#artist: wellwatersurprise

[destielaureversebb]

Coming soon for the @destielaureversebb: “the long haul” 

Author: LoversAntiquities @tragidean Artist: Wellwatersurprise @wellwatersurprise

Rating: Mature Archive warnings: none Length:  10,000 words Tags: ��Western AU, Rancher Castiel, Cowboy Dean, 1890s Relationships: Dean/Castiel

Summary:  With an ongoing drought in Texas, Castiel is forced to sell a portion of his herd of longhorns to make ends meet on his ranch. Dean, a cowboy under his employ, agrees to travel with him to Kansas. Only, a few weeks into their trek, something unknown begins to pick off their cattle, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion it may not be the coyote Castiel thinks it is.

Excerpt: 

Dean spares a glance behind them, at the two oxen hauling their wagon at the back, at the thirty longhorns filling the space between them and their horses, everyone following in line without any need for wrangling or pressure. Just a neat, orderly group, no complaints, no wandering off. Even their two calves don’t seem phased by it all. “How do you do that?” he asks.

Castiel looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Do what?”

“The whole…” He motions to the herd. “I’ve done drives before”—just two, but he knows how they work—“and I’ve never seen them this…”

“Calm?” Castiel snorts a laugh. Quiet, but there. “I’ve always had a way with livestock.”

You’re telling me. With the way they’re behaving, Castiel might as well be their god.

The sun looms. Two miles feels like a lifetime, like at some point, Dean committed some grievous sin and this is how God intends to punish him, by letting him bake under the Texas sky. On the horizon, though, he makes out the shape of what could be a house, or an abnormally large tree with the canopy ripped off. Shade, finally—and more importantly, shelter for the night. “Thank God,” Dean whines and pats Baby’s neck. “I can finally sit down.”

Castiel chuckles and shakes his head. He’s even more handsome when he smiles, something he shouldn't pay attention to or even consider, but out in the middle of nowhere with no one around for miles, he allows himself to indulge, even from a very close distance.

You shouldn't trust cowboys, his father’s voice echoes in his head. But Castiel is probably the best cowboy he’s ever known, and the only one he trusts with his life.

Posting date:  February 3, 2025

[sherlockfancomics]

A (sherlock) lord smaug post. Enjoy :) (you have to click it for it to look decent brw)

Also wanted to announce we will be doing a PRIDELOCK comic as a group project, so calling all artists would would like to draw something for it. We will add you to the chat. If you’re excited about getting a pridelock comic, feel free to share this with your favourite artists. @ohlooktheresabee @harmaahukka @wellwatersurprise @fuyuunoriyuu @rhasima @alef-art @kawtela @bubbyart @helloliriels @calipsolieu @veebeeart @aydana34 @oraora-hime @mintivee @sherlyberry @ambi-apocalypse @snarkyship @turbulenttrouble @commoncollective @jyn-serin @johnlockfanart @johnlock-and-tea @miles-draws-sometimes @hayamiyuu @khorazir @kitten-kin @chained-to-the-mirror @arsthunder @caramel-corgi @alifetimeaheadtoprovethat @lupa-lunae @bluebellofbakerstreet @rachel1337-blog @emeraldurafreak

[lucentcorrigan-moved]

“You know,” said Brekker, “I wasn’t expecting for you to be on your knees in fear so soon.”

Wylan could have sworn he felt his heart stop. His breath caught in his throat, his entire body frozen, as he stared at the space beside Brekker. He kept talking, but the words floated past Wylan without comprehension.

Jesper was standing next to Kaz Brekker.

How could he be there? How in Ghenzen’s name was Jesper standing in front of Wylan? He was dead. Jesper had been dead in the ground for four years... hadn’t he?

my piece for @wlwalina’s fic, his father’s son, for the @grishaversebigbang! this fic is about wylan—if his father never tried to kill him and used his dyslexia as a tactic to make him a perfect heir to the van eck and is asked to destroy the dregs by van eck. @z-the-zebra was the corporalki (beta) for this fic and the other materialki (artists) in the gang are @wellwatersurprise (x), @hivertoautumn (x) and @jsperfhey (x)! go read the fic and check out the amazing art!!

[jewishjon]

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself. 

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something. 

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’” 

Kill. Kill Wylan. 

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks. 

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night. 

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life. 

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow. 

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son. 

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped. 

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome. 

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down. 

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist. 

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

[mashfanzine2022]

Welcome to our first contributor spotlight! Today’s featured contributor is page artist, WellWaterSurprise! @wellwatersurprise

[nazyalenskyism]

Sweeter Things

A/N: Here’s a mini @grishaversebigbang fic from Kaz’s P.O.V. Please check out the amazing artwork this fic is based on below by the fantastic artists I was lucky enough to work with on this! Hope you enjoy!

Find the beautiful art for this fic by @wellwatersurprise​ & @iri-lynx here!

Summary: Kaz discovers a few things about himself and his fellow Crows thanks to an outing to Ketterdam’s most expensive café.

Ao3: Sweeter Things

Kaz tapped his cane against the pristine marble tiles, punctuating each passing second displayed on his pocket watch with a sharp rap. Nina Zenik was late, again. He leaned back against the wall, propping a foot against the ghastly gilded wallpaper, resting his head against a window frame. From the stories he’d overheard Nina telling Inej, he’d assumed that the Ravkan army generals who she feared had instilled a sense of punctuality in her but evidently, being on time to a meeting she planned was not a skill of hers.

When she finally drifted through the door, her bright red blouse with its flowing sleeves billowing in the breeze, it was more than a quarter hour after their scheduled meeting time. 

“Kaz!” Nina beamed.

“Zenik,” He ground out.

They followed the server to a small booth tucked in the side of the restaurant, Nina looking at the menu for all but three seconds before she ordered. For both of them.

“I didn’t come here to eat.”

“Well I did,” Nina sniffed. “Being seen in public with you is horrible enough, I need something to ease the pain.”

He’d never had waffles before, and he certainly didn’t want to try them for the first time while sitting across from Nina of all people. Did Ravka not have the dish? Why was she so entranced by glorified pancakes?

She frowned at him, as if she could sense what he was thinking. Maybe she could. As much research as he’d done, he didn’t know the full extent of her Corporalki powers. “Keep up appearances, Kaz. This place is notoriously difficult to get into, people wait months for a table. If you don’t eat your food like someone who has been waiting ages to try it, you will be raising suspicions.”

“No one knows me here, this isn’t the Barrel, Zenik. What do I care?”

“The new owner of the place is soon to be married to a high ranking member of the Dime Lions, so unless you want someone whispering to their lover about an oddly behaving rat with greasy hair in a perfectly tailored suit, you better eat up.”

Kaz had never wished the rumors that his glare could kill were true more than he did in this moment. Nina Zenik was a nuisance in a class of her own.

“What did you need to--”

“Oh,” she sighed, cutting him off completely, “we can’t talk about business when there’s a chance the servers might overhear while bringing us our food. We’ll have to wait until we eat.”

Fantastic.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Nina’s few feeble attempts to initiate a conversation died out when he refused to respond, and apparently for the first time, Nina Zenik wasn’t in the mood to talk herself to sleep. Finally, some quiet, he thought, letting him consider why she’d invited him here for this meeting in the first place. Before he would think too much about it, two steaming plates were deposited before them, and before he’d reached for his cutlery, Nina was already digging in. He took his time, and when he finally raised the fork to his mouth, he thought he was about to lose his reputation, here in the middle of the Finance District.

Great Ghenzhen’s gavel, they were delicious. Kaz reached for his coffee, hoping the bitterness of the dark roast would help him regain his composure. He disliked sugary things for a reason, because he’d loved them as a child. The once light aftertaste of sugar on his tongue was now acerbic, reminding him of money they’d never had, spent on frivolous things like melted chocolate and spun sugar. Sweet things were not meant for Barrel rats like him, they belonged in the hands of Merchers who had grown too comfortable, forgetting that the fall was always easier than the climb, especially when they hadn’t been the ones clawing to the top themselves. He finally looked up from his plate to see Nina half-finished, and a waiter walking away from their table. Had he been that entranced with the food that he’d missed someone visiting the table? His companion tilted her head at him, her gaze assessing him before she finally spoke.

“Inej likes the double cinnamon waffles with the orange syrup.” Kaz stared at her. “Jesper’s favourite is plain waffles with apple syrup and a side of eggs and bacon.” Kaz kept staring at her. “Incase you liked what you tasted and wanted more.” He narrowed his eyes, she was more observant than she let on, though the mile-wide smirk on her face was enough to make sure those words never reached her ears.

Kaz said nothing, simply took his fork in his left hand, his knife in his right and slowly cut into his breakfast, maintaining eye contact with Nina the entire time he popped the bite into his mouth, chewing slowly. He reached for his mug, taking a long swig before putting it down. “They taste awful.”

Nina scoffed, “grow up, Kaz.”

“Why am I here, Zenik?”

She shrugged, “why do you think you’re here?”

“Because you arranged this meeting to talk about an important topic, which you didn’t want overheard in the barrel,” Kaz growled, “that’s what you said yesterday.”

“I was wrong,” she said simply, taking the last bite from her plate. “The information is irrelevant now.”

“ Nina, tell me what it is.��� The knife in his hand was feeling like a good motivational tool.

Her eyes crinkled stubbornly, “are you helping me get my prisoner out of jail?”

“No.” The answer was always no.

“Then I have nothing more to offer you today.” She slipped from her seat, smiling at the server who placed a large bag on the table, “thanks for the breakfast but I have to get back. My break’s over.” Without another word she flounced over to the hostess, undoubtedly flirting her way into another tin of their spiced syrup and then she was disappearing down the street with her giant bag of waffles in tow.

Kaz scowled in the direction she’d disappeared off into. Then he scowled down at his food. A few minutes later he scowled as he flagged down a server for a menu, and he scowled as he placed far too many Kruge on the table. Kaz scowled all the way home, curse Nina Zenik.

                                                          ***

“Ghafa, Fahey,” Anika called from the doorway, “there’re parcels here for you.” Inej and Jesper shared a look, who was sending them packages here? Inej had never been sent anything, and if people who took a liking to Jesper wanted to give him something, they usually used it as a way to get another meeting with him. Jesper’s long legs got him to the entryway first, and he let out a whoop of delight as he picked up the bags from the ground. There were two, one labeled “Jesper,” the other labeled “Inej,” in an unfamiliar scrawl. The smell emanating from them was heavenly. 

“Waffles,” Jesper moaned clutching his bag to his chest. “Who sent us waffles?”

“Nina?”

“These are from the most expensive cafe in Ketterdam, I don’t know if she could afford it.”

Inej frowned, she knew someone who had that type of money. “Come, food like this deserves to be eaten in a place with a view. I know the perfect rooftop.”

As they passed through the alleyway towards the Zemeni Embassy she glanced up at the top floors of the Slat, at his office. She thought she caught the edge of a black coat flapping in the window, but then it was gone and all she could see was the static layout of the room. Inej caught back up with Jesper, letting his animated tales of his latest escapade wash over her, her thanks sent to the Saints instead of someone who didn’t want them.

                                                               *** Kaz settled back in his chair once his sharpshooter and Wraith had passed, his pen flipping through his fingers. He could still hear their cheerful banter from the other end of the alley and he allowed himself a single moment to close his eyes, dreaming of a world where he could join them. Then his eyes snapped open and he turned back to the books. He didn’t live in a fantasy world, he lived in this one and no amount of whimpering was going to change the fact that he would always be the one watching from afar. And that was the way  he liked it.

[rukiakwashere]

Chasing Last Summer

An amazing experience while working with talented artist for the @grishaversebigbang 

Corporalki: 

@gimmedafood

Materialki:  

@anubem (link to art), 

@bookish-ginger (link to art),

@wellwatersurprise  (link to art)

Summary: 

As Jesper is trying to settle down, away from cards on the Van Eck estate with Wylan alongside him as a work partner, wondering what to do with his father’s empire, they both start thinking of what they want. The Summer they left behind them went great so maybe it was time to get something serious going on. While busy reordering their priorities, Wylan receives a letter (more like hides it) and it all goes downhill after that...

Jesper boards a ship... The Wraith makes a visit and convinces some cane-dude to tag along... Some Grisha appear... And Wylan may or may not fulfil one of Kaz’s lifelong dreams

tl;dr Post-Crooked Kingdom Wesper making their best to figure out themselves and each other.

Ao3 Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/33678499/chapters/83698627

[Chapter one under cut]:

Jesper looked at the clock on the wall for what seemed like the twentieth time in the meeting. He fidgeted on his seat looking left and right spotting both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Men and women, mostly old, everyone much older than he was.

Wylan was on his left, completely still and focused on the woman speaking loudly,  moving her hands animatedly to make her point. Jesper thought that her hands were too distracting, he really couldn’t make what the point was with so much waving around. Wylan on the other hand seemed to perfectly understand. He nodded a lot when anyone paused, he offered his opinion when asked and he conversed easily with all the businesspeople around him. It suited him, Jesper thought. Wylan Van Eck looked like a businessman in his own right. His young and calm presence made people trust him and his ironed black and white suit made them believe he was one of their own, refined elite. 

Jesper, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of himself. His long legs never remained in the same place for more than mere seconds and his awkward posture as he tried to fit on the chair always brought on curious and sometimes annoyed stares. People weren’t used to seeing someone like him sitting on their expensive and elegant chairs. They simply weren’t made for him.

Still, Wylan never commented on anything. Sometimes he caught Jesper’s stare in a meeting and all he did was nod- like he was on autopilot. Jesper didn’t know what to make of it. Was he just another face in Wylan’s business-related crowd? Sometimes he wasn’t that sure if Wylan was only keeping him around because of the promise they had made months ago. Was he just pitying him? 

Jesper didn’t know if being Wylan’s secretary was the lowest or highest point of his life to date. 

Occasionally, he wondered what life would be like if he had never made that deal, not being Wylan’s eyes. Nina’s offer echoed in his ears. Ravka… Would he dare to leave home and become a Grisha? Probably not. 

He would have been back at the Barrel, sitting at a gambling table spending the money he had till it vanished. At least working with Wylan saved him from going broke again, he concluded. Still, was he happy with where his life was at now? Spending his days waiting for the next meeting, talking about things he had little interest in with people that didn’t interest him?

Wylan though… The ginger’s presence was steady and when they weren’t in a meeting, he was okay to be around. Jesper didn’t mind his presence, he rather enjoyed Wylan’s witty remarks and random facts. 

The past few days though, the ginger seemed less and less enthusiastic about anything. Dark circles seemed to have formed permanently below his eyes and he seemed to be sighing a lot – and it didn’t seem to be because of Jesper’s breathtaking presence.

“Wy?” Jesper mouthed, poking the ginger’s shoulder lightly. Wylan didn’t seem surprised, turning discretely towards him with a tired smile. 

“What happened?” Jesper read the ginger’s lips. 

“You cool?”, he mouthed back.

~~~

Wylan had the audacity to snort, suppressing his laughter at Jesper’s question. He opted for a small hands-up and a smile that nearly reached his eyes. Sincerely, he felt tired and spent.

He didn’t know business. Kaz had taught him the basics, which felt more like the principles of manipulation, bribery and theft – which Wylan had decided pretty quickly, were better than nothing.

His father had given up on him early on, realizing Wylan’s bad relationship with letters would make him a bad businessman and would let people exploit him freely. His father never imagined, though, his son would have found Jesper, the only person Wylan could put his trust on fully - and did so every day. 

Jesper was the one responsible for what came in and what went out, who might prove beneficial and who was to be avoided. He read stacks of papers daily, and even though his legs wouldn’t stop moving and tapping the floor, he read them all and reported every line he found even slightly useful back to Wylan. While all Wylan could do was sit and wait, pretending the numbers he could make out at the sheets in his hands were enough.

He didn’t understand why Jesper was still there. His awkward fidgeting at the meetings they attended together made it clear that he felt out of place. Wylan was sure Jesper was longing for action, his revolvers out, not hidden inside his jacket. Sure, they were sharing their profits but was Jesper missing the Slat? Did he want to go back to risking his life every day? To feel the thrill of chasing and being chased? Was Jesper still around him out of pity, trapped in a promise he had made while in action, when he wasn’t sure if he would make it out alive to see the next sunrise? 

Maybe, it was the same as his awkward confession, a stupid phrase that kept replaying in Wylan’s mind even though he had hit stop months ago. Maybe I like your stupid face. 

Wylan was annoyed with himself about how a six-word sentence that nearly insulted him made him feel so tingly and weird inside. He soon realized though, as the battle came to an end, as his dad backed off, as Kaz won whatever feud he had with Pekka Rollins, that some things that are best left unsaid can rise in the heat and uncertainty of a battle and what happened between him and Jesper had been one of them. 

We were fugitives, bounties on our heads. Of course, some emotions would be misunderstood, Wylan repeated in his head.

What happened with Jesper was one of them. Wylan was passable and the time they had spent together just- was like that. It meant nothing more. Jesper might have kissed him twice, or once – damn Kuwei – but as things calmed down and they went back to their lives, old and new, he didn’t approach him again in that way - apart from the occasional flirting - and Wylan… Wylan felt really stupid to have expected something more.

Wylan poked the side of his cheek, annoyed with himself. This wasn’t time for his thoughts to be drifting. The meeting… He had to speak with Lady Kadrir and make sure their agreement held,even though the head of the Van Eck family had changed and he needed to speak with that white haired man and give his condolences to that Lady and so many things he had never pictured himself doing ever before.

He never expected to be here. When his father still tolerated him, Wylan dreamed of a music school and maybe joining a theater orchestra with his flute. Even when his father decided otherwise, he still hoped for a demo-related work at the Crows or maybe someone reaching out and joining a traveling band… never business. His father had made it clear early on that he was not suited for that and it was the only thing Wylan and his father had agreed upon. He wasn’t sure he would like it… and he had yet to decide.

Business was… weird. Wylan’s perspectives of it had been two; one when he was growing up, seeing his father busy with paperwork he was always signing… and then, there was business the way the Dregs did it. Meetings under the fold of darkness, sometimes gunshots sounding along, a gambling parlor expecting tourists and sailors from far away…

Yet, what he felt he was doing on his own, was different. Sure, Jesper seemed to be writing and reading tons of stuff but Wylan thought of business as constant meetings, a lot of useless information in his head and a relentless bell ringing in his head reminding him to be polite yet entitled. That was the way. 

At first, he liked being good at it, memorizing estates, meeting people that didn’t look at him down their noses, because Wylan Van Eck possessed property the same way they did. He sat and talked and traded in the language they understood.

Still, that feeling had slowly drifted away, as the bell in his head rang louder and louder. He felt lost and disconnected, yet he wouldn’t stop. He was more determined than ever not to give up. Those meetings had come to be the only place where he felt like he proved his worth. The only thing he could be good at and be of use.

“Mister Van Eck.” 

It was his turn to speak.

“As my father retired and passed me on new property, I’ve made the decision to establish a reliable network around the Van Eck brand.” Words scripted and exercised in front of a mirror, delivered to an audience just like in a theater. 

It’s fine. I can work like this. At least that’s what he convinced himself as he went on with his speech.

~~~

[awtetsuya27]

Here’s my piece for the @grishaversebigbang​! Please check out the fanfic (an interesting Canon-verse Wesper fic) and my teammates’ work, there’s a lot of talent

Title: Ink-Stained Fingers, Wood-Carved Hearts

Synopsis: After this father tried to kill him, Wylan flees Ketterdam to start a new life in Fjerda. But his plans are thwarted by a group of Grisha refugees and now he is in Ravka, the last place he wanted to be. Here is where his soulmate was, and Wylan refused to meet the man that would eventually reject him knowing he couldn’t read or write. But it seems that King Nikolai had other plans for him. Together with a Fabrikator named Jesper, Wylan has been tasked to create weapons to battle the Khregud (Shu enhanced humans). Wylan not only learns that he does deserve a place in this world, but also that he doesn’t need his soulmate to find love.  

Etherealnik (author): @lavanderstarcatcher (you can check the story here!),

Corporalnik (beta): @nolu

Materialki (artists): @rainbow-kueh (here), @tricewithaz , @wellwatersurprise (here)

[lavanderstarcatcher]

Ink-Stained Fingers, Wood-Carved Hearts

This is my fic that I created in participation of the @grishaversebigbang. I had a lot of fun with it and I got a group of amazingly talented artists to work with.

The amazing artists were:

@wellwatersurprise (Art) (Chapter One)

@rainbow-kueh (Art) (Chapter)

@awtetsuya27 (Art) (Chapter)

Summary

When Wylan fled for his life, he hadn't expected to end up working in the service of King Nikolai. He had expected to be blackmailed in working in the Grisha workshop, working on a weapon to defeat the dreaded Shu super soldiers. He especially hadn't expected his partner would be a charming fabrikator that would steal away his heart one conversation at a time. If Wylan only could read his soulmark, he would know if they were destined to grow old together or not.

A what-if story with Wylan fleeing to Ravka. With Jesper attending the Little Palace and being able to use his powers. With two boys falling in love no matter the setting.

Story on AO3 

[sherlockfancomics]

Last but not least... Pride Comic Part 7!

Higher Res

It has been an honor. If you would like to join our comic drawing group, feel free to message me! Its a good way to dig yourself out of artist block.

SEE PARTS 1-6 BELOW

@harmaahukka @wellwatersurprise @rhasima @alef-art @kawtela @bubbyart @calipsolieu @veebeeart @aydana34 @oraora-hime @mintivee @sherryberry @ambi-apocalypse @snarkyship-multifandom @turbulenttrouble @commoncollective @jyn-serin @johnlockfanart @johnlock-and-tea @miles-draws-sometimes @hayamiyuu @khorazir @kitten-kin @chained-to-the-mirror @alifetimeaheadtoprovethat @lupa-lunae @bluebellofbakerstreet @rachel1337-blog @emeraldurafreak

Im just going to add my other favorite artists in here too because.. YOURE MY FAVS but you probably have no idea LOL

@sidetrek @kirkhasakink @lostconner @fuyuunoriyuu @elasmosaurus @neetols @naum-e @thefuzzyaya

Below is a possible continuation of this comic should it ever be revisited:

Page 8:

Greg: They need help. I think they need help.

Mycroft: *sipping tea in a pub* Give it time.

Page 9:

Clock hits midnight. Someone unknown kisses Sherlock, who is taken by surprise.

Page 10:

Sherlock: *pushes back in his arms* Greg?!

Greg: oh is that you sherly?

Page 11:

Greg: *hugs them both beaming* HAPPY NEW YEAR DETECTIVES!!! Listen don't tell your brother about this kay

Page 12:

Sherlock: ugh! *Sherlock wipes his mouth*

Sherlock: Greg you kiss my brotheR with that mouth. I'll get mono- or herpes-

*Greg wanders off* Where's the scotch at?

Page 13:

Sherlock turns and sees John looks scarred by what he just witnessed, for reasons that become apparent to Sherlock.

Sherlock: Oh-

Page 14:

*Sherlock points to himself*

Sherlock: Want some mono?

Page 15:

John grabs his face and kisses Sherlock.

*Sherlock looks surprised*

Page 16:

John: Still not gay.

Sherlock: No, never.