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wqemzz-blog · 2 months ago
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Cannot think of a fun caption because I'm too busy thinking about Her ✊😔💔
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shaensss · 2 months ago
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Our bisexual crows in their keftas!
Also, Magic is Gay™ is confirmed once again considering that ALL the Grisha in the Crows are queer (let's not forget about our chaotic gay Kuwei!) 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈
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Bonus: Wylan would absolutely love to see Jesper in his kefta! 💜
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lina-lovebug · 5 months ago
Kaz Brekker x Heartrender! Reader!
Warnings: none
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You didn't notice it at first.
Working for the Crows, it was easy to miss the little things when relaxing or not on the job. It was no secret that Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, was closer to you than he was with anyone else.
At first it just started with annoying him by never leaving his office when he was in it. You claimed that it was the quietest place in the Crow Club, and reluctantly and slowly, he got used to your presence. You were usually reading or just staring off, thinking anything to make the time pass by.
Kaz admitted you were an annoying presence at first, but learned it was because you didn't like being alone. You thought it only made it easier to let people slip away, and he understood that. What he didn't want to admit was that the months tolerating your presence turned into a normal thing, just you and him after hours in content silence. Then, he expected you to be there, and it brought a small tug to his lips each time you greeted him with a bright smile and a small wave. If you weren't there, he felt saddened but never dared to ask you why.
That's when Kaz Brekker realized he was falling in love with you.
You had feelings for him for a few months, which is why you had started making it a point to be around him. Your heart almost broke when he fell infront of you once, reminding you that he's mortal and you're Grisha. You made it a promise to yourself that you'd protect him, even if your love was useless.
Due to the time passing, or him not returning your feelings.
One night, you were simply reading through a book of poems, and flickered your gaze to Kaz.
He looked tired, but you admired how his hair fell perfectly around his face and his jaw structure. How could a human be so beautiful? You thought to yourself before noticing a heartbeat quicken.
And it wasn't yours.
Your gaze sharpened on him as you listened closer to his heartbeat, slowly speeding up as he straightened himself on his chair and that's when you caught it.
His eyes.
He glanced at you, and he was caught in your trance. He couldn't help but stare, and a blush along with a sly smile made its way to your rosy lips. He awkwardly coughed and looked away.
"What?" He asked, nervous now that he was aware that you could hear his urgent heart.
"I love you."
His eyes widened, and he felt like his heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure what to say or do. He couldn't say it back because he wasn't sure he loved you yet, only that he had a passion and affection towards you.
He wanted you.
But his fears drove him back.
"I heard your heart. I know you like me - that you feel something for me, but you don't have to give me an answer now. I'll wait for you."
God, he wanted to cry.
Wait for him? You've just said you loved the Bastard of the Barrel, and that you don't need an immediate answer from him. That you were content waiting for someone like him.
"No woman should ever wait for a man," He sounded like he was lecturing you, even without looking at you.
You simply chuckled.
"But waiting for Kaz Brekker himself will be worth it. I even await the day I get to kiss you."
He felt all the heat rush towards his face at your bold statement. You had imagined kissing him? HIM?! And you said it would be you to kiss him, not the other way around. He couldn't believe it, and suddenly poked his tongue out to lick his possibly chapped lips.
"You're my Heartrender and mine alone. So know that I always have you in my heart," That was the most you'd get out of him, and he felt a tingle within him as he expressed the best way he could his own feelings.
And that alone was more than enough for you.
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maalidoesart · 4 months ago
You already drew a lovely hug (though the more hugs, the merrier), can they have a kiss?
of course they can 😌😌
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tj-wrote-things · 3 months ago
𝐇𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝗼
Nikolai Lantsov x fem!Grisha!reader
Based off of this ask
A/N- Hey besties, this is kinda late,, and i hate it but only a little bit. Can you guys like -stop requesting arguments??? pls its breaking my heart.
Mega thanks to @itisroe e for being my editor and shoulder to whine on :)
*Id like to take a moment to say that Nikolai is a bit of a dick in this one, and id like to reiterate that its never okay to invalidate or insult a so. I dont condone that type of behavior, im just writing it
If there was one thing Nikolai Lantsov knew how to do, it was pout. You caught him— more than just a few times— slouched over on the blush red couch with his arms crossed, face smushed into a scowl as he studied you packing your bag.
You sighed, casting an increasingly irritated glance at him as you folded the coarse cloth of your winter coat and tucked it away with the rest of your belongings. The weight would be too much to bear, but you knew it would be cold up north where you were headed alongside Zoya and the Bataars. 
“I’m leaving at dawn, whether you like it or not, Sobachka.” 
The King looked away briefly at your words, hating understanding that you were right. He hauled himself out of his seat and redirected his sulking to the world outside the large window. It was beautifully blanketed in steadily falling snow. 
“Will you really make our last night together a bitter one?” you commented.
“It wouldn’t be our last night if you’d just let me come with you,” Nikolai huffed. 
You exhaled, dreading that this would be the third time you had this discussion, which, in his world, was more so a debate.
The reason was simple: Nikolai had no business accompanying them. The objective of the mission to Fjerda was a peace treaty between the Drüskelle and the Grisha populous. As Nikolai fit neither category, it had been decided that he would stay back and continue to hold the country together.
“We’ve been through this: to bring more people on the expedition would only irritate the Fjerdans. Especially, the king of a country with which they’ve been at war for a considerable amount of time,” you reiterated. 
Nikolai shook his head again, unwilling to accept it. He refused to welcome the fact that the love of his long life would be away and in perpetual danger for weeks. 
The wind whistled as it bounded against the window, filling the room with a violent creaking.
“It’s dangerous, Y/N, why can you not understand—” 
You cut him off swiftly as his voice began to rise, “You watch that tone, Lantsov, or I’ll—” 
Now, it was Nikolai’s turn to cut you off: “You’ll what? Leave early?” The young man turned to you from the window and met your incredulous gaze. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. We both know it's your only vice.”
“My only vice,” you mocked cynically. “In what regard?” 
Nikolai spread his arms patronizingly as if he were explaining the obvious to his childhood self.
“Your heart craves adulation,” he said, pointing a sharp, accusatory finger your way. “You’ll take any opportunity to leave Os Alta— leave me— and flaunt your gifts.” 
Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. In anger or despair, you could not tell.
You would not lie to yourself. You knew with all your heart that, all things considered, your mastery of the Small Science was a blessing, hidden behind the mask of a devil. In the days you served faithfully in the Second Army, your gifts were revered and you were respected in the highest regard amongst your Grisha peers. However, in the years following the war, you became like everybody else. 
It was at the behest of your husband that you progressively began to use your power as an Inferni less as the days passed. Ever the political mastermind, he had approached you one summer evening and begged you refrain from using your power in public, claiming that the presence of a Grisha Queen was too much for his fragile country to bear. In the beginning, you had agreed, for if there was one thing that surpassed your love for your husband, it was your shared love for Ravka.
You knew that relations between the Grisha and the others were strained, and so you agreed, taking your husband's hand and promising to limit the displays of glowing orange flames which had burned your enemies as well as warmed the hands of your allies. 
It was becoming increasingly difficult to train behind a closed gate, under a roof, beneath the watchful eye of First Army guards armed with fire extinguishers. In fact, it had grown so stifling you had begun to resemble Alina Starkov when first she came to the Little Palace, with her pallor skin and brittle locks.
You brushed the aforementioned hair, now soft and healthy from the effects of tailoring, behind your ear as you placed the brush down and sharpened your stare at Nikolai’s face, shrouded in silver shadows from the icy light of the moon.
“Craves adulation,” you grumbled, knowing that if your voice rose any higher, it would betray every emotion storming around your heart. “Have a look in the mirror, Nikolai, and tell me which of us truly fits your description.”
His description, in all its insulting glory, fit Nikolai Lantsov to the tee.
Nikolai Lantsov, who would smile and wave to a crowd with a Sun Summoner on his arm, allowing you to watch with disdain from your place on a horse beside Mal. Nikolai Lantsov, who would hide behind a pair of gloves to escape the truth of what he had become. Nikolai Lantsov, who had pushed his wife into a state of sickness, albeit unknowingly, sacrificing her life’s blood for the sake of his country.
Nikolai Lantsov, who resolutely shook his head, running a hand through the already dishevelled hair on his head, before waving it dismissively, as if swatting a fly. “Please. You’d flick your hands for anyone who’d ask— if they clapped hard enough.” Nikolai moved for the bookshelf, drawing out a novel as if his words were mere small talk with an old friend.
Your anger blurred to shock. “Flick my hands—”
“Honestly, you take every opportunity to flaunt it. I’m surprised the Little Palace is still standing after having you inside for twenty years!” 
There was no sense to his vile declarations now. Though, Nikolai could not see it. The anger, betrayal, and frustration at being left behind were all that clouded his boyish mind as he hurled one unkind word after the other.
“Nikolai,” You moved towards him, arm outstretched, eyes beginning to water. “Lapushka, please—” As your hand approached his, the storm heavier than ever. He wrenched his arm away from you, leering his head back to look you in the eyes.
“Truly, I can’t be sure why you haven’t left already.”
“For saints’ sake, Nikolai. Look at me!”
The dam broke as you flicked your hands, removing the tailoring to your appearance, unveiling the truth of your restrictions.
Nikolai stared with an open mouth and hard eyes as the warm winter flush of your cheeks was replaced with dulled skin, and the sleek shine of your hair was redefined with a brittle and unkempt bush.
“The only person from whom I crave adulation,” you whispered, “is the only man who’s too thick to look past a wavering mask.”
The Lantsov King swallowed, flipping the book restlessly in his hands. “Y/N—”
“Get out.” You left no room for him to argue, even when he opened his mouth once more. “I said leave!” You stalked to the door, pulling it open with a loud shriek of wood. “Now.”
Nikolai Lantsov, who spent the night in a guest room, in a state of perpetual regret.
No amount of tossing and turning brought any comfort to his aching heart, nor his pounding head. He flopped halfheartedly in the guest bed, stiff from lack of use, and from lack of you, revisiting the disgusting words he’d spat. The reason for them, however unjustified, sat heavily on his chest, suffocating him at an agonizing rate.
Nikolai Lantsov, who was afraid that— like his mother and father— you would grow to resent his blood, resent it for its stark difference to yours. The fear that you would  regret your marriage to what your people called an otkazat’sya: the abandoned.
The King figured it was only a matter of time before the title served him fully. 
It was reasonable, wasn’t it? To lash out at a time of vulnerability? Nikolai couldn’t be sure, having grown up in a family of despots who had never given him the time of day when it mattered most. 
Watching the tailored facade fall from his wife’s face, Nikolai was reminded solely of his mother, who, like you, was coerced into moulding her face into that of the perfect queen, at the behest of her husband. He knew then that all he had said and done was wrong. Wrong to her, and wrong to her people.
How could he bring himself to apologize? To walk into their bedroom and beg forgiveness? Would she forgive him? Even if he stooped— a king in tears and on his knees for the woman he loved perhaps more ardently than the country he vowed to govern— would she, in all her scorned glory, crouch beside him, take his face in her hands, and kiss away his regret?
Could he expect her to?
Dawn came around all too swiftly, rousing husband and wife from their fitful sleep in separate rooms, and with it came your departure to the northern lands.
You stood side-by-side with Nikolai as the carriages were loaded with provisions, luggage, and gifts for the Drüskelle, refusing to look at him. Instead, digging fruitlessly in your shoulder bag as an excuse to keep your head down.
The call came from the footman as the time arrived for you to leave. You didn’t make it more than one step forward with your hand gripping the leather strap of your bag before a firm grasp was on your waist.
“Wait,” whispered Nikolai, tugging you back. He cast a glance at the guard, letting him know that they would need a moment. “I can’t let you leave— not like this.” 
You held your gaze to the floor. Gently, he tilted your head back up with his thumb and forefinger. “Not now, not when you can barely look at me,” he continued. You held his stare as his hand shifted tentatively towards your jaw. “Not when I can’t be sure you won't come back to me, Milaya.”
You sniffled softly at the nickname, moving your own hand to his face and pausing to tuck away a loose golden curl.
“Please come back to me,” he said softly as if he were sharing a secret. There was an unspoken apology apparent in his reddening eyes while the seconds ticked by.
“Of course,” you murmured back, tipping his head down as you pecked his brow, then his cheek. “Nikolai, there’s not a thing in this world that could keep me away from you.”
You kissed him soundly, your hand running across the expanse of his jaw as he leaned into the tender forgiveness settled in your palm. When you broke apart, Nikolai took your hand from his face. He kissed your palm and walked you to your carriage. The King watched with concerned eyes as you took your seat.
Nikolai kissed your hand once more from his place on the ground and looked up at you. “Swear you’ll write,” he said. “Or I’ll crash the proceedings.”
You barked a hearty laugh, squeezing his hand as he tried to let you go. “I will,” you promised. “And I’ll see you when I come back.”
It was another moment before you let go of his hand. His palm hit the carriage door bearing the Lantsov crest. You watched as the carriage travelled further and further away, Nikolai’s frame disappearing into the horizon. 
“I promise,” you whispered.
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yeet-life · 18 days ago
RiordanVerse x GrishaVerse
What kind of Grisha would RiordanVerse characters be?
(idk what this is, I tried my level best at it, but not all the characters are here)
Perseus Jackson, Son of Poseidon the God of Seas, Horses and a bunch of other stuff I can't be bothered to name
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(Ignore the disgusting collages I am making)
Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, the goddess of Wisdom, Strategic war and the Fine arts, the patron goddess of Athens
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one would say i was almost getting okay at making collages
Nico Di Angelo, son of Hades, the King of the Underworld Ruler the Dead and such stuff
(ik he could be a corpsewitch but still)
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oh look! a not disgusting collage
Will Solace, son of Apollo, the god of Light, Day, Prophecies, Healing, Archery (and I think the Future?)
(ok, so this was a bit difficult as he could very well be a healer but since I made Nico a Shadow Summoner I decided to do Sun Summoner for Will)
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(nvm im still as bad at it as always)
Magnus Chase, son of Frey, Vanir, Ruler of Peace and Fertility, Rain, and Sunshine
(this too was largely a healer/sun summoner conflict but I decided to go with healer because that is what is mainly focused upon in the books)
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(magnus' is the one I put the most effort in making, why are there no healer-related pics)
Alex Fierro, daughter of Loki, the god of Mischief, Trickery, Lies and is a shapeshifter
(technically none of the Grisha powers match completely with Alex's abilities but she just gives of heartrender vibes)
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(eh, its okay, I made, what I suppose would be a cuadros in the background?)
Jason Grace, son Zeus, the god of the sky, the supreme ruler of the universe
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Fedyor : You know I can hold my hole world in my hands.
Ivan : That’s impossible, Fedyor.
Fedyor : You don’t know that my love, I can show you .
Ivan : Fed I can safely say that ...
Fedyor : * cupping Ivan’s face * See I told I could do it.
Ivan : * blushing * Fedyor I have a reputation, to keep!
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wine4thewin · 14 days ago
Introducing, the Murderous Misadventures of...
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Meet Goth Grampy and Gay Daddy, just two best bro’s, living their best lives…
…but foreign dignitaries should probably not meet with them in the future 💀
😳 Or literally anyone who disagrees with them. 
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lilytheraven · 2 months ago
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So I’ve been watching shadow and bone like over and over
So here’s a grisha au for dream smp, I’ll probably do more characters soon
This is purely based off traits and powers, so there’s like no really plot or characters filling in the ones from the actual grisha books
Also any ideas for other characters, I wanna make ranboo a shadow summoner and Im gonna have captain puffy as a squaller because they sometimes sail ships ya know
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maalidoesart · 5 months ago
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i kinda imagine the two of them taking long walks through the forest whenever they get a chance to do so!
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tj-wrote-things · 4 months ago
To The Next
Nikolai Lantsov x fabrikator!fem!reader
Two times you decide to stay, and one time you have no choice but to leave.
A/N: mega ouchie, my friends. Just so ya’ll know i havent read the Nikolai Duology, and im like 14 chapters into R&R. Teensie bit of an AU, we’re gonna pretend the Darkling didnt attack the palace until a few days after Nik’s birthday dinner shin-dig:)
Mostly fluff and some poorly(but also well) written angst :)
Nikolai Lantsov was well accustomed to the serenity that came with life in Os Alta. What he wasn’t quite so accustomed to was the sound of your chittering laughter as he lay out in the sun, eyes closed against the orange sky, only a few paces from the edge of the lake. You giggled once more, holding out two bottles as you clamored around your forgotten purple kefta in the grass.
“Okay, now lean your head back, open your mouth, and keep your eyes shut.” Nikolai furrowed his brows, perfectly shaped, as always, and opened one eye at your words. 
“You’re not gonna kill me are you?” The fourteen year old boy glanced up to you, and felt his heart nearly stop. Eyes roving over your face, cased in golden light from the impending sunset, he masked his awe with his usual banter. “Has the jealousy caught up to you? You’ve come to take your revenge because my hair is softere than yours! I knew it!” You cackled as you crouched over his head.
“Shut up,” you laughed. “I don’t want it to go in your eyes, is all. I’d hate to ruin those lovely blue orbs.”
“They are quite nice, you’re right.” he conceded, and did as he was told. “Kindly refrain from poisoning me.” You smiled and poured both liquids in his mouth before he could protest.
He was quiet for just a moment, until a choked sound clawed its way out of his throat. Nikolai rushed to sit up, the concoction dribbling down his chin and onto his pristine shirt, staining the linen a muted orange. You hurriedly dropped the bottles and thumped him on the back, eyes growing in concern and apology.
“Nikolai, oh shit- You're alright?” Nikolai nodded, beating on his chest, smiling despite his watery eyes.
“Too much- Too much at once,” he rasped, and coughed once more. He straightened up and turned to you with a grin. “But, all saints, delicious! What was that?” You grinned, consoled by the fact you hadn't killed the younger prince.
“Sweetened jurda nectar and aged Kvas,” you said, taking a swig yourself. “My father would let me have it sometimes when I was young.” You took notice of an orange droplet, hanging just at the corner of Nikolai’s lips, baiting you to come a little closer.
You reached out without a second thought, and swiped your thumb across the stain, hurriedly sucking the substance off your finger, heart thudding and mind moving a mile a minute, as always.
Oh saints, I’ve done it now. You’re so screwed.
Nikolai sat still as a board as your calloused thumb ran over his lip, all too quickly in his own opinion. His eyes caught yours as you put your hand back into the cold grass, a welcome reprieve from the burning of your ears. He licked his lips, searching for just another drop of the sweet taste, or maybe, his brain argued, you’re searching for the feeling of her.
Suddenly, the towers of the Little Palace began to ring, signaling the call for all grisha to their tables for supper.
“Dinner,” you said softly, looking out into the distance, where the sun had begun to disappear over the horizon. “I should go back.”
Nikolai stilled his beating heart, and laid back into the grass. “Say’s who?”
“The general, Nikolai.”
He shrugged and tugged you down by your sleeve. “Who cares about the General” You collapsed with a small shriek and oomph next to him, giggling once more as you turned to face the darkening sky as he did. “I’d have you stay with me for a while.” He glanced at you, hoping to catch the glow of your face before the darkness took over. “Just until the night sets in.”
You stayed until dawn.
Dinners were always particularly difficult for you, as there was no empty corner for you to back into when you were overwhelmed, no sense of privacy, which was something you were hoping for that particular night. You were sitting, stiff as a board at the dinner table, unable to focus on anything but the boy sitting across from you. After all, it was no easy feat to look away from that damnably charming smile when it showed itself, usually after an unbearably vain joke, and especially when it was directed towards you. If fact, you were certain that every heartrender in the palace could hear the way your heart gave a stutter when Nikolai winked at you, or slung his arm around your shoulder, dragging you with him towards the fabrikator workshops.
Dragging. You knew that you would always go willingly, wherever he led you. Nikolai Lantsov could lead you by the hand to your death, and you would follow happily with a smile and a skip in your step, if only for the warm feeling that comes with gripping his palm in yours.
The man in question laughed boisterously at something his cousin had said, and turned to face you once more, with a smile that could only ever be described as contagious in the extreme. 
Nikolai looked at you with meaning in his eyes, trying desperately to send a message. Go on and laugh, he forced them to say. Laugh, please, and lift my heart out of its heavy slump. We both know that you’re the only one who can. He seemed to inflate when you let out a giggle, so small that he was certain only he who was searching for the tinkling sound could hear it. 
Sweet music, he thought. You are so screwed.
Nikolai’s father waved his hand in the air, and all overlapping conversation at the table came to a staggering halt, attention falling solely on the portly king, holding an egg. 
“Happy birthday, Nikolai,” he said curtly, ever the sovereign, never letting emotion past his bristly mustache. “May the saints bless you with good fortune.” He extended the egg to Nikolai, who accepted it with tender hands. 
Slowly, the top began to chip off, revealing a miniature version of Sturmhond’s ship, complete with confetti cannons and little red flag. You slid your hand into the folds of your kefta, gripping your own gift with slender fingers, and suddenly feeling the uneasiness of inadequacy creep down your throat as you swallowed a sip of wine.
Alina smiled from her place beside Nikolai and sent you a quick wink before she spoke up. “Y/N has something for you, Nikolai, don’t you, y/n?” You sent her a small scowl, but masked it when you saw Nikolai smile at you.
“Understandable that you’d want to repay the gift of my company with something of your own.” Nikolai smiled easily and extended a hand out to take the box from your own outstretched arm.
He made quick work of the ribbon tying the box shut and opened it to reveal a copper compass, about the size of his palm, if not a little smaller. He looked up at you with that smile, the delicate words engraved along the edge not gone unnoticed, and you winked before you spoke.
“It’s made of Zemini copper, responibly mined and shipped.”
Nikolai turned it over in his hand twice before smiling at you. “Stronger than any bullet.” You nodded.
“Open it.” He did. For a moment nothing happened, and you faltered, wondering if the contraption had malfunctioned. And in the next moment, hundreds of lights littered the ceiling of the hall like the diamonds strung across the Queen’s neck. Nikolai threw his head back with wide eyes and a glowing grin as he studied the little holographic lights.
“They’re the stars,” he whispered, once to himself, and again to the rest of the table. You nodded happily. 
“It’s calibrated with the calendar, so they’ll always reflect the sky over Os Alta, no matter the day.” You paused briefly. “A reminder of home, if ever you find yourself... lost.”
Nikolai could have died a happy man at that moment, to know that you had taken such care to build him something with your own hands, something meant to remind him of you, of home. Though, the night was far from over. It wasn’t until a few hours later, did Nikolai Lantsov know what it was to feel incandescent happiness. 
He’d strolled down to the lake, as he’d done, many nights, and taken a seat  down at the lake’s edge. 
Right beside you.
You didn’t turn to him, and he didn't turn to you, not for a few minutes. Until he took a breath and produced the compass from his coat pocket. He flipped it in his hand a few times, until the engraving faced the sky. 
In this life and the next
He read the words out breathlessly, and they nearly went unheard over the sounds of the night. You shifted to face him, faces so close it would only take a little push on either of your parts. His breath hit your cheek as his eyes roamed your face, committing every slope, freckle and scar to memory before licking his lips. 
“How terribly awkward would this be if you meant in terms of friendship.”
“What makes you so sure that I didn't?”
Nikolai cracked a smile, inching ever so close to you, eyes flicking between your lips and your gaze.
“I expect you would have shoved me into the lake by now.” He kissed you swiftly, finally, sweetly.
So sweet, you could almost taste the heavy flavour of honey from his evening tea lingering on his tongue, and so loving, he lowered you both to the grass slowly, and with purpose as he situated you on your sides, each with one hand cradling the other’s face, and one hand keeping you from collapsing.
You pulled away with a soft sigh, eyes closed and breathing heavy as Nikolai placed his forehead against your shoulder. After a moment, he turned his face into your neck and smirked. 
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to head back. Although, walking alone in the dark can’t be wise.” He kissed you softly underneath your ear, smiling only when he felt a shudder cross your shoulders. “After all, the field is no place for a young woman, especially at this hour.” You turned Nikolai’s face up to yours as you dipped your head and kissed him, slowly and deliberately, pulling at his bottom lip, and lightly scraping your nails through his hair.
“I suppose I could be persuaded to stay a while. Just until dawn.”
You stayed all night.
The heat of battle was sweltering, in more ways than one. The terrain was hot, yes, but so were the flashes of battle. The lightning fast bullets racing past every which way, causing the hearts of a thousand men to quiver in their chests.
Equally hot and suffocating was the fear, inwardly felt, but never shown. Fear of bullets striking where wounds cannot be healed, striking someone else, someone unquestionably dear.
The Lantsov King felt this crushing fear when he watched you tumble to the ground, clutching desperately at the tear in your stomach, gruesome and painful. He raced towards you yelling for a medic who could not hear over his shoulder, and hoisted you up.
He held you close and he scrambled for shelter, away from the cruel rainfall of bullets, one hand held along your face, and the other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, simultaneously holding you up and keeping pressure on the wound he feared may kill him as well as you. He took shelter behind a skiff, abandoned and barren, and set you down against it.
“You’re alright,” he said, catching his breath and keeping his hands on you, if only to make sure you hadn't passed out. “It’s not even that bad. Just a scratch,” he reassured you as your head slumped to the side. He set it straight once more. “Just a scratch.”
You inhaled slowly, and looked up at him, face caked in dust and blood, yours or someone else’s, you couldn't be sure. Your thoughts were beggining to swim, the only thing remaining solid was your husband’s face as he kept pressure on your stomach and yelled once more for a medic, who you knew would not come. A horrid couch drew itself from your throat, and with it an alarming spatter of blood.
Nikolai didnt see it land on his shirt, or bleed into the mass of red already staining his torso.
Bringing your hand over the one holding your wound, you breathed his name in a breathless rasp, once, twice, until he met your eyes.
“Tell me- Tell me about Os Kervo.” He’d built you a house there. For the both of you.
Nikolai shook his head. “It was a surprise,” he said softly, pulling you against him, for he had no need to see your face, not like this. He had long since memorized it, burned it against his heart and soul for all to see, and like a radio broadcast, it screamed, I love this woman. I dare you to try and take her from me.
He sat on the ground and kept you alive, hands holding your body together, while his words tended to your soul. “You’ll see it when I take you there.” He swallowed, tucking his chin over your shoulder, steadying his voice as it shook. “We’ll grow old together, you’ll see. You and me, seventy years old, and still gorgeous, watching the grandkids, and the dogs-”
You smiled, paying no heed to the coolness creeping into your fingers. “I seem to recall you promising me a cat, Lantsov.” The words began to blur, and your grip on his coat slackened. “You- You better- get one when I'm gone.” Nikolai shook his head and moved your hand back to its place on his shoulder, bringing his own back to your head, cradling it against him.
“Together,” he said firmy. “We’ll get one together, no matter how often the wretched thing gets fur on my clothes.”
Inhaling no longer came as easily as you laid your weight against Nikolai, your Nikolai.
You slurred into his shoulder. “Together,” you repeated with dimming eyes as your chest seized and stilled. “In this life, and the next.”
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makeitgaydamnit · 5 months ago
Ivan x Fedyor is one of the cutest damn ships in the Grishaverse I am now officially consumed by it
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How could I not ship it? They’re so cute together 🥺🥺
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