside the counter, busying his hands with transfering food from pots and pans to the plates, trying to make it look more appeatizing then it is, while he waits for Wylan to make the trek from the sunroom to the kitchen.

"What's all this."

He turns to see Wylan in the doorway, head tilted curiously like a puppy or maybe a kitten, goggles still in place holding back his curls, a smudge of indeterminate origins streaked over his left cheek, his one sleeve singed and flaking. Adorable.

"I made dinner."

Wylan blinks surprised, before asking, "this isn't going to be like New Years' is it?"

They both cringe at the memory, he'd tried to make everyone breakfast last New Years Day after they'd spent half the night drinking the alcohol Nina and Matthias had brought back from Ravka and a suspicious drink from home that Colm would only refer to as 'an old secret family recipe' that Jesper highly suspected was actually a special brew from old man Raken who used to live down the road aways.

It had been a bountiful feast of burnt toast, watery coffee, and scrambled eggs seasoned with salt, pepper, and the timeless addition of crunchy shells. The only thing that had managed to be unpoisoned was the bowl of apples he'd brought upon from the cellar.

Jesper swallowed nervously, "I sure hope not," he admitted.

Whatever reservations he had, Wylan still allowed him to lead him over table and place the plate before him.

He was tentive in his movements, not quite sure whether or not he wanted to risk it, but eventually he gave in. Jesper watched on as he led a slice of beef into his mouth.

Wylan paused, eyes widening, before continuing to chew. "I can't believe you made this."

Jesper beamed, proud he had finally beaten the odds against his ability to cook. He settled in his chair and cut off a sample for himself. Hmm. It was good.

They chatted in between bites. Wylan was finally making progress on what he called "Inferni in a can", the final product would be a miniture cannister, about the size of your thumb, that when set alight and thrown into the desired area, would cause a blast of fire that could burn down the space of a small building.

Jesper told him how he'd almost caught his pant leg on fire while he was cooking when he'd added a log to the flames and spark flew out and landed on the cuff, he showed the small hole it'd made before he'd managed to put it out.

Finally, the plates empty, save the last dregs of the sauce he'd made for the meat and potatoes, Jesper got up to grab the desert. Pumpkin bread and a frothy, buttery cream that he'd whipped up.

He cut them each a slice, regaling Wylan with a tale of how he'd run into a member of the Council at the store earlier (quite literally) and how the old man had been dragging himself along behind his wife like a petulant child who'd been denied chocolate muttering an exsasperated 'yes dear' everytime she'd added another thing to her list.

Wylan smiled and commented along the way, lifting the bread for a bite, when Jesper took the conversation over again.

He let out a cough, then another, soon becoming red face as his lungs tried to dispell whatever bacteria had invade their domain.

"Wy?"

"Water," he managed to choke out.

Jesper rushed to the pump over the sink, filling the glass until it overflowed and spilled on his shoes, before hurrying back.

Wylan grasped the cup desperately and brought it to his mouth, taking long gulps, draining it before he could finally breath again.

"What the hell is in that," he rasped pointing at the bread lying on his plate accused.

Jesper wrinkled his brow, "pumpkin, eggs, water, sugar, cinnamon-"

"What's in there that is so fucking spicy?"

Now Jesper was really confused, he'd followed the recipe, adding the ingredients and stirring and pooring and baking. "I don't..."

"Show me what you used."

He led him over to the counter where the dry ingredients still sat uniformly beside the sink.

Wylan picked up the containers one by one eventually stopping on the can of ground cinnamon. His shoulders began shaking and for a moment Jesper was truly afraid he'd upset him to the point of tears.

Wylan turned putting the can into the other man's hand, "Jesper what does this say."

Jesper held it up and read the label, "100% pure ground cayanne pep- oh-"

Wylan started laughing. The kind that start in your belly and bubble up until they overflow.

"I'm so so sorry Wy I didn't mean I mean I'd never-"

Wylan put a finger to his lips, "maybe next time read the label." He burst into another fit a giggles at that a held onto Jesper's shoulder for support.

When he finally calmed down, he took a small step closer, "if you wanted to spice things up, there are probably better ways then almost killing me."

Jesper blinked, before his mouth pulled itself into a small smirk, "oh, well I guess I could think of a few."

~~~~

For anyone wondering how Wy could even tell what the can said, I imagine he spent lot of time in the kitchen when he was little because of the similarities between cooking and chemistry and he knows most of the ingredients by the size and shape of their containers, in this case he knows that cinnamon is in a medium, square can as opposed to the medium, circular one that holds the actual spice like pepper and paprika. And Jesper just saw 'ground' and assumed it was the cinnamon instead of actually reading the label

[simplybuckley]

so close (enchanted)

listen, this song is gorgeous. i will never, ever get over its beauty and how this long feels like falling in love. so, naturally, i have made an ENTIRE wesper scene to it in my head! let me lay it out for you.

WITH music time stamps :)))

-

it all starts when kaz comes to them with another silly little plan and they all need to dress up as fancy, rich people to get into a ball. a great big fancy ball, with lots of food, drinking, and most importantly, dancing.

so jesper and wylan are situated on the floor, right on the dance floor. they've been told to just blend in, don't look suspicious, pick up little bits of information. kaz has reminded them that, at ALL costs, they need to blend in, whatever is to happen.

the band starts up. everyone starts moving to dance, in their partners, all ready to go. wylan panics and is like 'shit, what do we do jes?' and jesper, without missing a single beat, grabs wylans hand and pulls him to the middle of the room, getting ready to dance with him. because, as kaz said, at all costs. (0:00-0:46)

the music finally kicks in and everyone starts to dance, including wylan and jesper. wylan has not a single idea what is going on, and just follows jespers lead, because he trusts him. trusts him that this is needed to get through the plan. (0:46-1:23)

so they start dancing, close together, flowing with the music as perfectly as they can. wylan had no idea that jesper knew how to dance like this, but hey, he learns something new every single day apparently.

wylan is just... heart eyes. the actual definition of heart eyes. he knows they're in the middle of something important, but he just help admiring how beautiful jesper is, how close he's holding him yet how soft his hands are on his waist. he's completely in love. suddenly, the plan doesn't matter as much anymore. its just him and jesper, on the dance floor, hearts and hands entangled with one another. (1:23-1:58)

they are both entirely entranced by one another, their eyes never parting. the rest of the room has picked up on this, the two handsome gentlemen dancing in the middle of the floor like they're dancing on clouds. naturally, the crowd starts to part as they spot this, just watching these two dance because it's all they can do. it's so natural. the crowd begin to watch in awe.

wylan and jesper dont even realise they are the only ones on the floor, all smiles and giddy giggles, just happy to be with one another. (1:58-2:18)

they are so incredibly in love with one another, it's unbelievable. nobody has anything seen something so pure and beautiful as this. as the music swells, jesper wraps a sturdy arm around wylans waist and picks him up off the floor, the two twirling around, having completely forgotten they are here to actually steal stuff. the only thing they seem to be stealing is each others hearts. eventually, as the music begins to soften again, jesper puts wylan down and for a moment, they stop. wylan wants to say so much, as so much, but he instead opts for the option he knows best; he kisses jesper with every ounce of love and wonder his body can produce. jespers hands are firmly holding wylans waist, wylans hands every so gently cupping jespers jaw, slightly pulling him down so that he doesn't have to strain on his tip toes. (2:18-2:30)

jesper is taken back, but smiles as they part. they rest their foreheads together and take a moment to catch their breath, before jesper whispers something to wylan that he at first thinks he imagines, and he looks at him all doe-eyed and surprised, about to burst with absolute joy. before wylan can respond or ask about it, the music starts up again, and jesper whisks him back into the dance, their bodies moving in perfect time. (2:30-2:46)

by this time every one is dancing again, but still keeping their eyes on these two love-struck idiots in the middle of it all. it is quite literally like the world revolves around them. again, its all smiles and giggles and stolen kisses, and wylan swears his heart is about to explode in his chest. (2:46-3:10)

as the music finally comes to an end, they slow to a stop, just standing and holding one another, their bodies pressed flush up against one another. kaz and nina are watching, hidden in the crowd that didn't join the dance floor. nina's jaw is basically on the floor as she turns to kaz, who actually has a bit of a smile smacked across his usually stoic face. its then she realises that kaz knew exactly what he was doing by placing them two on the dance floor together. she turns to him, smirking and says 'you had this planned all along, didn't you?' to which kaz just looks at her and says 'perhaps.' (3:10-end)

-

i am SO happy for people to take this idea and expand on it, give it edits, give it fics, give it art - whatever you want. because i love this, i am obsessed with it, and i need you all to know what i see when i listen to this song. hence why its in my wesper playlist.

[jazzythursday]

Jesper doesn't understand how he holds it all in there. Wylan’s brain is like a squirrel. Packing nuts into expanding pockets for the long winter. He knows everything.

He lights up with it. Like he constantly wants to share the fruit of his labour. Like the knowledge he collects needs to be poured out in bits before it overflows. He talks and explains and it’s fast and free and it’s so Wylan, through and through— and then it’s like he catches himself. Like he dims once he realises what he’s done.

Jesper doesn’t want to think of the implications of that look. Because it makes his chest tight and puts a bad taste in his mouth. He’s happy to reassure Wylan that he likes when he talks as much as it takes for him to believe it.

But that look— right before. Like he’s so happy to be telling him, like he’s happy to be listened to. Then the split second of frozen fear. The pinched lips, tense jaw, widening and then squinting of those big, big eyes. The part where he huffs that short, horribly self deprecating little laugh. The part where he looks down, and when he looks back up there’s something stiff in his smile, false in the upturn of his lips. Eyes like cut glass shining in the light. The crest of an eagle, mid flight, shot down. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Um— I’m probably boring you. I’ll stop.”

You could never bore me, he thinks. Keep talking forever, he thinks. Tell me who made you think your words weren't worth anything to anyone so I can make them taste the blood on their own tongue.

Wylan and boring are not two words that Jesper can even fathom placing in the same sentence. Wylan is like lightning in a bottle. Like a spark personified.

Jesper isn’t sure how much he’ll accept. He doesn’t want a repeat of Shu Han if he can help it. Jesper hates disappointing people, hates being anything other than exactly what they want— expect— out of a good time with Jesper Fahey. He isn’t sure what he’s allowed to argue for or against when it comes to Wylan. What they have— This thing between them— is still so terrifyingly new.

He’ll put himself out there for this, though, as much as he dares, to make sure Wylan knows that he’s listening.

[olskuvallanpoe]

fic: he’s in the driver’s seat (drabble)

wesper (six of crows), 686 words - hurt/comfort

summary: a drabble surrounding wylan’s understanding of love as told through the driver’s seat of a car

[magicandpizza]

I’m on one with my “Colm overhears Wesper having sex” drabbles, apparently. Tagging @aphroditestummyrolls for ✨Colm✨ (and the encouragement ❤️).

Ever since that first morning a few days ago, the morning after they finally slept, they’ve been, well, insufferable. Colm’s lost count of the amount of times they’ve snuck off in the middle of helping him harvest the jurda blossoms, returning a while later with lips bitten red, clothes and hair rumpled.

They’re not very subtle about it, is the thing. He’s seen the looks they give each other, his son’s sly smile and the twinkle in his eyes, Wylan’s coy glances from underneath his lashes, the little smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth.

So it’s not that he’s surprised.

It’s the middle of the night. By all accounts, he should be asleep. And he was, waking only for a trip to the bathroom and a glass of water. Back in bed and staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come, he hears the soft creak of the bed in Jesper’s room and hushed voices.

He tries not to listen, tries to focus on the sounds of the farm at night, but his home is small and always has been. And, he supposes, the more you try not to hear something, the more you inevitably do hear it.

So Colm lies there, trying very hard not to imagine what’s making his son curse up a storm while Wylan laughs breathlessly.

There’s a lull for a moment, then a sharp gasp and a quickly muffled moan, followed by the low murmur of Jesper’s voice.

“Baby, you have to be quiet.”

Colm could do without knowing that his son calls his boyfriend baby in bed. He could definitely do without hearing the whine that Wylan lets out in response.

With a sigh, he shoves his head underneath the pillow and waits for it to be over.

[amsgrey]

he just sounds like that

Kaz Brekker x Fem!reader (established relationship)

synopsis: Arrogance has no place on a job, but you let it lower your guard. You pay the price, but Kaz helps bring you back.

I kind of like merging Book/Show Kaz and trying to keep accurate to his mannerisms and humour etc so hopefully this is good. I came about this idea after thinking about this scene from TLOU and how Kaz most definitely had an asshole voice. Also, I will probably make a few parts/drabbles about Kaz x Inferni Reader, because I love Kaz no apologies.

Warnings: Mentions of Slavery, reader reliving her time as a slave (briefly), Mentions of scars of wrists from slavery chains etc, A fumbley understanding of the technology of the time and inferni powers (it's been so long since I read the books)

Getting split from the other crows was distressing, but there was nothing you could do about that now. You and Kaz just had to keep going, trying to work your way back to the rendezvous point.

"Tell me again why you thought this would work," You hissed to Kaz, who had been leading you in a circle for what felt like forever.

Kaz gave you an irritated glare, "It did work."

You scoffed, "Yeah, that's why we're lost in this saints forsaken mansion."

Kaz let out an exasperated sigh, "Are you done?"

You and Kaz had known each other for years, the entire time you'd known each other you bantered like this. Kaz would act all irritated and stern, but you knew he silently liked the way you could relieve tension and make even him crack a smile. As the only two Crows born and raised in the farmlands of Kerch, you shared a different connection. You had found each other before The Barrel knew Kaz as the force he was now. Kaz had saved you from Slavers and convinced you to join the Dregs, helping you find a life without fear.

Since then, you followed him through everything, which at this current moment, meant even through the merchant's maze of a mansion. Nina, Matthias and Wylan were somewhere outside, waiting for you, Kaz, Inej and Jesper to get what you were after and meet them. You wondered if they would be growing impatient yet, you were late, which almost never happened on a job with Kaz.

The job had started off as most others, breaking in was always the easy part. You had been privy to Kaz's plans, watching him study a map of the mansion for weeks before he committed to the job. He knew the place like the back of his hand, but he didn't know the extent of the new security measures the merch had introduced.

You and Jesper dawdled behind Inej and Kaz as they led the group through the halls. Occasionally Jesper would pause at a painting or display piece and make comments about its ugliness or stupidity.

The last painting he'd criticized was of an older man, dressed in a bright blue kefta with red embroidery. Jesper had caught your sleeve and pointed it out to you, "Looks like the merch has inferni ancestor."

You had screwed your nose up at the portrait, "I thought he was Kaelish?"

"He is," Kaz said, already at the end of the hall with Inej. He was waiting for the two of you to catch up, like a boy calling his dogs home.

Walking through the mansion felt surreal, mostly because you hadn't been to many places with such decadent displays of wealth. The four of you could move through the hallways unnoticed because the Merch and his family were out at the theatre - or whatever it was rich people did in Ketterdam on Sunday Nights. He had brought most of his guards and men with him, leaving the halls silent and unpatrolled. Kaz had called him an arrogant fool, to declare his mansion impenetrable and then take all his men out to prove it. There was no place able to keep out Dirtyhands, especially not when he had his crows by his side.

Thinking back on it you realized how you all had been too arrogant, thinking this job was in and out, easy. You'd let your guard down - something Kaz warned you to never do in this city - and now you were paying the price.

Everything went wrong when you and Kaz finally found what you were looking for - the merch's family jewel, a sapphire embedded in rich Kealish gold. You had easily broken through the fabrikator-made lock, it might have been made by a Grisha but it couldn't hold up against a Grisha. Especially not one who could melt metal with the same ease as cutting pastry. Kaz had reached for the jewels, as soon as he lifted it off the display the room filled with an ominous hum. Like the sound of a machine slowly whirring to life.

Kaz had pocketed the jewels, grabbing your forearm and tugging you along behind him as he went for the door Jesper and Inej were guarding. Before you could make it metal bars slid down over the doorway. You had tried to use your small science to melt the metal, even Jesper tried to budge it, but nothing worked. Kaz ordered Inej and Jesper to find their own way out as alarms chimed, directing you back through the room to another exit.

You had followed behind him willingly, knowing he knew the way around the mansion. You'd been irritated to learn how wrong you were, Kaz knew the layout of the mansion but the Merch had updated the floorplan. Clearly, another Fabrikator addition to hinder thieves.

"Wait," Kaz held up his hand and you barrelled straight into his back at the sudden halt, "Do you hear that?"

Footsteps.

"Back," Kaz whispered, ushering you back the way you had come.

You got to the end of the hall before you heard more bodies approaching, you were surrounded. Immediately you went to the window, trying to pull at the latch and open it. It didn't work, but you could see light dancing on the tree line.

"Kaz," You called, "Look."

You both squinted into the dark, trying to distinguish who it was in the woods. You saw the glint of steel, like someone was spinning a revolver.

"It's Jesper."

The footsteps were getting louder, there was no way you and Kaz could get out of this on your own.

"Step back," You struck your flint, the sparks allowing you to create a ball of flame. You concentrated it as small as it would allow, pressing your palms against the window until cracks started forming. After a few more seconds the pane shattered, sending the shards falling to the ground below. You were on the second floor, even if you wanted to jump there was no way you and Kaz would be able to land safely. You settled for sending up a burst of flames, Jesper and the others would be on the lookout for it, your SOS symbol.

"Stop!" Someone shouted and all hell broke loose.

You and Kaz fought well side by side, you both knew each other's moves, working in tandem to take down opponents. It looked like you might win for a little while, then a woman rounded the corner with her hands pressed together. Heartrender, you realized it too late.

You were woken suddenly, like your heart was all of a sudden coming back to life. You gasped and spluttered, lungs burning. Your hands were bound above your head, separated by a thick metal rod so that you couldn't summon. Already you could feel the ache in your shoulders, hanging from your arms was something you had been used to when you were a slave. Now, you had to fight back the panic that tried to grip your heart.

You struggled to find your footing for a moment, but eventually managed to stand up enough to take the strain off of your wrists.

Kaz.

Where was Kaz?

"Look, Brekker. Your girls fine."

You squinted to find where the voice was coming from, finding the source across the room. Kaz was standing opposite a burly man nearly a foot taller than him. Kaz's face was bloody and bruised, but he had murder in his eyes. You could see it, feel it, all the way across the room. You realized it wasn't just Kaz and the merchant; the other crows were there too. Inej held a blade against the heartrenders throat from earlier, who had both her hands held far apart to show her cooperation. Jesper was not too far away, his pistols in hand as he stared down a man who stood in between you and him.

What did I miss?

"No harm was done," The merchant continued, his voice thick with a Kaelish accent, "What do you say we part ways, unharmed."

Kaz's face didn't change, "Sure."

The Merchant frowned, a glimpse of fear breaking through his resolve, "I don't like your tone, boy."

"He always sounds like that," Jesper joked, glancing at you.

"He has an asshole voice," You agreed. Not two nights ago you and Jesper had been saying the same thing to Matthias at the Slat. You and Jesper enjoyed teasing the Fjerdan, especially regarding Kaz and his 'demjin' ways.

Kaz looked amused, he had the Merchant in the palm of his hand. "Go. Before I change my mind."

The Merchant almost tripped as he ran away, not even stopping for his Heartrender and right-hand man who followed behind him just as quick.

With the immediate threat gone, you felt your resolve begin to crumble. You had to get out of these chains. They would rub your wrists every time you moved, bringing you straight back to your past.

"Stop moving," An older woman had warned you, "It hurts less."

She was probably right, but you were too terrified to listen. Hours ago you were playing on your family's farm, but now you were chained to the roof in a dark, damp cellar. The chains were rusted and coarse, they rubbed the skin around your wrists raw, leaving cuts and grazes everywhere they pressed.

You were only eight, by far the youngest of all the slaves in the cellar. The chains they used to bind you didn't have cuffs, the slavers had just looped the links around your wrists and locked them tight. All you felt was the pain and the fear. All of this because you were Grisha? You only just learned of your power as an Inferni, how could you be worth anything?

The older woman tried to console you, doing her best to quell your tears and sobs, but even she knew the horrors that awaited you. The horrors you would spend years fighting to escape.

"Y/N," Kaz's voice was soft, he stood in front of you, supporting your weight as Jesper worked on freeing your hands from the chains. "Stay here."

You knew he was trying, you could see his own emotions clawing at him. It was one of the things that bound you and Kaz together, the demons of your past. You understood what it was like to fear touch and he understood what it was like to be betrayed. You helped each other, through the flashbacks and nightmares. You two didn't have anyone else, so you fought to have each other.

When Jesper finally broke through the chains, you lurched forward unexpectedly. Kaz held you tighter, trying to keep you upright even with his bad leg. You stood up, holding your hands out to balance yourself.

'I'm okay," You lied, trying to avoid Jesper and Inej's worried glances, "We should get out of here."

Back at the Slat, you sat staring at your cup of cocoa. Nina had made it for you as her way of trying to help, she could hear that your heartbeat hadn't stopped racing since leaving the job.

Jesper and Wylan had offered you gentle conversation, but you couldn't hold it for long. You had claimed you were tired, bidding your friends goodnight and climbing the stairs to your room. You didn't stop at your floor. Your feet carried you further up the steep stairs, stopping when you reached the attic which Kaz had converted into his own room. You didn't have to knock, you just opened the door and announced yourself.

Behind closed doors, Kaz was less concerned about keeping up his Dirtyhands persona. He smiled ever so slightly as you sat on his bed. A few months ago you had forced him to rearrange his room so that you could see him working while you lounged on his bed. You often ended up like this, watching him work after long days and taking comfort in each other's presence.

This time, Kaz wasn't concerned with his papers, he just looked at you, waiting for you to talk. You had talked Kaz through his own episodes many times, you never pushed him or asked him to move quicker than he was ready. For the first time, Kaz wanted to offer you the same comfort, but he wasn't sure if he could.

You were rubbing your wrists, stuck in your own memories of your time chained.

Kaz slowly joined you, giving you time to pull away. You glanced over at him, watching him as he slowly removed his gloves.

"Kaz-"

Kaz shook his head to silence you, continuing what he was doing. He placed his gloves neatly on the bedside table, turning to you. He reached out slowly and you let him. He gently pried your fingers away from your wrist, taking your hands in his own. He turned your palms up, his fingers slowly ghosting over the scars on your skin.

Kaz could feel the warmth of your skin through his fingertips. It helped him fight off the flashbacks, the warmth reminding him you were safe, healthy, alive.

Kaz's fingers traced over a scar on your right thumb. You couldn't help the small sigh that escaped your lips.

Kaz's head snapped up to look at you, fear filling his eyes.

"I'm okay," You meant it this time. The flashbacks were gone, locked in the vault in the back of your mind.

Kaz could tell that you meant it, see the anxiety leave your face. He drew his hands back, reaching for his gloves again. You smiled at him as he slipped his hands back into them, the leather bringing him the comfort he needed.

Kaz offered you a quiet apology.

"Kaz," You couldn't help the adoring smile on your face, "It's okay."

You knew Kaz could handle contact more when his gloves were on, so you gently took his hand. Kaz watched as you copied his movements from earlier, gently opening up his fingers. You slowly raised his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

"I love you," You said, "Gloves and all."

Kaz smiled, a genuine smile that you only saw in the safety of these four walls.

He let out a quiet reply, "I love you too."