#wesper Tumblr posts

  • feelinglikecleopatra
    08.12.2021 - 1 hour ago

    under a merciless white light

    fandom: six of crows/ jesper fahey x wylan van eck

    word count: 8,413

    rating: general audiences (this ones for everyone)

    summary: let. jesper. be. a. black. man. otherwise known as, jesper reconnects with his zemeni heritage.


    over a year had passed since the auction, since inej set sail and nina left for ravka and life returned to normal. well, whatever this new normal was.

    jesper ran a hand over his hair as he cut across the goedmedbridge on his way home. it’d been a long day and all he could think about was getting behind closed doors, eating too much hutspot and letting wylan tell him all about his day.

    business rarely found him in the dusty alleys of the barrel anymore, but when kaz coughed up some scheme that needed a sharpshooter of quality, there was only one man for the job.

    the door to geldstraat swung open on well-oiled hinges, lights flickering against the setting sun outside.

    “honey, i’m home!” jesper sing-songed.

    as if to emphasise the point, the door fell shut with a booming echo.

    wylan’s answering call came in the silence that followed. “i’m upstairs!”

    after sloughing off coat and shoes and stepping into his slippers—his ma watching from wherever she was and nodding in solemn approval—jesper made his way up the stairs.

    he found wylan standing at his window; his assistant hunched over a veritable mountain of paperwork at the desk behind him. since he took over the family business, this was usually how jesper found him at the end of the day. curls in disarray, posture appalling, collar open. all his carefully cultivated mercher calm unravelled.

    three raps on the open office door alerted wylan to jesper’s arrival. he turned around with a sigh and a smile and was in jesper’s arms in five strides.

    “long day?” wylan’s answer was an inaudible mumble, spoken into jesper’s striped vest. “what was that?”

    sky-blue eyes peeked out from under ruddy curls, “the longest.”

    jesper leaned back slightly, a smile on his lips, “do you think petre would miss you if you left?”

    “i can hear what you’re saying, you know.” petre, wylan’s assistant, didn’t even look up from the ledger he was scratching away at. “and mr. van eck is the boss, he determines my hours. not the other way around.”

    “sarky bastard this one,” jesper whispered. “remind me, why did we let kaz recommend him?”

    “because i am qualified and discreet, mr. fahey.”

    “with the hearing of a bat, apparently.”

    wylan huffed a laugh and shook his head. begrudgingly, jesper let him turn around, which meant loosening his grip on the merchling’s waist.

    “petre, i think we’ll call it a day. i’m in no state to get anything else done. please, do go by the kitchen and help yourself to anya’s pie on the way out.”

    “as you wish, sir.”

    once petre was, according to jesper’s best estimation, out of earshot, he ducked down and whispered directly in wylan’s ear. “sir?”

    delighted, he watched the very tips of wylan’s ears turn pink.

    “well, i’m glad someone in this house has manners.”

    “if that’s what you call it.”

    dinner did indeed involve hutspot, a whole loaf of bread still warm from the oven, and wylan talking about his day.

    the favourite part of jesper’s day, however, came later.

    fire in the grate smouldering lowly, wylan perched straight-backed at the foot of the bed with jesper on the floor between his knees. the first time they’d done this, the zemeni sharpshooter had recounted his day in agonising detail, down to the colour of the baker boy’s eyes. after a few days of this arrangement though, jesper learnt to enjoy the quiet of it instead.

    in silence, then, wylan used a wide toothed comb to work out the tangles and knots in jesper’s short but steadily growing hair.

    this was a fairly recent development—only as old as jesper’s few inches of hair—since for most of his adult and adolescent life, jesper had worn his hair very short, shaved less than an inch from his scalp. that was how his da used to cut his hair so, it was how jesper had done things. he never—well, not never, but rarely—questioned that. why would he? all the other men around him, with the notable exception of matthias, wore their hair relatively short.

    it was definitely easier, cleaner, cheaper, more convenient than growing it out. it was probably easier, maybe cleaner, a little cheaper…

    he couldn’t say precisely what it was that changed. whether it was that woman he saw on the lid, skin the same deep brown as his, wearing her gold-clasped twists like a crown; or seeing wylan with marya, thinking about what he could remember about his ma, of sitting between her knees while she worked out the kinks in his hair; or maybe it was just being happy and settled and unhurried—letting wylan poke around his childhood and pull out the things that mattered.

    whatever it was, jesper had decided to grow out his hair.

    sometimes, while he sat watching the fire, wylan’s clever fingers working through his hair, jesper would talk about aditi.

    “she used to change her hair all the time. in the summer, sometimes she’d take out the styles she wore to protect it, and wear it natural. da always said she looked beautiful regardless but he never—i don’t think he paid much attention.” jesper closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle way wylan picked his hair, fighting the ache gathering behind his eyes. “when she needed help picking her ‘fro, i would sit on the bed—like you, now—and she’d sit on the floor. i remember it felt like how i thought a cloud would feel. her hair wasn’t as tight or coarse as mine, so you’ve got your work cut out for you!”

    wylan’s hands didn’t slow. “your hair is beautiful, jes.”

    “my hair is—” the words he meant to say—spectacular, miraculous, exquisite—jammed up behind his teeth. it was none of these things. his hair was pedestrian, he shaved it out of laziness and fear. after so many years of neglect, would he even remember how to braid it? “my hair is fine.”

    of course, wylan knew when to push and when to ease up so the conversation meandered away from aditi, from the things jesper was not yet ready to think about.

    afterwards, sleep came swiftly. there was something about the warmth of wylan’s thighs bracing his shoulders, the rhythmic tug on his hair, the smell of a wood fire, the hazy, rambling conversation. it reached right into jesper and stirred up the silt of long buried memories.

    it was thoroughly exhausting.

    broaching that topic felt like crossing into uncharted territory, and not in a fun way.

    there was no one to fight, no one and nothing to shoot at. just him and his ma and his da and a belly full of questions. it wasn’t painful like her death, which may as well have been a knife wound in his side—breathtaking and raw. it wasn’t even painful like thinking about the farm and his unfinished degree, a dull persistent ache he sometimes pressed on out of some masochistic fascination. this was painful like… like homesickness. but not for a place. homesickness for a body, a people, a being. jesper was a stranger to himself.

    would his mother even recognise him?

    one night, wylan asked, “do you think it’s long enough to restyle, yet?”

    jesper couldn’t get his mouth around the words, i don’t know, so he lied instead. “not quite. it—it needs to be a bit longer.”

    wylan just nodded, humming quietly to himself as he pulled the comb through what was now a substantial corona of tight, black curls. the sensation was doing all the usual things, grounding jesper in his body and slowing the swirl of his thoughts, the jitteriness he carried to work and to meals and to friends and to bed. but tonight it was also making it hard to laugh. jesper couldn’t think of a single funny thing to say.

    the lie built on his tongue, in his head, in his heart.

    eventually, wylan noticed he’d gone almost completely still.

    “jes,” his hands stopped their work as he leaned forward and peered down at jesper. “is everything okay?”

    that pain, the homesickness, was a storm building inside him. now that it had rumbled onto the horizon, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to go. all he could do was watch it roll toward him and brace for the onslaught.

    hands on his shoulders, fingers tentatively tracing his neck and jaw and cheek, wylan folded himself onto the floor beside him.

    “jes, talk to me.”

    he couldn’t look at wylan, couldn’t bring himself to face those eyes, blue as the zemeni sky.

    how could he have forgotten? he should know his own body, shouldn’t he? how to style his own fucking hair.

    “i should cut it off again.”

    “what?” wylan blinked at him, he could just see the flutter of his lashes.

    “i should cut it off. i looked great—don’t know what i was thinking—you can’t improve on perfection!” jesper barked a laugh that sounded forced to his own ears.

    “jes... “ wylan tilted his head, a slight movement in jesper’s periphery. “what’s brought this on? i thought—i like it longer.”

    “this isn’t about what you like.”

    the merchling frowned. “i know that.”

    “good. i just think this is all a waste of time, what am i even trying to accomplish?”

    “does it have to accomplish anything?”

    “well, what’s the point otherwise?” as if jesper ever needed a point.

    “you do what feels right.” wylan pressed a hand to his chest then, his implication clear.

    “but this… this doesn’t—” jesper was choking on the words, on the lie. there was an ache behind his eyes and in the back of his throat. he tried to swallow around it. “it doesn’t feel right. i don’t know how to—i don’t—i don’t remember—”

    “don’t remember what?”

    he was going to cry. how had he lived with this—this hole at the core of his being for so long? he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe around it. for years, he realised, it had been there, festering, and now that his life was not lived from behind the barrel of a gun or from the seat at a card table, it was eating away at him. he could ignore it no longer. oh, how he wanted to ignore it.

    “i don’t remember anything,” he snapped, he sobbed. “i don’t… the smell of the oils she put in her hair to keep it soft though i remember she used them, i don’t remember how she partitioned her hair for—for—ghezen, i don’t remember what she called them. she had all these words for the different styles and… i don’t—i can’t remember.”

    “we can learn together,” wylan said, shuffling even closer, not yet embracing but knee to knee.

    “i shouldn’t have to learn. i don’t want to have to learn.” his voice was very quiet now, a lost boy’s whisper.

    when wylan didn’t immediately respond, jesper knew he was trying to formulate a response that would fix this, fix him. he would never find it because there were no words capable of returning to him everything he was only now realising he had lost.

    jesper grit his teeth against the tears, but it was no use.

    “this is so ridiculous,” he said angrily, wiping a hand under his nose. “who cares how i wear my hair!”

    “i do,” wylan said quietly.

    “yeah, and why is that?”

    “because it’s part of you, part of who you are.” he was dragging his hand up and down jesper’s upper arms, tracking the tears spilling over jesper’s cheeks. “because you care and because i love you.”

    looking up and finding wylan watching him, blue eyes still as a millpond, finding he had not flinched away from jesper’s anger and frustration and sadness, cracked something open inside him.

    “how can i regret losing something i never really had, wy?”

    “the same way i regret losing my father. except, your thing is salvageable.”

    somehow, between the ache in his heart and the ache in his head, jesper managed to laugh at this. it wasn’t all better and he still felt like shit but taking wylan’s chin in his hand, jesper realised he was in a better position than ever to fix what was broken and return what was lost.

    “you are a miracle, you know that right?”

    “actually, i don’t think i’ve heard that one before.”

    “oh, apologies,” jesper murmured, “i guess i’ve got some making up to do.”

    they kissed then, slow and sweet. jesper felt sodden and snotty and downright unattractive, which he couldn’t remember ever feeling before, but wylan’s lips were soft and pliant under his. wylan trailed kisses from jesper’s lips to his chin to his cheek to the very corner of his eye and between every one, whispered, “you are beautiful and generous and wild.”

    pulling back slightly, so he could look jesper in the eye, he said, “i don’t tell you enough how proud i am of you. what you’re doing everyday, living here so far from where you were raised and the people who raised you, jes… it’s incredible. you’re incredible. you’re allowed to feel lost sometimes, to feel homesick.”

    jesper let out a shuddering sigh as wylan named the very thing he was feeling. “i don’t know where my home is.”

    “shall we find out together?” wylan bumped his forehead against jesper’s. “will you let me help you figure it out?”

    “please,” jesper whispered. he felt hollowed out and empty and not himself. “i don’t think i can do it alone.”

    “you don’t have to. you don’t have to.” wylan crawled into jesper’s lap, wrapping his arms around jesper’s torso and whispering against his neck. “you’re not alone. i’m here. i’m here.”

    they stayed like that for what felt like bells and bells, warm in each other’s arms. jesper’s heartache settling in, nestling down. it was a permanent fixture, he would discover much later. living in ketterdam, then in ravka for a time, and even when he moved back to novyi zem for a short spell some years later, his homesickness followed.

    in wylan’s arms though, the ache was bearable.


    the next day, jesper did something he had not done since he first moved to the city, he reached out to the small but thriving zemeni community living in ketterdam.

    they mostly frequented a club at the southern tip of east stave. jesper knew there were other haunts: an inn near fifth harbour; a small street market that popped up once a month on the edge of town; and one derelict building in sweetreef, slated for demolition, that served as a squat for zemeni teenagers working the sugar refineries. this club, though, where the music was more percussive, more experimental, and more soulful than anywhere else in the barrel, was where jesper had spent his first few weeks in ketterdam.

    it hadn’t been his intention. since his ma’s death, he’d had very little contact with zemeni’s at home or anywhere else and, in all honesty, the idea of the club frightened him a little.

    in the end, being far from home for the first time made him nostalgic, it had raised questions in his mind he’d never thought to ask before. so, when two of his classmates invited him to the blue rooster after class one day, he’d said yes.

    it felt like returning to a dream of home, stepping into a story someone else was telling about where he came from. everything was almost right. the smells, the sounds, the people. but jesper couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t meant to be there, that he was an intruder, a pretender.

    they all spoke with the rounded vowels and rotic r’s of the frontier, their kerch looser and longer and fuller than his. in every smile, every open-mouthed laugh, he saw his ma as she would have been had she not married his da—a young, bright thing.

    it hadn’t worked out. not long after, he found himself at his first card table and, well, everyone knew the rest.

    now, many years later, he was standing outside the club looking up at the sign—a preening rooster rendered in the most perfect deep sea blue. wylan had offered to come with him at which jesper had coughed up some excuse about doing this alone. in truth, he hadn’t known how to explain the particular flavour of humiliating it would have been to show up with—not wylan, in particular, but—the idea of wylan, holding his hand while he asked these people to teach him how to be.

    taking a deep breath, jesper pushed open the door. he was greeted by the sweet smell of tobacco, the tang of ginger and lime almost sharp enough to taste, and most familiar of all, the faintly orange tint on patrons’ tongue- and finger-tips.

    with last night’s conversation still ringing in his head, wylan’s promise that he would not have to do this alone, jesper steeled himself and approached the bar.

    unlike the last time he’d come, jesper wasn’t sure he’d know anyone. step one then, identify allies. to do that, jesper needed to talk to the man behind the bar, who was at that moment polishing a glass like his life depended on it. the man was short for a zemeni but his dark skin was unmistakable. his hair was short, only a few inches long, but it was twisted into a dozen or so knots, evenly spaced and tidy.

    “how’s it going?” elbow on the countertop, jesper projected slightly to be heard over the music. “i was looking for a friend.”

    “yeah, and what’s your friend called?”

    “jona.” the bartender blinked at him blankly a few times. maybe that hadn’t been specific enough. “i don’t know his family name but he’s a big guy, used to come here a lot. has hazel eyes.” jesper tapped the bar top. “come on, he’s not exactly forgettable. talks like the whole world's listening?”

    “oh, you mean the bird?” the barman’s face split in a grin, revealing several gold teeth and a wad of jurda. “why didn’t you just say so?”

    jesper refrained from rolling his eyes. “aye, the bird—he about?”

    “not yet but it shouldn’t be long now.”

    well that was vaguely ominous. deciding not to dwell on it overmuch, jesper ordered a drink and settled onto the nearest empty stool. the whiskey was smooth and crystal clear, twinkling amber in the low light. sitting there, smoke eddying around him and the singer’s lovely alto riding over the din, jesper thought he could enjoy himself. there was no makker’s wheel, no card tables here. only good booze and good music. it felt safe. he wondered how long that would last.

    when the bird did make his appearance, the barman’s words suddenly seemed fitting. jesper’s old acquaintance rolled in like a summer storm, with a voice like thunder, sucking all the remaining air out of the room. as charismatic as jesper remembered him. he belonged up on a pulpit or on a soapbox. thinking of the years gone by, it was entirely possible that there was a pulpit or a soapbox he frequented somewhere. briefly, jesper thought of his own plans—what there had been of them—and how quickly they’d gone to hell.

    heart in his mouth, jesper began to wade across the room to greet jona. there was a sea of people between them and yet, jesper could feel the radiance of his presence like a small sun. it was something he’d always thought about his people, a gravitas found only at the frontier.

    jona was standing by the pianoforte, smiling his winning smile at the woman sat behind it. this was clearly a seduction underway, an old flirtation by the slant of the pianists mouth.

    “gloria, baby, don’t tease me like this.”

    even jesper shivered a little at the tone in his voice. perhaps he should be taking notes. for all the honey in the bird’s voice, however, jesper watched gloria shake her head, her smile rueful but resigned.

    jona laughed good-naturedly and, tapping the lid of the instrument, turned away. what jesper had come to ask him about, the locs tumbling down his back, shifted with the movement. each was about as thick as one of his fingers—that is to say, quite thick—and tied together at the nape of his neck with a strip of worn leather. it was a lifetime’s worth of growth, jesper knew.

    “jona?” it was now or never.

    the big man cocked an eyebrow at jesper. “yes?”

    “it’s jesper,” he said, pointing at himself needlessly. “jesper fahey? we—”

    “fahey?” now, jona was squinting at him, brow furrowed. then, “saints, man, i thought you were dead.”

    it was clearly meant as a joke. jona’s eyes were wide, his mouth halfway to a smile, he’d even raised his hand between them as if to clasp jesper’s but there was something in what he’d said that rang true. here, jesper was a ghost.

    in the end, he was too much of a people pleaser to leave jona hanging. jesper coughed out a laugh and clapped hands with the man, both pulling each other in for a one-armed hug. it was the kind of easy affection he had appreciated after first moving to the city. strange, that he hadn’t thought to miss it until now.

    “where you been, fahey?”

    without waiting for an answer, jona led him across the floor to a roped-off booth in the corner. drinks, more whiskey, and what looked like cornbread with a honey-mustard dipping sauce appeared as if out of nowhere.

    “somehow, it seems you’re taller now than when i knew you, how’s that possible?”

    “a steady diet of granny cassie’s gumbo and too much fresh air, of course.”

    jona laughed uproariously, “you still go to cassie’s? why ain’t i ever seen you there?”

    “rotten luck, i suppose.” jesper felt queasy thinking about the lies he wanted to tell, the tales he wanted to spin about his life since his degree fell away. maybe in this pocket of time, he could be someone else. someone who hadn’t spent several years chasing a high he could never catch, who hadn’t risked his father’s livelihood and life on games he was destined to lose. someone who’d never met wylan. “actually, i don’t go to cassie’s anymore. haven’t been in years.”

    “hmmm, that’s what i thought.” jona looked at him again, appraising. “so what is it, brother? what brings you back to the rooster?”

    the truth—not, mind you, the whole truth but enough of it—came out in fits and starts over too many drinks and not enough cornbread. it seemed to jesper that jona was disinterested, growing more and more so as the conversation went on. by the time he reached the point at which he might ask for advice, jona’s eyes were darting across the crowd, his body turned away and attention utterly elsewhere.

    jesper was unsurprised when jona called out to someone crossing the floor in front of them, arm outstretched. “ericka! come over here a minute?”

    “what d’you want, jona?” the woman was one of the most beautiful people jesper had ever seen. her figure, all rolling peaks, was wrapped up in a powder blue dress that set off her dark brown, almost black, complexion to tremendous effect. framing her face, her hair was twisted into maybe a hundred tiny braids which were looped together into two big plaits hanging over her shoulders. “i don’t have that—” she cast a quick glance at jesper, “—name you were after. yet.”

    “don’t worry ‘bout that! come here, i want you to meet an old friend of mine. jesper,” he opened his arms to encompass the sharpshooter, “this is ericka. she’ll fix your hair for you.”

    for several, horrible minutes, jesper just flapped his gums mindlessly, trying to think of something coherent to say. ericka saved him from that particular mountain.

    “well, how’re you doing, jesper? it’s always good to meet a friend of jona’s.”

    her smile was sunshine and daffodils, jesper felt himself smile in return. “the pleasure is mine.”

    “oh, he’s a smooth one.” ericka winked at jona. “i like him. now, honey, what’s this about your hair?”

    the moment she turned those appraising eyes on jesper’s hair, he felt every uneven tuft, every kink and coil out of place like it was a mozzy nipping at the skin of his neck—his fingers itched to swat it, her away. breathing deeply, and playing with the rooster-emblazoned cardboard coaster under his drink, jesper endured her gaze.

    “i wanted—well, i thought i’d like to braid it.”

    “didn’t your ma teach you? aunties?”

    jona frowned then, it was a thinking kind of expression. it might take him a while but, jesper would wager, he’d remember eventually. before he could, jesper said, “my ma died when i was young and my da is kaelish, so i can’t say i saw much of my zemeni family growing up.”

    there, he said it, bared this ragged wound in his side to these near-strangers. the taste of bile slicked his tongue.

    ericka frowned at him and then said, “that’s a poor excuse but…” her expression softened. “i’ll see what i can do.”


    they arranged for her to come by the house the day after next.

    it was only when, a day and a half later, jesper found himself hurriedly re- and re-rearranging furniture in his and wylan’s room, that he realised he maybe wasn’t ready for this. should he sit on a stool in front of the vanity or would she want to do this in the bathroom? should they sit as he and wylan, he and his ma had—one on the bed, one on the floor? was his comb, the one thing he’d brought with him from home other than his guns, the right kind of comb? did it matter? he only had the one. what would she think? what would she see?

    without his guns, jesper’s hands idled, picking at the buttons of his mint green shirt, the scab in the crooked of his elbow, the lobe of his ear and his bottom lip and his fresh-combed hair.

    “you think she’ll want to do it in here?”

    the sound of wylan’s voice pushed jesper halfway out of his skin. hand over heart, he gaped at the other boy.

    “are you trying to kill me?”

    wylan rolled his eyes but walked over anyway, reaching a hand toward jesper. “you okay?”

    “why wouldn’t i be?” though his most convincing smile no longer worked on wylan, he tried it anyway. “right as rain.”

    “you know, that phrase never made much sense to me.”

    “it wouldn’t, city boy. try growing a crop of anything in novyi zem, see how long you last without praying for rain.”

    wylan smiled at that, cheeks rosy. “did you pray for rain, jesper?”

    “in the middle of a storm, usually.”

    “contrary to the last.” wylan stepped further into jesper’s embrace and tugged on his lapel lightly. it didn’t take much convincing for jesper to tilt down, hands wrapped around wylan’s waist. “i love you.”

    “i know.” they were nose to nose. jesper could smell the soap they both used, clean and citrusy, on wylan’s skin. there was a sinking, trembling, squirming feeling in his stomach and holding on to wylan felt like holding on to the world. “i know.”

    “and i’m very excited to meet ericka.”

    jesper nodded, nose bumping into wylan’s as he did. “i—”

    “i’m right here and, well, i can’t take notes but i have an impeccable memory. she sounds like a storyteller, i can’t wait to hear what she has to tell.”

    “i love you.”

    “i know.”

    the doorbell rang.

    jesper scrambled down the stairs before nicolas, the well-intentioned and impeccably mannered butler, answered the door. it was out of the question that ericka be greeted by a member of staff in jesper’s house. he blushed just to think it.

    the woman filled the entryway. she was wrapped in a deep blue coat, collar up against the wind, with her hair tied in a rather haphazard-looking pile atop her head. inside, in the gentler light of the house, jesper could make out the twinkle of gold fastenings at the tip of each braid.

    she was already laughing.

    “nice place you’ve got, cousin. i wondered when you gave the address.” her coat came off with a flourish to reveal a skirt and blouse ensemble all in the red of good cabernet. “answering your own door or—i’m assuming. who’s master of this house?”

    “do i strike you as in need of a master, then?”

    joking was easier than thinking about expectations and appearances, about the rooster and the frontier, about old, mercher money. joking was easier than looking around at the dark wood wainscoting, the deep purple paneling and mahogany side table, the oil painting in the hall and the rich runner leading up the stairs.

    wealth in ketterdam was an understated thing, no chandeliers or silverware on display, but it was undeniable. suddenly, jesper felt it in the warmth of the air, fires lit in every room the two of them might use in a day, in the cleanliness and pristine condition of every surface in eyesight, in the maid hurrying forward to take ericka’s coat.

    “jesper is, when he’s not arsing around, master of this house.” wylan threw jesper an exasperated look. “but it’s my family home. wylan van eck. it’s an honour to meet you.”

    “an honour,” ericka raised an eyebrow, smiling. “i’m sure. my name‘s ericka vinke, but you can just call me ericka.”

    “vinke?” wylan turned back, halfway to the sitting room already. then, cringing, said, “sorry. i—i know a vinke. i thought… i don’t know what i thought.”

    “that i’d have a more zemeni name?”

    “we choose our names, wy.” jesper could have chewed on that we, it sat so heavy between his teeth. “a ‘zemeni name’ is not as defined as a kerch one.” how many times had he told himself the same thing? how many times had his ma?

    “that’s right. although, in this case, your assumption was not far wrong. you may even know my vinke, not that there aren’t a barrel full of them in this wet city.”

    “you’re married to a kerch?” like me, he thought, though he only called wylan ‘husband’ in jest or dreams. “i didn’t know.”

    “you weren’t to know. but,” now she clapped her hands, “i’m not here to talk about my husband.”

    despite all of wylan’s best attempts at hospitality, ericka refused to have tea or coffee or beer or anything. she had come to the house with a purpose and she would see that purpose done. she was a storm, a whirlwind, a stern hand and a wilful presence. it reminded him so much of his ma, jesper ached.

    in the end, she had him in the master bedroom—for the best lighting—perched on a stool in front of the vanity.

    never in his life had jesper shied away from his own reflection. quite the opposite, he was not ashamed of his own vanity. beauty was to be appreciated and so, appreciate it he did. but looking into the mirror now, wylan perched on the dresser at his right knee and ericka standing behind him, jesper had never been so afraid.

    this had nothing to do with beauty.

    this had everything to do with beauty.

    looking in the mirror, at the wide set of his nose, his full lips and arched brows and kinky hair, jesper saw all the parts of himself he had in turns loved and hated. memories of past lovers commenting on the beauty of his skin, how smooth and flawless and hairless he was, lovers admiring his height, his build, his hands, his—. lovers who would not be seen with him, who asked him to be rough with them one night and shunned him the next. lovers who asked him to speak zemeni or not speak at all, who tied him down or asked to be tied down—living out their black and white fantasies. every word that had felt at once like a compliment and an insult bubbled to the surface. all, he realised, centring on these parts of him. these parts he had not seen but through their eyes for over a decade, these parts he had no mirror for, no model for, no hope for.

    “so you want it braided, is that right?”

    “yes,” jesper swallowed, eyes on the woman standing behind him. “canerows, i think.”

    “you do remember some things, then?”


    “what’re canerows?” wylan was wearing his working on a dangerous demo project face, serious and focused.

    “they’re a continuous, raised kind of braid that sits close to the scalp. named for the sugarcane our people harvest. they are very good for hair like yours, jesper. how many would you like?”

    as she spoke, ericka ran her hands over his hair, pushing her fingers into the dense crown and parting it occasionally with a thoughtful expression. jesper felt the deft drag of her fingers in a slow cascade down his spine, the way she handled it and him without fear or uncertainty.

    “eight, maybe? i—i don’t know. what do you think?” he caught ericka’s eye in the mirror.

    “it depends… would you let me try something a little different?”

    “you can try whatever you like.” he couldn’t help himself and the sensation of her hands in his hair wasn’t helping one bit.

    “you’re a dangerous one,” she grinned, unphased. “what i was thinking is, we shave the back and sides short—very short—and braid the top in four. how does that sound?”

    jesper swallowed, nodded. when he looked to wylan, he was holding his hands in his lap and almost smiling, eyes wide and wet.

    “merchling?” jesper reached out to take one of wylan’s hands and gave it a squeeze. “are you crying about how much more beautiful i’m going to be? no need to explain, i understand.”

    “i’m crying about how much harder it’s going to be to keep your ego in check,” wylan laughed, shaking his head and sniffing slightly.

    “alright, i’d like you to wash your hair with…” ericka dug around in the bag at her feet and pulled out two opaque jars. hefting one, she said, “this and warm-not-hot water. then, condition it with a couple finger’s full of this. don’t rinse that out, just leave it in. after that, we can get started. mr. van eck, could you ask one of the maids to bring something to cover the floor, just plain canvas would do.”

    everything came together and half a bell later, jesper was back in front of the mirror, ericka parting and dividing his hair into sections. daylight streamed through the window, a fire crackled in the hearth, and jesper gave himself into her care.

    the conditions could not have been more different to those under which his mother braided his hair when he was a child and yet—and yet, here, lit by candles under the grey-white ketterdam sky, wylan at his knee, surrounded by all the spoils of a centuries long pillage, indentured labour and broken contracts, jesper closed his eyes to the smell of jojoba and castor oil, to strong hands and soft words, to a calm he had not dreamed of experiencing in this cold, grey place.

    there was an ache, a pain in his chest and his throat and behind his eyes.

    “you have beautiful hair, honey.” with his eyes closed, it could have been his ma speaking. “i can see you’ve taken care of it, though i recommend using castor or coconut oil to moisturise after washes. you can keep that jar i gave you.”

    “thank you,” jesper’s voice was little more than an exhaled breath. he willed the words to communicate all the gratitude he felt, though he wasn’t sure that was possible.

    mostly, she worked in silence but when ericka moved on to begin the first braid, pulling so tightly his eyes watered, she spoke again.

    “tell me about your ma.”

    jesper’s eyes flew open, searching for ericka’s in the mirror, but her gaze was on his hair. as if she’d asked about the weather, about his plans for dinner.

    “what do you want to know?”

    “where was she from?”

    “she was born and raised in cofton, lived there until she moved to the farm with my da.”

    “they were farmers.” it wasn’t really a question.

    “my da was, it’s what brought him to novyi zem. she—i think my ma would have become a healer if not for him.”

    “ah, your ma was zowa, then?” he had not heard that word out of another’s mouth in so long it sounded wrong. whenever his father had said it, it had been a whisper, a curse. ericka said it like it was a prayer. blessed. “does that mean you are too?”

    “i’m a fabrikator, yes.”

    “what a gift,” she smiled. “you know, the clasps in my hair are zowa made. there is nothing else in this world like them, like you.”

    incomparable. unique. exceptional. all things jesper had at one time or another called himself.

    “being zowa is what got her killed.” these were colm’s words and they felt alien on jesper’s tongue, but parroting his da was his only defence against the possibility that his mother had died of her own free will. that she had knowingly risked her life for another child—left him for another child. “sometimes being special is a curse.”

    wylan was openly frowning now and jesper could see the protest on his lips, but ericka beat him to it.

    “being zowa is no curse, cousin. you’ve been apart from your own for too long if you truly believe that.”

    “my own?” jesper hummed. “i don’t know if they’ve ever thought of me that way.”

    “all the lost and wayward children are ours,” ericka said. “the frontier is where they gather, whether zemeni or ravkan, zowa or not.”

    is that what he was? lost and wayward? he recalled his homesickness and thought there was some truth to that.

    still, the frightened child in him questioned the need, the cause. one day he’d had both his parents, who despite their differences encompassed and contained him, gave him a home in their arms. the next, he was adrift, both a burden and a lifeline to a man lost in his own grief.

    living apart from the world on the farm, the two sides of him had lived in relative harmony. maybe, that is what it took—isolation, alienation, distance. maybe, there was no place for him amongst others. at least not one in which he could live both sides fully.

    “but i am here, my whole life is here.”

    “i’m not saying you should go back—though, maybe you should. all i wanted to say is, for every way you feel alone in your differences there are a hundred ways that you are known, understood, cherished for those differences.”

    wylan was nodding vigorously, blue eyes shining.

    “i’m so tired,” jesper whispered.

    “then close your eyes, rest.” he thought for a moment to protest, to clarify, but she continued, “see how you feel when your hair is done.”

    “okay,” he said, taking a shuddering breath and closing his eyes.

    the pain of the braiding, though it made him grit his teeth, was surprisingly grounding. with a deck of cards to shuffle and reshuffle in his hands, jesper managed to sit still the entire time.

    he heard it when wylan got up and walked around to his side, felt the heat of his body as he leaned over to see what ericka was doing. in hushed tones, she talked him through the process.

    the bells rang twice before it was done, by which point it felt as if his whole scalp were aflame and the sun had sunk below the city’s skyline—painting the sky in a rusty glow.

    looking in the mirror now at what was left of his hair, braided in four neat rows, emphasising his lean features, the hollows of his cheeks and the proud sweep of his forehead, jesper recognised himself. realising he had expected to see a stranger looking back, he laughed. it was a wild and semi-delirious sound, halfway to crying.

    wylan crouched down in front of him, a hand on his knee, and peered up at him in concern. “do you like it?”

    “i—i don’t know. do i look… different, to you?”

    “different?” wylan cocked his head, eyes searching. “no. you look like you.”

    jesper ran a hand over his hair, feeling ericka’s flawless work. it felt right. strong and clean and beautiful.

    “i feel different.”

    “i’m glad you came to the rooster, jesper.” ericka was at the door, though when she’d finished packing her things he couldn’t have said. “don’t wait until the next time you need your hair done to come, alright?”

    “i promise.”

    both sides of his upbringing insisted he see her to the front door. neither a fahey nor a hilli would allow a guest to leave without a proper farewell. besides, she had been good and patient with him, forgiving his outburst and his ignorance. in truth, he didn’t know how to thank her for what she’d done.

    he ran a hand over his hair again, his whole scalp smarting, and smiled as nicolas helped her with her coat.

    “thank you, ericka.”

    “you can thank me by taking care of yourself. condition and moisturise.”

    the look she gave him told jesper she’d be checking his work.

    not so long ago, the thought of being tested would have frightened him, it still did a little. beyond that, though, came the knowledge that this was not the end. these were his people and this was his birthright. there was so much he still didn’t know, so much he couldn’t remember, but he was remembering. the tight knit of his hair and the way ericka spoke and the way she moved and the way he felt, it was all so familiar.

    back in front of the mirror after ericka left, jesper traced the interlacing pattern of one of the braids. it still ached to touch, setting off a dull throb in his head. he welcomed the pain and with it, the memory of squirming between his mother’s knees. how could he have forgotten how much it hurt?

    it was a small hurt, he supposed, against the pain of her death.

    “i remember, ma.” there were tears in his eyes and with no one to see, he let them fall. “i remember—i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”

    he had nothing, he had everything to apologise for.

    in all the years since her death, watching his da grieve and work the farm then moving to ketterdam and losing himself in game after game after game, he’d forgotten. forgotten to thank her for being herself, always and completely. forgotten to separate what she taught him from what his da taught him from what he learnt without them. forgotten to find himself, to define himself. forgotten to ask her forgiveness. to forgive her.

    looking into the mirror, at the face of the man he was meant to be, jesper felt closer to his mother than he had in years. closer even, than when he was using his powers, than when he had his guns in hands.

    perhaps he would have been a disappointment to her as, in his darker moments, he suspected he was to his father. there was no way of knowing but regardless of all that, jesper vowed, he would not be a disappointment to himself. he would claim what was his, all that was his no matter how mismatched, how ill-suited or incommensurable. the son of a kaelish farmer and zemeni healer, sharp shooter and dull gambler, hopeless and reckless and marvellous. maybe he wasn’t too loud or too tall or too brown. maybe the world was too quiet, too small, too white.

    there was no right nor wrong way to be, there was only this. there was only being.


    jesper was sitting on a cushion on the floor at the foot of the bed, head lolling back in wylan’s lap.

    “stop that! jes, i’m going to mess it up if you don’t hold your head up.”

    “but i’ve been sitting still for so long. i’ve been so good,” jesper pouted.

    “tsk,” wylan tutted, correcting jesper’s position with a firm hand to the back of the neck. “you’ve been sitting still for twenty minutes. you’ve been passable.”

    “i’m sure it’s been longer than twenty minutes.”

    “you’re not sure of anything of the sort. now, be still.”

    jesper tried. he uncrossed and recrossed his legs, took up the deck of cards and began shuffling, hummed a tune.

    he pictured wylan, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration, gathering a section of hair in his fingers, smoothing the tangles out with the comb balanced on his knee, and twisting the length of hair about itself, before wrapping it into a tight knot. jesper felt him pat the knot a few times, testing it’s hold. the first time they’d watched ericka twist his hair, wylan had been confounded by the way it held its shape without a tie. it seemed the science of it still held a little magic for him.

    satisfied, wylan moved onto the next section. ten more to go.

    “maybe this is why i never got my hair done before,” jesper groused, head lolling again.

    “jesper llewelyn fahey. if you don’t hold your head up, i swear by almighty ghezen—”

    “okay, okay, love, don’t get your panties in a bunch. i’m sitting still.” jesper wrapped a hand around wylan’s ankled and squeezed. “i’m sorry.”

    “no—saints,” wylan huffed a laugh. “i’m sorry. i guess i’m nervous.”

    jesper felt wylan’s hands relax in his hair, moving to cup his chin from behind and tilt his head back. for a breath they just watched each other, eyes scanning. then wylan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to jesper’s mouth, his nose brushing the stubbled jut of jesper’s chin. the angle was awkward and the kiss chaste but when wylan sighed into his mouth, jesper decided it was perfect. wylan kissed his upper lip and his nose and his forehead before sitting upright again, nudging jesper to do the same.

    “you’ve got nothing to be nervous about. it’s just you and me.”

    “i know but this is important to you and i—i don’t want to do it wrong.”

    “you can’t do it wrong.” jesper tried to put steel in his voice but wylan’s mumbled affirmative was not at all convincing. “you can’t. that you would try at all is more than enough, more than i could have hope for, more than i deserve.”

    “i’m not sure my making a bird’s nest of your hair is more than you deserve—” he paused and pressed a thumb into the back of jesper’s neck, massaging away the ever present tension, “—i want to know how to take care of you, all of you, properly. i guess it feels big, this part of you you’ve trusted me with, and i’m trying to be careful.”

    “you don’t have to be careful with me—with this.” jesper squeezed wylan’s slippered foot. “anyway, i don’t go in for careful. why do anything with deliberation when it can be done with confidence?”

    “don’t worry, no one would confuse you for a bastion of sound judgement and lengthy consideration.” jesper could hear the smile in wylan’s voice.

    the rest of the process was surprisingly painless. wylan worked slowly and, despite jesper’s protestations, methodically through the remaining sections.

    when jesper got up to check his reflection in the glass, wylan chewing on his fingernails in the background, he could see that the knots weren’t as tidy as when ericka did them. they weren’t as evenly spaced, the parts—where jesper could see his scalp between sections of hair—we’re not as neat or defined. all in all, it looked like an amateur had done his hair, an amateur with freckles and blue eyes and a head of red-gold curls.

    “you hate them. i ruined your hair.” wylan’s eyes were huge, his lip worried between his teeth. “i’ll take them out.”

    “i love them and you will do no such thing.”

    “they look horrible.”

    “they do.”

    wylan gasped and buried his head in his hands. “i knew it.”

    “i love them,” jesper was laughing. “do you want to know why?”

    “because you’re a glutton for punishment?”

    “no—” he gave wylan a stern look, catching him up in his arms. “because you did them. because my hair is not like yours or any other hair you’ve ever encountered, unless there’s some other zemeni in your life i don’t know about, so these are—this is—”

    he’d barrelled into that sentence with too much confidence. what he wanted to say was, there is no way for you to do this wrong because what it means is that you’d spend hours combing, separating, cleaning, conditioning, twisting and tying my unmanageable hair in an effort to know me better and to help me know myself better and no one has ever done that, for me. which felt impossible. there was no way he would make it to the end of that without crying, which would almost certainly make wylan cry, and then where would they be.

    jesper took a breath, changed tack. “i am yours wylan van eck, do with me what you please, until you’re tired or bored or sick of me.”

    “is that a proposal?”

    “oh no, when i propose, you’ll know it, pretty boy.”

    jesper let that when hang in the air between them, a statement of intent. because with wylan’s hands in his hair, an ocean and a lifetime between him and the farm, this was as close to home as he was ever going to get. maybe there was no place in the world where all the pieces of him fit without chafing, maybe he did not fit in the world as it was, but jesper could tolerate the itch and the burn and ache of it all if he did not have to do it alone.


    A/N: the title is taken from good mirrors aren't cheap by audre lorde until one day you peer into your face under a merciless white light and the fault in a mirror slaps back becoming what you think is the shape of your error

    writing this fic was an exercise. a lot of the themes and emotions that came up for jesper are taken from my own experience. having others read it, and tell me what they thing (which i do want them to do), is another kind of challenge. i guess i'm asking you to be kind, to be careful with this.

    anyway, thanks for reading. <3

    #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wylan x jesper #wesper #my first wesper in fact #race and ethnicity #black hair#black identity#beauty#blackness #fluff and angst #but mostly#fluff#domestic fluff#domestic wesper#aditi hilli#colm fahey#mentioned#soc #six of crows #soc fic#my writing #also yes asap rocky is jesper fahey #i will not be taking feedback
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  • wylan-van-moonlight
    08.12.2021 - 2 hours ago

    wylan: *cries*


    jesper: wait your dad hurt you

    wylan: no I stubbed my toe

    jesper: oh

    #grishaverse #six of crows #wylan van eck #wylan my beloved #jesper fahey#wesper #jesper my beloved #incorrect grishaverse #incorrect six of crows
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  • helniklover97
    08.12.2021 - 5 hours ago

    When Nina was pregnant of their first baby Matthias has carved a wolf, a little red bird and four crows for the cot mobile for the crib of the baby, and he said to Nina “so she will know that she will always have someone watching over her”

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  • helniklover97
    08.12.2021 - 10 hours ago

    Matthias during is first Sankt Nikolai day in Ravka:

    Matthias: so you kill trees, then you will decorate their corpuses and at the morning of a fake divinity you exchange gifts under it while eats sweets and drink hot chocolate?








    Matthias: I love it.

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  • alexxxxhaviliard
    08.12.2021 - 10 hours ago

    So I just finished Crooked Kingdom some days ago and now, they’re announcing a third?!


    I swear to my own demons and the stars, if anyone else of the crows dies, I’m gonna scream.

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  • crows-and-gray-morality
    08.12.2021 - 11 hours ago

    Kaz just loves to disagree.

    Kaz Brekker defending himself in the beginning of Six of Crows.

    JvE; „You’re a blackmailer—” KB: “I am a broker information.” JvE: “A con artist—”. KB: “I create opportunity.” JvE: “A bawd and a murderer—”. KB: “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.”

    Kaz later in the books

    I am a monster. The worst man in Ketterdam. There is no trace of decency in me. I am pure evil.
    #crooked kingdom #six of crows #inej ghafa#jesper fahey#kaz brekker#nina zenik #wylan van eck #the crows#grishaverse #shadow and bone #helnik#kanej#wesper#soc #jesper x wylan #kaz x inej #nina x matthias
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  • vintagehoax
    08.12.2021 - 23 hours ago

    folks!!! the new director of SAB, has directed various episodes of lucifer 👀, this is gonna be EVERYTHING for our nikolai lantsov big energy <3

    #i hope she nails it #she seems so cool omg #crooked kingdom #six of crows #wylan van eck #jesper fahey#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#grishaverse#nina zenik #shadow and bone #wesper #shadow and bone netflix #siege and storm #nikolai lantsov
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  • grishaverse-incorrectquotes
    08.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Wylan: What happens if i hit the brakes and the gas at the same time?

    Jesper: The car takes a screenshot

    Kaz: For the last time get out of my car.

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  • that--funny--feeling
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Not me listening by chance to Beggin by Madcon on the radio and thinking about Step up 3 and daydreaming about a SoC AU with the Dregs' dance crew



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  • helniklover97
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Nina and Matthias try so hard to get their daughter to say the first word.

    Nina: c mon milaya say mama, ma-ma, ma-ma. Your dad will buy me waffle for a month if you said it. Ma-ma.

    Matthias: c mon my little princess, say papa, pa-pa, pa-pa. Your mother will come to training with me for a month if you said pa-pa.

    In the evening while the baby is playing with Trassel, at some point look at him and say “Tassel”, Nina and Matthias turn immediately while the wolf wagging his tale happily and look at them as if he said "between the two quarrels the third enjoys".

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  • helniklover97
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    In the war room at the Grand Palace:

    Zoya: Fuck the fjerdans.

    Nina: I already fuck one, it’s a beginning no?

    Matthias blushing and would like to hide

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  • helpicantstopreading
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Wylan, tending to Jesper's wounds: How would you rate your pain?

    Jesper: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend.

    #shadow and bone #grishaverse #six of crows #six of crows incorrect quotes #six of crows memes #Wylan Van Eck #jesper fahey#wesper#crooked kingdom
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  • helniklover97
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Countries of the Grishaverse if they went to school:

    Fjerda: sure to be the perfect one, he’s the class leader, arrogant, domineering, professor's friend and snob. Always ready to do the spy at the professor and convinced to be always in the right, and to be better than the other.

    Ravka: party girl and noisy, always arriving in the class after have been all the night in disco and around locals, and always wearing sunglasses. Always do what she want and always do disasters. Seems the one that will be rejected but always gets the highest marks at the tests.

    Kerch: party girl and noisy together with Ravka, always in search of a method for make money and often involved in fight. Is the nightmare of the professors.

    Shu Han: the nerd, spent all his time studying and making exercises and experiments or reading a book. Gets very angry and outrages when Ravka gets higher grades than his own

    NovyZem: the one that always helps the others, but in change of something, he covers the other when they hate doing something they shouldn’t. Often come to class dress like a he was going to have a party.

    Wondering Island: the kind, the one that genuinely help the other and offer suggestions and support, never gets involved in wrong things. Always happy and with good vibes.

    Southern Colonies: it is known that he is enrolled in school but no one has never seen him.

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  • helniklover97
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Jarl Brum: Matthias I’m so happy that you are alive, I mourn your death for weeks but now you are here and you can carry on your purpose to became the next Drüskelle commander, you know that you are like a son for me.

    Matthias Helvar: oh… this is a little embarrassing… I’m here just for save the love of my life, make her a declaration of love that will make everyone cry, take her out of here, marry her, having children with her and help her country to win the war… so now I have to go, see you in the battlefield

    Jarl Brum: visible confusion.

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  • glimmerofdarkness
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    This is pretty close to how Wylan looks in my head (maybe a tad prettier) especially the first one; look at the smile on that merchling!

    Fantastic art by Tony Viento

    I'm actually more into Jesper but can't find art that looks right 🙁

    #six of crows #wylan van eck #wesper#jesper fahey
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  • ketterdam-it
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago
    Hey y'all! Thank you so much for 500 on Instagram! I'd ironically just finished my beloved "Kanej Letters" series, but seeing as y'all loved it as much as I do, I decided to write this addition to celebrate!
    This is a write/draw it in your style challenge! So be creative! Rewrite it, draw this or a scene that you think could come after it! Or write Kaz's response! I can't wait to see what y'all create! Ps. Should I make this a new series?
    !Please use the tag #Maya500wiiys or #Maya500diiys

    Dearest Kaz,

    I hope this letter finds you well. The sea has been merciful these past two weeks, no different from when I last updated you, thankfully. Unfortunately, I've been quite unwell the entire time, the mornings are especially terrible.

    The gulls squawk their hellos, so reminiscent of the crows in Ketterdam, but only from within my bedchamber. No, when I step outside it's an entirely different world, that or blue waters instead of black, at least on the best days, and far less screaming and shouting of drunkards- unless you count a few Rotty's friends of course.

    I miss you dearly, often remembering the voyages you've joined me on, wishing you were here now, rather than very likely, holed up in your office. Won't you go outside for me, at least on the day you receive this letter? You'd better, I'll tell Marya to cut you off from your supply of cheesecake.

    I do have a surprise for you, it's the true reason for this letter. I've tried to wait another week to respond at my usual time, but I simply couldn't wait, Kaz.

    I'll be home soon, instead of the full 8-month voyage. I am on my way to you now, by the time you receive this letter I should be merely days away, days away from being within your arms, days away from our pets. I'll be staying for some time, the ocean needn't always keep me to herself. But I'm sure you'd like to know why? Why am I coming home early, only a month after setting out?

    I'd love to tell you, but I won't. You'll just have to wait, I'm sure the anticipation won't kill you- Oh who am I kidding though, it'd kill me. We have a new member of our little family, my love. You can't even tell you, it hasn't even begun to show, but there's no denying it. Tryne confirmed it a few days ago, she's certain, though I asked her not to tell me whether it'll be a little boy or girl…

    Kaz, I can't tell you how much I already adore them, how much of our new life I've already imagined. Tryne promised to tell us both when we arrive, so that we may learn the news together.

    I'll be home soon, you must promise to keep safe. I know it'll only be a few weeks, but I know how dangerous the barrel is, and I know you, I know you think you're bulletproof. You aren't Kaz. Remain safe, for me, for our little one. They mustn't grow up without you- I mustn't be left to grow old without you.

    This letter, I'm realizing, is fairly long, so I'll end it here. Keep safe, go outside! And tell everyone I'll be home soon.

    With love,

    Treasure of your heart,

    Captain of the Wraith,

    Inej Ghafa

    #kanej#kaz brekker #shadow and bone #six of crows #kaz#soc#fanfic#inej ghafa #kaz x inej #my darling inej #crooked kingdom#leigh bardugo#the grishaverse#the darkling#malina#Alina starkov #soc incorrect quotes #incorrect six of crows #wesper#helnik#matthias helvar #wylan van eck #jesper fahey#nina zenik#Captain ghafa #kuwei yul bo #kaz dirtyhands brekker #kazzle dazzle#zoyalai#genya safin
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  • lilisouless
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    In 2023 we will have the season 2 of shadow and bone and the content we need so much of the most wholesome, sweet and amazing romance of the whole grishaverse which also happens to be a gay ship between choosen soulmates

    Thats right i am talking about Ninej (oh and Wesper is cool too)

    #i am kidding #or maybe not #😏 #netflix shadow and bone #six of crows #leigh bardugo #shadow and bone netflix #sab netflix#ninej#wesper #nina x inej #jesper x wylan #inej ghafa#nina zenik#jesper fahey #wylan van eck #crooked kingdom #nina & inej
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  • ketterdam-it
    07.12.2021 - 1 day ago

    Kaz: Why must you make such terrible decisions, Jesper

    Jesper: IT’S HOW I COPE OKAY

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  • amozon28
    06.12.2021 - 2 days ago
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  • shaensss
    06.12.2021 - 2 days ago

    Christmas science 🎄⚗️❄️🧪

    Instagram | Ko-fi | Redbubble

    [available on my Redbubble shop]

    #my art #the crows as crows #six of crows #crooked kingdom#grishaverse #shadow and bone #rule of wolves #happy crowlidays#wesper#jesper fahey #wylan van eck #jesper x wylan #wylan van sunshine #the crows#the dregs #no mourners no funerals #digital art #artists on tumblr #procreate
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