#soc fics

[funnyao3]

“He’s my bodyguard,” Wylan said, clearly improvising wildly. “I can’t go anywhere without him. I’m not safe.”

“You’ll be very safe with us, sir.”

“No, I mean I won’t feel safe,” he babbled. “I need him. Otherwise I’ll have a panic attack. Oh, God. I think I feel one coming on, now. Matthias? Where are you, Matthias?”

Matthias’s face was pained. “I am here,” he said, in what had to have been the world’s least comforting show of emotional support.

[mynxk]

My love letter to Marya Hendriks. I've decided i want to delve into the Van Eck household dynamic starting from the very beginning. Inspired by the beautiful art of LOA by termesart on instagram

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Trigger warnings for everything regarding infant loss!

[jackwolfes]

@febuwhump day 22: "grab the little one" Wylan & Plumje | Six of Crows | TW: Past Abuse febuwhump masterlist

It’s a nice house, Wylan supposes. The corners are free of cobwebs and the furniture, while not exactly to Wylan’s tastes, is nice enough. He’s been sleeping on that bed for the better part of a day now and is decently satisfied with how comfortable it is. There’s an en-suite bathroom and a window, too, which opens out to let in fresh air alongside its passable view of the Kerch countryside. 

All told, there are much worse places one could spend when one has been kidnapped. 

Wylan really just wishes that he wasn’t locked in a room with his five year old sister.

“I’m bored.”

It takes all of Wylan’s effort not to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She’s only five, he tells himself, it isn’t her fault we’re in this mess. 

And even if it was Plumje’s fault that they have been kidnapped, Wylan can hardly hold that against her. No, this is the administrative cock-up of half-rate criminals who have not seemed to realise that their father will not be paying anyone for his children’s ransom. 

Wylan takes a breath and puts on a smile that feels more chipper than he has the energy to maintain. “Why don’t we play another game?” 

Plumje looks at him warily, not seeming very chipper either. “I don't want to. I want to go home.” 

“We’ll be home soon. Why don’t we pretend to be princesses again?” 

“How do you know we'll be home soon?” 

Wylan manages not to roll his eyes. “Because Jesper is going to come to get us.” He hopes so, at least. “You remember Jesper, don’t you? He made you that doll. The green one.” 

Plumje's brow creases. “Is Jesper your best friend?”

“I… suppose so.”

“Mummy says that Mister Adem is her best friend.” 

Wylan bites his bottom lip, fighting against every urge he has to burst into laughter. “Is he?” 

“Yes. I like Mister Adem, he brings me dolls too. They aren't green, though.”  

“I'm sure Jesper would make you—” 

But before he can muse about what type of toy Jesper might attempt to make, the door to their room opens. 

Plumje perks up with childish naivety. Wylan’s hand clenches into a fist, heart beginning to kick in his chest. 

At the door a man leers, dressed not in Barrel flash but the unwelcome black of a mercher’s henchman. Saints only know whose, or what they want with their hostages, but Wylan doesn’t trust the lecherous smile on his face. 

Quite right not too, it seems, when the man says, “Boss told me to grab the little one.” 

The words don't register in Wylan's head at first; he simply isn’t used to having to look out for people who can't take care of themselves. That is why he braces for hands on his body when the man approaches, and why he is caught so off guard when their captor goes for his little sister. 

Plumje lets out the most ungodly loud scream Wylan has ever heard in his life. 

The man who grabbed her startles — Wylan might have done the same thing, once, but two years with her mother's singing and a habit for bomb making has steeled his nerves plenty. 

The past two years have also been spent at the side of a man with absolutely no impulse control, which is to say that Wylan thinks of Jesper’s rash recklessness and little else when he decides to throw himself at his sister's captor. 

The three of them go down in a heap. Plumje screams again, somehow even louder. There's a thud of fists, and the familiar wail of a battered child, and Wylan sees red. 

He doesn't think. It is like watching a moving painting through glass, and after it all Wylan won't really be able to put words to what he does next. 

Truthfully, he's still thinking about Jesper. It's hard not to think of Jesper when there's a gun in the mix. 

But chaos is rife and gives Wylan an opportunity. He grabs the man’s gun from his holster, cocks it, aims, and shoots him in the head. 

The sound reverberates through the room, shattering glass. Against the plush furnishings and expensive curtains, it feels odd and unwelcome. 

For a very long moment, the ringing in his ears does not subside, but when it does Wylan registers the sound of sobbing. 

The gun slides free from his fingers and hits the stone floor with a clunk. It's hardly safe, but his one and only priority now is Plumje. 

She throws herself into his arms before he can even sit up properly. Without thinking Wylan wraps his arms around her frame, pulling her into himself.

“It's okay,” he says, muffling the words into her curly blonde hair. “You're fine, see? And I am too. It was a loud noise, but it's over now.” 

Plumje weeps loudly into his chest, small fists clinging tightly onto the torn fabric of his shirt. Wylan can't imagine she'll let go any time soon, but the thought of forcing her to makes his chest ache. 

He used to grip his mother's skirts when he was just a boy, tighter than ever when a new tutor came to teach him. Fear, locked into a white-knuckled grip. Had he tried that with his father's coattails he'd have likely have his fingers broken, but he never dared. 

Wylan kisses the top of Plumje’s head, hugging her tighter against his chest. 

Still crying, Plumje allows herself to be lifted into the air without complaint. Wylan keeps his hand on the back of Plumje head to make sure she doesn't see any more blood than she already has. He pauses only to liberate the gun he dropped earlier and tuck it into his trousers, then   carefully toes open the door to their room. 

“I thought you said Jesper was going to come get us,” Plumje mumbles, words barely intelligible through snot and tears. 

“Well, sometimes plans change. Now let's play the quiet game, hm?” 

“Mummy doesn't play that one very much. She isn't very good at it.” 

“No,” Wylan sighs, “Jesper isn't either.”

[19burstraat]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“If you’re here for something honest and respectable, I’ll eat my guns piecemeal,” said Jesper. He scrubbed his face. “How long have you been telling those poor girls about your sick mother in Oldendaal?” “It was Zierfoort, actually.” “I don’t care where it was! What are you doing?” “I thought I wasn’t supposed to involve you in my schemes anymore.” said Kaz petulantly, glancing in the mirror to rearrange his jacket. “Kaz, you playing the victim is about as natural as a flock of lime-green flamingos, so don’t bother,” said Jesper. “Is it a heist? A blackmail job? Gathering information?” “Who said it was just one thing?” said Kaz, straightening his cuffs with two brisk jerks. “This place is the playground for the children of the rich and prosperous, Jes. I could have a million reasons for being here. But since you’re here for reasons both honest and respectable, I can assure you I’ll stay out of your way–” --- (jesper goes back to university. kaz follows him... and trouble, as usual, follows both of them.)

[crashes through the double doors, trips over a loose flagstone, and lands in a miserable heap on the floor with ten broken bones and smashed glass all around me] guys I finished it :)

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Okay I’ve been toying with an idea for a Six of Crows au post-Crooked Kingdom where Van Eck won for a little while now and yeah idk but I had a scene idea come to me just now so I’m gonna write it here to see what you guys think and if there’s any interest then I might add it to my list of fics to write

This feels like a weird introduction but, er, here we go:

Inej knew the moment Kaz got home. There were no longer any crowds in the house to come to attention at his entrance, or if there were then no-one had bothered to come down to the half-room and tell Inej, but she could hear his voice drifting through the vents as soon as the door upstairs banged shut behind him.

“Where’s Inej?”

“Where do you think?” Matthias’ reply came roughly, and Inej could all but picture the disapproving grimace that must be crossing his face about now.

Let him judge. She didn’t need to leave the half-room, and for as long as that was true she wouldn’t. The vents did not give her every room though, and she did miss gathering her secrets. She wondered if there was anyone else in the house, but the five of them. Five? She stopped and counted them on her fingers. Yes, five. Hopefully still five. Inej had not bothered to leave the half-room in days, and no-one had been down to see her since yesterday morning.

She heard the door click open behind her, of course, but she did not bother to look up as Dirtyhands entered the room.

“Wraith,”

“Don’t you read the papers, Kaz?” Inej asked, without turning, “The Wraith is dead,”

She stood up, hand wandering across the table for her little pot of jurda. It tasted like shit and it wasn’t nearly as strong as she wanted it to be, but it took less than a month for the price of the blossoms to surpass the height of the stars so she’d have to make do with whatever they had left.

“Inej-”

“They found her body on the steps outside the Church of Barter almost three months ago, remember?” she finally turned to face Kaz, unscrewing the lid on the little silver pot as she did so, “Killed by some mercenary called the White Blade, who still hasn’t been found by they way in case you haven’t seen the latest. I guess it’s difficult to catch a ghost,”

Difficult to catch a wraith.

“We’ve had this conversation several times, Inej-”

“And we’re going to have it again,”

Inej placed an orange jurda blossom on her tongue, then offered the open container to Kaz. It was almost empty. He waved her off.

“I thought you didn’t go in for that sort of thing,”

Inej shrugged.

“Gotta stay awake somehow, haven’t I? We’re busy,”

“We’re not on a job”

“We’re never on a job. Unless the reason you’ve bothered to grace me with your presence is a proposition?”

Kaz shook his head.

“I just wanted to tell you there’s no news,”

Inej looked away. There was never any news. And yet somehow she always expected differently.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Probably,”

Inej caught another jurda blossom between her fingers. She needed to stay awake, because if she slept she would see him. She would see all the ways she’d failed.

“It wasn’t your fault, Inej, we’re having the same conversations on repeat can’t you see-,”

“And we’ll have them again,” she shrugged, “We will have this conversation again, Kaz, because I made a mistake and you are coddling me like a child who won’t be able cope if you tell them something was their fault. Tell me it was my fault, Kaz! We both know that it’s true,”

Kaz shook his head.

“I’d rather repeat the previous,”

“Then let’s,” snapped Inej, because hell if this jurda wasn’t strong enough to keep her awake then maybe an argument would be, “Let’s repeat the goddamn conversation, Kaz, because you’re right. We have the same two conversations on repeat and do you want to know why? Because I am owning up to the mistake I made and I am trying to deal with the consequences of it, but you had no right to do what you did, do you understand me? You messed up and you need to take some damn responsibility, because if you think-”

“You always knew Tailoring Dunyasha’s body to look like yours was a possibility for your escape option,” said Kaz, calmly.

She hated how quiet his voice was, how slow and deliberate he sounded next to the and ramblings that she could not stop from stumbling out of her.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she hissed, slamming her jurda back down on the table.

“I couldn’t have done anything to stop that,”

“You could have tried,”

“Inej-”

“Shevrati,”

Know-nothing.

She waved a hand vaguely at the door.

“Get out,”

Kaz turned to leave, then paused.

“I am sorry, Inej. They’d like to see you upstairs, you know. Nina misses you,”

“Nina can come down here then,”

“Inej… I can’t do anything for you but apologise,”

“Keep you apologies,” she snarled, and when the door had closed behind him added: “Choke on them,”

Kaz could apologise all he wanted. She would not forgive him. What right did he have to expect anything different from her than this? Did any of them? Kaz had not had to watch his parents cry, as they carried home the body of a child that wasn’t theirs. Kaz had not had to feel the ironclad grip of the person he thought he’d trusted most in the world as they held him back and told him to swallow his sobs and keep quiet. Kaz had not given up and gone limp in their arms, a mess of tears and useless prayers, as he saw his parents slip from his grasp once again and knew that he would not have the chance to tell them truth.

Kaz had also not failed the others, and did not have to feel the truth of that choking him every time he saw them. Kaz had not spent almost three months barely daring to venture out of the half room, just so he would never have to lock eyes with Jesper Fahey. There was a scream inside Inej that had been slowly building itself since the day of the auction, and if she did not find a way to release it soon it may very well eat her alive.

[purpleyin]

Time for an angsty many years post-Crooked Kingdom Kaz whump concept. More of a not!fic style but I hope it's still enjoyable🖤

all the nightmares I’ve had

Years after Kaz gets his revenge, Pekka Rollin's family is killed in a tragic accident. It has nothing to do with Kaz or the Crows but Pekka is convinced Kaz is responsible. Pekka is deep in his grief, reckless and has no fear for what he could lose any more, Inej's threats to himself forgotten. He surprises Kaz, and his touch aversion works against him, so Pekka does manage to take him down along with the help of some chemicals. Kaz had made progress on that, less guarded and covered up these days, but if there's one person guaranteed to take him right back to the barge mentally it's Pekka touching him. Pekka gets him into the coffin so easily after that, buries him six feet deep, but he doesn't just want to kill him. He sets up a way that Kaz won't run out of air down there. No, it will be dehydration that kills him as he slowly starves down there too. He's groggy from the drugs and injured from the scuffle with Pekka but he knows well enough he has no way out this time because it isn't locks he can pick that trap him, instead an oppressive mass of earth bearing down on him, gravity itself working against his escape. Even those who try to pull off such tricks as entertainment often die trying, so Kaz has no hope he can evade this when the circumstances here are designed to kill. As he comes back to more himself, the dawning reality is so much harder to deal with. Being left for dead is his worst nightmare happening all over again, despite that it isn't the barge, it's still too close. He won't call out via the spout in case Pekka is listening, waiting for him to beg - he won't give Pekka that satisfaction. Pekka won't have been foolish enough to bury Kaz where anyone else would overhear any cries for help anyway. Pekka's hubris is much the same as Kaz's was, abandoning the simple solution of a quick death because he wants him to suffer as long as possible, for it to be fitting. Just how long Kaz can last is partly a matter of willpower, how long he can remain calm and hang on to the will to live. Hope has never been something Kaz put much stock in but he clings to the hope that people will miss him, that they will care to look for him, that he will be found in time, not forgotten down here as he grows groggier again with lack of water. To distract himself, he stews on plans for his own revenge once he gets out of this, until it becomes too hard to think properly and the old fears creep back into his hazy mind. Water starts to seeps in from rain down the air spout, leaving him wet and cold and losing any remaining faith that he will get out of this nightmare. The Crows don't know Kaz is missing until the next day and they spend over a day searching the city until Jesper finally gets a feeling drawing him towards Black Veil island, hoping desperately that the incredibly rare mineral he's sensing there is indeed from Kaz's rather unique wedding ring Inej got him on her travels. They scour the cemetery for the exact source, silent as the grave once they find the freshly dug ground someone had tried to pack down harder, now sodden with the night's rain as well. Inej is the one to spot the strange pipe coming out of the ground. "He's still alive," she proclaims, and Jesper just hopes she's right about what it means. Inej starts scraping back soil in swathes with her knives, while the rest of them go to locate some metal Jesper can fashion into shovels. The time spent digging up that grave feels like the longest time of Jesper's life. When they pull Kaz - pale and wet and shaking but alive - from the coffin, Jesper is witness to the most public display of affection he's ever seen by Kaz and Inej. Kaz clings to Inej like she's his lifeline to the living, though Kaz is careful once again to not touch any skin. Jesper has to look away, giving them their privacy as best he can, until the moment passes and Inej turns to ask Wylan for the water bottle they brought along.

When Kaz seems a bit more focused, Inej asks “Pekka?” with her voice like a knife. “Pekka,” Kaz confirms sharply, but his eyes taking on a dark far away look, staring past them all in a way that worries Jesper. Inej leaves abruptly, with murder in her eyes, so it falls to Jesper and Wylan to cautiously help Kaz to the carriage. They're careful to keep their touches firmly over Jesper's coat that they help the shivering Kaz into, in case their proximity might trigger him like it used to. They go back to the mansion, setting Kaz up in the guest room they all know is really his anyhow. Kaz is quiet, no smart remarks and no refusal of the help they give, accepting any comfort they can provide him that isn't touch. Wylan brings up a pot of hot, very sugary tea and so much food. The tray placed on the side of the bed is laden with far more than he could possibly eat, but every item is a favourite of Kaz's; foods Kaz would deny caring one jot for but anyone observant enough would know to be true. Jesper waits by his side, wishing he could hug Kaz, however briefly, to feel him solid and safe in his arms, but he doesn't dare ask right now. Being there is hopefully enough. With Jesper watching over him, Kaz sleeps, curled up in the layers of soft, warm blankets they gave him that he'd normally scoff at and turn down.

When Kaz wakes, Jesper's heart skips a beat in anticipation as Kaz reaches out his hand as if to touch him, only for that hope to be dashed as Kaz snatches his hand back suddenly, not able to complete the intended action. Kaz scowls, looking down at the floor. But then he says something that surprises Jesper, “Thank you, Jes.” Kaz's gaze shifts to looking down at the bed covers as he says it, a discomfit evident in the tension of his shoulders and the tight grip of one hand on his other in his lap. “You don't need to thank me, you podge.” Jesper replies, exasperated but fondly said nevertheless. “This is what we do, we look out for one another.” Kaz simply nods and Jesper decides now is a good time to fetch more food and drink, to leave Kaz to his thoughts for a bit.

Inej comes back in the evening, her clothes freshly changed and the scent of the cleaner she uses on her knives trailing in her wake. She only says "It's done" to the room when she appears suddenly, no one needs to ask what. Then she climbs onto the bed with Kaz, prompting Jesper to quickly leave them be. The newspapers the next day don't show the gruesome detail of a man taken to pieces in a depiction of any sort for that would be far too improper, but they spare no words to describe the unexpected downfall of a once barrel boss practically forgotten and by now only remarkable in his manner of death. That morning, when they take up a tray of food and the paper, he sees Kaz smirk, for the first time since they rescued him, at the sight of the headline.

[capinejghafa]

Idk how to say this without being mean lol but I think sometimes the writing in certain modern au fics make Inej sound white. Which is a problem because Inej is *checks notes* Suli.

I guess I could chalk it up to different settings and situations. The linguistics have to match the tone of the story... but also I think a fic that does a great inclusion of her culture is Adagio by @whatanybodygets (that's one of many who do a wonderful job! It's just the first one that came to mind.). I love how it incorporates Suli culture and modern settings. It's not the main focus, but it's important to Inej's character and her relationship with the others. I don't always get that in fics, the idea that Inej's culture is as important as her relationships with others.

I could be reading too much into this but I also know how easy it can be to dismissive of a character's culture (specifically if they are POCs) in favor of the story.

[siixofdoves]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"The city is winning so far. But you’ll see who wins in the end." — Jordie, Six of Crows, chapter 22  A story of Jordie and Kaz growing up together, all the way up to the events in Ketterdam, from Jordie's point of view

--------------------- Chapter 4 is now up!