#kaz writes things

[kayzowl]

talking to you isn't great (8347 words) by kayzowl Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Simon Aumar & Edgin Darvis & Kira Darvis & Doric & Holga Kilgore & Xenk Yendar Characters: Xenk Yendar, Edgin Darvis, Kira Darvis, Holga Kilgore, Simon Aumar, Doric (Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves) Additional Tags: Minor Simon Aumar/Doric, Autistic Xenk Yendar, leading up to xedgin if youre looking for it, POV Xenk Yendar, Oneshot, Found Family, no beta we die like men, Post-Movie Summary:

Xenk has been accused of lacking conversational acumen in the past, and likely will be again. But for some reason, this time, he wants it to go differently.

[kazoimp]

i had to do some fanart for one of my absolute favorite fics, Better To Give by madprincefishhook. when i say it changed my brain chemistry...... 🦉🦎

[r-u-living]

The waffle incident took place on the 17 of June. The day Captain Ghafa should have docked for two weeks. Alas her ship was caught in a storm so her crew had to dock at a Ravkan port.

Kaz Brekker was reported had waiting at 5th harbour for three hours before he dissappeared and burst into Wylan Van Eck's estate where Wylan Van Eck, Jesper Fahey and a recently returned Nina Zenik.

They had been eating waffles waiting for Captain Ghafa and Kaz Brekker so when he picked the lock and kicked down a door to yell "INEJ ISNT THERE!" in the voice of a panicked teenager who's crush just texted them "Wyd?" Nina Zenik snorted waffles out her nose. Not much is known apart from that but we do know that a waffle ended up on the ceiling one on Mr Brekker's face and several in the garden.

The group was later heard arguing with snippets such as "No Jesper you CANNOT eat the waffle that is stuck the the ceiling." "Nina Zenik is that a strawberry in your hair?" "Wy I regret to say that WAFFLE FIGHT"

Several stadwatch were called to the scene but when the arrived the place was spotless and nobody was home.

It is still unsolved.

[six-of-cringe]

Something that has been on my mind is what Kaz says to Nina at the end of Crooked Kingdom about Matthias's share of their money. He offers Nina that share, and then says, "I know it doesn't matter".

Kaz, who has spent this entire series insisting to the others that kruge means retribution, safety, success, comfort, and thus is the driving factor in his life, is sort of accidentally revealing how little he believes it. He knows Nina disapproves of his purported obsession with profit and is not motivated by money, and he also knows from personal experience that no matter how much he insists otherwise, having money will not fix what has happened to you. Maybe it will kind of buy you retribution or a degree of safety, but it will never bring back who you lost - it's too late for that. Kruge is a shitty consolation prize, and Kaz knows it. This is the only time he explicitly lets it on to the others - as emotionally constipated as he might act, he knows Nina's pain and knows that even suggesting that money would in any way fix it would be an insult.

[starlight-carousel]

Roleplay Partner wanted

Hello there! I am a 25-year-old female looking for a roleplay partner, preferably 18+! I absolutely love plotting, coming up with headcanons, moodboards, etc. with my partner so that is an absolute must! I am fairly descriptive and often write 3-4 paragraphs or more depending on your length! I do most of my writing on Discord so please prepare for that! I can do canonxcanon, ocxoc, and ocxcanon! just ask me what you'd like to do! I am also happy to double up or to play the female role! NSFW is welcome, but I still want the story to have a plot as well. We can discuss triggers and other things as well! Currently, these are the fandoms I am looking for along with my love interests!

Shadow and Bone-Kaz Brekker

Phantom of the Opera-Erik Destler or an OC

Bridgerton-Benedict Bridgerton

Harry Potter- James Potter, Teddy Lupin, Draco Malfoy, George Weasley

Stranger Things-Steve Harrington or Eddie Munson

Hunger Games/Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes-Finnick Odair or Coriolanus Snow

The Lost Boys-David Powers or Dwayne

Umbrella Academy-Luther Hargreeves

Game of Thrones-Robb Stark

The Witcher-Geralt

HOTD- Harwin Strong or Aemond Targaryen The Vampire Diaries-Niklaus Mikaelson For Non-Fandoms, I have a lot of plots but usually prefer slice of life, mafia/crime, supernatural, grumpyxsunshine, next door neighbors, greek mythology inspired, university au's, etc. ! If you are interested and I hope that you are, please leave a like and I will get back to you ASAP!

[maidenofcrows]

Traditional height differences. Sure, it’s cute that he could gently rest his chin on the top of her head. But she’s also at the perfect height to headbutt him in the throat.

[timeandspacelord]

WAIT HANG ON

Nina says she wouldn't jump off a bridge for the king of Ravka when she's telling Matthias the story of Goedmedbridge and then like. a chapter or two later Inej jumps off that self-same bridge because Kaz told her to. There is something there, I just know it

[agathena]

Kaz didn't respond. Instead, he suddenly pulled Inej closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. And when Inej, surprised, lifted her head to look him in the eyes, his lips, as if compelled by inertia, slid down her nose and hovered just above her mouth. They both froze, unable to move, waiting for the other's reaction.

[acequeenking]

Fandom: Tekken

Relationship: Kazama Jun/Mishima Kazuya

Rating: Explicit (this one has sexy times so not for kiddos)

THIS IS POST TEKKEN 8. BIG TEKKEN 8 SPOILERS. DON'T READ IT WITHOUT FINISHING THE GAME UNLESS YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT SPOILERS.

Additional Tags: Reunion, Reunion sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Awkward Conversations About Not-So-Accidentally Trying to Murder Your Son and Actually Murdering Your Dad and Kind of Accidentally Abandoning Your Unknown Baby-Mama, Forgiveness, Getting Back Together, Dealing with the mental fallout of Tekken 2 to Tekken 8, which for both of them is...a lot, but they're getting there

"I am not the man you want me to be," Kazuya admits. "But that does not mean the man I am does not love you."

"...Still?" Jun asks, the word the only thing that can quite get out of her throat.

[kayzowl]

merry oofmas briarrrrr, are you sick of me yet >:D @aliosne @oofurixmas

I immediately latched on to your spies/assassins suggestion as well as kikumomo, so in this AU Kikue and Momoe are competent spies both training up their (currently incompetent) protégées. Momoe and Abe don't know yet that Hanai is Kikue's son... it will be a big third act twist, so shhh, keep it a secret.

Izumi and Mizutani make gadgets and do man-in-the-chair stuff for them back at hq, probably overseen by Shiga because otherwise they would get nothing done, ever. (That is mostly a lie, they are both competent, they just also horse around approximately 110% of the time. maybe sakaeguchi and the rest of the team can also be there with various specializations. hamada did not finish the training so he is an information broker on the outside that they use all the time)

They get a mission to investigate a (short, loud, filterless) star athlete after he shows up a bunch around some longtime enemies and they start wondering if he's a target or a recruit or a third worse thing, and his teammate with horrible social anxiety ends up getting caught up in all the drama, as well. :)

[kanerallels]

For @laughingphoenixleader, who requested Kanej in a superhero/villain au

(tw for vague mentions of drug deals and human trafficking, though there's nothing explicit)

The streets of Chicago were clogged with criminals. One couldn’t take a step without seeing a carjacking, a drug sale, a mugging. It was the perfect place for a criminal enterprise to begin and flourish.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone, then, when someone other than the corrupt law enforcement rose up to stop them.

The Wraith. No one had seen her face, but everyone knew the name. A figure in dark clothing, using knives and carrying out judgment against the traffickers and the dealers before disappearing into the shadows again. Those who used humans as a commodity seemed to be the biggest targets.

Which was lucky for the city’s latest big player.

“Kaz Brekker,” Inej murmured, studying the blurry image on the computer screen. He looked young, though how old she couldn’t tell with the quality of the photo. All that was really obvious was dark clothing and hair, a pale face, and the cane in his gloved hand. Both of which look…familiar.

“Why is he on our radar?” she asked Nina, who was slouched in the wheeled chair in front of the computer.

The young woman shrugged. “Possibly because he’s the main suspect in seventeen different robberies, but no one’s been able to prove it. Or because his right hand man shoots like no human being should be able to. There’s also the fact that he sprouted up out of nowhere overnight. Looks like he took control of Per Haskell’s gang, but he was there all along. We just didn’t see him until now.”

Inej frowned. “Why?”

Getting up from her chair, Nina headed towards the kitchenette in the corner of the basement room Inej used as her headquarters. “Probably because he didn’t want to be seen. And you’ve had other, bigger problems on your mind. Toaster waffle?”

Absently, Inej waved her off, mind spinning. Kaz Brekker. If his plan was to set himself up as the crime lord of the city, that could be a problem. Especially if he was as good as Nina said he was. “I might have to pay him a visit,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nina answered anyway as she popped two waffles into the toaster. “Just do me a favor and don’t get stabbed. I have class tonight, and stitching you up doesn’t actually count as homework.”

Despite her cavalier words, Inej could hear the concern hiding behind them, and she smiled. “I’ll be careful, Nina. I promise.”

The other woman didn’t look overly comforted, but nodded all the same.

Later that night, after Nina had cajoled her into eating and resting, then swept off to her night class at Ravka University, Inej slipped out of her civilian clothes and into her suit. It wasn’t quite Superman quality, but the clothing was comfortable and good for sneaking and climbing. She checked to make sure her knives and gear were all secure, and set off into the night.

Brekker seemed to have set up shop at the Crow Club downtown. Inej knew of the place, but Per Haskell—the former owner—had never caused enough trouble for her to have risked the trip, not yet. She’d had bigger prey to track.

Slipping in was a simple matter. One of the windows was unlocked, and Inej eased through into what looked like an office. A desk lined with papers and books stood in the middle, with a cot pushed up against one wall. Does Brekker live here?

A key clicked in the lock, and Inej ghosted into a dark corner, keeping her steps quiet and smooth. A second later, the door swung open, and Kaz Brekker stepped inside, limp obvious, cane swinging.

She caught the barest glimpse of pale skin and high cheekbones before his back was to her, standing at the desk. His movements precise, he flipped through a file, gloved fingers tapping against the outside.

The tapping paused, and his head lifted a little. Then he spoke, his voice rasping and rough.

“The Wraith, I presume.”

How did he know I was here? Inej brushed aside the surprise. There was no use in pretending now. She moved out of the shadows, and Brekker turned to face her.

Inej’s heart skipped a beat. Not for any silly, romantic reasons—though the young man facing her was handsome enough, in a severe way. He was all sharp angles and dark shades, his dark brown eyes taking her in like she was a problem to be solved.

No, the reason her heart skipped a beat was because she knew him.

She hadn’t known his name at the time. But they’d met once, years ago. Before Inej became the Wraith, before she’d escaped the life that had driven her to take this path.

The police had found her. An undercover cop, Detective Nazyalensky, had made contact, and promised her that if she informed on Heleen and her entire organization, she would go free. Inej had been going to meet her the day of the bust when Heleen had summoned her into her office.

She’d known. Inej was sure of it, and if she went into that office, she would be beaten, or sold, or worse. Fear had threatened to choke her, and she’d wavered. Should she run? But she wouldn’t have made it, not if Heleen wasn’t distracted.

And then he’d walked in. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, but carried himself like a full grown man. But he didn’t look at the girls as he came in, and that struck Inej as curious. The other customers ogled freely.

Maybe he wasn’t a customer. Perhaps he was one of the information dealers who came to Heleen for what the girl’s customers knew. In which case…

She moved toward him quietly, her feet brushing the floor. He was standing at the door of Heleen’s office, facing away from her when she said, “I can help you.”

He’d been startled when he turned to face her, though it faded quickly. He’d lifted an eyebrow, looking a little curious when Heleen’s voice had rung out from the office.

“Enough hiding, little lynx! I said I wanted to see you, and I want to do it now.”

Inej had flinched, unable to prevent the visions flooding her mind. The boy facing her frowned, just a little. Then, he’d spoken. Not to her, but to Heleen.

“You have an appointment to keep with me, Heleen. Haskell won’t wait forever.”

Grumbling, Heleen had appeared at the office door and waved for the boy to follow her in. Before he moved away, the boy had looked at her. “Don’t let them see your tell,” he’d said, voice too quiet to Heleen to make out. “And don’t look back.”

He’d entered the office, and Inej knew. It was time to run.

And so she did. She made it, and Heleen was locked up 24 hours later. Inej was free, and it was thanks to the actions of a stranger.

He had, whether he knew it or not, been the reason she’d gotten away, the reason she’d been able to tell the police everything.

His eyes narrowed a little as he looked at her, and for a second Inej thought, He knows. But then—no. He couldn’t. Her face was covered, and it had been close to four years since her escape.

“And you’re Kaz Brekker,” she said, keeping her voice cool. Business like. “The newest boss on the block.”

“Here to stop me?” Brekker asked, an eyebrow going up. “Bring me to justice like the Black Heretic? The Lantsov family?”

“The police took the Lantsov family,” Inej said, and Brekker snorted.

“The police in this town couldn’t solve their way out of a cardboard box. You handed them the arrest.”

He’s smart. “How do you know that?”

“I make it my business to know.” Folding his hands over his cane, he said, “So, what have I done to merit your attention? I thought I’d kept a fairly low profile.”

“You haven’t done anything. Yet,” Inej said, letting her hand rest on the knives at her waist. Brekker’s gaze followed the movement for only a heartbeat before locking back onto her masked face.

“Ah. Threatening me into submission. Interesting method. Unfortunately for you, I have plans that can’t be put on hold. And you don’t kill anyone unless what they’ve done meets your criteria.”

Inej wouldn’t show her surprise. “You’ve done your research.”

“It’s good to know who I’m dealing with. And to know how you intend to be rid of me.” Continuing, he said, “If you were going to kill me, I’d be dead. Everyone you don’t kill gets handed over to the police, and there’s nothing on me for the police.” The thinnest sliver of a smile appeared. “So, Wraith, your threats are to no avail.”

Oh, he could be dangerous. “Then consider this an appeal to your better nature,” Inej told him.

He laughed, sharp and bitter. “I don’t have one.”

“You have common sense. Don’t give me a reason to come after you, and I won’t.” Inej met his gaze, hoping he would see the intent in her eyes.

He was still for a moment, then inclined his head. “Then perhaps I will see you again, Wraith. Or perhaps not. We’ll see what your code dictates.”

Without another word, he turned back to his desk. Inej hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slipped out the window. Activating the ascension cable she wore strapped to her wrist, she fired it and swung out across the city. She needed to find somewhere to think before her nightly patrols began.

She had a feeling then that she would meet Kaz Brekker again. And she truly didn’t know if she hoped for it or dreaded it.

[wylanslcve]

to the bone ━━━ a six of crows one-shot.

spoiler warning: this is not a safe space for fans who have only watched the show and do not want to have wylan's story spoiled for them in case we get the spin-off. this one-shot is based off a scene that is referenced in six of crows, and contains heavy spoilers for wylan's backstory which hasn't yet been explored in the showverse (I say "yet" because I'm holding onto hope that we'll get that spin-off asdfghjkl).

summary: ever since jan van eck had hired him for the mission at the ice court, kaz intended to use wylan as leverage against his father. but wylan had known from the start, from the moment that kaz had told him that he'd be excellent at hostage, that that wouldn't be effective. not when he'd been nothing but a disappointment to his father. not when van eck was hellbent on forgetting that he ever had a son. wylan couldn't keep it hidden anymore. kaz needed to know the truth. (or: the scene where wylan tells kaz about his disability.)

author's note: this work is a submission for grishaverse disability pride day by @gvdisabledpride that will also be available on ao3, so if you also see this work there... that's why :)

content warning: descriptions of ableism, mentions of past child abuse, ptsd

ABOARD THE FEROLIND after the battle at the Djerholm harbour, Wylan lay curled up in his cot below deck, waiting for the moment the sway of the ship would lull him to sleep.

Except he knew it probably wouldn't. He'd been lying in his cot for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, desperately trying to silence his racing thoughts and just fall asleep. He tried to focus on the sound of the sea muffled by the hull of the Ferolind, on the sway of the ship as it journeyed closer and closer to Ketterdam — but the freezing cold wasn't doing him any favours, and neither was that anxious gnawing in his gut.

The mission had been, considerably, a success: they'd escaped the Ice Court in one piece, with Kuwei Yul-Bo stashed away in one of the other cabins and the promise of thirty million kruge awaiting them back in Ketterdam. Wylan would get his share and leave this life behind. He'd journey somewhere far away, never having to speak the name Van Eck again.

Van Eck…

Wylan swallowed the bile rising up inside him. Kaz had intended to use him as leverage against his father, lest the plan go awry and Van Eck was suddenly uncooperative. “Wylan isn’t just good with the flint and fuss,” he'd announced that first day on the Ferolind, right before he'd revealed Wylan's true identity to the rest of the crew. “He's our insurance.” 

Wylan shut his eyes, curled up tighter in his cot. His heart was starting to beat a little faster, a hummingbird trapped inside a cage, and he forced his breath slowly through his chest — a deep breath through his nose, shattering the silence that had thickened around him. Kaz had kept him close to use him as leverage against Van Eck, but one thing the older boy wasn't aware of was that Wylan couldn't be their insurance. Not when his father wanted him to disappear. Not when he was attempting to forget he ever had a son. Not when his new wife, Alys, was bearing the heir of the Van Eck empire — a proper hier, not the defective one he’d received in Wylan. Not the one who’d turn the Van Eck name into a laughingstock.

I have to tell Kaz.

Instinctively, his fingers reached up to touch his neck. He could still feel Prior's meaty hands clasped tightly around it, his grip firm and relentless as Wylan grew dizzy and black spots slowly filled his vision. He sat up, hoping the feeling would subside if he got up and let more air fill his lungs — and yet, the feeling of his throat constricting persisted, and a suffocating, uncontrollable panic welled up in him.

He hugged his knees to his chest and slowly rocked himself back and forth with his head buried in his arms, horrified by how his breath was coming out in short, shallow whimpers as the memories came flooding back, by how the tears prickled the corners of his eyes as his father's voice echoed in his ears.

A child half your age can effortlessly do what you cannot.

I've tried everything I possibly could. I've tried tutors, specialists, I've tried forcing that stubbornness out of you and yet you refuse to be taught.

You can't be sent anywhere because your defect might be revealed.

“Get out of my head,” Wylan whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he continued to rock himself back and forth. “Get out of my head.”

Once you reveal yourself to be defective, they'll turn your back on you. They'll leave you as you were: the wayward son of one of the richest men in Ketterdam.

“Get… Get out of my head.”

But the voice was persistent, unwelcome. You worthless fool. You soft-pated idiot.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, blinking back the tears that formed a painful lump in his throat. He swallowed, trying to force it down to no avail, and a fresh flare of panic swelled within him. Someone could walk into his cabin at any moment and see him in this state: rocking back and forth with his head in his hands, chest shuddering over and over as he gasped for air, begging the voice in his head to lapse into silence. And yet, there was nothing he could do about it. He felt detached from his own body, as though he were watching himself from the perspective of an outsider, helpless against the wave of shame overcoming him.

He stayed like that until the jittery feeling coursing through him had subsided enough for him to think rationally again. Above that irrefutable voice in the back of his mind, he once again thought about revealing his greatest shame to Kaz. What would happen if he just stayed there on his cot, if he never told Kaz that he couldn't be used as leverage against his father? And what would happen if Van Eck double-crossed them, and there wasn't any good enough insurance to ensure that the six of them would get their money? Their efforts would have been futile, and none of them would get what they'd initially sought — and it might as well be his fault.

His body starting to tremble, Wylan forced himself to stand up from his cot. Just do one thing at a time. Just like his tutor had taught him in order to stop him from getting overwhelmed by the page. Stand up. He slid off the edge of the cot, straightened as his feet touched the ground. Take a deep breath. He closed his eyes, took another deep breath through his nose. Open your eyes. He opened his eyes and forced himself to walk. Go find Kaz. He assumed Kaz would be in his own cabin, scheming away, concocting backup plans for their backup plans in case anything went wrong.

He quietly left his cabin, making his way down the Ferolind's lower deck to find Kaz. He found the older boy sitting on the cot in his own cabin, staring intently at the floor with one hand gripping the crow head of his cane.

“Kaz?” Wylan swallowed frantically, his skin burning hot as he fought the words to come through. “I… I won't be leverage enough against my father. I know I'm supposed to be your… insurance, but I can't be. It won't be enough.”

Kaz sat up straighter, his free hand curling over the head of his cane as he looked up at Wylan. “And why is that?”

Something about Kaz's cold glare, his rock-salt rasp as he asked the question, sent a chill rippling over every inch of Wylan's skin. He wanted to scream. He wanted to bolt back to his cabin, hide beneath the paper-thin covers until he vanished completely. He wanted the floor to open up beneath him, to be dragged by the rolling waves into the depths of the sea. He wanted to disappear, just like his father wanted him to.

I have to tell him.

“I…” The roar of blood in his ears was deafening, drowning out the murmur of the waves outside the Ferolind's hull. That shameful helplessness was taut in his belly, a knot incapable of coming unravelled.

You just have to say it. You just have to say you can't read.

His father's taunts reverberated in his mind. Defective. Imbecile. Worthless. Broken. Disgraceful. Idiot. Useless. He was choking on them. They pressed against his throat like Prior's iron grip closing around it all those months ago, dirty fingernails digging into the skin of his neck. His cheeks burnt with shame despite the cold sweat that had broken out over every part of his body. His heart was a war drum beneath his ribs, his chest too tight, his breath too short and shallow. Take a deep breath. He couldn't. His clothes felt tight around his body — too tight, as though they stuck to him.

“I… I have an affliction.” Uttering those words aloud was enough to send a violent roil through Wylan's stomach, and he had to stop himself from throwing up. This was it. There was no taking back those words: he was halfway there.

Kaz merely sat there, looking rather impatient with his gloved hands folded over the crow's head of his cane. Wylan couldn't imagine what he looked like in this moment: red-faced, a trembling hand near his lips as if he were about to bite his nails, his eyes not meeting Kaz's.

It felt like the walls of the cabin were closing in on him, Prior's hands tightening around his throat as the latter half of his confession choked him. The waters he'd leapt into all those months ago were rising around him, filling his lungs and numbing his limbs with its icy grasp. He tried to fight against it, but the water was weighing him down, his limbs useless against the tide as he drowned in the murky waters of the Ketterdam harbour.

He drew another deep, shuddering breath.

Spit it out.

“I… I can't read,” he finally gasped, and the water receded.

There. He'd said it. He'd revealed his shame to Kaz, his voice barely above a whisper lest the sea around them carry his shame across its rolling waves and let the whole world know about Jan Van Eck's defective child.

Kaz's piercing glare was still on him, as if expecting him to say more. His expression remained as cold and calculating as ever — had he known about this too, just as he'd known about Wylan's true identity? Did Wylan have any tells that gave away his shame — his face growing pale at the sight of the tangled scrawl of words across a page, staring at it for too long hoping that he'd recognise the shapes of the words? Or had Kaz been surprised? Had this been the one thing he hadn't seen coming? His gaze was piercing and unreadable, but Wylan sucked in another breath and continued, trying to keep his voice steady.

“It's not that no one tried to teach me, lots of people did. But I just can't do it. It's like something in me refuses to do it.” That was what his father used to drill into him throughout his childhood, and the memory filled him with a sickening dread.

“I'm…” Wylan moistened his lips thoughtfully, trying to phrase his next words carefully without having the entire shameful story out in the open. The story of his father sending him away, supposedly to study music in Belendt. Of his Miggson and Prior trying to kill him, of him leaping into the murky canal with nothing but his satchel, fake enrolment papers and a soaked-through stash of kruge. “To him, I'm not worth losing. You can't use me as leverage if I'm not good enough insurance. There has to be another way around this, because this won't work. I know it won't.”

Kaz averted his gaze thoughtfully, then shrugged before standing up, leaning on his cane. That was his only response — a shrug. Had Wylan not been so afraid, so shaken by that shameful helplessness, he would have burst out laughing: he'd just revealed his defect to Kaz Brekker — the Bastard of the Barrel, the boy they called Dirtyhands in the grimy streets of the Barrel — and he'd merely shrugged. Shouldn't he be concerned with what to do with Wylan, now that he'd found out that his demolitions expert was just a useless fool evicted from his father's home?

“We'll have to work around that, then,” Kaz responded in that low, raspy voice. His eyes met Wylan's, boring into him as though searching for some semblance of worth within him, something that would compensate for his other failings. A pinprick of discomfort shot up Wylan's spine at the prolonged eye contact, but Kaz's eyes left his as he scanned Wylan from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes and back up again.

Wylan just stood there, completely stunned. He'd expected Kaz to sneer at him, or laugh at his affliction and refuse to give him his share of their reward once they'd reached Ketterdam. He'd expected the knot in his stomach to tighten, the shame growing, but he felt it loosen ever so slightly with the odd sense of relief and liberation that came with revealing his condition to Kaz.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Wylan asked, his voice a low croak. “What other leverage could we possibly use?” 

Kaz looked towards the door of his cabin, then back at Wylan. Kaz Brekker saw the world as though it were a puzzle, and he studied Wylan like he was a piece of that puzzle that didn't fit where he'd thought it would — but now, it seemed, he'd found another place he could slot that piece into without having to tear the entire project apart. “Lest Van Eck double-crosses us, we'll have to stop him from getting what he wants.”

Wylan's brow furrowed. “And how, exactly, would we do that?”

“Nina's a passable Tailor at best — but, under the influence of parem, she could achieve something that shouldn't be possible. Not even in the hands of the most gifted Tailor.” Wylan swallowed thickly as Kaz continued. “We'll have her tailor you to look like Kuwei, and hand you off to your father.”

Wylan's heart stuttered at that. He was no stranger to Kaz's elaborate and unbelievable schemes — after all, they'd stolen a tank from a high-security prison — but this was different. This was absurd. Wylan agreeing to be tailored to look like Kuwei was a death wish: the Shu boy was valuable, certainly with large bounties on his head. He held the secret to the world's greatest threat, one that could wreak havoc if it fell into the wrong hands. Wylan could have refused — he should have refused, if he wanted to make it back to Ketterdam alive. Instead, he cleared his throat and responded with an assertive, “I'll do it.”

For a split second, a surprised look flashed in Kaz's eyes, but disappeared as quickly as it came. He expected me to refuse, Wylan thought as his cheeks heated with embarrassment once again.

“It may be permanent,” Kaz warned him.

Wylan shook his head. “I need to know. Once and for all, I need to know what my father really thinks of me.”

Kaz cast him an almost pitying look. “Surely Van Eck would have some qualms about ending your life—”

“He wouldn't,” Wylan asserted, picking at the skin of his lip, that ill feeling returning as the reality dawned on him. Van Eck had tried to kill him once, what would stop him from trying again? “I'll bet you that.”

“How much?”

“Ten kruge.”

Kaz's lip curled in a grin. “Surely your father wouldn't be so callous.”

Wylan shrugged. “You'd be surprised.”

“Nothing surprises me, merchling. That's why I'm still alive.” Kaz walked past Wylan and made his way to the cabin's entrance. “I'm going to fill Nina in on the plan. Go to her cabin within the hour.”

Wylan nodded as Kaz left the cabin, leaving Wylan alone with nothing but his own racing thoughts. When he'd finally gotten himself to move, he walked back to his own cabin and propped himself down on his cot, his body still trembling with the aftermath of confessing his greatest shame to Kaz. His fingers itched the way they always did whenever he yearned to play his flute or the piano in the music room of his father's house. Ghezen and his works, he wanted nothing more than to snatch his satchel up from the foot of his cot and grab his flute. He wanted to close his eyes and bring the instrument to his lips, letting the world disappear around him as the notes wrapped him in his own story — one free of the shame and fear he'd carried for so long, one that made his heart flutter with joy as the music flooded a soothing warmth through him. But he couldn't bring himself to even glance in the direction of his satchel.

He thought back to Kaz's unchanged expression at his admission, the light, dismissive shrug of his shoulders. The shame still gnawed at Wylan, but there was also the strange relief of getting something off his chest despite it, as though telling Kaz had freed something in him — something that had been encased in the chains of his father's contempt for as long as he could remember.

It's not too late to decline, pressed that voice in the back of his mind.

He shook his head assertively — if this is what had to be done to ensure the crew got their money, then so be it. And yet… he was terrified and horribly anxious.

He looked down at his hands, his eyes tracing over the creases of his slender fingers, the little scars with no clear origin along his skin, the crescent outlines on his palms from digging his nails into them. Within the hour, they weren't going to be his hands anymore — they'd be Kuwei's. Slowly, he buried his face in his hands, sighing deeply as his fingers raked through the tufts of hair that brushed his forehead. The face in his hands wouldn't be his anymore, and neither would the hair between his fingers. With Nina's power, he'd soon become the most valuable person in the world. He was terrified, but that wouldn't stop him from doing what he needed to. From ensuring that he and the rest of this crew got their money.

From finally learning what his father truly thought of him.

Van Eck had made it clear as Wylan grew up that there was no space for his son in his household. He'd made it clear that he wanted Wylan disappear for as long as it took him to forget that he ever had a son. And yet, a part of him hoped that maybe he'd misunderstood everything. That his father did indeed love him unconditionally just as any father loved his child.

Wylan lifted his head from his hands and started gnawing at his thumbnail. He wouldn't know for certain until the rest of Kaz's plan was carried out, when his face and name were no longer his.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

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

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

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

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

Content warnings for this chapter: ptsd, wounds, implied violence, implied child abuse

AO3 link

Chapter 22 - Wylan

Jesper was right - talking really was his superpower. If Wylan hadn’t eventually said:

“Jes, don’t you need to go to work?” he wasn’t sure he ever would’ve stopped. 

He had encouraged Wylan to drink the tea he’d brought up for him, pressing the warm mug into his hands and guiding Wylan’s fingers to the handle as he chattered, but for the most part Wylan just sat feeling the heat of it between his palms. There were a couple of bread rolls lying on a plate across the room as well, but Jesper hadn’t mentioned them and Wylan wasn’t hungry. Jesper had paused briefly in the middle of a story Wylan wasn’t really listening to when he realised how much time must have passed, because the tea was cold. He was grateful for the sound of Jesper’s voice to occupy his mind even if he wasn’t really listening to what he said, it felt like an anchor keeping him in this room, in this moment. He almost regretted stopping him, but he didn’t want to be the reason Jesper was late or missed work. 

“Oh, shoot, yeah,” Jesper laughed, “I can stay, if you want-”

“I’ll be okay,” Wylan breathed, trying to smile, “Really. Thank you, so much,”

“Of course, love,” Jesper stood up and leaned a little closer; Wylan felt himself tense, “You want a new drink?”

He was looking at the half empty mug, its steam long dissipated and its colour fading from the most welcoming sight. 

“Oh- it’s alright, thanks,” Wylan let Jesper take the cold tea off him and set it back on the table, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here?”

He didn’t know why he was risking asking - he didn’t have anywhere else to go. But he didn’t want to make Jesper feel like he had to take care of him. 

“Of course,” he said, again, “Long as you want. I’ll run and find some dry clothes and then I’ll go,”

Wylan nodded, but even so when Jesper returned and knocked on the door again he felt himself flinch. His breathing grew sharp and one of his hands fumbled to his neck, as if he was still trying to pull Prior’s hands away from his throat. He knew it was just Jesper, he knew that, he knew that. But apparently that wasn’t going to stop his brain from going into overdrive. 

“Wylan?”

He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe.

“Wylan, are you okay?”

“Yeah - sorry,” his voice didn’t sound right, “I - sorry -”

“Don’t apologise. I can leave these here for you and you can just get them when you want, or-”

“Uh, no, it’s okay,” Wylan managed, flexing his fingers in and out of his fists, “You can come in. Sorry,”

“Do you know what don’t apologise means?” asked Jesper as the door opened, smiling at Wylan, “Here,”

He tossed a shirt and a pair of trousers, which landed sort of haphazardly on Wylan’s lap as he tried to catch them. He dropped the shirt.

“Sorry, probably should’ve thought that through,” Jesper picked it up and pressed it into Wylan’s hand, “But I think those should fit okay - and there’s a railing on the wall opposite the bed, you can hang your stuff on there to dry,”

Wylan nodded.

“Thank you,” 

“Yeah of course - okay, I’ve gotta run or I’m gonna be late, are you sure you’re okay on your own?”

Wylan just nodded again. 

He had been glad to sit with Jesper for a while, listening to whatever he’d been talking about without really taking it in, but he was glad to have a little time for himself as well.

Jesper’s room could only be described as chaotic. The bed was unmade, the pillows in disarray and the duvet falling half onto the floor where the corner drooped into a pile of discarded clothes. The table where Wylan’s cold tea and the little bread rolls were sitting in wait was also decorated by several other used cups and plates, some stacked on top of each other and some shoved to one side to make space for the ones Jesper had brought up earlier. It wasn’t a big space but there was a window that peered onto the street below and, if Wylan’s sight hadn’t been blurry, would have given him the vaguest hint of the canal behind the next few buildings, with frayed curtains that had clearly faded from whatever colour they were once supposed to be. Other than the faded curtains Jesper’s room was actually very colourful, like it was impossible for him to own more than one item in the same shade. Wylan turned back from the window, fingers brushing the sill and spilling dust onto the floor. He brushed his hand down the leg of the trousers he’d just changed into, trying to get the remnants off himself, and then picked up his dripping clothes and pushed one of Jesper’s waistcoats to the end of the little railing so there was space to hang them over it. 

The room was definitely chaotic, but that made it feel real. Lived in. Wylan’s room at home could have belonged to pretty much anyone if you didn’t know it was his, but this place looked like it actually belonged to someone. Or like someone actually belonged here. 

It took him a few minutes to convince himself to open his satchel; he wasn’t sure why it felt like he couldn’t do it, but if he left it where it was the water would end up ruining Jesper’s already slightly dodgy floorboards and all of Wylan’s things would be ruined. He wondered what his father had done with the trunks that were supposedly being sent after him, and had to suddenly pinch his nose and swallow hard to try and keep from throwing up. 

Everything in his satchel was soaked through. He had to wring his favourite jumper out over the window ledge before he put it onto the railing with everything else because the wool was holding so much water, and he was pretty sure the shape was all warped and ruined but he was trying to convince himself away from thinking about it. It was an incredibly stupid thing to be concerned about right now, but it was his favourite jumper and it was probably ruined and it was making him want to cry. And what about everything in his trunk? His clothes, his shoes, everything - even the sheet music he’d managed to keep hidden in his wardrobe for so long… all of it must be gone. He’d taken his flute out of his jacket pocket when he hung it over the railing, but now he didn’t really have anywhere else to put it except back into his sopping wet bag and that didn’t seem very practical. He stood in the centre of Jesper’s room, holding his almost definitely ruined flute, staring at his almost definitely ruined jumper, his hair still wet and the goosebumps on his arms still shivering beneath the too-long sleeves of his borrowed shirt. He hoped it was borrowed, anyway, though walking through this building had set him on a pretty certain path that this was probably stolen. 

There were still loud noises chattering through from downstairs and the rooms either side of this one; conversations that were either mostly unintelligible or didn’t make sense to Wylan. There was a couple arguing in the room next door, sounding like they were on the verge of throwing things at each other, and a couple in the room above who were definitely doing something else. Wylan stared at the ceiling for a moment - it’s half six in the morning! - and then shook himself back to his senses. It was like he’d fallen into another world, some kind of mad mirror dimension of the city that he’d thought he knew, and he had no idea how to function here. He wished he’d drunk all of his tea; he wasn’t going to dare venturing anywhere else to get a new one. He settled for the water flask that he’d set on the floor when he took it out of his satchel, running his fingers along the newly acquired dents in the metal. 

Jesper was only gone for about two hours. Wylan paced around the room, finished all the water in his flask, convinced himself to rip an edge of one of the bread rolls. He caught himself in the smudgy mirror and realised there were bruises growing on his throat. He pulled his collar up, as if that would be enough to hide them, and hoped that Jesper wouldn’t notice.

The sounds of the house were relentless and every single one of them was someone coming to find him, Prior or Miggson ready to finish the job. By the time Jesper returned, Wylan was sitting between the wall and the foot of the bed, with knees pulled to his chest, his flute clutched loosely between his fingers. The wood was warped. It was useless. 

“Wylan?”

Wylan jumped. He hadn’t heard Jesper come in. 

“Oh, is this the famous flute?” Jesper grinned as he sat down in front of Wylan, apparently not caring to question what he was doing sitting on the floor, “Do I get to hear you play?”

“It’s ruined,” Wylan mumbled, without looking up, still running his fingers over the misshapen wood.

He was an idiot. If he had just left his flute in his bag, tucked it safely into its case, it probably wouldn’t have been quite so far beyond repair. It might have survived. But he’d wanted it in his jacket, he’d wanted to be able to feel it and know that it was there for what? He couldn’t even describe the nervousness he knew he would’ve felt in its absence. He had a vague memory of going travelling somewhere once, he didn’t remember where and he’d only been a small child, and checking his bag every few minutes as though all of his belongings might have vanished the moment he looked away. That one stuck out, other than all the other travels he had once been happily - even excitedly - welcomed on by his father, because by whatever age he was then he’d had his first flute and it was sitting in that bag, on the verge of disappearing every few seconds if he didn’t keep an eye on it. Keep it safe and close and in a strange way almost secret. So what? For some stupid sentimentality or foolish, entirely impractical and irrational fear, Wylan had destroyed his flute. He may as well have clung to it so tightly that his fingers snapped it in half, for all the infuriating irony was not lost on him, and he wanted to scream his frustration and his loss. But he just carried on sitting there, running his fingers over the ruined flute, grieving for something that had never been alive in the first place.

“Oh, Wy, I’m so sorry…” Jesper’s voice felt distant.

Wylan just shrugged.

“I shouldn’t care this much,” he whispered, “Not… not about this, of all things this is what’s…”

He couldn’t finish the thought; he just shook his head. The pain in his chest had only slightly released since crawling out of the canal hours ago, and he felt nerves rising as he wondered if Jesper could see his bruises. He had to hold himself back from fidgeting with his collar. 

“Wylan, you’re allowed to be upset about-”

“Don’t,” he whispered.

He couldn’t talk about it. He shouldn’t have mentioned it. Jesper shuffled, but he didn’t say anything. Wylan felt his hand wanting to drift to his shirt collar again and tightened his grip on his flute. Trying harder to hide them was only going to draw Jesper’s attention to the bruises.

“That wasn’t a long shift,” he said, eventually, when the quiet - not silence, apparently there was never silence here - got too much.

“I just sorted out a deal with them,” said Jesper, smiling, “So you weren’t stuck here alone for ages,”

Wylan nodded. 

“Where do you work?”

There was brief pause, before Jesper ventured:

“At a bar,”

He didn;t sound entirely convinced about his own statement, but who the hell was Wylan to call someone out for lying?

“I, erm…” Jesper hesitated, then began again talking so quickly it was like his own words - or perhaps his thoughts - were overlapping each other, “I know someone, who I think you should talk to. I mean - well, he wants to meet you so if you want to - tomorrow, you don’t have to like now, I mean…”

He trailed off for a moment, then said more succinctly:

“You can stay here tonight and I’ll get out of your way, but if you’re feeling okay tomorrow then there’s this guy I work with, Kaz - he’s my boss. He’d like to talk to you,”

Wylan leaned back, feeling tension run through his shoulders.

“Why?”

“He’s hoping you’ll make a deal with him - you don’t have to, okay, but if you just have a conversation with him he might be able to help you out,”

“Help me out?” asked Wylan, raising an eyebrow, “By making a deal? You sure you’re not talking about the devil, here?”

Jesper laughed.

“You might be more accurate in that than you want to be, Wylan,” he laughed again, “But he probably can help you, and you can probably help him. Look, if you just talk to him - and I can be there too, if you want me to - you don’t have to agree to anything. But he might be able to help you make some money, maybe even… I dunno, but he could get you a job, I’m sure,”

The actual practicality of everything hadn’t quite dawned on Wylan until now. He was alone - or almost alone, anyway - in the Barrel, his father had tried to have him killed and may very well believe him drowned, he had no money but a couple of very wet kruge notes, and no skills or methods of income whatsoever. He would have to find a job somewhere; would have to do something to survive. And Jesper had said he could stay here, but he could hardly do that forever could he? He needed money, he needed somewhere to live, he… he needed to at least survive this part, if he would have any hope of ever figuring out the next. 

“Okay,” he murmured, eventually, “I’ll talk to him,”

[maidenofcrows]

So I’m working on a plotless kanej one shot (that I may or may not finish), and I kinda like this little bit that I’m gonna share with y’all:

… After barely a moment of silence, he laughed. A soft, gentle laugh. The kind that she knew was meant just for her. She’d heard of the Kerch keeping something of their lover’s likeness inside pieces of jewelry. A lock of hair, a penny portrait made by a street vendor, a hand-written note folded on a tiny slip of paper. She thought she would rather store his laugh in one of these lockets and keep it close to her heart always.

Because bottling the other’s laugh and getting drunk on it every night has already been used, I needed to get creative with what Inej thinks of Kaz’s laugh XD I dunno, I just think they’re cute <3

Edit: I did, in fact, finish the thing

[the-nada-thing]

Arthie smiled. “Mr. Brekker, I believe this is the start of a wonderful friendship.”

“Oh, it's better than that, Casimir,” Kaz said, “It’s a business transaction.”

“Indeed.”

(then they drink tea while Jesper introduces Jin to Wylan)