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writing-havoc · 1 year

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HEY! HOW ARE YOU? would you be willing to make a kaz brekker x reader? if possible a soulmate au? I'm obsessed with this trope! maybe name on the wrist or the one where with just a touch of skin you see the colors? I imagine one where r is not part of the dregs but is quite indifferent/receptive to the fact that kaz is the leader of a gang. r is a seamstress, using her skills to hide that she is a fabrikator, and she (can be gn if you want!) and kaz know they are soulmates, though they never talk about it. they can even be a 'thing' secretly, and it would be adorable if they were both childhood friends. maybe before the events of SoC kaz decided to make their relationship official (with a request for courtship al�� brekker or even a marriage on paper) and after CK he is even more desperate for this, wanting to protect r at all costs. oh, it would be very interesting if r had a younger sister aged 8/9 who loves kaz and vice versa since she is very quiet and obedient and loves to listen to kaz's stories. even better if he secretly called her little crow. bonus if the girl's name is astra and she is also a hidden grisha, an inferni or another etherealki i would love to see this from your point of view and with her writing it would be amazing but feel free to decline if you don't want to. Did I already say that you write very well? well then know. YOU ARE INCREDIBLY TALENTED!!!!!!

Silent tears

♡ Summary: Before the events of the ice court, Kaz feels relatively content with his feelings and relationship with you. After? Not so much.

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warning(s): Mentions vomit a few times, Gun, Death, uses yn twice

♡ WC: 5.4k

Aaaa thank you sm for this request!! Loved all the little details I had to include. It was interesting writing for a reader that wasn't part of the dregs.

Thank you for your kind words <3

I made Astra a Squallor here. And it's up to your interpretation if the reader and Kaz are dating or otherwise before the ending.

As always, please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

The sound of a sewing machine filled the small shop. It was loud, punching the table he knows it's rested on and creating a rumbling in the floor.

Gowns and suits and vests filled the racks around the store, some on display on fake bodices. They wore outfits, tantalizing window shoppers to enter and run their fingers along the fabrics.

The velveteen looked high quality, mixed with some sort of spandex fabric around the waist to hug its wearer. Pearls and lace flow across shoulders and down the side of gowns, some even including embroidery.

As he moved along, suits and gowns turns into vests and petticoats. The walls were decorated with hats of various function, most made for looks and flare rather than functionality. Behind the desk even existed a rack of long coats and various sweaters, more than likely just to fill up space than to be sold.

The sound ceased, and he rung the bell at the desk.

"Coming!" Called a voice. He stopped himself from smoothing out his own coat, in turn adjusting his gloves.

Heavy footsteps presented him with your kind figure, heels unconsciously stomping against the wood floor compared to the concrete of the backroom.

You smiled at him, picking off little strings of thread the fell into your lap and stuffing them into a pouch at your side.

"I've just finished your order." He felt just as much as he seen you change from business to something more lax, shoulders drooping and the lines between your brows disappearing. "Gimme one moment to put everything in the box- oh, would you turn the sign around, please?"

"A bit all over the place, are we?" He turned around, hearing you release a big sigh.

"Just about, it seems."

The people walking outside turned to look at the store, smiles on their faces. It was mildly amusing to watch them fall as he turned the sign, giving him a glare as he continued to stare them down. He didn't turn until they left, everyone else's eyes only flashing to the window for a moment before diverting elsewhere the second the closed sign came into view.

Window shopping is pointless when the building is closed.

"You wanted... two suits, one the shade of coal and the other a light purple, a wine red gown, a mask, and a pair of gloves?"

He turned his attention back to you, holding a rather large, yet flat, wooden crate. The inside was filled with the colors you just mentioned, a pair of leather gloves on top acting as paperweights for his order.

You set the crate down for him to look through. He removes the paper, taking the gloves into his hands and holding them out to examine.

And admire.

You aren't a leatherworker. You're a seamstress. And yet, you make the finest pair of leather gloves he has ever seen. Sometimes he'll even catch little designs marked into the gloves, the integrity of the material somehow unfazed.

"Make the slits bigger. Just two millimeters." He hands them to you.

You raise a brow, knowing that you made everything to his usual specifications.

But you take them back, entertaining him. You look at the locked door, and then raise your hand over the gloves.

Grisha power isnt super fascinating to him anymore. When he was little he would beg you to demonstrate your power, handing you pieces of worn fabric to do as you pleased with.

He would watch the thin threads thickened and the material became warped around the edges. Jordie would stand next to him, watching you solely because Kaz dragged him over every single time. You would hold out the newly mended piece of cloth, and he and his brother would clap ans rejoice.

But he still likes to watch you work. To see as your mouth opens and your tongue folds over your canines as you focused.

You give them back to him, and he inspects them once more.

"These will do." He ends up saying, appreciation left for the darker hours in the night.

You roll your eyes and rustle around with the paper held underneath your arm, fingers quickly calculating the math of the order.

Usually he doesn't do a batch of this size while he's still figuring out a job, but the way he sees it there's no way he can't have just about everybody present. Which these days is incredibly rare.

A pin is taken from the cushion on your wrist, planting itself into the red gown. But as you take out two pieces of paper, writing probably a total and your name, he can't help but stare at the ink peeking out from beneath it.

He knows what it says, just as well as he knows the name on his own.

He's seen it once as you pulled up your sleeve during the summer, the fine etching displaying his name, his old name, clear as day before you hurriedly slipped the pin cushion back onto it. He looked away that day, pretending he didn't see.

It feels so much harder to pretend now.

"This is your total. And I will need your signature on both of them, Mr. Brekker."

Your smile is playful, then. As he takes the pen from your outstretched hand.

"As I've told you before, yn, Kaz is fine."

"Oh, but how could I be so informal, Mr. Brekker?" You put your hand on your chest, face twisted into a poor impression of someone who has just been scandalized. "We are business partners, after all."

And just like in those books you always read, he feels his eyes soften, if only a bit as his brows and jaw relax. "Business partners doesn't cover the surface."

You take the confession and relax with it, rubbing the center of your chest. "You're right."

He thinks back to a time when you were both little, each staring at your blank wrist with solemn eyes. He would look at you as you rubbed the soft skin, fingertips and dirty nails gently tracing lines into it.

He would sit next to you, shoulders knocking together, and you would look up at him, expression changing as you grabbed his wrist and squeezed it.

At the time, he would never say it, the thought turning his ears pink and quickening his adolescent heart, but he would hope that your wrists would match, displaying the others name. He would hope that one day that sad and far off face would cease to exist, and instead would be full of complete and utter joy as you looked at him and exclaim that you knew it. Because you wanted him, too.

But now that he knows, he still wouldn't say anything. You never said anything, and he wasn't in any position or state of mind to say anything to you when he eventually saw his, ash sticky and cold flesh tainting the memory, your scream as you watched him swim to the harbor on Jordie's corpse, and his own as you went to grab him.

It stays locked away, with the rest of the things that feel too hard to touch.

He signs a fake name on both of them, taking one and handing the other to you for your personal records, and then takes out the kruge and hands it to you.

"Is Dirix out back to handle these or do you want a bag for them?"

He sighs. "Dirix is down at the Harbour. A bag will have to do."

"Can I pick the bag?" A new voice calls from the backroom.

He holds back a smile, but fails to stop the corner of his lips from turning up temporarily. He averts his eyes to the doorway where a little girl peeks around the corner, a wide smile on her face as she looks right at him.

"Of course, Astra." You say, and immediately she scurried up to the counter to take a look at the load she has to find a bag for.

Your younger sister, Astra, was moved up here a few years after you were, your parents having passed from the flu and grandparents too old to take on the task of raising a six year old. Much less a six year old who could summon the wind at any time she wants.

Thankfully, you had started your seamstress business a year before that, and had this store with your living space up above to take her in with.

Business was always booming here, your talent for fabrics and all things fashion put on display and loved by the masses. You spent pretty much your entire life studying the trends that wormed their way here, even getting ahead of the train numerous times and working into the darkest hours to make your profit.

Now you can afford the more pricey fabrics, and get the attention of the richer folk over in the Geldstraat.

He helps, of course, with his dirty work.

"I know the perfect one." Astra scurries away.

You chuckle, hearing a small "wow!" and a flurry of footsteps. "She's going to pick the most obnoxious bag, I hope you know."

He takes a breath then, and looks down at the gloves still in his hand. "I wouldn't expect anything less from her."

There's a moment of silence, watching you from his peripheral as you stare at the gloves too.

"I didnt like the last pair." You admit. "So I made the design more low-key. The last one was too flashy for your aesthetic."

He's wearing those gloves now, and they aren't even flashy. The design is just slightly more pronounced.

The way you measure how flashy something is has a much smaller threshold than most. Even by his standards, it's very small, and he's far from the most colorful being in Ketterdam.

Astra comes back with, of course, a large bright pink fabric bag, twine tied in the shape of a flower tied around the handles.

"Good choice!" You praise, taking the clothes out of the crate and laying them neatly in the bag while she beams at him.

"Do you like the bag?"

And normally, he'd say something incredibly passive aggressive.

But he actually likes Astra, and knows how easy it is to stamp out a child's heart, that level of emotional regulation and individuality not yet found in them.

"Its wonderful, little crow."

"Alright, give this to him, like I showed you." You pushed her along, and she rounded the counter, holding the sides of the bag, leaving the handles free for him to grab.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't just a little moved by that.

Astra wasn't allowed to help you until a few months ago, when she basically got on her hands and knees and begged to be of some help. You claim that you didn't give in right away, but he knows you better than that.

You have told her that he doesn't like to be touched, and it was a little hard for such a touch reliant girl to wrap her mind around that. After a few close calls, she got the general idea down.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He tips his hat, and watches as her little cheeks become pink as she curtsies.

"Ill be making stew like my mom made if you want to stop by later." You suggest.

Astra grins from ear to ear. "But not too later, if you can help it. I want to hear another story."

"At this rate I won't have any stories left to tell you."

She thinks about that for a moment, lips pursing and looking around the room. "Oh!" She shouts, face lighting up. "Can you tell me that one story again? About you and my sister getting lost in the woods down south?"

He pretends to think about it, looking around the room as if in search for the memory. "I think I can do that. You and your sister might have to fill in on some of the details, though."

She grins, pride welling up in her chest that she puffs out, holding out her hand. "The deal is the deal."

He takes her hand into his, giving it a firm shake. "The deal is the deal."

Kaz takes a moment to look back up at you, and his heart nearly leaps out his chest when he sees the way you're looking at him, a small smile he doesn't think he's seen before and eyes filled with so /much/ that he's surprised your whole eye isn't black. Your head rests into your fingers, arm wrapped around your waist. It's an expression he's seen rarely, but it always seems to catch him off guard.

It looks a lot like yearning, he thinks.

But he puts it away for later.

When you catch that he's looking, you take a deep breath, schooling your expression and wiping off imaginary dust from your clothes.

"Alright Astra, Kaz has important business to attend to."

Astra pouts from beside him, but gives him her goodbyes and walks into the backroom again.

He straightens. It's oddly difficult to keep eye contact with you, but he does anyway, flicking between the both of them.

"If I have time, I'll stop by." He gives in.

You're happy with that. "Ill even add extra broth for you."

"Sweetening the offer I see."

You put your hands on your hips, shrugging. "A girl's got to do what she's got to do."

The implications of that are hefty, too hefty with a cane in one hand and a bright pink bag of clothes in the other.

So he ignores it, and nods, taking his leave out the front door and back to the Slat.

-----

He stares at the plan before him in his mind, going over each and every way this can and probably will go sideways.

Breaking into the most secure prison in probably the whole world with nothing more than the scrapings of a plan, one of the essential persons in a different prison, and your presense completely plaguing his mind.

The third one isn't exactly new, but he can't help but think about you when his survival rate went from low on the daily average to basically zero with one handshake.

But thirty million kruge...

Thirty million kruge could go a long way. That's four million for him, most of which he could put towards the crow club and expanding his empire, taking down Pekka, and securing his place as one of the top bosses in Ketterdam.

He could secure his place in the food chain, and maybe, maybe then he...

Maybe.

He entertains the thought of a marriage certificate. Having something that ties you and him together both eternally and in the eyes of everyone else. Being able to hold that slip of paper when he can't hold your hand and feeling like it matters.

It's hard to keep the thought away, now that he's alone with a glass of kvas and death staring him in the eyes.

He doesn't plan on dying soon. Not for a long time. He has vengeance to exact and many more dinners to join you for.

But it's a very real possibility, and he must debate with himself going to you and telling you all this before he leaves.

If it was any other job, Kaz would send Inej to tell you that he would be gone for a few days and to not expect him. If it was literally any other job, he wouldn't even consider getting up from his chair, marching down those stairs and up yours, and discussing the undiscussable to at least satisfy the gnawing in his stomach.

Because he knows that if you find out he died and he knew that he was basically guaranteed to do so and he didn't bother to tell you himself, you would never forgive him.

Granted, he would be dead, so in theory it doesn't matter.

He picks up his cane and gloves, shoving them over his hands and throwing on his long coat. He doesn't even have to look at the coat rack to find his hat, putting it on and making his way out of the Slat and to your address without a word to anyone else.

The theories mean nothing, in the face of reality.

You're making stew with extra broth, he might die in a few days, and he doesn't want you to think ill of him when he can't look you in the eye and try to convince you to feel otherwise.

As the cold bites his nose, he thinks back to that look you were giving him when he made that deal with your sister.

It's nearly enough to make him turn around, muscles tingling and a shiver rolling down his back that's unrelated to the cold. He feels sick. Warm and a feeling in his stomach he only feels late in the night in the comfort of his own bed.

He can't do this.

He picks the lock on your door.

He can't tell you.

He opens the door, locking it behind him.

He can't think of you like that.

He walks up the stairs, the smell of stew just barely reaching his senses as he enters the kitchen.

He can't.

You're sitting at the table, two empty bowls on the table and fabric thrown over your legs, threading them together. Your finger is bleeding, and he wants to wipe it away.

"You're late." You smile, eyelids heavy.

He takes off his hat, putting it on the hook you installed when he started coming over. "Or I'm just in time."

You laugh quietly, sticking the needle in the fabric and pulling it off your lap. "Just in time about sums it up."

He's a monster.

You turn your back to him and enter your room, draping the project on your desk.

The pot is still steaming, and his throat feels clogged.

"Ill be gone for a while."

You turn around, and he can't watch you anymore. He takes off his coat and drapes it over the chair.

"How long?" Your voice is soft, approaching him.

"Few weeks."

He's a coward.

You hum, setting down a bowl of stew with extra broth in front of him. "Thats a long time, even for you."

He clenched his jaw, heart pounding in his ears. The light catches the stew, making rainbows in the broth. Chunks of lamb, potatoes, pieces of ham, carrots, and greens he can't see dance in the soup as he stirs it.

"Bigger reward for the troubles." Is all he says.

The troubles, he thinks, that he can't get past the lump in his throat. The trouble that you of all people deserve to know.

He glances up at you, and he recognizes the look on your face all too well.

You're very aware of his gang affiliation.

He actually attempted to cut ties with you after he got associated with the Dregs. You threw a crate at him and called him mad for suggesting as such. He only risked to bring it up one other time, and you had yelled at him and about cried when he turned to leave, throwing a rock at his freshly poorly healed leg.

He swiveled around at glared at you, but you didn't flinch in the face of Dirtyhands. Just glared at him, told him you're not going anywhere, and then left /him/ before he could protest.

It took him a week to figure out that, despite you not wanting to cut ties with him, you didn't completely agree either. You didn't bother trying to convince him to leave, but you have on numerous occasions begged him to be careful, adorning this exhausted look.

You don't say a lot anymore, but the expression has stayed relatively the same, if a bit rounder on the edges.

"How bad?" You asked.

He abhors the way his heart squeezes, like it has a mind of its own while his brain yells at him to keep you out of it.

He wants to throw up.

How does he tell you there's a greater chance than not he'll die, now matter how much he wants to make it back to you?

How does he tell you you might never get to see him again? Or see Jesper or Inej?

He swallowed some broth, licking his lips.

"Pretty bad."

He's such a fucking coward.

"Ynnn." He hears a hoarse voice call. He looks up, seeing Astra stroll in and rest her chin on the kitchen table. "You didnt tell me Kaz finally came."

When he looks at you to see your response, its to his absolute horror that he catches you wiping your eyes, then pull your little sister to your side.

"You were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you."

"M'you should've."

You glance up at him, and smile against Astra's hair.

"You're right. I should've."

-----

'Damn it all,' he thought in a panic. 'Damn everything. Go find them.'

It was a dangerous, recurring thought that he had when he went anywhere near the Zelver District, whenever he had to go through the canals that run along its edge and connect to nearly every other canal.

Even now as he puts everything in place to send Kuwei off on a fake bodyboat. It only half surprises him that the sight doesn't make him all that uncomfortable. He's exhausted, lovesick, and has had the experience of several lifetimes within just a few weeks.

He wanted to send word to you to stay put during the alarms. But Pekka's crew strolled through your storefront not a few days ago, asking about your wares and probing for information. Inej had seen as such when she finally had the opportunity to check on you.

There was no guarantee that this plan would work. Pekka would have been dealt with regardless but the auction with Kuwei could have gone differently. No matter the confidence with which he laid out facts or with Wylan's newfound acting skills, there were too many variables that relied heavily on the actions of people outside his control.

It worked out, though. But now he has to worry about being unable to find you. It makes him nauseous. He actually feels his mouth begin to fill with saliva, but he keeps it down. Right now, he just has to get rid of Kuwei, and send off Colm, Nina, and Matthias to the boats that will take them to their respective countries.

A small part of his conscious nags at him. Of course he feels grief for his fallen Crow, incomparable to the grief Nina will have to face for the rest of her life.

But there's that much larger part of him that can't feel anything except the itching for your eyes on him.

Kaz makes a snarky comment about Kuwei's dead position, and leaves everyone to fill in the silence around him. There isn't much talking, aside from Jesper and his father, and then they're hugging and parting.

He hardly has it in him to stay while they leave, and eventually, before they even disappear from his eyesight, he's turning and marching up the Van Eck lawn towards the Zelver District.

He feels like he's going insane. Energy is surging through him like there's a heartrender pumping his system. When everything becomes familiar, that coffee shop you like with the Stroopwafel's coming into view, he can't help but break out into a run.

His leg feels like it may splinter.

But he's 4 million kruge richer, and he has something to ask you.

He's learned a lot, quite a bit of it against his will, since he left for Fjerda.

He will not let you become another life lesson.

Your door comes into view, and he nearly slams into it when his legs can't seem to stop and one of them is straining against his own body weight.

The lock picks nearly fell to the floor before he manages to unlock the store. He didn't even let the door close behind him before he rocketed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

You were at the top, rifle in hand, pointing it at him with a fierceness in your eyes.

It all but crumbled when you seen who he was.

"Kaz?" You called, disbelief choking your words.

It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, most of his gasping done before he unlocked the door. But again, hes exhausted and lovesick, so air isnt really a luxury he seems to be able to afford. "The bruises don't make me that unrecognizable." He stands straighter, favoring his left leg.

You had half the mind to put the rifle on your kitchen table before you completely broke down in tears. Your arms hug your sides while your eyes boil over with tears and hot rage.

"You're such an asshole!" You yelled. "Getting put on the Stadwatch and the entire barrels shitlist? What the fuck kind of job did you take?"

He stepped forward, setting his cane next to your rifle and dropping into the chair next to you.

It still made his skin crawl. It still made his lungs burn with freezing cold water. It still made deadly blue hands grip at his legs and pull him under.

But he reached out, pulled you between his legs, and hugged your body to his, his cheek resting against your stomach.

You were warm. So very warm from working yourself up. And stiff. He could feel it under his arms as your thighs stuck together and the muscles surrounding your spine tightened into stone.

"Ka-Kaz?"

He ignored you in favor of ignoring his own body, tightening you into him as the waters punched his stomach and licked up his back.

You were warm, and as you relaxed, his face further sinking into your stomach, the water began to still. Still crushing against his organs, but not going any further.

Tears pushed on the back of his eyes. He squeezed them shut, taking in a shakey breath.

He was doing it. He was holding you, touching you, and it only made half his mind scream to be yanked away.

"I fought." He whispered. "I fought to come back." He swallows. "To you."

Tears thumped against the crown of his skull. He could hear your heart pounding despite its location.

"You left-" Your voice cut off in a squeak. Clearing your throat, he could feel, felt like a chore. "You left. And then you didn't come back. Your face was all over Ketterdam, and I didn't know what to do. I couldn't eat I couldn't sleep- I couldn't answer Astra's questions because I didn't know anything-"

"I was tricked." He gritted his teeth, loosening his grip on you just as you reached down and dragged your fingers over his shoulder, fixing a loose thread. "Deceived, and made a complete fool out of. I couldn't come back because they would have got you too."

Your fingers stopped. "Who did they get?"

A few tears leaked out the side of his eyes. The only tears, he decided, he was going to allow through. He was not a crier. And he had no intention of becoming one.

"Inej." You gasped, hand flying away from his head to cover your mouth, he would presume. "Which is why I couldn't get word to you. Why you had to remain in the dark."

He pulled back, looking up at your tear stained face. You wiped them away, sniffing up any snot that remained in your nose and cleared your throat.

For a while you didn't speak. You just stared at him. His hands had fallen to his knees, fingers barely touching your leg while your own held your elbows.

You were deep in thought. Occasionally a silent tear would work it's way down your cheek and tick against the floor. He remained still, watching as you worked your way through your thoughts.

Whatever you had to say, you were fighting for a better way to word it.

Eventually you reached out, swallowing as you searched for any indication he would retreat.

Instead he stared you head on, sweat building on brow. He was all touched out at the moment, but you wanted this. And he thinks it's the least you deserved after the complete emotional shipwreck he just put you through.

Your thumb brushed over his bruises, watching him wince when you accidentally pushed on them.

Scabs had begun to form over some of the wounds he refused to be healed. Two thin lines on his lips, one on his cheek, and one to his brow. You went over all of them, touching his lips last.

He thinks you meant to do that.

"If I had known this would be my fate when I saw my name on your wrist when we were children," you whispered, "I'd have slapped you stupid."

That makes his lips twitch. "And now?"

You swallow again, carefully brushing his hair away from his forehead so that your nails barely scratched the surface. "Now, I just want to look at you." You smiled, taking your hand back. "Somebody's already slapped you stupid for me."

"Believe me, there was no slapping."

The words make your smile disappear. He regrets saying them.

Somethings missing though, and he realizes it a lot later than he likes.

"Where's Astra?"

You smile, an airy breath escaping your nose. "She went down about half an hour before you stormed in here."

"You didn't send her off to your grandparents when the sirens went off?"

You scoffed. "And go where you couldn't find us?" You looked down, scuffing the floor with your sock covered feet. "You'd have lost your mind."

And that, you knowing him so intrinsically, is what he's going to use as an excuse for what he says next.

"Marry me."

It's so unlike him. He should have been less forward about it. Presented it to you like a business offer instead of demanding it of you.

Your head snaps up. Eyes wide as they stare at him.

"What?"

He scoots back, chair scraping across the floor as he stands.

"I do not present this to you lightly. After the events that have taken place, there will only be more people willing to tear me down. People who will want to use you to get to me."

The thought almost makes him want to back out. But if Kaz Brekker is anything, he is not someone who back tracks.

"It would be done in private. No one would know but the Dregs, or only the Crows, and your family. But if anybody does any digging and finds that certificate, you and Astra would be in danger."

You continue to stare, eyes still wide and mouth agape.

Sweat beads down his back, not helped by the long coat he neglected to take off. He also realizes that he's lost his hat somewhere on the way here, probably flown off in his rush to get here.

You close your mouth, clearing your throat. "I will marry you, Kaz, on one condition."

He shifts on his feet, leg still horribly sore. "That is?"

You cant help but smile. "I won't have to wear white."

And a giddy, childish sort of glee bubbles in his chest. There isn't anything, he thinks, that could have stopped the smile forming in his face, growing so wide as to show teeth. "You could wear the muckiest yellow the nation as to offer if you so wished."

Your nose scrunches, and one day he thinks he could kiss it.

"Astra will want to hear about your adventure." He could see your exhaustion from just thinking about that, your gaze averting once again to her door. "She'll be so excited to hear about your proposal too."

He follows your gaze, seeing the little drawing nailed to surface of her door.

One of them shows you and him with smiling faces, a little heart above your heads. You're holding hands, Kaz's gloves a distinct part of the portrait, with Astra above, clouds and a sun at the top of the page.

"Little crow will blow the entire building apart." He grimaces, thinking of a way to cover that up if the neighboring businesses hear it.

You sigh. "I have no idea what to do with her."

He turns back to you and leans forward, arms clasped behind his back as he presses his lips to your temple.

It didn't feel real, the way he could initiate touch despite his body screaming at him to stop. Your hair stuck to his lips as he pulled away, but it was worth it to see the way your face fell open, eyes boaring into his.

Silently, he tells you he'll get better. With time, a long time, he'll be able to hold your hand, kiss your lips, stand shoulder to shoulder and lay with you. He tells you that fleeting kisses and barriers will be a thing reserved for bad days only, and even on those bad days he'll still love you in other ways.

He thinks you understand.

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Tags:

@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker

#ask #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows x y/n #six of crows x you #six of crows fanfic #fanfic #morrigan-crowmwell

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 6 months

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It’s half past midnight as I’m starting this, who knows what time it will be when I finish it, let’s talk: Inej versus the Wraith.

Ok I’ve been thinking a lot about the distinction between Inej and the Wraith as a concept similar to the desperation of Kaz and Dirtyhands or Kaz Brekker and Kaz Rietveld, and I think I’ve noticed an actual trend in the books of using the epithet at certain times or in certain tones. For example, when the group find the pyre in chapter 19/20 and realise one of the victims is still alive, Jesper shoots them to end their pain. Kaz wanted Inej to do it since using her knives would be quieter than the gun, but she can’t bring herself to. In this moment, she is described exclusively as “Inej”. Later in chapter 20 she kills a parem-drugged fabrikator in order to save their lives, and is described as “the Wraith”. Not only is there the suggestion of a growing distinction between the two, but it is now being noticed by the characters as well as just the reader. For Kaz it’s really only the reader (and maybe Inej but I’d argue not to a full extent until Crooked Kingdom) who sees this distinction because we are closer to him than he lets anyone else get, we are the only people who really know what he’s thinking and see the two sides of his personality or the two potentials for who he could be. But with Inej it’s almost the exact opposite, we as the reader see the idea of the Wraith as an epithet invented by Kaz and an as empowering epithet designed to counter the dehumanising “Lynx” whilst still echoing the trauma of her past by linking very clearly to Inej’s descriptions of leaving her body behind and thinking “I’m already dead, I died in the hold of a slaver ship”, whilst the characters begin to almost refer to the Wraith and Inej as separate entities. I’m using Jesper as my example here since he’s the one to calll her the Wraith in chapter 20 - “trust the Wraith” - and the one to shoot the dying Grisha at the pyre, both to spare them and her from pain. It seems a sudden turnabout to go from a non-verbal or even any kind of communicatory acknowledgment that he needs to step in for her to expecting, trusting, and praising her for killing, but arguably that’s because he has seen a change in her during this short period of time.

It’s also worth noting that Nina almost always calls her Inej, in fact I don’t think she once calls her Wraith (at least to my immediate recollection, feel free to correct me) except when she uses the name to call Kaz out when he says “the Wraith can handle it” and she replies “the Wraith is a 16-year-old girl” and goes on to emphasise Inej’s injuries. But even in this scene, which is on the boat to Fjerda when it’s still unclear whether Inej will even survive and Kaz is talking about making her climb up the incinerator shaft at the Ice Court, Nina begins the conversation by saying Kaz can’t make Inej do that, and he comes back with “the Wraith can manage”. This suggests he sees a distinction between them as well, perhaps that Inej is a religious young woman who’s been left incredibly vulnerable but the Wraith is a hardened criminal with nothing to lose. By choosing to refer to her as the Wraith when he plans to put her through something so incredibly difficult, he is alleviating himself from the guilt of harming a vulnerable young woman by instead considering her as a hardened criminal. Nina calling him out in this shit (yeah I said it and I stand by it) clearly annoys Kaz or he wouldn’t have bothered arguing back to her, as he usually doesn’t. Arguably we could extend this to the idea that the others call her Inej when she’s the person they know and care about but the Wraith when she’s violent or commits crimes so they can actively choose to separate the image of warm, kind-hearted Inej from cruel or calculating Wraith.

Now everything I’ve said so far really comes down to perception so in terms of analysis it’s the kind of thing that you can say confidently and have accepted as accurate or at least as a reasonable interpretation, like when critics tell you that the dream sequence in Frankenstein can mean on of the following 5 things so you agree with them because they clearly know what they’re talking about. (Not that I’m saying the dream doesn’t mean one of those 5 things it can definitely be interpreted in those ways, it’s just an example of something in literature I’ve seen we kind of take as fact when it is, of course, all yo for interpretation). However, I want to be clear that what I’m going to say from now on can be considered a possible theory or interpretation of Inej surrounding her mental state and ptsd response. I’ve talked about it recently as part of other posts and I’m basically about to repeat myself word for word, but I wanted to compress this all into one post on the theme and include the stuff about the characters actually perceiving her that way too.

So first you we have a quote from the Crooked Kingdom Bathroom Scene™️, and what I’m going to say here is pretty much going to be exactly the same as what I wrote in my detailed breakdown and analysis of that scene, which if anyone wants to read is on my page or I can tag you if you’d like. The quote I want to talk about is: “I live in fear that I’ll see one of her - one of my clients on the street. For a while I thought I saw them everywhere”. Now I’m about to say there are 2 was to read this, but I mean this in a “I’ve read this is in two different ways” kinda way not in a “this can only be interpreted in these 2 ways” kinda way ok we’re embracing the de-classicising of literature here (I have no idea if that’s the right word or if that even makes sense but hopefully you know what I mean, I’m tired, bare with me) and we are open to any and all possible interpretations of things in any way they’re written so whooo if you read this quote in a different way let me know would love to hear it, these are the two ways I read it:

Firstly, that when she refers to “her” Inej means Heleen but edits her words as a continuation of this vulnerability she is forcing herself to share in this scene. If we exclude her being vulnerable with the reader, this is the most vulnerable we ever see Inej make herself - aka, this is the only time she allows herself to be deeply vulnerable out loud with another character. I think this closest other time we get is with Nina on the boat to Fjerda when Inej is trying to ward of flashbacks and she tells Nina why she doesn’t have the Crow Cup tattoo. However, that scene is written from Inej’s perspective and therefore gives her the opportunity to show the reader a lot more vulnerability than she shows Nina (eg when she has flashbacks the reader knows but Nina doesn’t because Inej is just egging her on to keep singing and distracting her; Nina knows something is happening but she isn’t being brought into the moment to share it because Inej isn’t in a position where she’s able to share her vulnerability) so our memory of this scene being particularly vulnerable is actually more about Inej being very honest with us, which of course isn’t an active choice, and less about her being very honest with Nina. Having the Bathroom Scene ™️ from Kaz’s perspective gives us the opportunity to have Inej’s openness and vulnerability in the scene far stronger since she has to say something out loud for us to know with certainty that she’s thinking it. Arguably if it had been a less vulnerable scene, Inej would have said “her clients” in reference two Tante Heleen as an added layer of the separation she practices, but here she changes it to “my” clients because she is forcing herself to be uncomfortable because she wants to be able to be more open with Kaz and she wants to continue this vulnerability that she’s allowing herself ti have with him. I feel like I just some variation on vulnerable like 20 times.

The second way I read it is linking back to our main theme of Inej and the Wraith as separate entities. “Inej talks a lot about how she would leave her body behind to exist only in her mind, in passages I find particularly reminiscent of passages in The Handmaid’s Tale (although please note soc is not very explicit whereas tht is incredibly explicit). But to take that idea further, I think there are certain hints, and I think this is possibly the biggest one, to imply that one of Inej’s ptsd responses it to actually view herself today as a separate entity from who she was during her indenture, effectively saying ‘yes these things happened to this body but they didn’t happen to this mind so that should make it easier’ to herself, which is massively self-destructive in nature because it almost creates this idea that she needs to get over who she once was and move on, very similar to the way Kaz Brekker represses Kaz Rietveld. Arguably, what she’s saying is the worst of it is this fracturing of the self that has been created by what they put her through and that she cannot seem to escape from.” (I put that bit in quote marks because I didn’t feel like rewriting it so that’s copy and pasted exactly from my Bathroom Scene™️ analysis post)

Ok there’s one other specific quote I want to bring up and it’s the end of Chapter 2 of Six of Crows, I did talk about it in my favourite quotes analysis of the chapter (which I am planning to continue btw chapter 5 up next if anyone wants to read these posts for the previous chapters let me know and I’ll tag you).

"Inej pitied the boy who might die alone with no one to comfort him in his last hours or who might live and spend his life as an exile. But the night's work wasn't over yet, and the Wraith didn't have time for traitors"

This I think, unless there are more I haven’t noticed/thought of yet is the only other time we get an suggestion of Inej perceiving herself and the Wraith as separate, and it’s arguably more concrete than the amendment of pronouns I just talked about for a ridiculous amount of time. To me, this quote shows Inej as being the girl she was, the girl she should have been, and the Wraith being a creation of necessity to aid survival. Inej is a religious young woman from Ravka who has been through far more than she should have done, but the Wraith was born and raised on the blood-soaked streets of Ketterdam and has every intention of surviving them - no matter the cost.

(That was also pretty much direct quotes from what said before)

It is now quarter past one in the morning. If you made it this far then thanks so much for reading I hope it made sense and was interesting, I feel like I’ve made enough “me rambling about grishaverse after midnight” posts that we can call it a series so if I think of a good name for it I’ll go through a tag them all so if anyone fancies trying to wade through all my middle-of-the-night-analysis nonsense you can find it all together because let me tell you something I never quite acknowledge just how much I’ve posted until I have to scroll back through to find stuff I’ve said in order to reference it in a new post. Anyway, thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed and if you have any thoughts linked to this or grishaverse analysis in general please comment or send me an ask I would love to hear it.

EDIT: sorry, correction, I just realised Inej didn’t kill the parem-drugged fabrikator she killed the parem-drugged squaller; the fabrikator was Nina’s childhood friend Nestor, he died from a combination of injury and the drug

#grishaverse #six of crows #leigh bardugo #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #nina zenik #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #kanej #kanej bathroom scene #sankta inej #soc inej #six of crows inej #i love inej #the wraith #inej my beloved #inej supremacy

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incorrect-soc · 2 months

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Godly Parents: SoC edition

(Lil disclaimer: This is not necessarily PJO's meaning of Godly Parent. It's just basically a "Which God is your godly parent" buzzfeed quiz but with actual information-)

Kaz: Nemesis, Goddess of indignation against, and retribution for, evil deeds and undeserved good fortune. Kaz spent the entire two books and the bigger part of his life holding grudges and planning his revenge on an arrogant man who got away with destroying a bunch of people's lives. He makes it his life mission to make him pay for his crimes.

Inej: Hermes, Messenger of the gods; god of travel, commerce, communication, borders, eloquence, diplomacy and thieves. First of all, Inej is Suli. Suli people are known to be "nomads", travelling from place to place. Second, Kaz hired her to be his spider, to collect and deliver important information, a messenger of some kind. And a detail I particularly liked is the whole thing with the shoes. Hermes most characteristic item are his flying sandals; and Inej is also particularly fond of her climbing leather slippers.

Jesper: Hephaestus, God of the forge, craftsmanship, invention, fire, metallurgy and volcanoes, craftsman of the gods. Yeah, yeah. The obvious reason is in fact because Jesper is a Fabrikator. He literally controls metal. If it's parental issues we're talking about, well, we all know how that went for both of them.

Wylan: Apollo, God of Sun, light, prophecy, philosophy, archery, truth, inspiration, poetry, music, arts, manly beauty, medicine, healing, and plague. "Because of Wylan Van Suns-?" *slap* Shut up, that was literally sarcasm. Wylan's story and latter fate begins because of a music conservatory, and music really played such a big part in his own story as well as his story with Jesper (ehem, piano incident). Also, bit of a fun fact, Apollo is supposedly the creator of the flute so there you go. Another literal thing is that he created a fake plague to help Kaz.

Nina: Hecate, Goddess of the dead's souls, witchcraft and divination. (Matthias would be so happy for the whole witchcraft thing). I don't think I have to elaborate on this one, but just a reminder that Nina can in fact control dead bodies.

Matthias: Hestia, Goddess of the hearth, fire and of the right ordering of domesticity and the family. *Introduces really gut-wrenching line from chapter 40 of Crooked Kingdom about how he finally could go back home*. I know it's kinda ironic that Matthias is from an icy country and Hestia is the Goddess of the fire, but no one said this was a perfect analysis (do I look like Rick Riordan to you?). Matthias was all about family values and homeland really, even if they meant different things at the beginning and at the end of Matthias' story. First it was his bio family, whose death ignited his hatred for the Grisha and his home was Fjerda. But in the end, the Crows became his family, the family he gave his life for, the same way Nina became his home.

#I really gave my all to make the Matthias one as depressing as possible #some of them are meant to be literal guys so don't be pressed #six of crows #shadow and bone #soc #the crows #crow club #sab #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #matthias helvar #greek mythology

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pancakes507 · 2 years

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*the Dregs planning a heist*

Kaz: In order to get into this facility we'll need Jesper to fabrikate the wires, Wylan to make a flash bomb, Inej to scale the walls, Matthias to disguise as the guards and Nina on standby.

Jesper: my powers aren't strong enough for that

Kaz: Do I care?

Wylan: I don't have the right ingredients for flash bomb

Kaz: didn't ask

Matthias: I can't act

Kaz: doesn't matter

Nina: are you seriously putting me on standby while Matthias gets the acting job?

Kaz: yeah? And does it look like I'm joking?

Kaz: any other useless objections before we start the job

Dregs: *silence*

Inej: I hurt my ankle yesterday and can't scale well but I'll manage

Kaz:

Kaz: ok we can push the heist back by a week-

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stromuprisahat · 2 months

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I keep insisting that while a lovely idea, appointment of the Grisha triumvirate is more of a joke and recipe for disaster, than a political step forward.

Today, I’m going to question Genya’s part specifically.

At the beginning, Genya’s introduced as a unique talent with predispositions to work of both Corporanik and Materialnik. She chooses her kefta’s colours herself- blue on red (which still doesn’t make sense, since blue is established as Summoners’ colour- literally the only Order she DOESN’T belong to). At the end ot the trilogy, Alina picks her as a representative of all Corporalki.

The obvious favouritism aside, ignoring lack of experience in leadership, I’m asking- what does Genya know about her Order itself?

Due to the nature of her assignment, she spent most of her life away from Little Palace. While she would understand the inner workings of the Grand Palace, Second Army and the woes of its people isn’t something she’d be closely familiar with. She even admits there’s a distance between her and other Grisha.

More pressingly- what does she know about the work of her Order? I’d like to assume she got some sort of basic training, but she doesn’t seem to know about anything more advanced. Although she could’ve lied (or withhold), according to her tour in Shadow and Bone, she’s never even been inside Corporalki worshops (while she’s spending a lot of her free time with Materialki).

“We’re on the other side of the Corporalki anatomy rooms.”

“Don’t they need light to … do their work?”

“Skylights,” she said. “In the roof, like the library dome. They prefer it that way. It keeps them and their secrets safe.”

“But what do they do in there?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Only the Corporalki know. But there are rumors that they’ve been working with the Fabrikators on new … experiments.”

How can she represent people she isn’t particularly close to, and whose work she knows virtually nothing about?!

#Grishaverse #grishanalyticritical #Genya Safin #Grisha triumvirate #The Righteous Gang™#Second Army #Corporalki #S&B Chapter 8 #V #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo #anti Leigh Bardugo #If Alina wanted to get Genya a position in government #she should've been either spymaster #or a diplomat.#If she were to represent Grisha Order #it should've been Fabricators.

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aleksanderscult · 3 months

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What is your opinion about Genya's sexual abuse from the King? I mean do you think the Darkling was at fault there?

⚠️TW: Sexual abuse, sexual assault, rape discussion and content in here⚠️

Ohh...boy. This is really a long subject. And a complicated one.

You see the reason so many people blame the Darkling for Genya's fate is because most of them don't know shit about how royal life works. Especially the medieval one.

So, Genya was her attendant, right? I would say lady-in-waiting but I don't think she was that. Normally, ladies-in-waiting were born and raised in highborn families.

Genya was trained in the Little Palace. And apparently she could handle both a Fabrikator's skills and a Corporalnik's. But the Darkling saw that she was leaning more towards the Tailoring.

You see a Grisha is always born having an affinity towards something. It's like a person being good with computers and surgery but she seems much more skilled with make-up. The Darkling noticed that and decided to nurture it.

It mustn't be surprising that he gave her to the Queen after that. A Grisha with the ability to fix and beautify would be a perfect candidate to take care of the Queen. Plus, this was probably an excellent sign of good will towards the Crown. The Crown has Grisha in their army and halls and there is peace between them. When the Darkling gave her to the Queen it could be a sign of cordiality. "You have us under your roof, you accept us in your halls and let us live peacefully. Accept one of my Grisha as a thank you. For her to tend to you and be at your side." In medieval times, it was an honor to be part of the Queen's attendance.

Did the Darkling know what would come next? Well, unless he can read Tarot, no.

Because all the women that tend to the Queen are actually under her protection. It's her duty to keep them safe.

(Even Nikolai blamed his mother for Genya's suffering)

In the beginning, Genya was happy there. The Queen adored her and Genya was her favorite girl among her attendants. She gave her gifts and lots and lots of dresses. She was actually the one that dressed her. They discussed, they confided in each other. Even the rest of the staff inside the Grand Palace were loving her. Genya had noticed that she had grown distant from her fellow Grisha since she didn't live with them but that didn't mind her.

And then....

The Queen started to be distant and resentful. Personally I think the reason was Genya's beauty. As she came to womanhood her beauty shed its childlike features and became more lovely. The Queen is vain and must had grown jealous of her.

"Pretty thing." It stopped sounding like praise.

Yeah. Resentfulness crept in. Resentfulness that resulted in physical abuse.

So the Queen stopped giving her dresses and Genya had nothing to wear.

Until...

There has been much discussion around the matter "Was the Darkling the one to give her that kefta or the Queen?".

Others say it was the Darkling since he was responsible for his Grisha.

Others say it was the Queen. She always dressed Genya and now she ordered someone to give her a kefta of a veeery specific color.

I say it's somewhere in between. The Queen took her dresses and then probably told the Darkling to give her a kefta but she was the one to order the color. Her jealousy and bitterness made her throw Genya to her rapist husband. Because she very clearly knew. There was no surprise from her part:

The Queen didn't resent her husband at all for his actions. No. She resented Genya. A servant more beautiful than her that's also ungrateful in her eyes. The Queen expected from her gratitude for the King's "attention", not unhappiness.

When Genya said to Alina "Well at least I got a few jewels out of it" is because that's what the Queen is expecting from her to say and believe. When Alina said "You don't believe that" Genya replied "No, I don't". She didn't see it this way of course. And, naturally, never did.

Side note!: It's very interesting how the text says "Maybe from the first day she'd brought me to the Little Palace". Of course Genya makes deductions and is not sure. But does that mean that it was the Queen that discovered her?

Actually wait. That's confusing. Genya alludes that the Queen brought her to the Little Palace. How did he discover her? Does the Queen leave her Grand Palace? Unless the editor made a mistake and the line should be "she'd brought me to the Grand Palace" which would make more sense because if the Queen heard there was a Tailor among the Grisha, she would want her for herself, to take care of her. But the Darkling said in S&B that he was the one to gift Genya to the Queen.

So either Leigh got confused and fucked up her own story or there's something missing.

There is again the indirect message. "You used to be so happy and ever since attention was brought upon you, you became such an ungrateful thing".

Then Genya went to the Darkling. I've mostly talked about that scene here so the only thing I will add is that I don't think the Darkling planned for Genya to be his spy ever since he found her.

How could he be so sure that the Queen would disregard her? Especially since they seemed happy and satisfied with each other in the beginning.

But! I think he started planning it ever since Genya came to him.

Did he need her to fulfill his plans? Yes.

Did he force her or manipulate her to stay? I say no. That was her choice as a rape victim to stay and fuck up the life of her abuser. She had said it herself that it was a difficult choice. But her choice nevertheless. It was difficult and very brave. She wanted to take revenge from the King and Queen, the primary reason of her final decision.

And she preferred to see the Darkling on the throne than those fuckers. No matter what.

ShadowandBone!Genya you will always be famous. A woman with her own agenda, determined to bring down her abuser and take revenge on the Queen who backstabbed her because she couldn't handle that someone else was more beautiful than her. Willing to see the Lantsovs being brought down.

But she also decided to stay because she wanted to belong among her people again:

And then we have Alina that quietly judged her for it.

Ah yeah... Okay. So according to Alina, at this moment, what? Genya should endure and not fight back? Because she found the fall of the King tragic? Well Alina, I found the fall of that creep beautiful and poetic.

Now about those who say "The Darkling should have done something".

First of all, the Darkling was a servant of the King. Twice it had been mentioned:

(sidenote: I really want to know how the Darkling helped. What did he do?)

The Grand Palace is the domain of the King and Queen. The Darkling has no power over there. He only has power over his Grisha. He could have taken her from there, which Genya found tempting when he told her that, but the latter decided otherwise. Actually I've always wondered how would he do that. Wouldn't the King or Queen stop him? Wouldn't they find that offensive?

And for those who say that he threw her to the Queen's hands: just like I said there was great honor in being an attendant of the Queen and, furthermore, it was her job to keep her safe. How could the Darkling know what the Queen would do to her? That's my question.

Throughout the trilogy, even when Genya faced the King and Queen in R&R, the Darkling wasn't mentioned as part of this betrayal. It wasn't until Nikolai's duology came out that everyone started blaming the Darkling and forgot the King and Queen. Also, Leigh had once mentioned how she finds political and court intrigue boring and doesn't enjoy writing it. So that makes sense in how she suddenly threw all the blame to the Darkling in the duology since:

A) she had to prove how bad the Darkling was (as if the attack on Novokribirsk, his murders and his other actions weren't enough for the reader to deduce that)

B) she has literally no idea how royal life and intrigues work

Nevertheless, there's also much we don't know. Many things could play out behind the scenes but based on the facts we have from Genya's POV, the Queen's behavior, the Darkling's position and the knowledge of how court life is, then I would throw the blame mostly to the Queen. But I still blame the Darkling for the fact that he was like "I can take you from here or you can stay and take your revenge" because, if I was him, I would take her and hide her as far and soon as possible. But the Darkling thought of her decision as necessary, her sacrifice a "collateral damage" if that's what it would take to bring down the Lantsovs.

Many have discussed Genya's case but I think most of us agree that it's more complicated than "It's all the Darkling's fault".

#here comes my unpopular opinions about this matter #pro darkling #the darkling #aleksander morozova #meta #pro aleksander morozova #genya safin #anti tatiana lantsov #anti alexander lantsov #leigh bardugo #shadow and bone #grishaverse #alina starkov

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atlabeth · 1 year

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(i promise) i've felt worse - aleksander morozova

part 1

summary: you begin to adjust to your life in ravka, desperate to leave your past behind. the darkling will not let you forget so easily.

a/n: i have darkling brainrot rn it's unhealthy. cannot stop thinking abt these two so this may become a series idk. lmk what you think.

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): ravkan and fjerdan religion (there may be inaccuracies though), darkling manipulation, not fluff or angst but a secret third thing

title is from starry eyes by the weeknd

The Darkling departed soon after your agreement, leaving you shaken and flustered and confused over anything.

My Tidemaker, he called you, as if you were something special. As if you belonged to him merely because he found you.

Yes, you owed him your life and your freedom—if he asked favors of you in exchange for such a feat, you would accept. You wanted nothing more than to be free of your debt, of General Kirigan, so you could work as you were and live as normally as you could.

You were a soldier now—that was your new normal.

Officially a Grisha, a member of the Second Army, a Tidemaker no longer bound to the shadows. Here in Os Alta, in the Little Palace, you’d been freed. You were Fjerdan only by birth, newly Ravkan in your vows.

You felt nothing.

Apart from woefully inadequate, of course, but that was a given. A Fjerdan girl does not become a Grisha darling overnight, but you did not know if you would ever truly grow into your title.

Soldier. Grisha. Tidemaker. The words felt wrong from your lips, even more so from the mouths of others.

Tidemaker, your instructor called you. Grisha, the servants would address. Out of all of them, soldier was the only that felt correct—if you were capable of one thing, it was fighting.

In Fjerda, common folk did not speak of Grisha unless to curse their name. You’d never uttered the word Tidemaker until you got your hands on ancient Ravkan texts and spoke it into existence, when you realized you were the very thing you’d been taught to hate. Anywhere other than beneath sheets in the darkest nights and alone by the lakes practicing under the guise of shadows, it did not exist.

And now you were in Os Alta, a supposed sanctuary for Grisha, and you were meant to live in the way that your blood called for. You’d signed your life away to Ravka, to the Second Army and the King and the Darkling himself in order to become a part of it, and yet you didn’t feel anything other than a keen numbness.

Numb because the life you’d signed away was akin to nothing. Numb because you had no one out there that would miss you, that would write every so often asking how you were faring. Numb because you had no choice and he knew it.

But you were alive, and you would continue to live, Tidemaker and Grisha and soldier aside.

That was all that mattered.

This made it real, you thought uncomfortably.

The room, the clothes— it was real enough, you supposed, but too easy to see it as temporary. A room you were merely borrowing, clothes that had been passed on from your brother who’d outgrown them.

But the kefta, pale waves spiraling over blue fabric, made perfectly to your measurements by Fabrikators you’d never even met—that was real. It could belong to none other than you.

The Darkling placed the order soon after your vow, and it arrived far quicker than you expected.

You couldn’t deny it anymore. You were Grisha, and you were going to live like it.

And so you put on your kefta and buckled your belt and laced up your boots, then you walked out to the beginning of the rest of your life.

You survived your first day, and then you survived your first week, and now you were well into surviving your first month. You were thrown into the deep end immediately, but you managed. You were nothing if not a fighter, after all.

There were fewer Tidemakers at the Little Palace than you expected, but all of them welcomed you with easy smiles and kind words. One near your age, a girl named Anya, warmed up to you immediately, and you were surprised at how eagerly you took to her friendship.

You’d been alone for so much of your life, banished by those who were meant to care for you and demonized by your own people, and now you were surrounded by others just like you, ones who held no malice towards you. Who accepted you.

You hadn’t anticipated how much you would crave the presence of the other Tidemakers once you’d met them, but it certainly helped with your adjustment.

Anya was native Ravkan, hailing from Kribirsk. She’d been at the Little Palace for ten years, discovered when she was nine. She served with pride and honor, she’d told you, and that she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

(“I’ve witnessed the effects of the Shadow Fold first hand,” she’d murmured. “If I can help piece Ravka back together in any kind of way, I’ll do it without question.”)

Your fellow Tidemakers also included Esen and Batu, brother and sister refugees from Shu Han who had fled into Ravka together—they made their way to Os Alta three years ago, successfully petitioned the Darkling for a place in his army, and they’d been there ever since.

Ivan, a tall man from Polvost, was half-Fjerdan on his father’s side. It was good to have someone in your corner, one who’d gone through some of the same conflicts as you. It was also quite entertaining to see his head perk up everytime someone called for the other Ivan, a Heartrender and one of the Darkling’s favored Grisha.

…Right.

The Darkling.

The man who had saved your life, the man who had brought you into the fold—he was seen as a savior by many of the Grisha you’d conversed with, and you supposed they had a point. He was immensely powerful, built the Little Palace as a place of salvation, and continuously fought for the good of both Ravka and its Grisha.

You just… you did not know what to make of him.

You were adjusting relatively well to your new life, that was true, but you knew your feelings towards him would not be so benign if you had come from anything else. If you had a family back in Fjerda, friends in your village, a lover who you would never see again, this would be a much worse fate.

But maybe that was why so many served without complaint. Countless Grisha here had little to their name, persecuted in other countries or living in Ravka with nothing. Honorable service for your country while living in one of the few sanctuaries with everything provided was a much better deal than a penniless life on your own.

The Darkling seemed to have some… some strange interest in you, for you saw him in the margins far too often.

You remember your first day of training, when you were fighting against a Squaller—you looked up when your partner was down, catching your breath for just a moment, and he was there on the walkway above the grounds, watching you.

It caught you so off guard that your partner took you by storm, and a punch to your face and a sweep of your legs had you groaning on the ground. By the time you’d collected yourself, when your partner offered a hand and pulled you up, he was gone.

When Batu asked what was wrong later that day, you didn’t know how to respond to her.

You frequently saw him during your walks to lessons and mealtimes, and though you never looked at or said anything to him and always kept a steady pace, you always felt his eyes on you. He stopped you once, and it was so unexpected to hear your name on his lips that you muttered a hasty excuse on being late for training. To your surprise, he let you go.

Having the Darkling’s eyes on you added more to your anxieties. It was already too much going from Fjerdan outcast to Grisha practically overnight—you did not need him watching you so frequently.

You were adapting, but it was all overwhelming—too much of everything for a girl who came from nothing.

Perhaps that was why you found yourself in the church.

You didn’t know the Little Palace had one, but you supposed it made sense. From what you’d read, some of Ravka’s revered Saints were Grisha in life. Legend spoke of the mythical Sun Summoner, who could destroy the wretched Shadow Fold, save Ravka, and bring Grisha salvation.

If that was not a Saint, you did not know what was.

You’d always harbored some respect for Ravka and its Saints, even when you were young. You followed Djel like your family did when you were young, but somehow, you got your hands on Ravkan books and learned what you could of Saints.

It felt… oddly like sanctuary, especially when you first discovered your abilities. Even more so when you went out on your own, the belief that life could be better for someone like you keeping you going.

You think it was what led you to them in the first place, a shimmer of light clearing the darkness of Fjerdan suppression to grant you the first shred of power that had been in your veins all along.

“I did not expect to find you here.”

You were jarred out of your thoughts, and though your heart spiked in your chest you didn’t move, your gaze remaining on the tapestry of Sënje Ulla. Sankta Ursula, rather—if you were meant to be Ravkan, you would have to worship like one.

“I didn’t know you were looking,” you responded quietly.

“I am the reason you are here,” the Darkling said. You heard him drawing closer, padded footsteps across the carpeted floor. “I feel a responsibility to look after you.”

You huffed, finally turning to face him. His perfection was effortless, with his black kefta and styled hair and dignified poise, his hands folded behind his back. Worlds apart from you, and yet for some reason he allowed you in his presence. He sought you out. “Allow me to relieve you of that weight, General. I’m perfectly alright on my own.”

“It is not a weight, nor an obligation. I do it of my own volition.” His eyes remained on you, but it was as if he looked past you, through you—the Darkling was an apt designation, for everything about the man was unnerving. “How have you been adjusting? I haven’t had the chance to ask.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms around your midsection. “Well enough.”

Again, the smallest of smiles. “I’m glad. Are your accommodations to your liking?”

“The room is bigger than the house I grew up in, and I’ve spent the past few months sleeping in blizzards,” you said. “They are more than enough, General.”

“It is what you deserve,” Kirigan said. You didn’t think you would ever get used to his disposition, how he seemed to so fully believe every word he spoke. “You are Grisha—you should get to live like one.”

You stayed silent. The luxury might have made you uncomfortable, but you were not going to speak against it. This was your life now, after all.

“I’ve heard you’ve been training frequently with Squallers and your Tidemakers,” the Darkling said. Though he looked unbothered at his role in filling your silence, he would not lead this conversation.

“Yes,” you said, grudgingly taking the unsaid hint. “It was…” you sighed, allowing the smile to tug at your lips. “It was amazing, truly. To be around others like me without fear.”

The lines of his face softened at that, just slightly. “Good. Are the Grisha taking well to you?”

“Well enough,” you repeated. “I’ve found friends in all the Tidemakers. As for the rest, I mind my own. They have no problem with me.”

Kirigan frowned, and he took another few steps closer. “You don’t need to merely mind your own. You are one of them.”

“Do not try and force friendship beyond what it is,” you said, voice stilted. “I am content with this, General. I will be housed and clothed and fed, and I’m far from those that wish to hurt me. I never sit alone at mealtimes, and I’ve smiled more this week than I have in many years. This is far more than I could ever ask for.”

The Darkling looked as if he wanted to object, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m here to serve Ravka and the King,” you said, “correct?”

“Correct,” he answered.

“Then I see no problem.”

He watched you, gaze all-encompassing, stoic as ever. That was what bothered you about the General more than anything—you could not read him, no matter how you tried, but it felt as if he could see right through your every word.

“What brought you here?” Kirigan eventually asked. “I did not think you would be interested in our Saints when you have a God of your own.”

“I… have a strange relationship with Djel,” you said after a moment of hesitation.

The Darkling looked on with interest. “Oh?”

“Fjerdans believe the world is connected through its waters, that they feed Djel and are fed by Him in turn,” you said. “You can imagine the turmoil I went through when I discovered my abilities.”

Somehow, the Darkling’s eyes softened. “Split between two worlds.”

You nodded. “At first, my parents believed it was a blessing from Djel Himself—a daughter able to control the very waters that He provided, a reward for putting up with a girl instead of a second son. And then they realized I was not a blessing, but a curse.”

“They did not hurt you,” the Darkling said, an unexpectedly dangerous edge to his voice, “did they?”

Your smile wasn’t much of one, rather a flattening of your lips into a thin line. “No. They merely banished me.”

His brows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

“They tried to adapt, but it’s not an easy feat to undo decades of rhetoric.” You shrugged. “They would’ve put a knife in my heart while I slept had I not left willingly, I’m sure. It was not as if I had much choice.”

“Your brother,” he said. “What of him?”

At that, you could not help but laugh, mirthless and numb. “He had no idea. He was off training to become a drüskelle.”

“You’ve always been surrounded by enemies,” he murmured.

“My family is not the enemy,” you said quietly. “Just misguided.”

The Darkling laughed, something cold and sharp and unsettling. “Yes. The desire to put a dagger in their daughter’s heart is misguided.”

Your throat bobbed. A part of you still loved your family, despite everything they had done—everything they hadn’t done. You didn’t know whether that made you weak, stupid, or sentimental. You didn’t think you wanted the Darkling’s view on it.

“Do you find our Saints a worthier subject?” Kirigan asked in your silence. “They’re not a symbol of hatred, so surely they’re held in higher regard.”

You met the Darkling’s eyes once more, and yet again you saw nothing. Whether he was trying to gauge you or judge you or, for some saintsforsaken reason, truly wanted to know you, you had no clue, and it was frustrating beyond belief.

“Yes,” you finally said. “If only because I see myself in them.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“All of your Saints, they were normal people while alive. They walked among us just as anyone else. Only in martyrdom did they ascend.” You looked around at all the tapestries. “It is far easier to connect with someone who used to be just as you rather than a faceless God, whether it hated you or not.”

“Sankta Ursula of the Waves, for example,” you said, glancing back at the woman in front of you. “We know her as Sënje Ulla. In your story, the Fjerdans believed her to be possessed by demons simply because she worshiped the Saints. They tried to drown her—”

“But she survived. The city was destroyed in her wake,” the Darkling finished. “I know it well.”

When you looked back at him, his jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Just as quickly, the hard lines smoothed out, and you were left back where you started.

“…Yes,” you said. “I feel some connection to her, a woman persecuted for something out of her control. How they tried to destroy her, but it only led to their own downfall.”

“Do you look up to her because it’s something you wish for?” the Darkling asked. “Harm to befall those against you.”

You frowned, expecting the answer to immediately fall from your lips, but instead it lodged in your throat.

“It is not a bad thing to want,” he said softly.

“It is not what I want,” you countered quickly. “Not— not exactly. I want safety— I want asylum. I was raised in a country that wanted me dead. You cannot blame me for wanting the same.”

“I don’t blame you.” Again, he spoke in that frustratingly level tone, voice irritatingly understanding. It made your teeth itch, your skin crawl. He was too… too nice, for a man of his reputation and standing.

And so you asked.

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice was strained, your unease betraying itself.

“Doing what?” he asked, and you hated how genuine he made it sound. How he always questioned you to keep his strength and acted as if he merely wanted to know.

“Indulging me,” you muttered. “You’ve just met me, and yet you follow me around, validating my every word. I am not worth this, General. I don’t understand why you won’t just leave me be.”

“…The same reason that you found yourself here tonight,” Kirigan said. “I am able to connect with you.”

“That is ridiculous,” you huffed. “You’re the most powerful Grisha in the world, and I’m some… some stray that you picked up out of pity.”

“It was not pity,” the Darkling frowned. “You needed help. We gave it to you.”

“And I’m thankful for it,” you said. “But there is no need for anything more. You could have left after your recruiting tactics and remained cordial, and it would have been the same.”

“I see something in you,” he murmured, and his words sent chills down your spine. “You may not, but I do. You are powerful, yes, but your potential is… breathtaking.”

“You act as if you know everything about me, General,” you said wryly. “But did you know that I am afraid of drowning?”

“Most fear drowning because they have no way of escape,” the Darkling said. He’d closed the distance without your knowledge, and when you glanced he was just behind you. “You control the seas themself. How could you fear them?”

“Do you fear the shadows?” you asked.

“No,” Kirigan stated. “I control them.”

“Exactly.” You offered a mirthless smile. “It is one of the cruelest ironies of my life. I do not control the seas. They control me.”

“That is why you are here,” he said. “You will learn to wield the power in your veins rather than fear it.”

“I don’t think I will ever fully conquer that fear,” you said. “But that is a good thing.”

Kirigan’s brows creased slightly. “Why?”

“If I fear the power I wield, I will never use it against those unworthy of its wrath,” you said.

“If you fear your power, you will never be able to unlock your true potential,” the Darkling countered. “If you fear your power, you will lose control even quicker.”

“Fear allows me restraint,” you said.

“It holds you back.” Kirigan took a step closer to you, so close that you could see every detail in his kefta. His presence was stifling, even more so when he held out his hand. “May I?”

Blood pounded in your ears. You offered your hand.

He took it, encasing your hand between his, and you felt the same surge as the other day. Icy fire in your core, the manifestation of your power instantly at your fingertips begging to be let loose.

Your breath caught in your chest.

“That is your power,” Kirigan stated matter-of-factly. “It responds to your call. You control it.”

“How can you do that?” you whispered. It was like your voice wouldn’t go above it, afraid that you would shatter the sanctity.

“I am a living amplifier,” he said softly. “But all I’m doing is showing you what you are truly capable of, if you can move past the fear that paralyzes you.”

“Please let go,” you whispered.

The Darkling complied and you pulled your hand away. The air returned to your chest, your power receded back to its depths, but the cold still remained, creeping over your skin like the permafrost in your homeland.

“Many Grisha struggle with restraint,” he said. “It seems you have the opposite problem.”

“I’ve spent years suppressing myself, General,” you murmured. “It is not easy to undo a lifetime of hatred.”

“Believe me,” Kirigan said quietly, a tight smile pulling at his lips, “I am well aware. Why do you think I built this sanctuary?”

“I’m working at it,” you said. “Why do you think I have not run?”

Some form of amusement seemed to pass through his eyes, and he nodded as he withdrew from you.

“I will leave you to your devices,” the Darkling said. “I hope our talk has done something for you. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You nodded, the motion slightly numb, and he walked out of the church and left you alone. His presence lingered even in his absence; a stifling sort of power in the air, traces of warmth on your hands.

The most powerful man in Ravka had his eyes on you, believed in your potential so strongly he saved the life of a Fjerdan. You had to meet his expectations, lest he regret the chance he’d given you.

(My Tidemaker, you couldn’t help but think with unease.)

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen if you couldn’t.

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator @louderfortheback

#the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #the darkling fic #aleksander morozova fic #the darkling #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fic #x reader #sadie writes

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mybeingthere · 4 months

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Gustav Wunderwald’s Paintings of Weimar Berlin.

The landscape painter Gustav Wunderwald (1882 - 1945) died from water poisoning in a hospital in the western suburb of Charlottenburg, Berlin. He was sixty-three years old.

Born in Kalk, an industrial suburb on the outskirts of Cologne, Wunderwald experienced first-hand the modern, industrialised city from a young age. Showing early signs of a proficiency in painting, he undertook a two-year apprenticeship under the guidance of the painter Wilhelm Kuhn. Wunderwald quickly found his niche in theatrical and stage set design, taking a job as a scenery painter in Gotha in 1899. For the next thirteen years, his skills led him through a succession of jobs in a variety of cities. After a year in Gotha, he spent four years in Berlin (1900–1904) working at the studio of Georg Hartig and Company, where he specialised in theatrical set painting. From Berlin, Wunderwald moved to Stockholm, and then onwards to Düsseldorf, Innsbruck, and Freiberg over the course of the next eight years, before moving back to Berlin in 1912 to work as a stage designer at the German Opera House.

Wunderwald’s paintings of Berlin’s working-class neighbourhoods have an enigmatic quality about them. They employ a sooty palette of warm browns and greys, and have a stillness and architectural solidity to them that can perhaps be accounted for by the artist’s prior experience as a painter of theatrical scenery. One could well image scenes such as Fabrik von Loewe & Co. or Brücke über die Ackerstraße as backdrops to theatrical adaptations of Weimar-era novels like Alfred Döblin’s Berliner Alexanderplatz, Hans Fallada’s Little Man What Now?, or Christopher Isherwood’s Goodbye to Berlin.

Amidst the tenement blocks, factories, smokestacks, and advertising hoardings, Wunderwald found no shortage of subjects to paint. In a letter to a friend, written in the winter of 1926, he wrote: “Sometimes I stagger back as if drunk from my wandering through Berlin; there are so many impressions that I have no idea which way to go.”3 Wunderwald, describing his search for inspiring scenes to paint on the streets of the city, was not the first and by no means the last individual to find themselves overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of Berlin. His description of feeling drunk through sensory overload brings to mind fellow Berliner and sociologist Georg Simmel’s description of the “intensification of nervous stimulation” that the modern city-dweller encountered on the streets of the metropolis.4 Most urban inhabitants, argued Simmel, adopted a blasé attitude in order to protect themselves from the excess of sights, sounds, and movement encountered in the urban public sphere. By contrast, some individuals — like Wunderwald — consciously chose to immerse themselves in the tumult of the big city, wandering around its streets in a state of rapture, just as Baudelaire had done in Paris half a century earlier.

From an interesting article by Mark Hobbs https://publicdomainreview.org/.../gustav-wunderwalds.../

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euphoniumpets · 1 year

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THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM | CHAPTER FOUR

Prompt: ''As long as I can rememer, I've been protecting Alina, it's always Alina who I will protect,'' You told him, looking at Nikolai. ''But who will protect you?''

Warnings: Violence, blood and gore.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that.

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Starkov! Reader

A/N: the banter between y/n and Nikolai send me everytime, especially when she gets to know when Sturmhond is actually Nikolai Lantsov lmao. Also, decided to post this chapter since i posted chapter three not long ago :) please comment if i forgot anyone to tag!

Taglist:@lyria-skyfall @khaleesihavilliard @shine101 @waddlingwanderer @clqudias @ducks118 @xceafh @peakyispunk @wilmasvensson @parbatai-winchester @priincehoseok @riot-in-my-soul @feyredarling92 @vendy021 @ssprayberrythings @goldenpoison @shine101 @lili-of-the-dream

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - epilogue

‘’Thanks to navigation from our Sun Summoner’s tracker friend here, we’ve traversed the Bone Road to the island of Jelka,’’

Sturmhond spoke as the crew and including you, Alina, and Mal surrounded the table that was filled with maps, books, and other objects. ‘’As for the Sea Whip, we have some storybook drawings, not telling what it looks like, rule of thumb for the unknown, is come prepared!’’ He replied and showed the weapons hidden behind the curtains that were placed against the walls.

‘’Are all pirates this well-armed?’’ You questioned. ‘’Privateer,’’ He replied and you rolled your eyes. ‘’Can’t tell the difference,’’ You spoke as you and Mal looked at the weapons in front of you. ‘’The difference is that I have a license,’’ He remarked.

‘’And a healthy love for innovation,’’ He told you and placed his hand on his hip. ‘’Gadgets, marvels, things that go boom,’’ He explained and you rolled your eyes as you and Alina exchanged a look. ‘’Anything piques your interest?’’ He asked and looked at you and Mal.

‘’Yes,’’ Mal answered.

‘’Me?’’ You asked surprised. ‘’Well, yes, who else?’’ He questioned. ‘’Well, take it, for our excursion,’’ Sturmhond replied and looked at Mal. Mal looked at you and you gestured for him to grab the weapon first. He grinned at you before he grabbed the weapon.

‘’Fabulous choice, you have excellent taste in weaponry, Mal,’’ He said. ‘’The cable’s Fabrikator-made,’’ Sturmhond explained. ‘’Tensile strength of 80,000, yield, 50,’’ Sturmhond informed as you kept looking at the weapons in front of you. ‘’Impossible,’’

‘’When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable,’’ Sturmhond replied. ‘’Not to me, it’s incredible,’’ Mal spoke. Your eyes trailed over to a pair of twin blades in front of you. They were small, but it was a perfect size for you since you didn’t like having big weapons that made you clumsy.

You smirked and grabbed the twin blades as you drew out the swords. ‘’I’ll take these,’’ You replied. ‘’Never thought that you were much of a blade person,’’ Sturmhond replied and you rolled your eyes. ‘’I designed it by myself,’’ Sturmhond replied and looked at you. ‘’In fact, my innovations are all around you,’’

‘’You just have to know where to look,’’ Sturmhond whispered and sent you a flirtatious wink before turning to the rest of his crew. You and Alina exchanged a look as you placed your swords behind your back. ‘’So, we will go in quietly, on Miss Starkov’s orders to injure for your death blow,’’ Sturmhond explained and gestured toward Alina.

‘’I’m not killing it,’’ Alina replied. ‘’You have to kill it, to claim its power, that’s how amplifiers work,’’ Tamar informed her and Alina shook her head. ‘’It wasn’t with the Stag, I think I can do it without killing it,’’

‘’As lovely as that sounds, I’m not sending my crew in to tame a mythical beast with nest and good intentions,’’ Sturmhond spoke and you looked at him. ‘’This is the job you were hired for, privateer,’’ You replied and mocked him by his statement before turning to the others. ‘’We capture it, alive,’’ You ordered them. You heard one of the members of the crew approaching the room and speaking in Shu.

‘’We’ve reached the island,’’ He told you. ‘’Here we go,’’ Sturmhond spoke as you all walked upstairs to the deck. ‘’Well, that’s not foreboding,’’ Sturmhond commented as you all looked at the island in front of you.

‘’Could be anywhere in there,’’ Mal commented as thunder boomed over the island.

You drew your sword out as all of you stepped inside the cave. Luckily, the water was not deep enough so you had to swim but below enough so you could walk. ‘’There are holes in the cave floor,’’

‘’So be careful where you step, otherwise, no,’’ The man replied. ‘’No, you can’t tell, or no, there’s nothing in there?’’ Mal asked him. ‘’Whichever makes you feel more comfortable,’’ Tolya remarked.

‘’Comfort is overrated,’’ Tamar commented. The three of you exchanged a look and suddenly, you heard a strange noise. You winced as you armed your sword and listened closer. Nobody dared to move any further and before you knew it, one of the crew got snatched by the Sea Whip.

‘’Drop the nets! Aim to kill!’’ One of them spoke. ‘’No, don’t!’’ You protested and you looked at your surroundings, hoping to see the Sea Whip. ‘��I couldn’t see us, it’s toying with us,’’ Sturmhond replied. ‘’Conserve your ammo, or we’ll be dry by the time we need it,’’

You exclaimed when one of the crews next to you got dragged by the Sea Whip into the water. ‘’It can camouflage,’’ Sturmhond replied. You looked around at the cave walls and you narrowed your eyes slightly, and before you knew it, you saw the Sea Whip. ‘’Alina!’’ You shouted when the Sea Whip began to charge forward her, you grabbed her by the side so that the Sea Whip wouldn’t attack her.

The Sea Whip went into the water again. ‘’It sounds like it’s everywhere,’’ Sturmhond spoke as you all looked up. Suddenly, the Sea Whip appeared again and you charged your swords, but before you knew it, you let out a scream when the Sea Whip knocked your swords out and tossed you at the cave wall.

‘’Y/N!’’ Alina, Mal, and Sturmhond shouted and the Sea Whip was about to charge you again, before Alina used her powers against it, killing it. Mal rushed over to you with a concerned expression.

‘’Are you alright?’’ He asked. ‘’I’m fine,’’ You replied and breathed heavily before your eyes turned toward the Sea Whip in front of you. ‘’It’s dead,’’ Sturmhond replied and you met his gaze. You couldn’t tell but his eyes showed a look of concern, you nodded slightly to know that you were fine.

The sky had just turned dark and everybody was back at the ship to mourn the people who you lost and to place the amplifiers on Alina. ‘’Alina, we’re ready,’’ Sturmhond said and you looked at Alina with a soft smile. ‘’We got this,’’ You assured her and she smiled. ‘’Ready?’’ You asked her and grabbed her hand in comfort.

‘’Yeah,’’ Alina responded and walked over to the Heartrender who placed one of the amplifiers on Alina’s wrist. You saw Alina frown before her gaze trailed over to you and Mal.

‘’Are you all right?’’ The woman asked her and you frowned with concern. ‘’I’m fine, second scale, please,’’ Alina told her and placed on the second scale. Then, a searing burst of light appeared and you knew that Alina was stronger. You smiled as her powers began to grow stronger and stronger and everybody had to shield their eyes.

‘’Alina!’’ Mal shouted, trying to stop her before she sank the ship. ‘’Allie!’’ You shouted. ‘’Allie!’’ You shouted and tried to step closer. ‘’Alina!’’ You shouted again before you embraced her tightly to stop her from before she could destroy the ship.

Alina let out a laugh and stopped and accepted the embrace. ‘’No matter how much I love you, you could seriously have drowned us,’’ You commented with a smile and she shook her head. Sturmhond approached the two of you with a grin on his face.

‘’Well, then, where to now, Sun Summoner?’’

You walked toward Alina as you saw her with Mal talking. You were on your way toward the Fold and ready to take it down once and for all. ‘’How are you feeling?’’ You asked her and she turned around to face you with a smile. ‘’Ready to take down the Fold?’’ You questioned, watching her glance at the amplifier on her wrist.

‘’I feel ready to take on the world,’’ She answered, making you smile. ‘’No need to take on the world,’’ Mal replied with a smile and you chuckled. ‘’He’s right, just everyone currently after us is enough,’’ You told her with a shrug. ‘’So, the world,’’ Alina commented and gave you two a look.

‘’We’ll keep us off the beaten path but we’ll be on our own again,’’ Mal replied with his hands into his pockets. ‘’Who says you’ll be on your own?’’ You heard Sturmhond comment from behind and the three of you turned around. ‘’I want a front-row seat to the light show, thanks,’’ He commented and you scoffed.

‘’Plus, the king is on the other side of the Fold ergo so is my payment,’’ Sturmhond replied and you rolled your eyes. ‘’We could use your arsenal,’’ You suggested and looked at Mal, who nodded at you in agreement. ‘’Maybe some kind of fortified carriage?’’ Alina questioned.

‘’Carriage? Land travel is so boring,’’ Sturmhond replied. ‘’And that’ll take days,’’ He continued as he walked away from the three of you. ‘’Come along,’’ He urged you and you sighed. ‘’Prepare to decouple!’’ He shouted as everyone was back at the dock and the three of you exchanged a look. ‘’What is going on?’’ You asked them as Mal and Alina looked confused as you were. ‘’Kovu,’’ He spoke before he pulled the lever down as the squaller prepared for the wind. You widened your eyes when you realized that the ship was going to fly in the sky. ‘’Engage secondary sail,’’ Sturmhond demanded and you tried to steady yourself on the ship. Then, the next thing you knew, a part of the ship was flying in the sky and you laughed with a smile.

‘’You’ve got to be kidding me,’’ You replied and looked at the view in front of you. You smiled when you felt the wind blow on your face and you turned around to see Alina sitting on the bench with slight fear in her eyes. ‘’Alina, you got to see this!’’ You exclaimed next to Mal as you stood over the edge and looked over the sea.

‘’No, I really don’t,’’ She answered as you and Mal looked at each other with a grin. ‘’No, trust me, you do,’’ Mal replied and turned around. Alina shook her head in protest while Mal approached her with a chuckle. You giggled when you saw Alina shielding her eyes as Mal dragged her over to the edge. ‘’Told ya,’’ You replied and playfully nudged her elbow. Alina laughed and shook her head and placed her arm around yours.

‘’How is this even possible?’’ You questioned. ‘’Did you expect any less?’’ Sturmhond spoke and approached the four of you. ‘’It’s like you haven’t met me,’’ He replied. ‘’Years and years of designs and several dozen crashed prototypes,’’

‘’Crashed?’’ Alina questioned. ‘’I call her the hummingbird,’’ Sturmhond informed, ignoring Alina's question. ‘’Captain, the Fold’s in sight!’’ Tamar replied as Sturmhond looked at you with a smirk.

‘’Next stop, destiny,’’

As the ship approached the Fold closer, all the memories brought you back to the moment Alina discovered her powers and how the story began. You took a deep breath and the next thing you knew, you were in the Fold. You shivered, remembering how it went the first time when Alina tried to save you and Mal before she discovered her powers and now, it was time to finish her job of taking down the Fold.

‘’I hate this place,’’ Mal murmured and you nodded. ‘’Me too,’’ You commented as Sturmhond glanced at the two of you. ‘’Just a bit of pitch black and bloodthirsty monsters,’’ He replied while Mal, you, and Alina gave him a look. ‘’What’s not to love?’’ He questioned as Tamar handed him a rifle.

‘’Seems like a good day to kill some Volcra,’’ Tamar commented and handed you the gun. ‘’I’d much rather have a hot bath and a book of sonnets,’’ Tolya replied and you shook your head with a smile. ‘’Are you sure you’re ready?’’ Mal asked Alina, uncertain. ‘’I feel stronger than ever,’’ Alina replied and nodded.

‘’This is my chance to finally eradicate it,’’

‘’For good,’’ Alina said and stepped on the edge of the ship. Alina closed her eyes before you saw the power radiate out from her. She reached her arms out as the light surrounded all of you. An explosion of light appeared and you hoped that the Fold would go down as you saw the rift forming in front of you. Alina gasped and you noticed that something was wrong. The powers flickered and you narrowed your eyes at her with concern. ‘’Alina?’’ You questioned as you and Mal exchanged concerned looks. ‘’What’s happening?’’ Sturmhond asked.

‘’Alina!’’ You and Mal shouted in unison and you saw her collapse on the floor. ‘’Alina!’’ You shouted as you and Mal rushed over to her. ‘’Kovu, get us out!’’ Sturmhond yelled as the Fold grew darker. ‘’Alina, wake up,’’ You stressed out when you heard the Volcras growl.

‘’You’re alright,’’ You assured her as you heard the others fighting against the Volcras. Alina looked at you with a confused expression as you helped her up from the floor. You heard a Volcra growl and you turned around to see the Volcra approaching you. Alina stood up and used her powers to kill it.

‘’Kovu, begin to descent,’’ Sturmhond demanded as the ship was out of the Fold. ‘’Brace yourselves for landing,’’ He exclaimed and you widened your eyes. You and Alina gripped tightly at the edge of the ship as Mal tried to protect the both of you before the ship landed on the ground.

‘’Is everyone okay?’’ You heard him ask as the rest of the crew stood up.

‘’The Fold’s too strong,’’ Alina replied and looked at you with concern. ‘’I thought with two amplifiers, but…’’ She trailed off her sentence. ‘’It wasn’t enough,’’ She added with disappointment. Suddenly, you heard a whistle blow and you saw the Ravkan Army approach. ‘’Well, looks like we’re about to enjoy a traditional Ravkan welcome,’’ Tolya commented.

You frowned as Mal helped you step over the ship and onto the ground. ‘’You’ve crossed illegally onto Ravkan soil, identify yourselves,’’ The three of you shared a concerned look. ‘’I’ll handle this,’’ Sturmhond replied and you looked at him in confusion.

‘’What are you doing?’’ You whispered to him as Alina tried to shield herself. ‘’Identify yourselves or get shot,’’

‘’Have I really changed much, Raevsky?’’ Sturmhond asked and approached him. You looked at Sturmhond and frowned. It appears that Sturmhond knew the man in front of you.

‘’I know it’s been several years, but people swear I remain boyishly handsome,’’ Sturmhond replied before turning to you with a smirk before turning to him. You wrinkled your face in confusion as he kept taking the outer clothes off. ‘’It can’t be,’’ He replied and your face changed.

‘’You’ve got to be kidding me,’’ You replied when you realized that Sturmhond was Nikolai Lantsov. You watched as he took off his coat and handed it over to Tolya before approaching me. ‘’Yes, it is,’’ Nikolai replied with grin. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you realized that Sturmhond was prince Nikolai all along. You scoffed and clenched your fist when you realized that he lied about his identity from the moment you stepped on his ship.

That's why you couldn't shake your feelings that something was off about Sturmhond from the moment you met him. During the night talk at the ship, and how he talked about his family.

And not the mention, the endless flirting with you made your blood boil. ‘’Moi tsarevich,’’

‘’My prince,’’ He spoke and bent his knee. You, Mal, and Alina exchanged a disbelieving look. ‘’We’d all but given up hope,’’ He spoke as Nikolai chuckled before he shook his hand to the man and helped him up. ‘’I present, Nikolai Lantsov major of the 22nd Regiment, soldier of the King’s army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second Son to his most royal majesty, king Pytor the third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne,’’

‘’You’ve got to be joking,’’ Mal commented. ‘’Saints,’’ Alina replied and you shook your head. ‘’And in your words, as I recall the greenest and most useless grunt you ever had the misfortune of commanding,’’ Nikolai commented.

‘’At your service, I wanted to return sooner, but not without them,’’ He responded and gestured to you, Mal, and Alina. ‘’May I represent my esteemed traveling companion, former cartographer and sometimes Saint, Alina Starkov,’’ Nikolai introduced. ‘’And her sister in the second command and a great fighter, Y/N Starkov,’’

‘’Sol Koroleva, we heard you were dead,’’

You didn’t think much since you felt that you were going towards him with your fist clenched as you glared at him. ‘’You lying bastard!’’ You shouted and punched Nikolai in the face.

please comment what you'd think of this chapter! remember reblogging always helps.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov #alina starkov #jesper fahey #six of crows #kaz brekker #nina zenik #inej gafha #genya safin #aleksander kirigan #aleksander morovoza

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marvelmusing · 1 year

Text

Retribution

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Sun Summoner!Reader

Summary: When you claim the final amplifier, everything begins to fall apart. The Fold collapses, you lose your power, and Aleksander is rumoured to be dead.

Warnings: canon level violence, poor treatment of prisoner (Aleksander), mentions of death, wasting sickness.

A/N: a very quick fic that I wrote within a couple of hours so sorry if it doesn’t make much sense

My Masterlist

»»---------------------►

Mal’s blood has dried on your skin. Even as Fedoyr begins to scrub at it, the redness lingers in the grooves of your fingertips and the lines on the flat of your palms.

A tear traces its way down your cheek and drops down into the bath water you’re sitting in. Fedoyr shares a look with Genya, who’s sitting opposite him on the other side of the bath tub.

Their interaction goes unnoticed by you, gazing off into the distance as the events of the day continue to wreak havoc on your emotions.

The loss of your power, even if it was only for a few minutes, had shaken you to your core.

When you had killed Mal, your power had disappeared, leaving a gaping hole inside you. The look on Aleksander’s face as he realised what had happened, that your power was gone, brings more tears to your eyes.

He had been devastated. You know it. He had felt your pain - the loss of the part of you that ran deeper than your soul.

Frantically, you had carved out Mal’s bones, demanding for a fabrikator to create another amplifier. Aleksander had knelt down beside you, helping you hold the pieces around your wrist as David fixed them into place.

All around you, the Fold was collapsing, destroyed by the involuntary blaze of light that had burst from your body when your knife sunk into Mal’s chest.

The stag’s antlers and the sea whip’s scales were still intact, and you could see the hope on Aleksander’s face. That expression had faded quickly when the sound of enemy soldiers approaching reached his ears.

Mind fogging from the shock and fear, you could barely understand what was happening, but you can still remember Aleksander’s final order.

“Ivan, get them out of here.”

You heard the message hidden underneath. Of course, Aleksander would always protect his people, but you were his priority. He wanted you away from the fighting, especially in the state you were in.

Fedoyr had helped you up off the dark sand of the Unsea and when you had struggled against him, trying to help Aleksander, Ivan had put you to sleep and carried you away.

Back in the safety of your camp, the news of the Darkling’s death reaches you not long after you wake. For hours you had sat on the floor, back tucked against the bed you had shared with Aleksander only two nights ago.

Several hours later, Genya came to check on you, which led to her and Fedoyr guiding you into the bath. They had used Aleksander’s soap, which helps to ground you but the smell makes your chest sting with anguish.

Aleksander is gone.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander is cold.

His muscles ache and there’s a stiffness in his bones that urges him to move and ease the discomfort.

A cough rattles at his lungs as he takes a shaking breath, and a vial of liquid is pressed against his lips. Too weak to worry about whatever it is sliding down his throat, he drinks eagerly.

It’s warm and soothing with an underlying sweetness. It reminds him of sunlight. It reminds him of you.

Then he remembers the knife in his chest, the heat of the blood spilling out of him, stealing away the warmth from his body as he lay still on the ground with the boy prince standing over him with wicked grin. Prince Nikolai.

Aleksander blinks and he’s relieved to find himself in semidarkness. Dark stone walls surround him on three sides, with metal bars and a padlocked door making up the last wall.

Had he died? It had felt like dying when he was bleeding out. But then how was he still here? And where exactly was he? Where were you? Had Ivan taken you back to the camp? Are you safe? Had your powers returned?

There’s a hollowness in Aleksander’s chest when he attempts to reach for you through the tether.

As he realises he isn’t alone, Aleksander also realises he’s too weak to sit up let alone fight. Luckily the young man sitting beside him doesn’t look like he’s going to be posing a threat.

The boy introduces himself as Yuri and begins to explain everything.

Aleksander had been dead for almost a minute, revived by healers on the Queen’s orders. That had confused Aleksander - why would the Queen want him alive? Then Yuri tells him that King Nikolai and Queen Zoya now rule over Ravka and intended on keeping Aleksander as their prisoner to pay for his crimes.

As the days pass by, Aleksander regains some of his strength. He’s able to sit up and walk a little by himself, though there isn’t much room in his cell. His hands are bound, preventing him from summoning, though he fears his near-death experience had stole his power from him.

He has two meagre meals a day - usually cold porridge and either the dregs of a broth or leftover soup. Being unable to summon means that his meals are beginning to lose their taste, as the wasting sickness settles in.

There’s short periods of time where Yuri doesn’t visit him, but the boy keeps him updated on the outside world.

Aleksander learns that you’re still alive, gathering support for the rebellion against the Ravkan Crown.

Plenty of Grisha stand beside you, as well as followers of the Sun Saint. Yuri mentions that Aleksander also has his own followers that had joined you - claiming their loyalty to the martyred Starless Saint.

There’s an ache in his chest as he thinks of you fighting this war alone. Aleksander has been fighting alone for centuries and he hates the thought of not being by your side as you stand against the regime. He also hates the thought of you mourning him.

»»---------------------►

“How is he doing?”

Yuri looks down for a moment as he considers your question, studying the grooves of the wooden table that sits in the centre of your war tent.

“Well enough.”

You raise a brow.

“But?”

“There’s been talk by the Queen, of revealing the Starless One’s imprisonment and making a public example of him.”

It’s still strange, hearing one of Aleksander’s followers refer to him as the Starless One, but at present your focus remains on the concern in the young man’s eyes.

“How?”

“Keeping him bound in the throne room during court days for all the people to see.”

The muscle in your jaw twinges as anger flares in your chest.

“Thank you for your report, Yuri. I expect to see you here the same time next month. That will be all.”

He bows deeply before he leaves the tent.

Humiliation on behalf of Aleksander prickles over your skin, and you run a hand over your hair, adjusting your black and gold kefta as you pace beside the table.

“She’s trying to provoke you into attacking,” Ivan warns you. Tension seizes your shoulders as you nod.

“I know.”

In the presence of only your most trusted Grisha, you slump down onto Aleksander’s chair by the war table, fiddling with one of the markers that represents your troops in the south.

“I’m scared of waiting too long, every day he isn’t summoning his condition will worsen.”

Fedoyr nods in understanding as he takes the seat beside you.

“The General is strong. You yourself lived with the wasting sickness for years.”

“And it was hell.”

“But you’re still alive, yes?”

You hum in reluctant agreement, running a hand over your face before you manage to pull yourself together. Sitting up properly, you straighten your shoulders and look over the maps in front of you.

“Shall we run through our plan for Wednesday’s attack?”

»»---------------------►

Aleksander’s knees hurt.

The marble floor of the throne room is hard and unrelenting against the tender skin of his bony knees. With his limited meals, all his bones seemed sharper, making contact with anything more painful then usual.

Yuri is the one to bring him his meals and he can see the empathy in the young man’s eyes but Aleksander understands that he isn’t in any sort of position to help him. He’s kind enough to provide him with some pleasant company during the evenings when the throne room is empty.

During the mornings, Nikolai and Zoya conduct their meetings in the throne room. At first, Aleksander had hoarded any information he could pick up from these meetings and attempt to figure out what everyone’s next move would be.

Now that every day is accompanied by a fierce headache, he tunes out the majority of their voices. The only thing that captures his attention is the mention of your name. It reminds him that you’re still out there, fighting for your shared cause.

In the afternoon, the throne room is open to selected members of the public, allowing them to bring their concerns to their beloved monarchs to assist in solving. The first time this had happened Aleksander held a tiny glimmer of hope in his chest, that someone might try to help him. That hope was long gone now.

He keeps his head down during those long hours, sweat running down his back at the intense heat of so many people crammed into the room. The heat doesn’t help with his headaches.

Night is the only time he receives any semblance of comfort. The marble beneath him chills his burning skin and he presses his forehead against the floor in an attempt to soothe the throbbing in his skull.

His sleep is fitful, the hard floor making every angle he tries more painful than the last.

Aleksander aches for the comfort of your arms, falling asleep safe in a plush bed, your sunlight glowing close by so that he doesn’t have to sleep in the dark.

The next morning Aleksander wakes with the sun rising.

Yuri brings him some lukewarm porridge that he struggles to eat more than three mouthfuls of. He nods gratefully at the young man, offering him a weak smile when he sees the uneasiness in his eyes.

Then the doors open and Yuri hurries away.

Zoya and Nikolai take their seats on the throne and the people arrive for the monthly court day, where the any member of the public could speak to the monarchs.

Aleksander keeps his head down as usual, not wanting to look at any of them. Then Yuri appears by his side. He frowns but the boy doesn’t react at all, his gaze bouncing anxiously over the crowd.

Curiosity piqued, Aleksander lifts his gaze to look over the sea of faces. He’s surprised by how many there are. There’s a huge variety of people: nobles, peasants, farmers, some Grisha that he doesn’t recognise.

Then he spots a familiar face.

Fedoyr.

He catches the heartrender’s gaze and Aleksander’s heart stops. Are you here? Have you come for him?

King Nikolai’s words echo slightly as they bounce over the ornate ceiling above.

“We welcome criticism and encourage our people to share there concerns. It is the only way that Ravka can truly prosper.”

At that, a voice rings out over the crowd.

“If our beloved Queen is Grisha, why are we still considered property of the Crown?”

Aleksander’s stomach flips at the sound of your voice. The crowd parts as you walk forwards, lowering the hood of your dark cloak and regarding the man on the dais with a look of disgust.

“Why is the man who has been fighting for this country for longer than any of you have been alive, suffering an unjust imprisonment?”

“Aside from the regicide?” Nikolai snaps, looking down at you as he stands from his throne. You shrug lightly.

“Alleged regicide.”

His face twists with fury.

“Guards!”

A small smirk tugs at your lips.

“Oh that won’t work. It appears I’ve failed to mention that this is coup.”

Over half the crowd discard their robes and cloaks, revealing keftas or dark uniforms decorated with the symbol of the sun.

Aleksander can’t take his eyes from you as you drop your cloak, revealing the black and gold kefta that you had refused when you first arrived at the Little Palace.

»»---------------------►

Heart pounding, you keep your head held high with confidence in your eyes. A few royalists put up a fight for their monarchs, and your people step into action. Tactically you are at an advantage over them both, but they have Aleksander.

He looks thin and tired, but there’s hope sparkling in his eyes that eases some of the tension evident in his body. Everything inside you wants to curl your arms around him and keep him safe from the rest of the world.

Zoya seems to follow your line of thought, striding down from the dais towards Aleksander. Pulling a dagger from her belt, she grasps a fistful of his hair, bearing his throat and holding the blade against his pulse.

Panic fills you.

Bending the light around your body, you disappear from view as you rush towards Nikolai. Grabbing his hair, you tug back hard, summoning a sliver of light to rest against his throat, mirroring Zoya’s threat on Aleksander.

At the sudden reappearance of your body, Zoya’s eyes widen.

“You take mine, I take yours,” you snarl at her.

Just as you expected, Zoya releases Aleksander and steps forward, intending on fighting you herself.

Instantly, you bend the light around Aleksander, keeping him invisible from Zoya’s angle but hopefully Yuri will be able to find him and unlock his shackles.

Zoya gestures backwards with her dagger.

“If you harm a hair on his head, I will take his head clean off.”

A smirk flickers over your features, nodding in the direction of where Aleksander had been.

“Good luck with that.”

She turns backwards, a frown on her face. When she realises Aleksander is gone she turns back towards you.

At that moment, you slide your blade of light against Nikolai’s throat, releasing your hold on him.

He crumples to the floor, blood pooling around his body as he twitches. Zoya’s eyes widen, her lips parted in distress as he dies before she can even begin to reach for him.

As her shock turns to horror you become invisible once again, allowing you to step away as her anger takes over. You move towards Yuri, who’s only just managed to unlock the shackles around Aleksander’s wrists.

Aleksander looks at you in surprise as you materialise in front of him. He winces as the shackles fall and he rubs the red marks on his wrists. There’s nothing you want more than to kiss them better.

Instead you step closer and ask him.

“Can you stand?”

He nods, attempting to stand until his legs give way and he grasps onto your waist to steady himself. You grip onto him tightly, hating how fragile he feels in your arms.

“Ana!” you call out.

The healer in question hurries over, immediately getting to work on healing the worst of Aleksander’s ailments so that he can be taken to safety.

His gaze is slightly unfocused as he cups your face in his hand, for a moment you allow yourself to enjoy his tender touch.

“You came for me,” he rasps.

“Of course I did.”

“Isn’t that sweet?” Zoya sneers.

Aleksander sees your eyes darken as you turn in her direction, and you only let go of him once you know the healer can hold his weight.

Then you step towards her.

You’re reminded of your first training session at the Little Palace, when Zoya had humiliated you in front of everyone, before she used her powers to knock you out when you had managed to gain the upper hand.

Her face twists with unrestrained fury, but you’ve been furious from the moment you woke up without Aleksander. That anger has been festering under your skin, burning through your body with every report from Yuri.

She throws a punch at you, which you dodge swiftly and continue to advance towards her. Throwing your own punch, you manage to graze her cheekbone as she also dodges.

She weaves away from you, throwing punch after punch that you deflect. Casting her hand out, wind rushes against Aleksander, knocking his weak legs out from under him. She smirks.

Outrage floods through your body, and you barrel into her with enough force to send you both sprawling over the hard marble floor. You scramble against one another, throwing uncoordinated punches and kicking your legs wildly.

She hits you square in the face and you feel your lip split. Pinning her down between your legs, you grasp hold of her hair and slam her head down onto the floor - once, twice, three times.

When she tugs her head free her movements are sluggish and disorientated as she writhes beneath you. Your fingers lock around her throat, unrelenting even when she scratches at your face and neck. Her nails dig into the still healing scar on your chin and you hiss in pain.

She bats weakly at you, but you hold strong, pushing all your weight into stopping her airflow. Even when she goes still, you squeeze harder. After a long moment, you release her and slump weakly down on the floor.

Exhaustion fills you. Now that the fighting is over you realise how much everything aches.

Lifting your head up, you spot Aleksander sitting on some steps as Ana the healer tends to him. He winces, shifting uncomfortably as her hands hover over his skin.

His eyes meet yours and instantly you’re standing and making your way over to him.

The healer steps back, allowing you a moment together. Aleksander curls an arm around your waist pulling your body flush against his. He buries his face into your chest, breathing in deeply.

His entire body relaxes as you sink your fingers into his hair. The locks are a little matted, and you know the length of his hair will be bothering him. He tilts his head back, lifting his gaze to find your eyes.

Leaning down, you press your lips against his, uncaring towards anyone who might be looking. He smiles into the kiss, a sigh of relief heaving at his shoulders as you brush your thumb over his cheek.

Then Fedoyr’s voice pulls you away.

“Moi sovereigni?”

You and Aleksander both answer simultaneously.

“Yes?”

Fedoyr’s eyes bounce between you and Aleksander, unsure about who he should be reporting to. Aleksander is still technically his commander, but you had been in charge of the rebel Grisha for so long that you had reluctantly accepted Aleksander’s title.

When you glance back at Aleksander he’s smiling softly, and nods at you in encouragement. He should be resting, not commanding an army.

You answer Fedoyr’s questions regarding the remaining guards in the palace, and issue some orders for your troops to establish your position as ruler of Ravka.

By the time evening arrives, you’re settling in one of the royal suites in the Grand Palace.

Aleksander had been a little self conscious at your offer of bathing him, he knows his body isn’t what you remember it as. But he’s still struggling to walk unaided and isn’t certain he has the strength to wash himself. So he accepts your offer.

“How bad is it?” he asks as you finish cleaning the remaining suds of shampoo away from the nape of his neck.

You had closed the door leading to the study when the healers had explained Aleksander’s condition to you, and he had been too tired to stand up and listen through the wood.

“You need a minimum of nine hours sleep every night and regular but small meals with high fat and nutrients. Light exercise daily and limited stress.”

He nods slowly, taking it all in.

Sitting down on the stool beside him, you trace your fingers over the ripples of soap that float over the surface of the water before you whisper,

“I should have come for you sooner.”

He shakes his head.

“I understand why you didn’t.”

He reaches towards your hand, holding it between both of his. Even his hands feel different than before and your heart breaks even further.

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that I knew you were suffering and I didn’t help you.”

“But you did. You saved me. I’m alright now.”

“Sasha, you are not alright.”

He pauses. He can’t argue with that. Not when standing too quickly makes him dizzy and he’s tired all the time.

“I will be. Because of you.”

Tears fill your eyes as you lift your gaze to meet his own dark eyes, and your voice cracks as you say,

“I’ve missed you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a tender kiss there.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny

#aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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catapparently · 15 days

Text

Autistic Kaz Headcanons

Requested by @randomfandom-3

not proofread (no headcanons are ever going to be)

Kaz had to learn to force himself to maintain eye contact in dire situations, but prolonged eye contact still secretly freaks him out.

When he was getting his first pair of gloves, he went through dozens of stores to try each possible pair on but the types and textures of fabric freaked him out

So, he got a specific type commissioned and it has a little subtle fidget thing on the side of the index finger that he can access and touch with his thumb

He fired the first Fabrikator he commissioned for his cane because the ridges on the crow head didn't feel right under his hand and it freaked him out

Nina keeps trash talking his haircut but she doesn't know that he purposely wants the sides very short because when he's doing something alone, he's always running his fingers over the strange but comforting texture of it

(Idk how to explain it but if you've ever felt short hair on a boy and how it feels you'll understand)

I can just imagine that Kaz, like a lot of other autistic people, has an atypical rhythm/pitch when he talks

He always has to be doing SOMETHING with his hands or another limb of his

In certain situations where he can't afford to be seen fidgeting, he runs his tongue repeatedly over the roof of his mouth

He's super obsessive over plans and order and perfect timing

He always has a set schedule and doesn't feel too well if he doesn't adhere to it

This could also be from the way he grew up but he doesn't really understand relationships (both platonic and romantic)

He doesn't really know how to act like himself around other people (not that he'd want to lmao but still)

Like that one scene at the beginning of the book when Inej was there and he just randomly took of his top and started washing himself with a washcloth in front of her, not even caring about her presence

Inej said she didn't know if she should feel insulted or flattered that either he felt comfortable enough with her or just didn't care about her

In reality Kaz just doesn't know social norms and couldn't really tell if it was a normal thing or not

He did it anyway because he couldn't stand another moment of being (I don't remember well, was he bloody or just covered in dirt? doesn't matter) dirty and had to be clean ASAP

He doesn't like washing with hot water

Now that he can actually afford it he's really picky with food because of their textures

Back in the day with Jordie he had to eat whatever he could find but he hated it at first and didn't eat anything until he fainted from starvation

He HATES cooked fish. Hates hates hates HATES it. He'd it it raw if he wasn't scared of getting sick. The texture when cooked is just so... dry and weird for him. Nuh-uh.

On the other hand he LOVES rare meat. It's perfect for him.

In the winter his skin gets dry under those gloves

He freaked out because of how his dry ass fingertips felt and nearly had a panic attack

As of that day he lathers his hands in hand cream to make sure they're nice and smooth

Overall he just really hates any abnormally textured surface that he's not used to / doesn't feel right to him

I hope it's to your liking! Thank you so much for requesting.

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 2 months

Text

Six of Crows fan-written Script

Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll to see if you guys wanted to keep this going!! 🖤

Hi, so in true me style I still haven't got around to organising these posts into scene breakdowns so this is the next part of episode 1 scene 5, I'm hoping that I can get the end of scene 5 out in the next post and then from that point forwards I'll be able to post it scene by scene. I hope that makes sense.

Same reminder as usual: I'm trying to be as true to the books as possible whilst also matching Show!canon but I've also taken the occasional bit of artistic licence as to how I would imagine producing the show myself, for example inserting my personal headcanon about Anya in the opening scene of episode one. Also, I have never written a script before so the formatting is my own made-up method; if it doesn't make sense please let me know and I'll adapt it :)

Side note: Would it be helpful for me to make a masterlist with links to the parts I've already posted?

Recap since it's been a while - Kaz is with Van Eck at the Hoede house and is holding a knife to the merch's throat when Mika walks through the wall, frightening Kaz because he thinks he's hallucinating from a drug Van Eck has given him

EPISODE ONE SCENE FIVE (PART 2)

KAZ: What the hell is this?

VAN ECK: Let me go and I’ll explain

KAZ: You can explain right where you are

VAN ECK: What you’re seeing are the effects of jurda parem

KAZ: Jurda’s just a stimulant. It’s harmless

VAN ECK: Ordinary jurda, yes. Jurda parem is completely different - and most definitely not harmless

KAZ: So you did drug me?

VAN ECK: Not you, mister Brekker. Mika

[KAZ turns and looks at MIKA. The camera moves slowly up the Tidemaker’s figure; his hands are trembling, the dark circles beneath his eyes are pronounced, and his kefta is slightly ill-fitting as though he has lost a lot of weight since it was last altered]

VAN ECK: Jurda parem is a cousin to ordinary jurda - from the same plant. We aren’t sure of the production process, but a sample was sent to the Merchant Council by a scientist named Bo Yul-Bayurr

KAZ: Shu?

VAN ECK: Yes. He wished to defect, so he sent the sample to prove his claims regarding the drug’s extraordinary effects - Please, mister Brekker, this is a most uncomfortable position. If you’d like, I can give you a pistol and we can sit and discuss this in a more civilised fashion

KAZ: A pistol and my cane

[VAN ECK gestures to one of the stadwatch guards by the door, who leaves briefly and returns with KAZ’s cane]

KAZ: Pistol first. Slowly

[The guard unholsters his own gun and hands it to KAZ by the grip. KAZ grabs the gun and cocks it in one swift movement, then releases VAN ECK and throws the letter opener onto the desk before snatching his cane from the guard’s hand. He is immediately more comfortable. VAN ECK paces backwards and KAZ moves slowly towards the window]

VAN ECK: That cane is quite a piece of hardware, Mr Brekker. Is it Fabrikator made?

KAZ: None of your business. Get talking, Van Eck

VAN ECK: When Bo Yul-Bayur sent us the sample of jurda parem, we tested it on three Grisha - one from each order.

KAZ: Happy volunteers?

VAN ECK: Indentures. The first two were a Fabrikator and a Healer indentured to Councilman Hoede,

[KAZ frowns; he recalls hearing the name recently but cannot remember why]

and Mika is a Tidemaker. He’s mine. You’ve seen what he can do using the drug.

KAZ: I don’t know what I’ve seen.

[KAZ looks back at MIKA, and the camera follows his gaze. MIKA is focused intently on VAN ECK as though he is unaware of anything else in the room, his expression one of desperation]

VAN ECK: An ordinary Tidemaker can control currents, summon water or moisture from the air, or a nearby source. They manage the tides in our harbours. But under the influence of parem, a Tidemaker can alter their own state from solid, to liquid, to gas and back again and do the same with other objects - even a wall.

[KAZ frowns. He isn’t convinced, but he has no other explanation for what he’s seen]

KAZ: How?

VAN ECK: It’s hard to say. You’re aware of the amplifiers some Grisha wear?

KAZ: I’ve seen them - animal bones, and such. I hear they’re hard to come by.

VAN ECK: Very. But they only increase a Grisha’s power. Jurda parem alters a Grisha’s perception.

KAZ: So?

VAN ECK: Grisha manipulate matter at its most fundamental metals - they call it the Small Science. Under the influence of parem, those manipulations become faster and far more precise. In theory jurda parem is just a stimulant like its ordinary cousin, but it seems to sharpen and hone a Grisha’s senses. Things become possible that simply shouldn’t be.

KAZ: What does it do to sorry sobs like you and me?

[VAN ECK is marginally offended to be aligned with KAZ]

VAN ECK: It’s lethal. An ordinary mind cannot tolerate parem in even the lowest doses.

KAZ: You said you gave it to three Grisha. What can the others do?

VAN ECK: Here

[He begins to open one of his desk drawers and KAZ raises his pistol slightly]

KAZ: Easy

[VAN ECK opens the drawer with exaggerated slowness and pulls out a lump of gold the size of his palm]

VAC ECK: This started as lead.

KAZ: Like hell it did.

[VAN ECK shrugs]

VAN ECK: I can only tell you what I saw. The Fabrikator took a piece of lead in his hands, and moments later we had this.

KAZ: How do you even know it's real?

VAN ECK: It was the same melting point as gold, the same weight, the same malleability. If it’s not identical to gold in every way the difference has eluded us.

[He holds it out for KAZ to take]

VAN ECK: Have it tested, if you like.

[KAZ inspects the gold for a moment, then slips it into his pocket. He’s decided that even if it's an imitation, it's convincing enough for him to find it a purpose]

KAZ: You could’ve gotten that anywhere.

VAN ECK: I would bring you Hoede’s Fabrikator here to show you himself, but he isn’t well.

[KAZ glances at MIKA again, and the camera once more notes his sickly pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes]

KAZ: Let’s say this is all real and not cheap coin trick magic. What does it have to do with me?

VAN ECK: Perhaps you heard of the Shu paying off the entirety of their debt to Kerch with a sudden influx of gold? The assassination of the trade ambassador from Novyi Zem? The theft of documents from a military base in Ravka?

[KAZ nods. He is glad to know the secret of the Zemeni Ambassador’s death and remembers JESPER talking about the three Shu ships filled with gold. Although he has heard nothing of the Ravkan documents, he doesn’t want VAN ECK to know that and so acts as if he is more than aware]

VAN ECK: We believe that all of these occurrences are the work of Grisha under the control of the Shu government and under the influence of jurda parem. Mr Brekker, I want you to think for a moment about what I’m telling you: Men who can walk through walls. No vault or fortress will ever be safe again. People who can make gold from lead - or anything else for that matter - who can alter the very material of the world. Financial markets will be thrown into chaos, the world economy would collapse.

KAZZ: Very exciting. What is it you want from me, Van Eck? To steal a shipment? The formula?

VAN ECK: No. I want you to steal the man.

KAZ: Kidnap Bo Yul-Bayur?

VAN ECK: Save him. A month ago we received a message from Yul-Bayur begging for asylum, he was concerned about his government’s plans for jurda parem, and we agreed to help him defect. We set up a rendez-vous, but there was a skirmish at the drop point.

KAZ: With the Shu?

VAN ECK: With Fjerdans.

[KAZ raises an eyebrow - the Fjerdans must have spies deep in Shu Han or Kerch, or both]

VAN ECK: The diplomatic situation is somewhat delicate, and it is essential that our government not be tied to Yul-Bayur in any way.

KAZ: You have to know he’s probably dead. Fjerdans hate Grisha; there’s no way they’d let knowledge of this drug get out.

VAN ECK: Our sources say he’s very much alive and that he’s awaiting trial.

[VAN ECK clears his throat]

VAN ECK: At the Ice Court.

[KAZ stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing]

KAZ: Well, it’s been a pleasure being knocked unconscious and taken caprice by you Van Eck - you can assure your hospitality will be repaid when the time is right. Have one of your lackeys show me to the door.

VAN ECK: We’re prepared to offer you five million kruge.

[KAZ pockets the stadwatch officer’s pistol. He is no longer afraid for his life, but he’s furious to have had his time wasted so tremendously]

KAZ: This may come as a surprise to you, Van Eck, but we canal rats value our lives just as much as you do yours.

VAN ECK: Ten million.

KAZ: There’s no point to a fortune I won’t be alive to spend. Where’s my hat? Did your Tidemaker leave it behind in the alley?

[KAZ begins to walk towards the door and the camera follows behind him]

VAN ECK: Twenty.

[KAZ pauses, and slowly lifts his head - an image mimicking that of season one of Shadow and Bone when he heard the offer of one million kruge. He turns slowly to face VAN ECK]

INEJ voiceover, a reminder of what she told him in Scene Three: Greed is your god, Kaz.

KAZ: Twenty million kruge?

KAz voicover from Scene Three: Greed bows to me.

[VAN ECK nods, but he doesn’t look happy about having raised the offer so much higher]

KAZ: I’d need to convince a team to walk into a suicide mission - that doesn’t come cheap.

VAN ECK: Twenty million kruge is hardly cheap.

KAZ: The Ice Court has never been breached.

VAN ECK: That’s why we need you, Mr Brekker. It’s possible Bo Yul-Bayur is already dead, or that he’s given up his secrets to Fjerdans, but we think we have at least a little time to act before jurda parem is put into play.

KAZ: If the Shu have the formula-

VAN ECK: Yul-Bayur claimed he’d managed to keep the specifics secret - we believe they’re limiting from whatever limited supply he left behind.

[KAZ has already started thinking about the job, and who he’ll need on his team - and what he’ll be able to do with the money. He pauses, and frowns]

KAZ: Why me? Why the Dregs? There are more experienced crews out there.

[MIKA has a sudden coughing fit, and VAN ECK helps him into a chai and offers him his handkerchief. He snaps his fingers at one of the guards]

VAN ECK: Some water

[The guard exits]

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dearmantis · 2 years

Text

Does he know that I'm falling

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Durast!Reader

Summary: Tempted by knowledge and power you choose to experiment with forces you should know nothing about, hidden in the shadows of the early morning hours. What are you going to do when the General finally realizes something is not right?

Warnings: Aleksander is his own warning let's be honest here, this is not a nice man, but he doesn't really do anything here. The better warning is that I'm blatantly ignoring established rules of the magic system, not a native english speaker and that this isn't really proofread.

Word Count: 3.1k

Authors' Note: Yes, I've read the books. Yes, I'm gonna ignore canon. Yes, I'm especially ignoring the rules around merzost. It's magic, I can do whatever I want with it. Also title is from the lyrics of the fruits by Paris Paloma.

Part 1 | Series Masterlist

If Baghra knew what you're doing... she would eat you alive. No questions asked. Nobody knows that better than you since you have spent most of your youth training with her, your powers too weak for the Generals liking.

So you avoid her like the plague, deeply convinced that she would be able to feel what you have done, what you do every day, what you're planning to do.

First in the workshops in the morning, last to leave in the night. Kirigan and your fellow Fabrikators think you are simply a very hard worker, an obsessed artist some might say. And in a way you are an obsessed artist. Your paint is just less conventional than people assume.

If anyone finds out what you are doing they will execute you. This simple fact is buried deep inside of your mind, burning bright every time you move your hands to wake your powers, but you can't help yourself.

You have to keep trying. You have to. If you don't you might lose your mind and do something even worse, something even dumber.

And who can truly blame you? Materialki are supposed to seek knowledge, right? That's what everyone encourages you to do. Stay away from the battlefield, you're useless there anyways. Hide away in the libraries and laboratories of Ravka and collect the knowledge of the world. Satisfy your greedy mind and create new out of the materials available to you. Give your existence worth that way, because Saints know the General will never look at someone of the Order of Fabrikators unless they possess knowledge that he requires for one of his plans.

So you do what you do best. In the early morning hours you slip out of your bedroom, awake even before the servants of the night shift leave their positions, and disappear in the workshop, sneaking to your usual station, as far away from the Generals quarters, the door and the windows as possible. The guards know you by now, and if the guards do then so does the General, but lucky for you he has never come down to the workshops when you worked on your little experiments.

You're not stupid and naive enough to believe that it will stay that way. If you don't create a pretend project to present to him soon he will end up questioning what you're working on. Simply claiming that your work was still slow and that you required the extra hours of work to catch up with the progress of the other Durasts would lead to Training with Baghra again and that would be catastrophic, but it's hard enough to resist working on your side project during the day to make corecloth for new keftas already. You can't imagine using some of your limited alone time for some other side project you don't even really care about just to stay save from Kirigan.

Creating the bulletproof fabric is boring, simple work for you and if you tried a bit you could probably work on something new on the side during your day work, but the scolding you would receive if someone caught you would be quite bothersome to deal with. Shit, your team leader already believes you're too weak to even make corecloth, he would definitely report you to the General. You can basically already hear the shadow summoners voice booming.

So you think creating the cloth that keeps you, your fellow Grisha and my personal guard safe is not important enough work for a mighty Durast like you? Do you perhaps believe that you don't need a kefta? That your powers could stop a bullet from a Drüskelle in the air? Do you want to test that theory during a stay at the Fjerdan border?

You shake your head quickly, pushing the imagined scenario far away from your consciousness, and step over to the window furthest in the back of the room, kneeling down to lift the loose wooden board out of the floor. Below it hides a small space, filled with four different notebooks.

Today will be the day, you decide.

First you move the notebooks to your desk, then you close the empty space below the window again. Your hands are shaking and sweaty as you pull out a candle holder and a box of matches. Everything in you screams to keep light sources away from you, to hide in the darkness and let the shadows swallow you as you break another rule of the little palace, but the guards know you're here. Staying in darkness would be suspicious.

When you're done preparing your workstation you're surrounded by three burning candles and four open notebooks, a new, fifth quickly joining, formerly hidden in one of the many inside pockets of your kefta. You pull out a pen and ink bottle as well, dipping the tip of the pen in the dark ink before writing down the date at the top of the first page when you notice with confusion that the ink is black instead of the usual dark blue you tend to favour. Eyes flickering to the paper glued on the bottle you check again but the writing clearly says dark blue. The ink bottle is tinted in a dark blue as well, just like all the other ink bottles you bought before.

It was probably just a mistake from the shopkeeper you bought the bottle from, but you can't stop the paranoid thoughts from racing though your mind, too fast for your rationality to catch and neutralize them. Goosebumps begin to rise over your arms, back and neck.

What if this is an omen?

Stepping back towards the door, you strain your ears to listen, checking if anyone is coming your way, panic thick in your veins. If it is a sign, it either means that today will change you forever, or it's a warning. A warning of the man dressed in black, the one to summon shadows. Your general.

Promise or warning?

What if it's both?

When the fear becomes too much to bear you open the door slowly, leaning out of the room to check the hallway, but you see nothing other than a servant girl, quickly carrying a large, heavy laundry basket with her. You smile nervously at her while your eyes scan the corners for the unnatural darkness that hints that Kirigan is close by, but you see nothing suspicious.

You don't let go of the unease yet, instead choosing to close the door before quickly brushing your fingertips together, reaching out with your powers to look for a small piece of unique metal.

There.

Kirigans ring is in his quarters, moving a few centimetres every few seconds. He's unfortunately already awake, but probably working, distracted by documents and plans for the next few days.

Stepping back to your workstation you open the pages you need in your notebooks, calmness spreading in your body and softening your tense muscles again, smoothing the goosebumps on your skin easily.

You don't even bother sitting down, knowing fully well that you will be too nervous to sit still anyways. Instead you rub your hands together, trying to warm them up a bit since the cold air in the work station is slowly turning your hands stiff. You will need full and precise control over your hands if this is supposed to work without anyone getting hurt.

When you lick your lips and take another deep breath, you force the words out immediately afterwards, closing your eyes and pressing the palms of your hands together lightly while your tongue curls and moves to form the words you've made yourself familiar with over the past few months but never spoke out loud.

It begins with a humming-like feeling in the back of your throat and a tingling sensation in your hands, similar to a limb falling asleep. Then your body becomes warm while you try your hardest to clear your mind from any bad thought you've ever had, including the dread still quietly bubbling below your sternum. If your hypothesis is right then you should be able to do this without catastrophic consequences, as long as you balance yourself completely before you begin the next step.

Your breath hitches once, twice, and you can't help yourself and reach out to check on the location of the ring one more time, this time without moving your hands from the position they're in, before you finally manage to calm your thoughts entirely.

Forcing any happiness or relief down that tries to fight its way up into your heart you open your eyes and begin to pull your hands apart slowly.

It feels like your hands are stuck together with strong, stringy glue, but slowly you begin to make progress. It doesn't hurt, just like you predicted, but that does not mean that the whole act is not exhausting to an almost ridiculous degree.

When your hands are finally around half a metre apart you try to relax a bit, your gaze falling on what stuck your hands together in the first place. It's not black like you expected, like you had seen before. Instead it looks a bit more like an iridescent, melted metal and shimmers like moonlight on the surface of a calm lake. It's bizarre and you almost move your hands to write down what you're seeing. It shifts in shape, moving slowly through the air between your hands like a thick liquid of some kind, almost see-through in some parts.

In the back of your mind you ask yourself if this is the same thing Ilya Morozova saw before he defeated death and payed with his life in the process, because you simply can't imagine that a man worthy of becoming a saint would summon a material like the inky blackness of the fold and decide to use it on a person, fully believing that it could save a life.

No, the Magic, the Merzost, of the fold must be mixed with darkness, there is no other option.

You close your eyes again, relaxing your hands even more, muscle after muscle, while you try to soothe your powers into rest, into letting go.

This is phase 3 of your experiment. Seeing if you can let go of the Merzost, and most importantly: what will follow after it's let loose.

Your hypothesis is that it will stop existing. It was summoned with no purpose, no intention, no emotion, so it has no task to fulfil, no reason to exist, nothing to keep it hooked in this world except your powers that are slowly letting go of it to lay dormant in the core of your soul once more.

Slowly, your hands begin to shake, the muscles exhausted from holding pure magic in your reality, but seconds before you think your arms will give out your powers finally let go and the Merzost begins to break apart into thin strings, then into dust like particles that drop to the surface of your work station before disappearing entirely.

You almost fall to your knees when it's done, instead managing to drop into the chair you pushed aside minutes earlier.

There's a painful ache in your arms and your fingers suddenly feel cold like ice, all the warmth from the merzost gone as if it never existed in the first place.

For a few minutes you just sit and breathe, listening to the birds outside waking up and the servants chatting while they switch shifts, the night shift girls clearly happy to finally be allowed to sleep. The halls fill with yawns from fellow Grisha as well, tired giggling audible in the hallways as the Little Palace slowly wakes up. Breakfast will start in an hour.

When you finally feel like you regained just enough strength you blow out the candles before cleaning the ink off your pen and closing the little bottle. There is no way you will be able to write anything down today, not with how overly exhausted the muscles in your arms are, so instead you choose to hide the notebooks again and walk up to your room to hide under your thick blankets.

Your team leader will scold you but you just summoned pure Merzost without having to pay a price other than some pain and numbness. What he thinks of you doesn't matter right now.

The trip through the Little Palace back to your rooms is weird. You feel distant from the other Grisha surrounding you despite the fact that most of them are just as tired as you are and you can't really pay attention to your surroundings. You're getting more and more dizzy with every step, stopping a few times to take a small breather and press your back to a wall for stability, refusing to sit down and show how sick you feel.

In the back of your mind you know you should check for the position of the Generals ring and try to avoid him and his always watching, seemingly all-knowing eyes, but you're sure if you try to lift your arms now they're going to fall off, so you choose to stay ignorant instead, praying that some Saint will take pity on you and keep you safe.

You're two doors away from your quarters, desperate to feel your soft pillow under your head and the warm comfort of your mattress and blankets, when it suddenly gets eerily quiet in your hallway, but you barely even pick up on the shift in volume and atmosphere around you.

Too caught up in your own miserable physical state you don't notice what's wrong until you find yourself face to face with an Oprichniki, his stoic eyes starring you down. Your body might be exhausted but your mind is still sharp enough to know that what this means so you quickly scramble to the side, your body hitting the wall in the process but you don't dare to make a sound, gaze flickering around until you find the General standing a few steps away, his dark grey eyes trained on you and your pitiful appearance. His gaze moves down your shape to inspect your kefta before he finally speaks, voice clear and calm. You still hear the underlying sharpness, the suspicion, despite the smoothness in his words.

The paranoia you felt an hour ago is clearly justified. He noticed your workload and will most definitely request to see what you're working on, especially after seeing you stumble around the hallways of the Little Palace.

"Are you alright, Durast?" He asks and you're not even surprised that he doesn't know your name despite the distrust he clearly holds for you.

Quickly nodding you press your body harder against the wall, the skin covering your shoulder blades hurting awfully, trapped between unyielding bone and stone wall, barely protected by the purple kefta, more of use against singular bullets than for comfort and protection against pressure.

"Yes moi soverenyi, everything is fine." You say quickly, forcing stability into your voice before tying your hardest to straighten out your back. "I'm just really tired. I haven't slept much in the past few weeks. I think I might've overworked myself a bit."

In the back of your mind an old memory of Baghra chastising you wakes up, her old voice loudly echoing through your consciousness as she scolds you.

"If you're gonna lie to me at least do me a favour and do it well. Liars always over-explain too much. Only mention enough information to assure the other person that you're not actively hiding something from them you stupid child."

Kirigans eyes do not leave you, his gaze calculating as it traces over your face, the stitching of your kefta and finally your arms and hands, hanging heavy and cold at your sides.

"Your hands are shaking." He points out and suddenly he's moving towards you, his movements too fast and too unexpected for you to dodge quickly. An echo of the feeling you get with Baghra, of that deep conviction that he will know what you've done if he gets too close to you crashes through your body like a wave but it's too late, his hands grabbing yours and lifting them up to get a better view of them.

You attempt to pull yourself out of his grasp but you can barely move your fingers at this point, giving up seconds later, your heartbeat rushing loudly in your ears. His eyes are too focused for your liking, carefully scanning your hands as if he knows that there's something for him to find, something off about your story. He doesn't believe you, not even a little bit.

A silent prayer to Ilya in chains, the man who became a saint for experimenting with magic, is all you can muster, unable to free yourself. Shit, even if your arms didn't feel like they're going to fall off any second, ripping your hands out of your Generals grasp would not only be rude, it would be disrespectful. You could get disciplined for such misdemeanour and it would probably only make him more suspicious of you and your experiments.

The Generals dark grey eyes move back to your face, so many questions clearly visible in his eyes that it takes your breath away for a second.

Is he trying to manipulate you?

Look at me. I have so many questions only you can answer. Don't you want to please me? Don't you want to please your General?

You shake your head lightly and he seems to take it as an answer to one of his questions, a frown appearing on his face before he lets go of your hands.

"Go to sleep. After you're rested please come to my quarters. I would like to talk about whatever project is taking up so much of your time. Perhaps we can organise a small team to support you. We can't have Grisha stumbling around the halls of the Little Palace like this. The king is going to assume I can't lead my soldiers well enough if he hears of this."

Nodding quickly, not trusting your voice to be stable enough for the usually expected yes, moi soverenyi, you try to take a step back, bumping into the wall with a wince before lowering your gaze to the floor to show respect. He waves his with his hand, dismissing you in the process, before continuing his path down the hallway.

When you finally stand in front of your room you force your hands back into movement to pull your key out of one of your many pockets to unlock the door, while silently asking yourself how the Generals hands could possibly be cold enough for the feeling to still be noticeable for you, despite the numb state of your arms.

Maybe that's why he always wears those gloves? His hands are just really, really cold?

Minutes after you fall into your bed, prepared to sleep the weird effects of the Merzost off, the General stands silently in his own quarters, staring at his hands as he realises that he not only foolishly touched you with his bare hands, he also didn't feel your powers pull on his amplification. No, you hadn't noticed anything at all and neither did he. He didn't amplify you when he touched you.

Slowly turning back towards his door, the same frown from before appears on his face, his mind deep in thought. Something about you is not right. Something has changed.

A mystery has revealed itself in the halls of his very own palace and for the first time in decades he has no idea what to do about it.

Part 2 - I have no time for confession

#darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader #the darkling imagine #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova x reader

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