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naushtheaspiringauthor · 7 months

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~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- Bits of violence, ptsd, traumatic flashbacks throughout the chapters

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @nadeleine123n

Ch-11~Supposed Saint~

Marie and Sergei backed away hastily as they saw the Darkling approach them. "We are expected" he said to the girl.

All the Grisha rose and began to arrange themselves in a long line. The Materialki were the first, as usual, then the Etherealki. Anaya joined them and stepped forward among the other Etherealnik. The last ones were the Corporalnik, as the "highest order" always entered the throne room at last.

The Darkling walked with the girl and in a few moments, they stopped at a distance from the golden throne. The king sat on the throne, looking unusually interested. His adviser, The Apparat stood beside him, wearing his priest robes with the gold double eagle emblazoned on his chest.

"Your highness, moi tsar, Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner" The Darkling spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Come, come! Bring her to me" he waved them forward without any patience

The Darkling and Alina walked to the base of the dais.

The King closely examined her and and frowned, "She's very plain" he said

It was quite ironic when he looked as is he'd been punched in the face by a boar himself. "Show me" he commanded.

The Darkling spread his arms wide and long ribbons of darkness spread throughout the surroundings, he then brought his hands together and a loud crack echoed throughout the halls. In a few moments, the whole place was covered with a blanket of darkness. Nervous cries could be heard from almost every corner as there was nothing else but immense darkness all around them.

In a sudden, a massive gleam of light burst out from somewhere and filled up the entire throne room and swept away every wave of darkness. It took Anaya a moment to realize that it was coming from the girl. The whole court erupted in applause, some began hugging each other and others began to weep, a woman even fainted. But the most thrilled expression came from the king himself, he was clapping the loudest as he rose from his throne.

Was this girl truly a saint? or maybe it would've been just a mere illusion, light bouncing off from several reflecting surfaces placed throughout the room. But it seemed too far of a stretch. Nevertheless, none of that mattered, what mattered was that people had now found another young girl to marvel at, to make the new popularity figure, someone to make their idol and pin all their hopes onto, someone to perceive as their saint, their savior

Slowly, the light faded as the king descended from the steps of the dais. "Brilliant! A miracle!" he shouted and took Alina's hand in his. "Me dear girl. My dear, dear girl" he said as he raised her hand to his hideous lips. Thinking of what his intentions could be, made Anaya disgusted but a slight relief came to her when she didn't have to see anything hideous when he pulled her hands away and began to clap the Darkling on the back.

"Miraculous, simply miraculous" he spoke with great enthusiasm. "Come, we must make plans immediately" he said to the Darkling as they stepped out of the room. The King's priest , the Apparat spoke something to Alina and went away to join them.

All of the Grisha surrounded Alina as soon as they left. They began to introduce themselves and asked her about her abilities, it was all too familiar.

They were pushing each other, attempting to Alina's hand or sleeve but Genya appeared by her side in a while, ushering her away.

.......................................................................................................

Anaya was peacefully having her breakfast along with the other Etherealnik when she noticed Alina entering the hall with Genya. Apparently everyone else had noticed them as well so the entire hall went silent for a few minutes before they all finally decided to pretend to continue their conversations. She saw Nadia and Marie approaching them. Anaya didn't even pretend to listen to Rabeah talking about her grandfather's farm as all of her attention was on whatever Marie was speaking. She noticed Genya leaving and all the girls bringing Alina to sit near them.

Before Anaya could realize they sat besides her and asked Alina to do the same.

"This is Anaya" Marie spoke

Anaya had the intense urge to punch her in the face, but she somehow managed to restrain herself.

Alina smiled at her but Anaya only raised an eyebrow and went towards the further corner of the table. "She isn't really the best person to indulge in a conversation with" she heard Nadia say.

.........................................................................................................

On her way to Baghra's hut, Anaya noticed Alina coming out hastily. Thankfully, she was in too much of a hurry to notice Anaya. She wondered what sort of bone burning insult Baghra had said to her. During the training with Botkin, Alina seemed to be grappling on a thread to survive. Even during dinner, Ivan appeared and ushered her away. Anaya cringed slightly and rolled her eyes, just how "special" was this girl to everyone?

........................................................................................................

During breakfast, Anaya thought of going to sit with Marie and Nadie but upon entering the halls, she noticed them glued Alina like a herd of penguins. They'd apparently formed their own little group at this point. Anaya sat at a corner of the Etherealki table, eyeing them from a corner. And just this day couldn't get any worse for her, the main doors blew upon and Zoya entered with her raven hair waving effortlessly. She spoke with some of the other Grisha, her laugh echoed the hallways as she conversed with them. Anaya was too consumed in rolling her eyes to notice Nadia, Marie and even Alina's expression change. Zoya marched towards them and Marie and Nadia stood up to hug her as big fake smiles plastered over their faces. Anaya was surprised to see her even hugging Alina but she wondered what devilish scheme of hers might've been behind it. She would've been seeing things but she thought she saw Zoya's lips slightly move as she embraced Alina and Alina's expression changing shortly after.

Though she was too late to notice Zoya coming towards her. "Ah how tragic, your own friends have abandoned you now" she spoke as a smug smile played over her lips.

"I prefer my own company over indulging in useless conversations with a supposed saint " Anaya responded as she eyed Alina slightly

"Oh dear, I don't believe that the poor girl deserves such contempt" Zoya responded in a mocking polite tone

"Really? I can't wait to see how you savage you get when she steals your spotlight"

"Jokes on you, I don't need any sort of light to shine" Zoya tossed her hair back and left with a boastful grin

Anaya rolled her eyes yet again, fighting the urge to burn all her hair

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lanstov #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov x oc #nikolai lanstov x reader #zoya nazyalensky

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ricardian-werewolf · 13 days

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Chapter 5: The world is lying fallow and you are apart from me.

Ao3 link

Summary:

Alina deals with the realities of living at Keramzin and comes to terms with the Firebird. Her connection with a certain too-clever fox strengthens. Finally, she begins to restore who she was before the White Cathedral. Sturmhond returns, except wearing a new face. Mal is... Mal.

Chapter snippet below cut - as always.

The Sankta Sol herself turned away from the direction of the ducal house’s basements, and instead ascended the long, spiraling staircase. She’d broken into the attic their first weekend at the old orphanage while the others were settling the Grisha children in, and here, found a sanctuary.

Now, she knelt before the western window, from where she could see the setting eclipsed sun, and stretched out her fingers. The light motes dusting her own skin glowed, and in a dizzying blast, exploded out in the way a fire was given fuel. Alina’s hair, moon-dusted and star-lit as it was, stopped being brittle and thin, and returned to the heavy locks she was accustomed to.

The Apparat had made the myth of Sankta Alina a reality, but his perversions had mired her image in sinful deceit and mistruth. Alina, even if she was the Sankta Sol, needed to be pure . Ravka needed a figure who could fight the Darkling on his own terms, not a scared, frightened girl hiding beyond Ana Kuya’s tattered and patched skirts.

Alina reached for the deep green robe she’d worn for weeks as she’d paced the house like some restless ghost. In a way, Ana Kuya had become Alina Starkov. The endless worrying, the dark circles under her eyes. The satin of the robe slipped easily off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She bent over to pick it up, and draped it over a single wooden hanger she had for the purpose. Crossing the floor, she knelt and ran her fingers down the length of one of the trunks Nikolai had packed for her before her work in West Ravka.

Before all this. She heard his murmur in the back of her mind, and smiled.

Lifting the 6 latches with quick flips of her thumb, Alina’s smile turned radiant at the sight before her eyes. The Kefta laying on a bed of soft velvet was hunter green, a shade darker than the robe she’d been wearing. Embroidered in his own hand, painstakingly, were the rays of golden sunlight she was used to. However, the flames of the Sunne in Splendour - as he’d called it, that stretched down her front, were edged in the tiniest amount of Lantsov blue. The fur edging was red fox fur that warmed her neck and wrists as she slipped it on over the Sarafan.

Clad as she was in her house-shoes and poor peasant’s dress, Alina knew the Kefta had matching boots. What she found shocked her. A pair of sensible black leather work boots that stretched up to her knees. Its buttons were miniature gold suns. The whole outfit, as she twirled in it, looked extremely fetching. However, it was what was under the Kefta in the trunk that really caught her eye.

A cloth of gold gown with the longest train Alina had ever seen. And with it, a gold kokoshnik crown.

Suddenly, she realized what it was, why he’d packed it - a wedding gown. For when the war was over. She’d already accepted his engagement, but this… he’d made this himself by hand.

#wyn rambles #Nikolina #fic: I will follow you into the dark #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #my writing #alina starkov #the Darkling #doom and gloom

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florencemtrash · 6 days

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hihi! I wanted to ask, in chapter 15 when lucien talks about the vision elain had of a bird ink-tipped wings, is there a kind of bird you had in mind? what color are the wings (the part that's not inked)? any reference/inspo images for that or for the story as a whole? may or may not be asking for,,, art purposes🤭

AHHHHHH SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!!! YOU'RE TAKING INSPIRATION FROM MY WRITING FOR ART PURPOSES!???!!!! I think I've just ascended to another plane of existence

^^ Me with you

Ok, so I didn't have a specific bird in mind when I was imagining the inkbird, but I was thinking generally of falcons (I love peregrines they're so cool) but with longer, almost tendril-like feathers (think of couture dresses with tasteful billowing strands of silk fabric in the wind).

I imagined the color of the bird (minus the black ink-tipped wings) being a soft yellow-gold like sunlight seeping through white curtains. Black and soft yellows/creams/golds are a color scheme I've been trying to go for with Y/n's character because although she originates from the Day Court, she's making a home for herself in the Night Court and she's Azriel's mate so like duh.

As for inspiration I've been taking a lot of outfit inspiration for Y/n from the Shadow and Bone TV show. The Librarian robes that Y/n wears were heavily inspired by Alina Starkov's black and gold kefta in the show! (As a sidenote: Jessie Mei Li is legitimately one of the most beautiful human beings I've ever seen in my life. I love them so much.)

If you end up making art I would love to see if that's all right with you! Thank you for blessing my inbox with this!!! 🥰 🥹

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #inbox answers

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caityrayeraye · 11 months

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Hi what is etheralki?

I completely apologize that this is gonna be a long answer lol.

So in the Grishaverse(books by Leigh Bardugo if you didn’t know), there’s the Grisha who are split into small sciences which is the art of manipulating matter at its most basic form. Those who practice the Small Science are called Grisha.

First, there’s the Corporalki, or the Order of the Living and the Dead, are Grisha whose power focuses on the human body. The Order is divided into three groups: Heartrenders, Healers, and Tailors. In the Second Army, they wear crimson colored kefta(which is like, robe/jacket/uniform thing and it’s bulletproof).

Heartrender: Their ability and training allows them to manipulate the body of another person to cause harm. For example, a Heartrender can stop a human's heart or prevent air from entering their lungs.

Healer: Healers utilize their ability to manipulate the human body in order to heal wounds and injuries.

Tailor: The ability to alter human appearances.

Secondly, there’s the Materialki, or the Order of Fabrikators, are Grisha whose power focuses on composite materials such as metal, glass, textiles, and chemicals. This Order consists of Durasts and Alkemi; collectively, they are commonly referred to as Fabrikators. They wear a purple kefta.

Durasts: Durasts deal with solids such as Grisha steel, corecloth, textiles and glass. In the Second Army, Durasts wear purple keftas embroidered with gray details.

Alkemi: Alkemi specialize in poisons, blasting powders, and other chemicals. In the Second Army, Alkemi wear purple keftas that are embroidered with red details.

And finally, there’s the Etherialki. Etherealki, or the Order of Summoners, are Grisha whose power lies in the manipulation of different natural elements. This Order is divided into Squallers, Inferni and Tidemakers. Loosely referred to as Summoners, Etherealki typically train in pairs; Inferni partner with other Inferni, while Squallers and Tidemakers usually train together. Alina Starkov and the Darkling, a Sun Summoner and a Shadow Summoner respectively, are also technically considered Etherealki. In the Second Army, the Inferni, Tidemakers, and Squaller Etherealki wear blue keftas, with different colored embroidered details on their kefta to differentiate the three. However, the Shadow Summoner wears a black kefta, and Alina, the Sun Summoner, has been known to wear a blue kefta with gold embroidery, a black kefta with gold embroidery, and a gold kefta with black embroidery.

Squallers: Squallers are Summoners who can raise or lower air pressure to create storms, gusts, and manipulate objects. They wear blue keftas embroidered with silver details.

Inferni: Inferni summon combustible gases such as methane or hydrogen, though they still need a flint to start a spark. They wear blue keftas embroidered with red details.

Tidemakers: Tidemakers manipulate temperature to summon and control water. They wear blue keftas embroidered with light blue details.

To answer your question finally, I took a quiz to see what kind of Grisha I would be and I got Etherealki Squaller.

Hope that answers stuff! Others can feel free to add more in the comments lol.

Website links:

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #six of crows #leigh bardugo

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acourtofcouture · 3 years

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An Insider’s Guide to the Grishaverse: Alina Starkov’s Gold Sankta Alina Robes worn while at the White Cathedral, 2/?

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anarmel · 3 years

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six of crows gang my beloved

what is fanart without me complaining about a thing i like

as a person who read SoC duology a long time ago, my SoC only related thoughts

-did they make Jesper gay and not bi?do not support that decision. that scene in a stable was kinda unnecessary (but i’m not a big fan of those kinda scenes in general) and felt like they just wanted something gay in this season and sort of a nod that they didn’t forget Jesper’s attraction to men but in process of that forgot that he’s bi. i think he should’ve had flirtatious interactions with everyone(he flirty).especially that we know that his main love interest is a man and his light crush on Kaz he should’ve flirted with a woman in this season. and i know that bi people are not obligated to date several people of all gender spectrum to know or like affirm that they’re bi but that’s in real life and SaB is a piece of media that communicates through visuals and limited dialogue and not a book where you have access to mention it in characters thoughts soo....yeah....not invisible bi representation where?and Nina is taken with her romance with Matthias already

-Nina(my beloved) and Matthias...yeah that’s the start of their story

-i liked “more soft” Kaz he felt less like an archetype of a character that he is(a traumatised bad boy who doesn’t care for anything or anyone but will eventually be “fixed” by love for a girl). book version of him works because we have his inner thoughts and machinations if he was on screen like he was in a book it just wouldn’t work as well he needs to emote and show a little bit of feelings that he experiences to work in a given medium and to not be a brick character on screen

-and Inej, my girl, my beloved . i don’t think she would sass tante Heleen while still being under a contract. i don’t understand why they took out her having panic attacks near the menagerie, and she refused Jesper’s backup(girlboss of her to do that but not being alone in that place is beneficial for mental stability !buddy system!). maybe because she is in that situation where she is still under indenture and she didn’t feel real relief and still is to take her first breath as a free person so she doesn’t feel constant fear of being robed of her freedom by the same place again? idk maaan...maybe i’m wrong but that’s jus how i feel. she is the strongest character in the series but that doesn’t mean she should be “strong” in every situation she is still a human who was treated so terribly by so many people and the menagerie represents it. ooof. in a book her strengths and weaknesses were established so well. i appreciated her fangirling for Alina though and that they didn’t brake her character in that way.her beliefs are still intact and she is apprehensive about kidnapping a saint. nice. love her

as a viewer of Shadow and Bone content without a book base but with basic knowledge of the universe and characters:

-(speaking as a slavic person in predominantly slavic society) didn’t like Zoya’s racist comment towards Alina like at all. like she is asian herself different part bur still. and i felt like her problem with Alina wasn’t race related then why throw that in? if my rival was poc i wouldn’t throw a slur at them and go a racist rout because that will not who i am(and i’m not that lazy at insulting/j) and it’s not even a part of my problem with them, i would go for something more personal and connected to the root of the problem to be a full bitter bitch. like Zoya feels useless and like she’s being replaced (right?) she could’ve commented how useless Alina is, how she can’t be strong by herself without help of darkling to reflect her own insecurities on Alina? why drag race into that problem? why? i know they had asian writers working on the script and in my opinion they did a good job at war era racist propaganda and how it ostracised Alina in society but making Zoya on a personal level a racist was kinda dumb. she’s a bitch but not a bigot

-i’m afraid of saying my thoughts on darkling/alina/mal situation because that part of the fandom really scares me. and that was not really my interest in this show

-not enough Genya(i really like her character)

as a person who was born in russia and will die in russia(not by choice) my russia related thoughts:

(i know that it’s only inspired and not based on imperial russia but i wanna nitpick and bitch about things)

-for imperial russia not lavish enough(yeah budget and stuff but it’s true) those bitches only knew how to burn gold on luxuries and wars

-Alina’s last name is Starkov. so in russian usually last names that end in -ov/-ova -ev/-eva are gendered her version is “male”. i don’t care for gendered stuff but in russian every word is that way. as a gender abolitionist i don’t care as a russian speaker kinda not right but eh. i(nb) go by my -ova last name because it flows with my name better like Alina Starkova i kinda like how it has an A at the beginning and on the end. Alina Starkov is still a cool name because fuck grammatically correct things

-i don’t understand why they decided to call uniforms kefta and not kaftan, kefta sounds more like kofta(casual shirt) and kaftan is a real thing and a nicer word in my opinion(and isn’t kefta a dish? but then again we have a dish named “herring under a fur coat”)

-do not understand the name of an episode “otkazat’sya” it means “to refuse” as in like a verb, kinda weird, “otkaz”(refusal) would suit more as a name because it’s a noun and less confusing and a cooler looking word. it just doesn’t work in russian and was kinda jarring to see it. and didn’t they call a food taster an “otkazat’sya” like huh??? he would be just a low ranked “pridvornyy”(courtier) or a “sluga”(servant) or if you want a fancier word it would be “mundschenk”(world of german origin used in imperial russia under Peter the First) but they were only for vine and drink tasting

-there is like three words in russian and pronunciation is funny. o to pronounce ц like ц and not like ts. there is no need to be soft

-and it’s so funny that magic users called Grisha it’s just a slavic name Grigori in short form. imagine a world where magic users are all called like Josh in all seriousness

-(did they have at least one russian speaking person to consult on language usage or pronunciations?they merged two books together couldn’t they change some words to more correct ones?)

-so mad that they killed of my main man Ivan he was THE russian representation of that show. such a single minded serious bitch. i connected to him so much (i love me some unimportant background characters) and that goth bitch(darkling) lives on. i only can be satisfied if one of those shadow monsters is Ivan(i only jest...unless?....)

general:

-found family is top tier, love triangles are in hell(not fun kind) but that’s my general hiccup with this franchise (it has so much potential but choses to focus heavily on romance, like romance is good and great and all that but friendship is magic)

-in conclusion i really liked the story as a separate being and it’s one of the better book to screen adaptations i’ve seen but it’s not without flaws

-i’m always critical of things that i love. it’s my passion to scrutinise and see flaws. i am but a miserable being

🖤only my personal opinions and feelings,hope you enjoyed my art despite my tirades🖤

#grishaverse #six of crows #shadow and bone #soc fanart #art #my art #souring my art with my thoughts #blue eyed white boys on top(#why wylan has blue eyes leigh why not brown-amber #brown eyes are so much better #aaaaa

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malghra · 3 years

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the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out

Written for Darklina Week, Day 2: Role Reversal, Light!Aleksander & Dark!Alina

Aleksander's body tries to object when he is pulled to his feet. His limbs feel heavy, and he's bruised and stiff all over. He tries to shake off the grip of the two oprichniki who are dragging him along,

When he sees the Grand Pavilion looming up before him, he knows that he's fucked up, and that there's a good chance this will be his last day among the living. In the next moment, he is swallowed up by a sea of charcoal grey as the ranks of the oprichnina close around him, and he is pushed inside.

He blinks as his eyes try to get used to the dusky inside of the tent, taking a stumbling step forward as the back of a rifle pokes his spine.

"Bring him closer," a clear, high voice calls out.

When two pairs of arms try to take hold of him again, he pulls back, an involuntary hiss escaping his lips, and he takes a reluctant step forward.

At the other end of the path that has been cleared before him, on a raised dais, a woman is sat on an elaborately carved throne of dark, glossy wood. She is clad in robes of black and gold, and she's craning her neck to get a better look at him.

Aleksander has never seen her before, but he doesn't need anyone to tell him who she is. Queen Alina is both loved and feared throughout Ravka.

"Closer," she says softly yet still commanding.

She sits her throne with a straight back, but her shoulders are relaxed with the certainty that she belongs there. Aleksander briefly wonders where that moment of insight came from. Her long white hair is braided and piled on top of her head like a crown, adorned with a simple circlet of gold and onyx.

He takes another single step forward, and the Queen tilts her head. Aleksander thinks he can see the hint of a smile playing around her lips.

"What is your name?" she asks him.

He takes his time to study her. Her face is pale, and a bit too sharp and long to be called beautiful, and yet, there is something so regal and coldly proud about her features that he finds almost irresistible. Her eyes are black pools against her pallid skin, but he thinks they might be brown.

"Aleksander Starkov, moya soverenya," he finally replies when she arches a thin eyebrow, "but my friends call me Sasha."

Her answering smirk tells him she can see right through him. He doesn't have any friends. Only his mother had ever called him Sasha. His mother had tried to protect him, had done everything in her power to stop this moment from ever happening.

"Is it true, what they have told me?" she asks, fluidly rising to her full length, and suddenly she's only four feet away from him. "Can you—there's a short pause while her dark eyes roam over his face—summon light?"

Playing dumb and denying it is his only chance. He shakes his head, eyes wide and mouth agape, hoping it will be enough.

"No," she concludes, and he can't tell if she's disappointed by his lie or because she believes it.

"Where did you grow up?"

He throws glances at all the other people in the tent, who are watching in silence. "A tiny village in Dva Stolba, you wouldn't have heard of it. Moya soverenya," he adds hastily.

The corner of her mouth curls up. "You might be surprised. And when were you tested?"

He never was. His mother made sure of that. He doesn't have to play dumb this time. He probably looks like a fish out of water trying to come up with a suitable lie. He should have thought of one much earlier.

"You don't remember," the Queen offers, saving him from stammering his way through a poorly fabricated story. "Well, then, Sasha," she says pleasantly, taking a slow but deliberate step, "we had better make certain."

She's right in front of him now and he can't help but notice he's about a full head taller than her, and from up close, he can tell that her eyes are definitely brown, a surprising speck of warmth against the coolness of her pale face and snowy hair.

He can feel a hunger rolling off her body, the air around them humming with anticipation, and something else he can't quite name. She tilts her head and offers him half a smile.

"Roll up your sleeve."

She's going to test him, the way Grisha do with the children of Ravka, to reveal any latent talent for the Small Science. He can deal with that. His mother taught him to resist his instincts, to ignore the shock and the pain. Still, he puts up a bit of a show of defiance as he reluctantly unbuttons and rolls up his sleeve. He's ready for her test.

She spreads her arms and inky, black shadows ooze out of her palms, pooling and coiling through the air as if they were underwater. “Now,” she says in that same soft, conversational voice, as if they were sitting together drinking tea, as if Aleksander wasn't clenching his teeth so hard they might crack, “let’s see what you can do.” She claps her hands together and thunder rolls through the tent, raising gasps and whispers, spreading darkness until the tent is pitch black and Aleksander is blind and frightened as a child.

Nothing could have prepared him for what happens next. Queen Alina does not produce any needles or other pricking instruments. When he turns his palm up, offering her the vulnerable inside of his arm, she simply clutches his wrist, wrapping her thin, cool fingers around it in an iron grasp.

Something swells inside his chest, a mix of joy and power, so sure and calm and yet so thrilling he already knows he will never get enough of it. He wants more. More.

She is calling to him, and every fibre of his being, every vein in his body wants to answer. He reaches out, into the darkness, beyond the confines of the tent, until the light is gathering like a warm, ringing coil inside his chest, and then he lets it out. Aleksander and the Queen are encapsulated by a shimmering golden dome. Involuntarily, he pushes it out, until it's sheltering every single person inside the tent.

The gasps and whispers that rise up this time have a different edge to them. They ring in harmony with the song humming inside the light that is emanating from his core. He is panting, but he doesn't want it to end. He's never felt so powerful before.

"Sankt Aleksander!" someone calls out, and the Queen releases his wrist.

The light disperses, retreating back into him and creeping into corners and out of the tent. For three hammering heartbeats, the tent remains covered in darkness, and then everything returns to normal.

But nothing will ever be normal again, Aleksander realizes as the Queen orders everyone to leave. She leads him to a small table behind the dais, where servants soon bring in trays of food, setting out a meal that could feed a small family.

She is looking at him with that same hunger in her eyes again, and he would swear that he can feel it, too. Part of him wants to reach out and touch her again, to feel that call of power, that low trilling hum that made him feel so strong and unafraid.

When she catches him staring, she smiles that half-smile again. "I've been waiting a long time for you, Sasha."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, so he just nods.

"Sit," she says, halfway between a command and invitation. "Eat."

Slowly, he sinks down into a cushioned chair, eyes roaming over the array of dishes that have been placed on the table. He doesn't know whether he's hungry or not, and he isn't quite sure his stomach could handle food. And even if it could, he wouldn't be sure where to begin.

He glances up. The Queen is sitting in the chair opposite him, legs crossed and eyes still focused on him. "Not hungry?" she asks him.

"I don't know."

That hint of a smile graces her lips again. "Perhaps just a bit of fruit then," she suggests, waving at five bowls filled with at least as many kinds of fruit. She slides a small one holding a halved pomegranate over the table.

"They're so messy," he objects, suddenly certain that he is not hungry.

She leans back and spreads her arms. "As is life," she sighs, and he believes her voice is laced with sadness when she says that, before she offers him a full and dazzling smile. "But it will only become better for you, Sasha."

He wants to trust her, wants to feel that certainty and strength again that coursed through him when she touched him. He knows he would believe it then.

"You and I are going to change the world together," she breathes, full of hope and wonder.

#darklina #alina x the darkling #alina starkov x aleksander morozova #darklinadaily #darklinaweek2021

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missorgana · 3 years

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flying like a bird to you

pairing: alina starkov/genya safin

fandom: shadow and bone (tv)

rating: teen and up

word count: 2424

warning: referenced rape, mentions of death

summary: Alina doesn’t feel like she knows much of anything in her new life, but she does know that Genya is very pretty. (canon compliant angst)

(i caved in and wrote this for my genyalina feelings. made myself sad. i miss them. hope you like this ????)

read on ao3

Alina struggles to understand much of her new life, as strange and unfamiliar and confusing as it proves to be.

She doesn’t know where Mal is, or why he hasn’t sent her any letters yet. Surely he must be trying his hardest to find her, she’ll convince herself to believe it. She doesn’t know why Zoya hates her so relentlessly, stubbornly and unwavering, or what she ever did to deserve her stinging words.

And she doesn’t know what to do with this power, despite being told what feels a million times - to close the fold. To save the world. She doesn’t understand what she did to be called a saint, to deserve the power and glory that comes with such a title.

Alina feels like a fraud. She feels like that little girl she used to be, running away with her best friend because she had no other choice, fear set deep in her bones at the thought of change.

Well, now that change has caught up to her, that’s for sure.

Alina doesn’t feel like she knows much of anything, but she does know that Genya is very pretty.

This must be obvious to anyone, she concedes, the redhead’s beauty. But it’s what struck her when they first met, unlike all the other first meetings in her life. Genya is not the first pretty girl she’s seen, of course, but this is different, it must be.

Alina can’t deny her loveliness; in fact, it didn’t exactly wash over her when the tailor walked in through the door, rather, it was when a delicate thumb was raised to caress her cheek. She must’ve frozen right there and then, albeit Genya was only removing the bruises from her face.

And so Alina finds it rather hard to look away from the girl, who wakes her up with elegant robes and touches up her lips and tries out colorful pigments on her eyelids with a single sweep of her fingertip. She’s quite unsure if the redhead notices her staring.

In all honesty, she’s not sure if she wants her to notice.

When the day came of her showcase, when Aleksander expected her to flash her power and shine like the trophy he’d found for himself, Alina just found herself looking into the crowd of the hall, until she found Genya, and there her eyes stayed. When the tailor’s light blue eyes meet her own brown, they shimmer in a way she imagines the ocean to do, and it brings her a sense of safety.

Genya smiles; a soft raise of the corners of her mouth, one that Alina allows herself to receive, as if it is meant for her and her alone.

Her lips are pink and face is flush, she finds it hard not to notice this, which is why Alina also notices Genya turning her head and looking toward the Fabrikator who visited them in her bedroom at sunrise - David, she recalls.

Alina feels, in this moment, unlike when Genya walked her down the halls arm in arm, significantly less pretty. Maybe the redhead’s smile wasn’t meant for her after all. But the Tailor looks back, and she knows, she’ll tell herself she knows, that Genya believes in her, even if she doesn’t believe in herself. Mal would believe in her, but he’s not here. She’ll have to stop reminding herself of that.

She fulfills the General’s wish, her first task of being a seemingly flawless saint.

But her feeling of flawlessness is imagined, a performance, and the prettiness that the Tailor makes her feel dwindles again, like the light in her hands disappear, and the Sun Summoner is once more Alina Starkov, a Grisha who’s barely learned to be Grisha yet.

Genya keeps looking at her until she walks off the stage. She wishes she could talk to her, but the General doesn’t let her, too busy parading her around to the royals. When Alina searches for the redhead again, she’s missing from the crowd entirely.

When Alina wakes her from her slumber to the touch of a hand, she doesn’t flinch, somehow, because she knows the person is not there to hurt her. Zoya’s not in the palace anymore, she hasn’t come back, and her room is the most guarded of them all, regardless.

She’s not shocked to adjust her vision in the dark to Genya’s face looming over her, but the single tear threatening to escape the corner of the redhead’s eye does surprise her.

Her hand rests lightly on Alina’s forearm, neither of them speaking a word.

She has a feeling she knows. She knows why the Tailor has come to her in the middle of the night, but she doesn’t know why her.

It scares her, the pretty girl with the crystal eyes, and the sadness doesn’t screw up her beauty, not at all, but it hollows out Alina’s chest in return, because how could anything- anyone dare to make Genya cry?

She can tell the redhead is trying unbelievably hard to hold it back. Alina lifts the blanket without hesitation, and Genya seems hesitant, yet not removing her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she tells her, barely above a whisper.

Alina shakes her head. “You shouldn’t be,” she replies, the steadiness in her voice surprising the both of them.

The redhead’s forehead furrows when she keeps the tears at bay, and she thinks she hears a sniffle, too, and Alina can’t think of anything else to do than ask. “Can I touch your hand?”

Time seems to be moving at snail speed, but Genya nods, and so she does, touches it, holds it faintly so the redhead knows she can let go, easily and immediately. She doesn’t.

She feels another fear. Alina’s known fear all of her life, known how to suppress it, more than anything, but she fears, now, that Genya will slip away from her. She wishes she could comfort her, but it couldn’t be enough. Yet she finds herself trying, anyway, “Do you want to stay?”

Then, the Tailor smiles. It reminds Alina of the smile she was given back at the dinner, soft, but the sadness so overwhelming she wants to stand up, call back the sun in her hands, bathe the entire palace in light if that is what it takes to take the tears away from Genya’s features.

Or rather, she feels a dire urge to walk. Walk until she falls upon the chambers of the king, she ponders, what sort of damage, what amount, her light could do. That’s the first time Alina’s thought of hurting someone.

But she knows deep down she’d do a lot more than hurt him. And she can’t find any way to feel bad about it. He knows what he did. He knows why Genya has visited Alina’s room. He knows why Genya doesn’t feel safe.

She also knows that she cannot possibly carry out that plan. Alina wonders which one of the many soldiers, the royals themselves, or the General, who would kill her first.

Instead, Alina does the only thing she can and needs to do, because if she can make Genya feel safe in the way she gave it upon her back at the showcase, even just for one night, it’s more important than any saint’s mission, she decides.

The Tailor’s thumb is touching her pinkie finger, and Alina wraps two fingers around it. “If you don’t mind,” Genya then says, and Alina pushes the blanket back a bit further.

“Not at all.”

And so when the redhead lies down beside her on the covers, carefully tending to the blanket and that it’s wrapped around the both of them, Alina needs to remind herself to not stare too much. They’re both looking to the ceiling, lying on their backs. When she lies alone here, she sometimes imagines she’s gazing upon a starry night instead of the palace walls.

Then they both look at each other, incredibly synchronized.

Genya looks pretty, even in the darkness. Alina can’t make out all her features, but she knows, she’s still impossibly pretty for her to describe. But even more so she’s kind, and helpful, and in pain .

“I apologise for waking you,” her Tailor whispers, and the apology hurts in her chest, again.

“Don’t,” Alina says, then frowning at herself, a sense that the word might’ve come out too harshly, “You can come to me anytime. I know you’d do the same for me.”

The tear rolls down Genya’s cheek then, disappearing into the pillow. She blinks more away, still smiling, and moves up a bit.

When a few seconds pass by, Alina thinks the redhead might not answer, and she just wants her to be okay, as okay as she can be. Genya surprises her with a question, the both of them still not looking away from each other, “Would you… it’s alright if you say no. Would you spoon me?”

“Of course,” Alina answers, with no hesitation. It makes her just a tiny bit nervous, but her voice doesn’t waver, her gaze stays, because she’s scared that if it does Genya will feel bad, be mad at herself, feel that it was wrong to ask, when it isn’t.

The girl turns her back to her, and she wraps her arms around her feather light, fear, again. The Little Palace traps you. Alina doesn’t want to trap Genya, not for the life of her.

When the Tailor moves into her embrace a little more, her heart jumps a couple of times, into her throat, pleasant and painful at the same time, which she didn’t know was possible until now.

And when she wakes up once more to sunlight streaming through the curtains, her arms are empty and Genya’s nowhere to be seen, until the door pushes open and the pretty girl tells her good morning. She smiles. Alina smiles back immediately.

Her heart sincerely hopes Genya slept peacefully that night, if at all.

Alina Starkov will no longer be a caged bird under the command of General Kirigan, or the king, or anyone else. That much she knows.

Much else she can’t think of, much else she cannot do than want, need and try to escape. Get on an empty carriage, pray to whatever sainthood she possesses that it leads to her freedom. But she thinks of Genya. She has to find her.

But in the guise of darkness in the courtyard, the Tailor finds her instead.

She doesn’t call her name, and Alina doesn’t call hers, but they know . Genya’s white and gold kefta trails after her feet, she doesn’t run, it seems she’s almost floating, and the crystals in her eyes are glazed over with worry.

Alina would very much like to kiss her, she realises.

She doesn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. She wishes she had, because now is not the time, now there’s no time, and the footsteps heard from inside the palace feel like a whole other world away. But she can’t hesitate.

Alina saw a carriage the furthest way back, with a chest lodged on the carrier. She’ll hide there. If the residents riding it try to capture her she’ll have the light as her weapon, she’s in control, as much as she can be without letting fear take over.

And when the pretty girl opens her mouth but shuts it again, immediately, Alina says the first thing that comes to her mind, “I’m going to run.”

The redhead seems to consider this.

Her eyes never waver from Alina’s own, even when she moves just two steps closer. Genya could give her up to the army so easily, she ponders, but the trust she has in her, there’s no way that’s misplaced. The tailor doesn’t smile, but nods.

“Alright.”

“Come with me,” she finds herself blurting. It feels right, Alina thinks. The question is right. She wants Genya with her.

With her, she feels stronger. Safer. At the palace, she’s the Sun Summoner, the savior, a foreign thing to herself. Before, she was Alina Starkov, a stubborn version of herself that somehow seems just as far away.

But with Genya, she can be both. She’s herself.

At the suggestion, the redhead smiles, but it’s not accompanied by Alina’s cheeks flushing and her mind telling her to stay , because the smile is melancholic and doesn’t look like the Genya she knows. Alina’s scared to hear her answer.

“I don’t think the General will like that,” she says.

Her own fist comes to a clench at the thought of his face. “I don’t care what he likes.”

It’s enough to make her blood feel like boiling, and the sun to break out from her fingertips and beneath her skin, if it wasn’t for the Tailor’s gentle fingertips appearing, as if from thin air, and fixing a stray lock of Alina’s raven hair behind her ear.

The hand stays on her cheek long, grazing it down to rest on her chin, that Alina considers acting. Mere inches would connect her to her red lips and somehow, she knows it would feel nothing like wielding her Grisha powers. It’d feel different. New. Millions of times better, like she was soaring.

But she finds herself unable to do so because the sound of the army grows louder, and Genya’s smile grows sadder.

“You know I can’t go with you,” the redhead tells her, “I want you to be safe.”

So her thumb finally leaves her chin, comes to rest at her hips, faintly wrapped arms like she’s protecting the both of them from what’s lurking behind them, continuously moving closer and closer. And because Alina doesn’t know what else to do, she raises her own thumb, the urge to touch Genya’s bottom lip too strong to ignore.

She’s moving slowly, too slow. The Tailor doesn’t stop her. Her smile becomes more familiar; like an embrace, like a kiss, almost.

Her lip is even softer than she imagined, for the quick seconds she does feel it. The smile radiates off of her, becoming all the more tangible. And warm.

Alina can hear her own heartbeat.

But Alina also has to run now, she knows it, and the pretty girl knows it, nodding once again, proof of an unspoken secret locked away in between them. She’ll keep her safe, as long as possible, anyway.

And so when she ultimately has to move out of her space, Genya’s ring finger draws upon her lip, where Alina abandoned the touch of her own. It feels like a goodbye.

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emjenenla · 6 years

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The Only Thing You Can Change is Your Name [A Grisha Trilogy Fic]

Modern AU/a Heavyverse fic. Through the dark and gritty streets of Ketterdam, among the worst of the worst one thing is whispered; if you need someone dead and you’ve got the money, go to the Darkling and they’ll take care of it for you. Appearances/mentions of Six of Crows characters.

Warnings: violence

Title: The Only Thing You Can Change is Your Name

Author: Emjen Enla (Fanfiction)/emjenenla (Tumblr)

Teaser: Modern AU/a Heavyverse fic. Through the dark and gritty streets of Ketterdam, among the worst of the worst one thing is whispered; if you need someone dead and you’ve got the money, go to the Darkling and they’ll take care of it for you. Appearances/mentions of Six of Crows characters.

Rating: PG-13/T

Canon/Timeline: Modern AU, same universe as I'm Holding On; Why is Everything so Heavy? but can be read separately; set a couple months before that fic (perhaps between 4 and 6 months?), the Darkling is in his mid-thirties, Alina, Nikolai and Co. are in their mid-twenties

Dominant Characters: The Darkling, appearances by Nikolai Lantsov, Alina Starkov, Jan Van Eck, Pekka Rollins, Tolya Yul-Bataar, Nikolai’s family, unnamed appearances by Mal Oretsev, Tamar Kir-Bataar, Genya Safin, Zoya Nazyalensky, mentions of Baghra, Bo Yul-Bayur, Kuwei Yul-Bo

Pairings: a TINY bit of one-sided Darklina because the Darkling wouldn’t be himself without his creepy, unhealthy obsession with Alina

Warnings: violence

Notes:

-The Darkling/Aleksander Morozova uses he/his pronouns, but the Darkling as a semi-mythical figure in the lore of Ketterdam is genderless. Therefore, if this story was in Nikolai or Alina's POV the Darkling would be referred to using they/theirs pronouns.

-The City Council in this AU is the equivalent of the Merchant Council in SoC.

-Also, there's a frustrating number of unnamed characters in this trilogy (The Queen of Ravka is literally just referred to as the Queen).

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Grisha Trilogy or Six of Crows or the song “Kira” from the Death Note Musical (the song I got the title from).

Some indeterminable amount of time ago, a man climbs the rickety stairs to an attic apartment. He keeps a hand on his gun, and looks left and right in fear. At the top of the stairs he knocks on the door. Crumbles of peeling paint fall away with the mild force of his hand on the door.

After a moment the door opens though no one stands on the other side. The man stands in the doorway for a moment, wondering what to do, then a voice calls from within, “Enter.” He takes a deep breath, gathers his courage and steps inside.

The apartment is utterly dark, lit only by a few small lights that do nothing to give any impression of the room. The only thing that can be seen is the vague outline of a figure sitting in the center of the room. The man makes his way across the floor, stumbling over a couple objects on the way.

“Sit,” the figure says.

He does.

“What do you request?” the figure asks. The voice is too low to be female and too high to be male.

The man hands over a stack of hundred dollar bills, and names his request. He gives a name, a description, and details. The figure takes it all with a nod and tells him to leave, and not to worry about anything.

He flees.

If the room had been a bit lighter, or perhaps just if he would have been a bit more observant he might have noticed that he and the figure were not the only people in the room. He would have noticed the small, dark-haired, gray-eyed boy, hunched in a corner, watching them both with wide, learning eyes.

But he didn’t notice, just like everyone else who had ever come into that little apartment.

~~~~

Many Years Later

The Darkling hunched on the roof of the mansion, staring down into the ornate courtyard. His booted feet were braced securely enough that he felt comfortable letting go of the tasteless gargoyle and blowing into his hands in an attempt to warm them. Ketterdam was in the grips of a coldsnap and his thin black gloves were meant to prevent him from leaving fingerprints, not keep his hands warm.

He was a little frustrated. It was supposed to get substantially warmer later in the week and he would have waited until then if his employer hadn’t been chomping at the bit.

A car pulled through the mansion’s front gates and coasted to a stop before the door. The Darkling pulled out a pair binoculars and watched as his targets got out. Alexander Lantsov, his wife and their sons, Vasily and Nikolai. By the time the night was over all four of them would be dead.

He watched while the family vanished inside then dropped the binoculars and climbed away from the edge of the building. Now he needed to wait for the right moment to strike.

Normally he would have hung out on the roof until the family went to bed, but it was really too cold for that tonight. He made his way to the doorway that allowed people to access the roof. There was no security, and the door wasn’t even locked. The Darkling snorted, people this stupid almost deserved to be assassinated. It wasn’t that difficult to slap on some climbing spikes and scale the side of the building; despite her old age Baghra had been doing it right up to her death.

The Darkling let himself into the building and hunched on the stairs, enjoying the warmth. He tried not to think about Baghra because whenever he did he was always sucked down into the bottomless pit of his own loneliness. It was a little terrifying because he hadn’t thought he would miss her. For years he had hated her as his jailer, as the woman who kept him trapped in their home in the name of safety. He’d expected to rejoice that she was gone, but that didn’t change the fact that she was the only person who he’d ever interacted with more than tangentially.

He pressed his gloved fingertips against his eyelids and tried to imagine that he was pressing away those thoughts. Those were the petty worries of Aleksander Morozova, not the Darkling. There was a reason he’d begun thinking of himself as the Darkling after Baghra’s death. It served as a way to mentally separate himself from the pathetic child who had wandered their home wishing that something would happen to take him far away.

At least that was supposed to work in theory.

He leaned his shoulder against the wall and forced himself to begin running through the particulars of the plan. He had a job to do, he did not have time to sit and mope.

As they often did, his thoughts took on the format of a conversation. He imagined he was laying out the plan for someone else and they were listening intently. Figuring out the best way to explain what he was planning to do kept him occupied until the house quieted around him and it was time to move.

He made sure his voluminous black robes and featureless hood and face coverings were all in their correct places. In his Darkling robes he was identity-less and genderless, a wraith of the night. He was visibly taller than Baghra had been, but she had been very careful and theatrical when interacting with everyone as the Darkling. He doubted there was anyone in the city who would notice that he was not the same Darkling who had begun their reign of terror sixty years ago.

The halls of the mansion were dark but there was just enough light to see the reflections from the gold details that covered basically everything. It was almost sickening. The Darkling had known that Ravka Oil made a lot of money, but he had no idea its CEO was quite this rich. Of course there was always the possibility that all this was bought with credit cards and that Alexander Lantsov, the King of Ravka Oil, didn’t have the money for this, but there was no way to tell. As a rule, the Darkling only cared out his target’s finances when that would affect the job, but that could be what the Apparat wanted the Lantsovs dead for. The Darkling would probably never know and that didn’t really bother him.

He went to the master bedroom first. Even though it was not that late both Alexander Lantsov and his wife were stone-cold asleep, overly confident in their high-tech security systems. The Darkling killed the wife first just to prove that the husband won’t notice.

When that was done, the Darkling left the master bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. There was no noise, no mess. If the rest of the job went this smoothly the bodies might not even be discovered until morning.

The next stop was the bedroom of the older son, Vasily. Since this target was substantially younger, the Darkling was prepared to face a conscious target, but Vasily Lantsov was passed out drunk and was also no trouble. The Darkling snorted as he let himself out of the bedroom, this was shaping up to be the easiest five hundred thousand dollars he’d ever made.

The last target was Nikolai Lantsov, the youngest of the family who was rumored to not actually be Alexander Lantsov’s son. From what the Darkling had heard, there was some definite truth to that rumor, but the Apparat was still willing to pay a hundred thousand dollars for his head, so the Darkling considered himself aptly paid enough not to care.

Nikolai Lantsov lived in an attic bedroom that was remarkably close to the stairwell the Darkling had been squatting in for the last few hours. Still, even though it was an attic only in name. The stairway was just as expensive as the rest of the house, though it was a bit more understated, something the Darkling’s eyes were thankful for.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. Perhaps the people upstairs had reached a lull in their conversation. Perhaps the wind blew just hard enough to cover up their voices. Perhaps he had made that fatal mistake that Baghra had always warned him about and allowed his success to go to his head. No matter what the answer was, he climbed the last stair and found himself face to face with a very awake Nikolai Lantsov and a handful of others.

For a period of time that was only a couple seconds at most, they all stared at each other. Aside from Nikolai Lantsov there were six others, two men, four women. The Darkling was massively outnumbered.

For the first time he cursed his adherence to Baghra’s “never take a gun on a job” rule. She claimed that if you carried a gun it was too easy to panic and shoot someone you could have taken out by other, quieter means. This was probably the one time that proved that wasn’t always true. If the Darkling had a gun he could have shot his target and fled before the others had a chance to do anything. As it was he didn’t have any range weapons but a couple knives that weren’t strictly throwing knives that he could still throw if he needed to.

He threw a couple of the knives in Nikolai Lantsov’s direction. The bigger of the two men threw himself into Nikolai, knocking him to the floor and taking the knife in this own shoulder. “Tolya!” one of the girls yelled.

The Darkling knew that the job was off. Without the element of surprise, even the elusive and powerful Darkling couldn’t take these odds. He turned to run down the stairs but a voice stopped him. “You! Freeze or I’ll shoot!”

It was always a good policy to avoid being shot, so he stopped and looked back. One of the women had somehow come up with a handgun and she was holding it in a way that proved that she definitely knew how to fire it. She had a thin, striking face and dark, searching eyes. Her hair was probably platinum blonde, but it was so pale it looked white.

She was beautiful.

It took him a second it realize what he was thinking and reprimand himself. Hadn’t Baghra trained him to avoid being distracted?

“Put your weapons down!” the girl said.

“No, thanks,” the Darkling said in the mid-range, androgynous voice that Baghra had spent many, many years drilling him on until she deemed it perfect. “I’ll be going now if it’s all the same to you.” Then he dove for the stairs.

He didn’t bother going down them, he simply jumped, a trick he’d practiced on the the many staircases at the apartment as a bored teen. He heard the gun go off behind him and pain seared his left side. He was more surprised than anything else; he hadn’t expected someone that delicate to actually pull the trigger regardless of her obvious proficiency with firearms.

He hit the floor at the bottom of the staircase and rolled before coming back up running. He made for the staircase to the roof. They’d expect him to go down and attempt to get out of the building; they wouldn’t think to look up.

The roof was no warmer than it had been hours before. The Darkling hunched down behind a particularly large gargoyle to wait. Nikolai Lantsov and his friends would be out on the lawn within minutes. If he tried to scale the building now he would be seen and captured. Fortunately, it would probably be hours before anyone, the police included thought to check the roof, so he could wait here for the right moment to make his escape.

He took a moment to see to his side wound. The wound was bleeding but still rather shallow. He was lucky the girl had been shooting a handgun, her aim would probably be lethal with a rifle.

He ripped a section out of his robe, pointedly ignoring the part of his brain that was chattering out the exact reprimands Baghra would have used had she still been alive. He knew he’d messed up, but he was going to get out of it and everything out be okay.

He wrapped the strip of fabric tightly around his chest and settled back against the gargoyle to wait.

~~~~

It was dawn by the time the Darkling made it back to the apartment. He showered to thaw out, stitched up and bandaged his wound, then he contacted the Apparat to come with the rest of the money.

When the Apparat showed up, the top floor of the apartment was clothed in darkness and the Darkling was back in his robes. He’d cleaned some of the blood off in the sink but it would take much more time than he had to wash it completely and fix the ripped part.

The Apparat paid the second half of the five hundred thousand dollars without asking for details about the job so the Darkling didn’t bother mentioning that Nikolai Lantsov was still alive. He’d gotten his money and the Apparat knew better than to cross him so it would be fine.

As the Apparat left, the Darkling bid the other man goodbye using his real name, just to throw him off and make him even less likely to attempt revenge when he realized Nikolai Lantsov was still alive. Once was gone, the Darkling locked the door and opened the curtains before heading downstairs to pick a bedroom.

Most people who came to hire the Darkling assumed that the room they saw was the only one that he used, but in reality the Darkling owned the whole building. There was enough space to house many people, but he lived alone. The building was completely furnished but modestly so even though there was absolutely no reason for that either.

The Darkling was one of the richest people on earth. The fees required to hire the Darkling were so high that Baghra had been set for life before he had become a teenager. He had enough money that he and a couple others could live lavishly without ever thinking about working again.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he kept taking jobs when he didn’t need to, though he suspected it was because he had no idea what he would do with himself if he didn’t.

He pointedly did not think about these things as he picked a room with a large, soft king-sized bed, and collapsed onto it. He curled up under the blankets and slept.

~~~~

The Darkling woke up after the sun had set and stumbled groggily to the nearest kitchen to find something to eat. His side was throbbing so he took a couple painkillers and a pill from his antibiotic stash because the last thing he needed was a raging infection.

He dug through the fridge looking for something that he actually wanted to eat. He knew that he had leftover pizza in one of his multiple fridges but this apparently wasn’t the one. He considered trying to find that pizza, but he didn’t feel like wandering around checking all the refrigerators. Instead he warmed up some soup that probably hadn’t been sitting for too long.

He had just finished eating when the proximity alarms for the staircase leading to the upstairs door started going off. Someone was coming to have an audience with the Darkling.

He threw the empty bowl into the sink and bolted for the interior stairs. He made it to the room just as there was a knock at the door. He threw the still-dirty Darkling robes on, pulled the mask on and yanked the blinds closed. Then he turned on the tiny lights and settled down in the specific place Baghra had marked out all those years before. When he was sure he was ready he pressed the hidden button to open the door.

Two men entered the room. Neither was in particularly good shape and both carried themselves with the pompous poise of extremely rich and extremely arrogant men. Granted, basically everyone who came to the Darkling with jobs was extremely rich and extremely arrogant, but these two seems somehow more so than usual.

The Darkling watched without speaking as they fumbled and stumbled their way across the dark room and sat down before him. One set a stack of hundred dollar bills on the floor between them; the consultation fee.

The Darkling picked up the bills and checked them by tilting the stack towards one of the tiny blue lights. Baghra had spent literally decades fiddling with the arrangement of the lights until they only benefited her and left her customers floundering in the dark. When she’d died the Darkling had seen no need to do anything but tweak the angles to accommodate his larger form.

Two carefully placed lights gave him a view of both customer’s faces, and the Darkling studied them as he slid the money into his robes and waited for them to speak.

“I am Jakob Hertzoon,” one man said. “This is my business partner, we are here to-”

“No you’re not,” the Darkling said in the Darkling voice.

“Excuse me?” the man asked.

“You’re not Jakob Hertzoon,” the Darkling said. “You’re Pekka Rollins. And you,” he gestured at the other man, “you’re Jan Van Eck. Just because no one knows who I am does not mean that I am not knowledgeable about the inhabitants of Ketterdam.”

“I-” Pekka Rollins looked nervous now, it was obvious that he hadn’t expected the Darkling to recognize the false name. “I…”

“So we lied about our names,” Jan Van Eck said leaning forward slightly. “We still have a job for you.”

“I’m listening,” The Darkling said steepling his fingers together.

Jan Van Eck pulled a folder out his briefcase and handed it over. The Darkling took it but didn’t open it because that would reveal that he had enough light to read it. “That is a file on a man named Bo Yul-Bayur. He used to be a practicing doctor, but recently he’s been doing medical research for Ketterdam Hospital. He has some research we want. We tried to buy it from him but he went into hiding with his son. We want to hire you to find Yul-Bayur, retrieve his research and...remove him and his son from the picture.”

This would not be the first job the Darkling had taken that would require him to track down his target, but it was never a good idea to seem too interested. “Finding Yul-Bayur might take me a considerable amount of time,” he said injecting as much disinterest as possible into his voice. “You’d have to make it worth my time.”

“Is ten million dollars worth your time?” Van Eck asked.

It felt like the world actually stopped spinning, only years of Baghra’s lessons kept him from reacting. He had never been offered a job with that much payment, and Baghra hadn’t either. When the Darkling had been in his early teens, Baghra had assassinated five members of the City Council at a million dollars a head, and that was the biggest job either of them had either done. Ten million was like a dream.

“Do you actually have that much money?” he asked when he’d controlled his emotions enough to speak in his androgynous voice without emotion. “You do realize that I charge half up front which means that you’ll need to give me five million before I even start on this job.”

Van Eck reached into his briefcase and set several more stacks of hundred dollar bills on the floor. “That’s a million dollars right there,” he said quietly. “If you take the job, I’ll give you another million every two weeks until we reach ten million. It will take us five months to get there and I imagine that you’ll be done long before then if you’re as good as everyone says you are. When you finish, I’ll give you the rest of the money all at once.”

The Darkling picked up one of the stacks of bills and checked them, trying not to look as excited as he actually was.

“Do we have a deal?” Van Eck pressed in a strange tone that suggested that he might have realized just how interested the Darkling was. Pekka Rollins looked on, staring at the money like he wanted nothing better than to steal it.

The Darkling knew he shouldn’t agree right away, that he should tell them he’d get back to them and take time to do some research. The reason that Baghra had gotten that five million dollar job was because a group of people on the City Council had pooled their money to pay her. Van Eck was claiming to have ten million to pay an assassin with no help. Something was fishy, but the Darkling found he didn’t particularly care.

That realization was a little startling. It seemed that he didn’t just take jobs because he didn’t know what else to do; it seemed there was an element of greed to this too. It didn’t matter how much money he had; he liked to make more.

“You have a deal, Mr. Van Eck,” The Darkling said. “Now, what kind of research do you want me to retrieve?”

Hope you enjoyed. I’m not going to promise anything more in AU because I don’t want to tie myself to anything, but I am thinking about other stories.

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Emjen

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