#Frankly I wish to swear worse than a sailor at you

[vilevexedvixen]

"One sided beef"

@sunshinecatie I tried explaining myself, you went "I'm sorry you're hurt" rather than actually apologising.

You willfully misrepresented my opinion that Ed wouldn't kill Jon over him and Susan consensually banging based on canon dialogue rather than buried fics and roped Dee into it instead of just agreeing to disagree until pushed to do so.

I reached out to understand what went wrong. Twice. The second time when I realised your reasons still did not make sense. You WERE upset, why? Wording. What wording? I did not put "I think" at the start or otherwise phrase my opinion as an AU, OC or headcanon.

You doubled down and kept making it about wording when I, like Lunar, say what I mean and the aggression you took from it (on the discord) was projection on your part. However, this post is what it looks like when I am actually angry at you.

Which became a snowball self-fullfilling prophecy because you kept claiming I was angry in the original interaction when I wasn't (which in itself was aggrevating). Eventually making me genuinely angry.

At this point, I:

a. Neither expect nor deserve forgiveness from you or anyone you consider a friend

b. Do not trust the discord to be a safe space for anyone except those you already consider a friend, which is why I left. Because it quickly turned out to not be a fun Rogues fandom chat, and instead Catie's Corner.

c. Do not trust the sincerity of anything you say, given how thoroughly you have repeatedly warped my very straightforward frustrations with your inability to live and let live different interpretatons of canon text (you were only ok with the idea of Ed's actions being confined to an AU, OC or headcanon; when discussion of canon text is very standard procedure in fandom and the act of doing so in itself is not reason for upset, but it proved to be for you, which is why I started to consider you a more controlling person - which likely does not reflect yourself generally).

If you were actually going to reach out to rekindle a nonexistent friendship, you would have. Don't pretend you actually give a shit when you have done nothing but deny, deflect and distance. That is an especially shallow attempt to gage sympathy instead of actually doing better. You don't care about "fixing things", all you care about is making this (me) go away so you don't have to deal with it.

I also do not expect you to agree with my perspective on things, given how prone you have proven to be to misinterpreting people.

So let me be clear.

I was not angry in the discord when all this started.

I am now very angry for how you refused to see that I was not originally angry and instead focussed entirely on how you disliked how you felt I was saying you were "wrong".

You are not "wrong".

I did not say you were "wrong".

My phrasing, to anyone but you, clearly did not even imply you were wrong. It was a disagreement / counterpoint sure, but nothing argumentative or insulting.

Let me repeat.

Me disaggreeing with you does not mean you are wrong!

Also! If people besides me DO for whatever reason think you are wrong, then THAT IS OK!

Disagreement is not invalidation.

Your focus on thinking I needed validation was honestly a bit perplexing.

I was baffled you freaked out over me thinking Ed wouldn't do X. Because whatever I think about Ed doesn't mean you need to think the same thing. I gave my reason for why I thought what I thought. That wasn't an argument. That was just making sure you understood why I thought that about Ed, even if you don't agree.

I vented my anger on my personal account because I did not want to bother people but still wanted to get out how I felt. I have virtually no following, so considered it basically posting into the void the same as any other rant post. I thought the block would keep the post local to my blog. Trying to rebuild this bridge while I still had this box of matches in my pocket would not end well. I would be holding in everything I grew to hate about you through gritted teeth. I do not think like you do, I need actual closure to move on and that is not possible here.

I was frustrated that at every point I attempted to talk to you, you never listened and we just came out further misunderstanding each other.

==>You are not at fault. <==

Silence doesn't feel like mending, or peace, just an indefinite continuation of whatever note was left on.

I also am not vague posting. I am very specifically posting about my exact feelings about fandom discourse and the ways I disagree with your attitude towards it. My non-fandom rants are not about you, your actions have however triggered (inappropriately, I must add) those non-fandom (trauma / mental health) rants.

No it is not your fault. No this is not an attempt at pity farming. It just happens sometimes. Sometimes things people do remind me of past abusers (and yes, your misunderstandings, mannerisms and thought patterns (in terms of what you share online) very closely resemble a narcissistic abuser of mine I have since cut ties with. Does that mean you are narcissistic or abusive? No. The similarities are likely entirely superficial, but it does explain (though not excuse) the misfire), and that exacerbates whatever more mild feelings were initially experienced into a full-blown episode. Again, no that is not your fault, it is just a thing that happens that I am working on and has genuinely improved from the shit show it was before starting medication.

I love the Rogues Podcast. I'm glad you enjoy it as much as I do. I have since 2015, I think. Long before I started social media or any community interaction. I have come to not love the community, which IS yours more than it is Dee's and Codot's, especially these days.

Asking questions is not the issue, it's how you lord yourself over others for being someone asking Dee and Codot questions that is the issue. Again, you are not listening.

For the sake of levity, and because it is how I feel:

One measly interview does not grant you the authority you seem to think you have. You can reframe my anger however you wish, but that does not change the fact that at no point have you actually listened to a single thing I have been trying to tell you that others have perfectly understood without issue, making it clear it isn't my wording.

This is actually why I partially blamed your behaviour on you being American. Silly, I know. But in all the communities (with a mix of fans from across the globe) I have enjoyed interacting with, it has always been American fans that start shit and blame it on me / something innocuous I said. Always.

Granted, that was only one or two other times (once with a Legend of Korra fan and another with a far right Fallout fan) so my sample size is small but still.

Autistic people aren't all the same. It stands to reason that speech and mannerisms will generally differ across countries. What wording you need to feel unbothered is VERY specifically with added reassurance. In the discord I felt like I needed to follow up everything with something to go "You're valid (Catie)!" to keep you placated. It's not like I waltzed in there are picked the fights that ended up happening. I waltzed in their and started talking about Rogues and other stuff I like.

This is a side-tangent, but my feelings towards the ways we miscommunicated with each other are much like my mum's feelings towards most software she uses for work demanding the use of American spellings and American grammar even when set to "British English", which is clearly a completely superficial setting that doesn't actually adhere to British grammar and spelling.

So I lashed out in frustration. And rather than confront me yourself, you called upon Codot and the discord to do it for you, or at the very least so they would hear your version of the story first so they come into this with your story already in mind. Telling people you treat like goons to tell me to back off doesn't work. It just validates my unflattering view of you. Sorry.

I have tried to be as clear as possible in this post.

If it upsets you, fine.

The only thing I ask is that you please do not feel threatened or upset when people besides me discuss Rogues!Ed (and the Rogues podcast as a whole on a deeper level than just "Wow! I LOVE that character!", "That line was SO funny!", etc.). Not as an AU, OC or headcanon, but just how they see them in text. Otherwise this will happen all over again, just with someone else. And it will be your fault.

[strigital]

Do tell about Nim, I couldn’t find much info about her through your blog and I am dying to know more about this werewolf lady

well grab a pint and sit yo booty down, cause our bard of the evening tonight is Nim and she's drunk as all hell and ready to weave some outrageous stories!! 🍻

in all seriousness, thank you for asking! 😭💗 she came about back in ye oldie days of hype over the 11th of november 2011, and since then refuses to give up the title of my fav oc!!

now, a Paarthurnax would say: lets-a go!

a quick recap of the events in Skyrim:

Naali Saryn was born sometime in 4E 130 on mainland Morrowind as a result of a quick fling between an unknown Dunmer girl and Lucien Lachance and Kassandra Saryn's (The Hero of Kvatch's) son.

Sometime in that year, the baby was found aboard a ship bound for Raven Rock and when no one came forth to claim her a couple of elderly and childless ash yam farmers decided to take her in until her family was found.

The family, of course, was never found, and so they raised her as their own for the next sixteen years. They called the girl Nim - short, sweet, meaningless, and easy to shout out into the fields where the little brat is out adventuring when the house chores are yet to be done.

Nim grew up alongside her best friend Teldryn (don't believe his tales about his past, there's a reason why he wears a helmet in his hometown). For years the kids dreamt of leaving Raven Rock behind and making it big in the big city. And idea which really annoyed Nim's ol' Nana, who believed that everything needed for a simple happy life was right here on Solstheim.

After one particularly nasty fight with Nana about the ordeal, Nim gathered a bag of things and slipped out in the dead of night to catch an early morning ship with Teldryn.

They stuck together for a while then went on their separate merry ways. He - to Blacklight, she - to Leyawiin. Once in the wild, Nim had to quickly figure out her place in the pecking order. The romantic life of crime seemed to be the most attractive for her, but getting on top could never be easy. Especially for a young, inexperienced, and naive girlie. So she ended up running with the wrong kind of crew. Ended up in some truly dark places. Barely got out alive. Learned from her mistakes. Wore the scars of abuse like armor and made sure that since that day no one in this world or any other would play her for a fool, use her or put a finger on her without her permission.

By the time she turned fifty, Nim was well known amongst certain circles as the kind of scoundrel, thief, bard, and wench one should not trifle with. But her luck had to eventually run out, and so it did on the night of the fabled Umbacano Mansion heist, which failed so badly Nim had to either leave Cyrodiil or end up in a Thalmor owned torture chamber.

Skyrim seemed like a perfect place. After all, in a kingdom torn apart by the civil war, no one would even notice yet another greyskin refugee, right? Well, the Thalmor did. And so she ended up on a cart bound for Helgen to have a date with an executioner. But then Alduin showed up to crash the party before he himself got rudely interrupted by another dragon, who swooped in to save the Last Dragonborn.

After the narrow escape, Nim concluded her duty to warn Balgruuf of the dragon threat and went on to start a new career as a merc with the Companions. She and Aela became fast friends and when the prospect of joining the Circle came up she gladly accepted a sip of her new sister's blood. To never again be helpless and weak? To rip apart any fool who'd take her for just another elf wench who can't put up a fight? Well of course it was worth giving up the ability to sleep and having to get used to all smells suddenly becoming ten times worse!

After that Mirmulnir showed up and ended up as another ornament above the throne in the Dragonsreach. And Nim got stuck with a title which she would wear with great discontent for years to come.

Eventually, she ceased trying to run away and hide from her destiny, accepted her role as the Last Dragonborn, and begrudgingly began her quest to save the world. On her journey, she met and became tight friends with Yollokmir and Alasil who taught her how to speak, fight and fly like a dragon. With their help she inherited Konahrik's legacy: his mask embued with his soul, his citadel far up in the mountains - the NebenLok Zeikangaar - and the right to revive and lead the order of dragon riders sworn to defeat Alduin - DovahDein.

As she gained power and the word of her great many deeds spread across Skyrim, she managed to get quite the following of fellow men, mer, and Dov, willing to follow her into Sovngarde and beat the hell out of Alduin. Alas, she failed. Twice.

At that point, Alasil informed her of a special someone who might be of help in their quest against Alduin and who might prove difficult to convince to join her cause. That was the first time in fifty years that Nim got to visit her home. Unfortunately, Solstheim had changed. And upon arrival, she learned that her Pa passed onto the realm of Azura soon after her departure, and her Nana... well, she wasn't young anymore and suffered greatly due to all the ash ruining her lungs... and when the islanders got called to the All-Maker stones night after night by a mysterious spell, she just worked herself to death. That was the only thing Nim wouldn't forgive Miraak for, not until he swallowed his pride and sincerely apologized for being responsible for his potential mother-in-law's death.

And with Miraak's help, they finally sent Alduin back to his Maker, enjoyed a few peaceful years until High King Ulfric became a bit drunk on his power and needed a good ass whooping as well. Then Miraak suddenly found himself as the new king and Nim... she just did her own thing. As always. The end?

Oh and all the while running about, gathering forces, growing her Dragonborn powers, hunting Dragon Priests and Alduin's henchmen, she also meddled with the Thieves Guild, put Karliah in charge and became her right hand, managed to become an advisor on all things dragon at the Mage's College, ended up teaching lute and songwriting at the Bard's College (she's taking a break since Viarmo can't seem to handle her teaching tactics), earned the title of Thane in every hold and became a good friend to the Dawnguard fellas (Isran is more than happy to teach her kids the ropes of monster hunting) after kicking Harkon's ass into Oblivion. In what little free time she has Nim also manages the Lakeview Manor and leases the ash yam farm back in Raven Rock for some extra cash. All in all, a busy woman!

and some tidbits about the dovahmom:

Although Nim is perfectly aware of her real name, she chooses to use the one given to her by Nana. Both as a sign of respect and because, frankly, she dislikes both the Sarynes and the Lachances, who are, in her humble opinion, just a bunch of pricks. Somehow, the ghost of her murdered grandad finds this opinion of hers kinda funny.

Her friends sometimes describe her as "cyrodiilic brandy in a cup of tea": she's this small elf girl with pretty blue eyes and a smile on her face and you think that she'll be very pleasant and cute and shy and then... then you realize she drinks like a sailor, swears like one too, can beat anyone into the dirt (thanks, Hircine) and doesn't take shit from nobody. She openly speaks her mind and doesn't give a shit about what someone might think of her. She does what she considers the right thing to do, never plays nice with those she dislikes, never pretends to be someone she isn't. She's feisty, sassy, brassy, and, quite honestly, just doesn't give a fuck.

Nim is in almost complete control over her inner beast, partly thanks to her draconic blood, partly - to the ring she got when she and Sinding had that little party on a moonlit night in that grotto. She only loses control over herself when both moons are full and thusly will travel deep into the wilds a few days before the magical night. This way the only people that might get hurt are bandits, necromancers, hags, and the like. She and Aela also managed to get a small werewolf pack going, named the Whitemane Pack after the old man himself and dedicated to those who wish to take control over their inner beast, hunt with honor, and cause the Silver Hand as much grief as possible.

Nim is raising Blaise and Sofie as her own since they both were just wee lil' war orphans (the babes are in their teens now). She never quite really knew why... Nim was never a wifey nor a baby momma kind of woman. In fact, she can't even have children in the first place and, honestly, always thought of this as a blessing - never having to worry about contraception like all those other girls and just having fun without a care in the world! Her friends sometimes joke around, saying that she might've finally "ripened" for the motherhood, but she doesn't care. She loves Blaise, Sofie, and Sissel (thanks, Miraak, you're so good at kidnapping children!) and is content with being their famous Dragonborn mom. Post-Alduin Miraak, however, is secretly annoyed for not being able to get her pregnant. Oh well, the man can dream...

Oh yeah! Nim plays the lute and sings too! It's a skill she picked up across taverns all over the continent when she realized that bards get free drinks and a bed, as well as ample opportunity to sniff out and seduce prey. And even though her days of hunting for good-looking rich fools are long behind her, she still performs in inns and taverns across Skyrim. Firstly, it brings in a fair amount of money, and secondly, it's good for her Voice! And also just plain and simple fun.

Also, people get terribly surprised when she, a Dunmer, doesn't act like one at all! Nim might've grown up in Raven Rock, a Dunmer settlement, but she spent the rest of her life traveling the continent and then living in Skyrim. She's more Nord-ish than some Nords! And the Nords actually really love it! It's so so easy to just get plastered with the homegirl, punch some faces and pass out on a heap of hay behind the inn, just happy to be alive on this fine snowy day. The only truly Dunmer thing about her is the occasional "n'wah!" which escapes her potty mouth. I mean, she doesn't even like sujamma all that much and would rather have a pint of mead! Whatever Ancestors she has must be spinning in their graves fast enough to generate electricity.

uuuhhh I think that's all the important stuff? i might've forgotten, in which case, I'll add it later... meanwhile, have some more Nim content:

^^^ the fanfic is slow, but it's moving... at a snail's pace. my advice: don't expect updates, so that when they do come, you'll be pleasantly surprised!

[acciork800]

by the light (of the silvery moon)

No. on prompt list: #30 “A kiss under a full moon”

I loved this prompt, it was so fun to write and cute. Please request more if you want, I’d be happy to write it! Thank you @blue–blushes for requesting it, you cute bean :D ♡♡

Warnings- none, just one swear I think im worse than a sailor im sorry

》》》》

This morning, your neighbour had called out to you from down the corridor. You were headed out to work, when she popped her head around her door and called, “Have a good day, (Name)!”

As the hours of the day trickled in, you became more and more sure that your neighbour was a witch. She had jinxed you with that stupid passing comment. Well, she certainly had the appearance of one. Uncanny, really, the similarities between her and the Wicked Witch of the West.

Just dip her in green paint, you stewed, glaring at the dissolving froth laying atop your coffee.

But perhaps it was all because of you. At least, you were the one that chose the bag with the straining seams, the one that caused it to split open at the most opportune moment. The exact moment you stepped into the precinct. You were the one who walked right into Captain Fowler in your rush to the bathroom. All to clean spilled coffee from your jacket. And as if that weren’t enough, you were the one who somehow didnt see Gavin Reed’s overlarge foot poking out from the wall.

Now that was just mean.

It would be the understatement of the fucking decade to say that today was not going good.

“May I question as to why you’re scowling, (Name)?”

Your eyes, slightly stiff from the tears you had shed into the sleeve of your shirt while no one was looking, shot upwards to strike with another pair. The eyes of your favourite android.

You sat upright, rolling up snot-stained sleeves and smiling up at him. It was natural instinct to feel comforted by Connor’s presence. Or maybe it was because of your massive crush on the guy. Who knew? Smiling was putting it lightly. After the terrible day you’d had, you were positive that your luck would remain gone and all the moments of embarrassment would bleed into the night.

And yet Connor was here. His grin matched yours, and you felt the world shift delicately. A stamp of his deviancy.

Producing a sensible answer from thin air was, quite frankly, impossible with Connor standing over you. Especially with Connor standing over you. He was wearing faded jeans, and clearly had discovered a love for the simple comfort provided with a jumper and a leather jacket. It was probably Hank’s.

You made a metal note to thank the older detective on his involvement with Connor’s fashion.

A groan finally left you. Shutting your eyes for a brief moment and just soaking up the embarrassment of Connor seeing you like this- face tracked with dried tears and untidy hair.

“Oh, Connor,” you whispered, finally admitting it to yourself. “I just want to go home.”

“Come on, then.”

A beat. “What?” You spluttered, placing your coffee down safely on the table because you did not want a repeat of earlier.

The smile remained. “You heard me. You’ve been working overtime. You can leave.”

Before his deviation from the suffocating arms of CyberLife, to hear those words coming from Connor would have been unheard of. Unimaginable. Beyond the realm of reason that he was once locked up in. Then he found the key.

You focused on the distant window and what was sitting beyond it. You were fully separated from the desk lamp burning holes in your paperwork. The raining, dull sky from earlier had faded to black. The precinct was quiet. So it was time to go home.

Connor lifted your coffee-stained jacket from the back of your chair and held it outstretched, so you could slip your arms in. His fingers lingered on your shoulders for a moment.

“I’m such an idiot,” you grumbled, although the smile spreading across your burning cheeks said otherwise. “I’m glad you had the day off today, Connor. You didn’t have the pleasure of watching me mess up. Continuously.”

Connor remained quiet. The two of you headed through the sliding doors and into the street, which was barren as far as the streetlamps went. Puddles left by the rainfall earlier gleamed beneath the two pairs of feet that disturbed them.

“You’re far from that, (Name),” stated Connor, hands shoved in his pockets and occasionally knocking elbows with you as you walked precariously through puddles.

You laughed in appreciation. “Thanks, Connor.”

“I mean it,” He stopped suddenly, staring at you with nothing but the deepest intent. “I think you’re brilliant.”

You came to a complete halt, only a few steps ahead. The streetlamps did nothing to hide your expression of admiration towards the android. As though in a spotlight, with the carnal urge pawing at your chest, all you desired to do was act out and kiss him. Kiss the android- the man you’d been pining over ever since he stepped foot into the DPD with those determined doe eyes and stiff walk.

You took a hesitant step forward, and felt your face heat up at the split second when Connor did the same. “That- that means a lot, Con,” You froze. “I mean- Connor, not Con, if you’re-”

“I’m rather knew to the idea of nicknames, (Name),” he said earnestly, before coming to a short pause. His LED spinned yellow for several seconds before it fell back to a steady blue. “But I like it.”

And that was enough for you. Those words drove your gaze down. Connor noticed everything. He’d notice the panic settling in your eyes, and question it. You’d have to lie. Say it was nothing. Then he’d make a verbal note of your clamouring heartbeat.

Then you saw its reflection. A sphere of white that bled into the murky water it lay in. Your shoe nudged it, and the whole image shuddered.

In the midst of its ripples, you peered up at the moon. Usually in Detroit, the smog from the endless construction sites would mask the sky through both day and night. Only the brightest stars were often visible. The moon would be a hazy grey.

“Cheese,” you murmured, looking innocently up at the full moon. You could almost hear Connor’s confusion.

“Cheese?” he inquired, sounding taken aback. “I don’t- (Name), are you feeling all-”

A giggle cascaded from your lips. Your separate gazes met. “It’s a stupid little story my parents used to tell me. I went a good seven, maybe eight years of my life believing wholeheartedly that the moon was made of Swiss cheese.”

You half expected Connor to laugh at how ridiculous it was. If anything , he looked increasingly intrigued.

You watched him, heart beating in response to his tiny smile. But when he spoke, it constricted in pain.

“I wish I had a story to tell you, (Name). One you'd enjoy. But I don’t have much experience with- with happy memories.”

It all happened when he talked. Everything. You drew clooser to each other, stitching together with the thread of anticipation. Your baited breath, which flew in a whisp of vapour from your mouth, disappeared into the tight air between you and Connor.

Reaching out, you grabbed his hand. It was warm, and clamped down on your fingers securely. “You could tell me any story, Con.”

The silver light coated you in cool love as your lips finally met. The man in the moon laughed, glowing in fullness.

He couldn’t wait to kiss the sun like that one day.

》》》》

[ablackbirdsinging]

I wrote a thing

@azrielsiphons  This is the fic I was telling you about! 

Like Calls to Like (Chapter 1)

Nina Zenik/Sturmhond  Will get to be pretty mature (explicit??), but not yet. Spoilers for everything Leigh Bardugo has ever published. Don’t read any of this if you haven’t finished Crooked Kingdom and the entirety of the Grisha Trilogy. 

If you’d rather read this over on AO3, here’s a handy link for you.

Nina stood at the bow of the ship with Genya, taking measured breaths of the briny sea air. Between the ship’s crew, the refugee Grishas, Kuwei, the members of the Triumvirate, and Matthias’ still body in the ship’s hold, Nina was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

As she often did when she stood above deck, Nina felt Sturmhond’s eyes on her, assessing her the way he assessed everything - the sails, the stars, the weather, his crew.

She was no stranger to the gaze of men, but there was something cool in Sturmhond’s eyes which made Nina think him impervious to the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts.

Frankly, it was a relief.

He picked his way across the deck, murmuring words to the sailors and the Grisha working up top.

“Morning,” Genya said, looking up with a smile as he approached.

“We should be pulling into port by the end of day tomorrow,” he said by way of greeting. Nina loosed a relieved breath and he eyed her curiously. “Not much of a sailor, Zenik?”

“I’ll just be glad to set my feet back down on Ravkan soil again,” Nina replied. A wide smile broke across Sturmhond’s face, softening his sometimes strange features.

“Me too,” he murmured as he walked away. “Me too.”

Nina turned back to Genya who was watching the privateer’s retreating form almost sadly.

“I’d thought he’d be… bigger.” Nina said. Genya huffed out half a laugh.

“He used to be, once,” she said with a shrug.

“Do you know him well, then?” Nina asked.

“Not well, exactly. Our history is…complicated.” Nina raised a sharp eyebrow.

“Not like that!” Genya laughed. “We never, I swear! But I’ve known him a long time. Before…and after.”

“The war?” Genya bit her lip, her eye thoughtful.

“Yes, that too.” Nina didn’t press the subject. She didn’t know what role Sturmhond had played, exactly, but she was familiar with the things the Grisha had endured during the Ravkan Civil War. The war had changed people, changed the country she loved. And it seemed even the coolest and most confident of privateers hadn’t been immune to its horrors.

—-

Nina hadn’t wanted to even go back to the Little Palace once they returned to Ravka. She was eager to find another ship to take her and Matthias’ body to Fjerda as soon as possible. But Zoya and Genya were insistent that she rest at the Little Palace for a while. Only there would they be able to find a healer to prepare Matthias’ body for another long sea voyage. Genya had done what she could before their trip to Ravka, but her knowledge on the subject was pretty limited. So Nina reluctantly agreed to return with them to the Little Palace before setting out again. She had to admit the idea of a couple weeks with solid ground under her feet again sounded nice.

“And besides, the King will surely want to be briefed on the happenings in Ketterdam, right?” Genya and Zoya shared a conspiratorial look.

“Right,” Genya said with a small laugh. She was practically hopping from excitement to see David after her time away. The thought of Genya and her Fabrikator love lightened Nina’s heart as they approached the palace walls.

—-

The day after Nina’s return to Ravka, she was called before King Nikolai. Genya had already secured a new kefta for Nina to wear, and she smoothed it nervously as she walked through the King’s throne room.

Darker than the typical Heartrender red by a few shades and embellished with swirling black embroidery along the back, the beautifully-crafted garment belied Nina’s new dark affinity.

The King watched her as she approached with a suppressed grin. Of course he didn’t need to be briefed on the happenings in Ketterdam, as he’d been there himself wearing Sturmhond’s face. But his Grisha Triumvirate was insistent that he continued the ruse, even in the midst of their own trusted Grisha.

“Miss Zenik,” Nikolai said as she came close and sketched a stiff bow. She had always seemed at ease around Sturmhond’s ship, if a bit reserved with the other travelers. It was strange to see her dressed up in the Grisha formal wear with her dark curls piled atop her head. “Squaller Nazyalensky has been filling me in on the events of the last several weeks. It sounds like we have you to thank for the recovery of several expatriate Ravkans, as well as the safety of Kuwei Yul-Bo.”

“Of course I didn’t act alone,” Nina demurred. “And of course it wouldn’t have been possible without Zoya, Genya, and Sturmhond.” Zoya nodded in her direction, but Genya was missing from the room. Nina suspected she and David were still enjoying their reunion at the Little Palace.

“Still, your actions were very admirable in the face of the challenges in Ketterdam. Will you be returning to your role in the Second Army, now that you’ve returned to Ravka?”

Nina rubbed a slippered foot awkwardly on the floor tiles in front of her.

“Actually, Your Majesty, I have a personal matter to attend to first. My -” she cleared her throat uncomfortably. “My close friend lost his life in the fighting in Ketterdam. I wish to return his body to Fjerda as soon as possible.”

The King’s golden eyebrows rose up into his hairline.

“I don’t suppose I need to tell you that Grisha such as yourself are not well-received in Fjerda. We’ve suspended the ships on our northern trade route in light of the tensions abroad. There are of course no passenger ships going out to Fjerda either.”

Nina shook out the stiff cuffs of her kefta.

“I was hoping I might convince Sturmhond to take me actually.” She said quietly. “He seems to have only a sliver of self-preservation. He might not find the trip entirely impossible.”

King Nikolai’s hazel eyes lit up a bit.

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t find it impossible at all. Shall I make a formal request on your behalf?”

Nina’s cool formality lifted like a veil at that.

“Oh, could you?” She looked like a girl again, staring up at him with so much unbridled hope that Nikolai suddenly found it hard to meet her eyes. He shrugged.

“He owes me about a million favors. I’ll send a letter right away.”

“Thank you so much, Your Majesty.”

“Of course,” Nikolai nodded. “If that’s all, then you may go. I’ll be in touch when I hear from Sturmhond.” Nikolai could almost feel Zoya rolling her eyes from beside his dais.

Dismissed, Nina turned to go and the rooms’ torches shone upon the back of her kefta. Black embroidery crept from the hem toward her neck in a dark, swirling riot amid the rich, wine red fabric. The sight sent a shiver up Nikolai’s spine. His fingers itched inside his ever-present gloves. It felt, suddenly, like the twist of scars and the dark shadows in his blood had reared up again. His arms, his chest, the backs of his shoulders suddenly felt too hot, too constricted by his finely tailored clothes. As the dark Heartrender swept from his throne room, Nikolai’s eyes watched her go with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years.

—

Two nights later, Nina had just returned to her room after dinner when there was a knock at her door. Some of her old classmates had been stopping by since her return to hear about her adventures being captured by the druskelle, then gallivanting around Ketterdam for a year.

But when she pulled open the door, Sturmhond was leaning against the door frame.

“Hi,” she said, somewhat awkwardly. His mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile.

“Hi,” he responded. “Uh, can I come in?”

Nina cast a backwards glance at her small room, and shifted to block it from Sturmhond’s line of sight.

“Can you give me a minute?”

“Yeah that’s fine,” but she was already shutting the door in his face.

For someone who arrived in the country with almost no worldly possessions less than a week ago, she had amassed a giant collection of shoes, dresses, tunics, capes, hair ties, and undergarments which were currently strewn across every available surface of her room. There was also more than one serving tray of days-old tea and pastry crumbs haphazardly stacked on the small desk.

Without a second thought, she swept as much of the clutter behind the dressing screen and anything that wouldn’t fit got kicked under the bed. She straightened the quilt across the bed and fluffed a pillow, then her hair. There was no help for her clothes - a drab and ill-fitting tunic and olive leggings, but he had seen her in worse aboard the ship. Her new kefta might have helped a bit, but it was somewhere buried in the heap of clothes relocated to the corner of her room.

With a deep breath, she yanked her door back open. Sturmhond was still lounging in the same position she’d left him in a moment before.

She plastered on her best “House of the White Rose” smile and gestured to the room behind her.

“Come in. Welcome to my humble abode.”

His calculating gaze swept over her room.

“It’s very… homey.”

“Well, we can’t all call a shockingly well-appointed and lavishly furnished pirate ship home.”

“It’s privateer, actually.”

“Alright, shockingly well-appointed and lavishly furnished privateer ship.”

“That has a nice ring to it actually. I’d like that engraved on a plaque,” he said as he perched on the edge of her desk beside a cup of yesterday’s tea with a dead flying floating in it. He poked the cup with one gloved finger and watched the fly slosh around.

“I didn’t know the serious pirate captain could make a joke.” She fixed him with a wicked smile, a challenge.

“Privateer, dear. And I’m not joking. You’ll know when I am because it will be hilarious.” He looked up from the disgusting tea cup and returned her wicked smile. Nina couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and out into the small space.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you had a proposition for me.” His ruddy eyebrows arched into his ginger hairline in an expression that was vaguely familiar. Nina had enough good grace to blush at the innuendo.

“You got the King’s letter?”

“Actually, I showed up before he’d had a chance to send it. But he filled me in and suggested that you wouldn’t be discouraged from the task. He assured me that you were already well aware that your plan to show up in Fjerda was pure madness.”

“I’ve been told you’re an expert at mad plans,” Nina said coyly, picking at the hem of her tunic.

“By whom?” She could hear the smile in his voice without looking at him.

“By the other expert of mad plans.”

“Kaz Brekker, I assume?”

“Of course,” and he looked up to meet her eyes. They were shining with that light again, that hope that he had seen in the throne room. He shook his head to clear his mind.

“He humbles me. We’ll take my smallest and fastest ship.”

“Wait, what?” Her eyes became glassy with unshed tears.

“Honestly, I’d rather take one of the flying craft but the weather that far north is too unpredictable. Maybe if we waited till spring, but still, if we went down in Fjerdan waters and couldn’t get airborne again, we’d be, well, fucked. So a traditional ship is our best bet. We’ll take a skeleton crew and I won’t force any of the Grisha to travel with us. I’ll ask for volunteers, of course, but I can’t guarantee that any of them will want to take the risk. In the last month the situation in Fjerda has become even more unstable.”

“I understand,” Nina said. A relieved tear spilled down her cheek. “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, when the King asks so nicely…”

“Right,” she sniffed, “because you owe him a million favors.”

“Did he say that? Ridiculous. He owes ME a million favors.” Nina shook her head, laughing.

“I guess I don’t really care why you’ve decided to help -” but he cut her off.

“You have a lot of heart, Zenik. I like that. And I think what you’re doing for Matthias is very honorable.” Another tear rolled down her cheek. “I have some business to handle for the King over the next week or so, but I’ll start making preparations for the journey. I’ll send correspondence when I have a better idea of our sail date.”

He hopped off the corner of the desk where he’d been perched and headed for the door. Nina followed, wringing her hands.

“Thank you for this, Sturmhond. Truly.” He shrugged.

“Call me Niko.”

“Niko?” There was a devilish light in his bright green eyes.

“You didn’t think my mother named me Sturmhond, did you?”

“I didn’t know people like you had mothers, actually.”

Sturmhond - no, Niko’s - laughter echoed down the hallway as he walked away, leaving Nina to her small, disheveled room again.

—-

“This is a terrible idea.”

“I haven’t asked for your opinion, Zoya.”

“You’ve barely been back a week and already you want to go off gallivanting for no reason.”

“I still haven’t asked for your opinion, Zoya. And besides, it’s not ‘no reason.’ Not to her. She made a promise.”

“A promise that has nothing to do with you.”

“I like when people keep their promises,” Nikolai insisted stubbornly.

“Believe me, we all do, Nikolai. It doesn’t mean you have to be the one to take her.”

“There’s no one else who can.”

“If it’s truly that dangerous then all the more reason that you shouldn’t go,” Zoya stomped her foot to punctuate her point.

“Do not treat me like a child, Nazyalensky.”

“Then stop acting like one. You’re no longer the spare second son who can waste his time playing pirate captain. Privateer, I know I know. Don’t waste your breath. I shouldn’t have to tell you that you’re the King now and -”

“Yes, and as the King -” But Genya cut him off.

“Can you two stop arguing for a moment so I can concentrate? If you keep scowling like this I’m going to end up marring one of your beautiful features. On accident, of course.” Genya was removing the Sturmhond tailoring he’d asked her to work up a few hours before. Her hands worked across his face, returning his features to that of the King.

Zoya bit her lip and restrained herself for a whole minute before she started talking again.

“Your people need to see you on the throne.”

“My people need many many things from me, Zoya, and I cannot give all of them all of what they want. But in this specific instance, I can give one of my people exactly what she wants. And I’m the only one who can.”

“Are you fucking her, Nikolai?” Genya’s hands on his face stilled.

“Really, Zoya?” Genya said as she shot a critical look at the Squaller.

“I apologize. That was uncouth. Are you making sweet, passionate love to her, Your Majesty?”

“If I was, that would be my business alone. Not a matter for the Triumvirate. But the answer is no.” Genya’s hands stilled on his face. “What? Spit it out Safin.”

“Well, do you want to?” He could have sworn Zoya was biting her lip to keep herself from bursting out laughing.

“Do you two plan ways to gang up on me, or does it just come that naturally to you?”

—-

Nina made her way to the Corporalki workshops the next morning. She was meeting with a Grisha named Annushka who had taken on the task of preparing Matthias’ body for preservation and eventual burial once they returned him to Fjerda.

Nina had once called the Corporalki labs home when she was a student at the Little Palace, and not much had changed. She picked her way to the desk Annushka called hers.

“Nina, it’s great to see you again.”

“Hello, Annushka. I got your message. Did everything go ok?”

“Yes, all went to plan. The body is prepared and one of David’s apprentices brought a box over just yesterday. It will keep the humidity stable aboard the ship to make sure everything stays intact on the journey over.”

Nina swallowed thickly and nodded her thanks. She never imagined she’d be barely an adult and preparing to bury her first love.

“Would you like to see him before we seal the coffin?”

“I - I don’t think so, if that’s alright.” She had said her goodbyes in Ketterdam.

“Of course,” Annushka reached out to grip her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Nina.”

“Thank you, Annu.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Nina bit the inside of her cheek. There was something else she was wondering.

“Genya said you would be the best to work with Matthias’ body because you’re particularly well-suited to working with the, um, dead.”

“Yes, I’ve always struck a bit of a balance between the Heartrenders and the Healers. Not interested in killing, but not best equipped for medicine and healing, either.”

“I see,” Nina tapped her foot nervously. She liked Annushka, but she wasn’t sure how much she could confide in the Grisha seated across from her. “As you know, I trained as a Heartrender here a few years ago before leaving to join the Second Army.” Annu nodded. “But recently I’ve found that my power has changed. I’m much more in tune with the dead, than the living. In fact,” she dropped her voice low, “I’ve found that I can actually move the dead.” Annushka, to her credit, kept her expression carefully guarded.

“Bring them back, you mean?”

“Not exactly,” although she remembered the moments that she’d tried and almost succeeded with Matthias. “More like, re-animate. I could cause a corpse to get up and walk around, like a marionette. Have you ever heard of other Heartrenders with such affinities?”

Annushka shook her head.

“Not exactly. My own power is much more limited. In the most basic terms, I can isolate and arrest the decomposition of the dead cells. That’s why I’m well suited to the work you needed done with Matthias. But I’ve heard of others who possess a stronger affinity for working with the dead. Those who can manipulate the appearance of a corpse, extract internal organs for study, or even transplant, from the dead. But nothing as large scale as what you’ve described. To re-animate a corpse.” She let out a low whistle. “The power that must take is astronomical.”

Nina shrugged off the praise.

“Well thank you, Annu, for everything. The work on Matthias’ body, as well as the extra information. I’d appreciate if you could keep this confidential. I’m still working through what my new abilities mean.”

“Of course, Nina. If I hear of anything else on the topic, I’ll let you know.” Nina nodded her thanks again and headed back to her own quarters, with thoughts of Grisha who worked with the dead milling about in her head.

—-

Nina was a little bit drunk. She swayed down the hall laughing with two other Grisha her age, on their way to their rooms. Maybe she was more than a little bit drunk, actually.

Suddenly Naomi beside her froze.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a tall, red-headed man friend, Zenik?” Sturmhond leaned against the wall across from the door to her room, his gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers.

“Oh him? He’s no one. Just renowned sea captain and scourge of the seas, Sturmhond. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

“Saints, Nina. Send him to my room when you’re done with him, then.” The women giggled as Nina left them behind to approach Sturmhond.

“Did you just call me ‘scourge of the seas’?” He asked her in a low voice as she sauntered toward him. She nodded with a smile. “I take back what I said about calling me Niko. I only want you to call me that from now on.”

Nina laughed and opened the door to her room, gesturing for him to follow.

“Your wish is my command, Most Excellent Pirate Captain, Sir.”

“I like you like this, Zenik.” She turned to him with mischief in her eyes.

“Like what? Drunk? Reeking of kvas and pickled herring? Wearing a low cut dress that barely contains my tits?”

His gaze lowered very slowly to her cleavage and then very slowly back up to her face.

“I was going to say ‘laughing’ but now that you mention it…” She laughed louder at that and stepped away from Sturmhond to reveal the disaster of her room.

“Did you get in a fight with a Squaller? It looks like a tornado came through here. Did the Little Palace fire all of their housekeeping staff?”

“Austerity measures,” she said with a shrug.

“Well I’m glad they’re not skimping on kvas in the dining room, at least. You do smell like liquor and pickled herring, you know.”

“When in Ravka?” He smiled, looking around for a place to sit. With every available flat space covered in clothes and clutter, he sat awkwardly at the end of her unmade bed. She bounced next to him.

“What business, then?”

“The ship and crew are almost ready. We can leave in two days.”

“Wonderful, I’ll start, uh, packing my belongings.”

“You’d better start right away. It looks like it could take a while,” he said surveying the mess.

She leaned in close to him, until her messy curls were nearly brushing his shoulder.

“As soon as I get you out of my bed, I’ll begin.” He loosed a ragged breath and ran one gloved hand over his red hair.

“Are you doing this on purpose to unnerve me?” His gaze was steady on hers.

“Yes. Is it working?”

“Yes!” They laughed together, fierce blushes crossing both of their faces.

“I’ll see you in two days, then.”

“Two days,” he confirmed with a nod.

As she walked him to the door, Nina puzzled over something.

“I thought you were going to send me a letter about the plans,” she said as he started to walk out the door. He paused, shoulders stiffened. Then without turning around to look at her, he shrugged his shoulders.

“I just wanted to see you again.” And then he was gone.

That night, for the first time since Matthias’ death, Nina did not dream of snow and pines and wolves and blue eyes. Instead, on the waves of sleep, she sailed with the green eyes and clever smile of the boy she called the scourge of the seas.