#and like i tried to write her name in ravkan at the top

[cassandra41924]

i did a lil sankta doodle ✨

[elleclairez]

The Starless one and his star - Darkling x reader

Alina didn’t know what to do exactly. She sat silently in an armchair of her chambers in the Little Palace, her gaze focused on the figure of her worst enemy who decided that it would be a marvellous idea to torment her a little by playing tricks with her mind. 

The Starkov girl knew that the Darkling wasn’t really there, but it certainly did not ease her worries in any way at all. The man on the other hand, silently stood, watching young Grisha train with Botkin through the window. No one could guess what was going on inside his head. Saints even he didn’t know why he chose to pay a visit to his enemy. 

The silence in the room was heavy, almost unbearable for the young woman. She wanted to cry, shout and hit the man all at once and yet her body couldn’t move even a little. She was petrified and she couldn’t understand why. Was is fear? Hatred? Anger? Or was it something else stopping her from crying out for help or banishing the man from her mind herself?

The silence didn’t stop until the beautiful, silky voice of the Darkling resonated through the walls of the room.

“Have you ever heard of a young woman by the name of Seren Heijman?” Confusion flashed through Alina’s eyes. Seeing that the Shadow Summoner sighed and added “You might know her as the Star Saint. A bloody ridiculous name if you ask me.” The last sentence was muttered and Alina could barely hear it to properly decipher all the words. But as the words left the man’s mouth, the young Grisha suddenly had old memories of childhood stories crossing her mind. Alina could still remember the tales that Ana Kuya would tell them back at Keramzin. There was one story that Alina always adored, it was about a young, beautiful and selfless woman who chose death to save her comrades and the now long dead king. 

“All I remember is that she died sacrificing herself to save the king and her friends. Let me guess she was Grisha too?” Asked Alina with her brows furrowed. Why would the Darkling talk about Saints with her? 

“I always told you that those tales were propaganda for peasants. Seren was indeed Grisha, a powerful Inferni actually. And no, she did not sacrifice herself as everyone chose to believe. She was killed. Stabbed and left to die alone. Without anyone to save her or to at least be by her side when she would let go of her last breath.” Spat the Darkling with anger. Hatred could be deciphered from his eyes quite easily. It wasn’t hard to understand that this story was quite a sensitive topic for him, but Alina didn’t care. She was too curious as to why the man who was as heartless as a volcra would care so much about a mere woman and her unfortunate fate.

“You knew her didn’t you?” Carefully asked Alina too afraid of his reaction. The last thing she wanted was to anger her enemy. The Darkling chuckled.

“I did not know the martyr that people made of her against her will. I knew a young Kerch Inferni who was too good for this world.” And with those words, the Darkling pulled out a chain out of his pocket, and attached to it were two rings.

Two wedding bands. 

While at court Alina was able to see many jewels but all of them paled in comparison to the beauty of those. It was no doubt Materialki work.

The first was a man’s ring, quite simple, black with silver engravings on it, but it was the second one that caught her eye. A silver ring with black engravings that were too small to be read but big enough to be visible. On top of it, three diamonds were placed. Two were small, white ones looking like stars and the third one in the middle seemed to represent a full black moon.

At the realization, the Sun Summoner gasped.

“You...” Words couldn’t form themselves. Never in a million years could she have guessed that the most heartless man could actually be married. But most importantly it seemed that the marriages was based on love, a feeling that Alina thought the Darkling could not feel.

“Yes, Alina. We were married and loved each other dearly. She was the only one for who I was ready to give the world to on my knees but even more, she was the only one for whom I was ready to give it up. The moment she would have said it, I would have given up everything. The Second army, Ravka, everything.” The Darkling paused to take a breath, eyes full of sadness and grief. “What people say is true. She was everything any person would want to be. Intelligent, beautiful, sarcastic, a real firecracker if you ask me.” At that the Darkling laughed a little, memories seemed to flash in his eyes. “Loving, brave and selfless and yet selfish enough to dream of a peaceful life with me, away from all the fighting. She was the only one that I needed, and yet she was still taken from me.” At those words the man’s fists clenched, knuckles white from tension, his eyes full of hatred and yet still held the same sadness as before. Alina could even feel herself pitying the man.

“What happened?” Almost shakily whispered the raven haired woman. She knew asking that would be dangerous, but she wanted to know what happened.

“The ancestor of our so lovely King Alexander desired her with all his body and could not bear the idea that she chose to marry me and decline his advances. So he did what many Lantsov men did as it seems, he tried to take her by force. But my Seren was powerful, something that the bastard forgot, she burned him but was kind enough to simply leave burns on his hands. She hoped that he wouldn’t approach her from then on but that man, if you can call him a man, was vengeful, so he sent her to Fjerda on a mission, as he said. I was away the day she was sent away, and I only found out a few days later. The moment I received the news I rushed to Fjerda as fast as I could but when I arrived at her camp, it was too late. All I found was dead Ravkan soldiers both otkasatsya and Grisha and when I found her tent I already knew something was wrong, I felt somehow felt it. And there she was in her tent, laying on the ground, eyes blank, a single dried tear on her cheek, the spark that I used to adore in her beautiful orbs, gone. She laid there, on the floor, in a pool of her own blood and all I could do was to stand there, paralysed with this raging urge to destroy the monster who did that to her.” A deathly silence succumbed the room, Alina did not know what to say, and she became even more speechless when she saw a tear run down the Darkling’s cheek. He didn’t look so terrifying anymore but more like the young man that Baghra so desperately tried to save. “From that day I promised myself that I would avenge her. That I would take over Ravka and destroy every person who would think of hurting my and her people, of hurting Grisha people.”

“Make me your villain, Alina Starkov. But even you should see right now that I am not the villain but only the victim. The one who lost too much by the hands of others.” Alina didn’t know what to say, how could she respond after such story? Was she even supposed to respond? Was he even saying the truth? It wouldn’t be a surprising for her that the Darkling was simply playing tricks on her, again.

As if reading her mind, the Shadow Summoner said. “If you don’t believe me, there is proof in a secret drawer of my desk, well your desk now should I say, in the war room, go see for yourself.” At that the Darkling’s figure started to disappear, but Alina had one more question.

“Wait!” The Darkling looked at her expectantly. “I know not all tales are true, but some said that... she was...” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Because if those stories were indeed true then the Darkling would be even less of a monster.

A dark chuckle left his mouth, he knew what she was trying to say. “We were going to name them Elizaveta if it were a girl or Piotr if a boy.” And with those words the man disappeared.

Alina didn’t even notice how tears escaped her eyes but a few minutes later she found herself in the war room, opening the same drawer that the Darkling talked about. 

It was a portrait. An old, small and dusty but still very well-kept one.

On it was painted a young couple, dressed in wedding attires, those same rings on their fingers. Smiles and eyes full of love, so bright that even the painting couldn’t dull the sparkle that they had while looking at each other.

At the bottom of the portrait Alina was able to decipher the writing.

            “Seren and Aleksander Morozova. The Starless One and the Star”

Hope you liked this angsty Aleksander x reader one-shot. Had this idea since I saw the trailer (which is INCREDIBLE by the way) and gotta be honest I literally wrote all of this during my philosophy class because it was better than falling asleep...

If you have a request don’t hesitate to send me a message. You can find all the fandoms I write for in my bio, but I warn you that it may take a little while for me to write it because I’ve been a lot of writer’s block lately....

Ps: Hello! This is me again from the future or present (depends on how you see it). Just wanted to say that I edited the story a little. Again English is not my native language, so there may be some mistakes that I’ve missed, do not hesitate to comment if you see one. Again I hope you enjoyed this story and if you did go check my other ones 😉

[dandelioncrownns]

random grishaverse facts/trivia (mostly tgt/kos, tbh), because i love useless details. Also, attempted organisation, because i like order too. + ft. my unwanted commentary

the darkling

has a sweet tooth

loves animals and nature in general

for those of you who have read demon in the woods, he got to meet the white tigers :)

his bedchamber walls are carved into trees bc he loves the woods

his favourite trees in particular are pine trees (or just evergreen trees in general)

he used to be afraid of the dark (many possibly worrying? interesting? implications to this; i won’t get into it here tho)

he likes bright colours, but wears black all the time basically for the aesthetic

he met his younger half-sister, Ulla, when he was a seer’s apprentice in Fjerda 

the darkling is a musician! He plays the fiddle, and growing up, he played the balalaika and oud (i wonder if he can read tablature,,) 

His father was a very powerful heartrender (maybe this is why the corporalki are valued so highly by him?)

genya

she got an amplifier between the end of R+R and the start of KoS (kestrel bones)

Genya used Dekora Nevich, the Ornamental Blade, to poison the King

It smells like cinnamon and is a warm golden colour

the royal family / nikolai’s bio family 

the King once cut himself on his own sword

genya named the queen’s dog 

until she was like 11, Genya was like the daughter the queen never had (omg i really wonder how Nikolai and Vasily felt about that? ik it’s not really mentioned, and Nik kinda acts like he just met Genya is S+S, but they must have been a lot closer, right?? I mean genya was almost always at the grand palace with Queen Tatiana, and nikolai just really wanted his parents’ attention, there must have been some kind of maybe one-sided jealousy/sibling rivalry thing, right?? I digress- for now)

also the queen in a dog person

p. sure Nikolai is a mommy’s boy

(possible explanation:) he looks exactly like his real father (except for his eyes). Nikolai even has the same laugh as Magnus

the queen was also fed up with Vasily and his horses

Vasily rides a white gelding horse and Nikolai rides a speckled grey horse (called Punchline)

speaking of, vasily is definitely a horse girl, but like... just the worst (darkling 🤝vasily)

Queen Tatiana’s letters to Magnus Opjer were “very racy” 

 She doesn’t approve of women in trousers

Linnea is ~1 year younger than Nikolai

she is good at math + studies engineering at ketterdam (I wonder if maybe she and Nikolai crossed paths when he was at uni- they’re around the same age, so maybe?)

The King and Queen hired a clown for nikolai’s 10th birthday (the worst birthday party he’d been to, inclusive of the night Vasily died, according to Nikolai)

Nikolai is afraid of spiders (and also clowns???)

nikolai:

he can juggle

Nikolai sucks at learning languages 

he once spoke Fjerdan so badly a man named Knut offered him a ruby to stop

his Kerch seems pretty good tho

Nikolai met The Darkling when he was 14

Nikolai is a baritone (as is Jesper!)

In his free time, Nikolai writes bad poetry (remember that time he got stabbed w/ a letter opener bc his poetry sucked?)

he went through an emo phase/ existential crisis before becoming sturmhond.

during said emo phase, he wrote rhyming poetry pretty much exclusively

He also took philosophy classes at uni (PPE?)

alina:

alina tried on the same rose dress that the Queen watched vasily die in

Nikolai gifted Alina a VERY low-cut cobalt lace gown (In the words of Nadia, “The bodice might as well be cut to the navel.” )

Alina hates herring, but Zoya and Nikolai love it

She is VERY sarcastic and snarky!! I feel like this gets glossed over so much in the fandom, and just why?? (she’s so gloomy and over everything 90% of the time, i love it so much)

So this isn’t technically a fact-fact, but there is no way Alina wasn’t at least a little bit into women. Did you read how she talked abt genya? Zoya? there’s no way she wasn’t into them

Alina doesn’t really like hard cheese

zoya + zoyalai:

Zoya’s horse is called Serebrine

Zoya can use her lightning as a defibrillator (I’m sure other squallers can do this too with the right training)

Zoya likes Nikolai’s hands (and Nikolai likes Zoya’s feet lmao)

she has ‘weird (long?) incisors’  

she definitely had a crush on Nikolai since Ruin and Rising

kaz:

Kaz grew up on a farm in Southern Kerch, in Lij

Kaz is a both a cat and a dog person  (he just likes strays)

Matthias is a dog person, obviously

All the other crows are cat people 

He likes hot chocolate

both he and nikolai like brandy

hates cereal

Kaz is obsessed with magic + likes puzzles

actually very funny if he wasn’t terrifying (honestly?? at leat 70% of his dialogue is just witty quips/jokes)

Kaz’s right leg is the one he broke, and the dregs usually get their tattoo on their right forearm

the other crows:

Jesper has been known to go line-dancing (and would like country music) 

Mal and Jesper were friends in S+S!! (Probably) Jesper has a not-really-secret crush on sturmhond. 

He also had a VERY not secret crush on Kaz before wylan, ofc

Matthias’ middle name is Benedik

Nina would win in an arm wrestling contest against Jesper

Inej has a thing for Kaz’s eyes

Nina was at the orphanage with the other grisha kids in R+R

In the opening scene of CK, Jesper was wearing a navy waistcoat with little gold stars (his fashion is just top tier honestly)

grisha- powers, etc.:

A solar eclipse would have no effect on the Darkling’s powers, but it would make it harder for Alina to summon.

Fabrikators can make flowers bloom

The twins have shark teeth amplifiers

Adrik and Leoni are saints

general world stuff:

Gay marriage is legal in Kerch!

there was a landbridge connecting Shu Han and Kerch but the council of tides covered it

Antimony is used as mascara

kruge is pale purple paper currency

ravkan currency has Nikolai’s face on it (ig not anymore tho?)

Hringkälla is celebrated on March 20th

the distance between Ivets and Os Alta is only about 100 miles? (i’m just going to willfully ignore this, because thats,, so small?)

Mermaids and dragons exist(ed) in the grishaverse

misc:

the daughter of the duke of ivets has a daughter who can play the harp

there is not fourth tale of krigi

The baroness Natasha Beritrova is fifty (as of KoS) and has lands near caryeva

Elke Marie Smit is from one of the most powerful Kerch families and is just 16 in KoS

Oncat is an orange tabby

Anya liked Joost a lot :( (I got way too attached to them at the start of SoC and was so sad + confused when they died lol)

david eats hard boiled eggs for his working days in the shops

‘Malyen’ is the Ravkan version of ‘Malcolm’ (very fitting)

Nikolai brought the kids at Keramzin toy boats + frequently sends Alina and Mal gifts 

The triumvirate would also visit them every feast of Sankt Nikolai too :)

star signs / birthdays (ik the gv constellations aren’t the same as ours, but idc):

Inej: Cancer (june 21st - july 22nd)

Kaz: Capricorn (december 22nd - january 19th)

Nina: Leo (july 23rd - august 22nd)

Jesper: Gemini (may 21st - june 20th)

Matthias: Taurus (april 20th - may 20th)

Wylan: virgo (august 23rd - september 22nd)

Kuwei: aries (march 21st - april 19th)

Darkling: aries

Nikolai is most likely either a gemini or cancer (but he could also be a Leo or Taurus). Whatever it is, he is a summer baby.

Alina and Mal have the same birthday (they were given the Duke’s birthday when they came to the orphanage)

heights:

Jesper is 6’2” - 6’3”

Kaz is 6′

Matthias is 6’4

Nina is 5’9”-5’10”

Inej is 5’3” - 5’4”

Alina is ’short’ (5’3”?)

Mal and the Darkling are ‘tall’ (tbf, like all the characters are tall >:( I want my short people rights)

Nikolai  (well, stumhond, but i think they’re the same height) is described by Jesper as tall (so 6’2”+?? why is everyone so tall??? I-)

Zoya is several inches shorter than nina (zoyalai height difference lets go)

Kuwei is slightly shorter than Wylan (who is about 5’8”?)

there’s definitely more, so if you made it this far and have any more, pls add to the list!

[nazyalenskyism]

Not The Time!

Summary: Nikolai and Zoya have the worst timing.

A/N: Because I procrastinate everything including sleep, here’s a 2.4k fic I started at 1am last night because I saw a clip from a movie on twitter and thought, ‘hey, what if Zoyalai did that?’ This ended up a lot longer than originally planned and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but I hope you enjoy! ❤ Thanks for reading! Ao3: Not The Time! “We’re outnumbered,” Tamar yelled as she flung her axes in quick succession at a cluster of oncoming soldiers. “What do we do?” “Stay alive and figure the rest of it out as you go,” Zoya growled, heaving her arms to summon yet another wave of icy wind to push back the advancing Fjerdans. “Excellent advice, Commander,” Tolya cried, running his sword through, “if we survive based on your advice, I’ll write an ode in your name.” “I prefer ballads” Genya called out, flinging another canister of the concoction she had made that instantly knocked out their opponents into Nadia’s awaiting gust. David didn’t look up from the contraption he was fiddling with at the base of the dysfunctional airship, “the poem isn’t for you, dear.” “If we survive, I’ll knight you all,” Nikolai grunted, firing his pistols. “Make holidays in your name, paint royal portraits of your likeness, the whole works.” Zoya scoffed, “you can’t knight people, that only happens in storybooks.” “If we die today, I doubt it will matter!”

The battle was raging on and as the minutes slipped by, the Ravkans found themselves increasingly overwhelmed. Nikolai had known that their chances were slim, but he would not be the Lantsov king who saw his country drown without trying everything in his power to save his people. A passionate rallying speech to his soldiers, a thanks to his family for choosing to stay at his side and to go down for a country who had never given a damn about them, and one last look at the possibility of a future encompassed in the blue of Zoya’s fluttering hair ribbon had been all he’d been able to do before they launched themselves into this fight. Nikolai scanned the battlefield for any sort of reprieve and instead found a slight hole in the Fjerdans’ formations. Were the Ravkans making a dent? He fired off a pistol and inspected the gap further, they could break through the ranks there, they would be able to get to the top of the ridge and perhaps neutralize the battlefield with Genya’s sleep potion...Then the remaining Ravkan soldiers behind the lines could turn the Fjerdans’ hands to surrender… and then, they might win this battle. He might save his people and his friends. But first he had to get to the top of the ridge, and he needed a Squaller for dispersal. He glanced around at the group around him, he couldn’t throw any of his friends, Adrik, Nadia, or Zoya into harm with him, not when he was sure he would probably die trying to get there. He watched as Zoya pulled out her sword, a weapon she was now comfortable using thanks to Juris’ training in the Fold, and wield it like the warrior Saint she’d become, a fearless protector of the people, a queen. All around him, his friends stood out to him like burning embers on the battlefield and he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep them alive. He had to take the leap now, if he had any chance of saving them all. He yelled out to his friends, trying to outline his plan as quickly as possible, but his proposition of completing the task alone was met with raised voices.

Zoya was the first to admonish him, “you’re not going alone, you’ll barely make it past the first three Fjerdans.”

“What other choice do I have? We need to end this battle before we’re overwhelmed.”

“Oh, your plan is fine,” she said, glaring at him, “you’re just not going alone.”

“I can’t risk--” “You’re not risking anything,” she shrugged, “if you die, then the rest of us will probably end up dead too, and I’m sure as hell not letting you die alone on the battlefield. You don’t have a choice, I’m coming either way.” “I can’t let you--” “I’m coming with you, brother.” Tolya objected. “If you’re going, then I’m going too,” Tamar cried out, but her twin gripped her shoulder. “We can’t all die today. Genya and David need you. Nadia needs you. We will be back before you know it.” Her eyes flashed, “if you’re not at the top of the ridge in 20 minutes, we’re all coming after you.” “Fine,” Nikolai said, squeezing her other shoulder, “we’ll give you the signal from the top. He nodded to David, squeezed Genya in a quick hug, “let’s go.” Slipping through the gap in the defenses at the edge of the battlefield was easy enough, but working their way through the remaining number of Fjerdans, though there were fewer than at other points in the formation, was proving to be an issue. Tolya moved through the crowd with one hand exercising his Heartrender’s capabilities, the other tight around the hilt of a massive sword. Zoya was a force to be reckoned with, her new abilities to access all Grisha orders allowed her to summon multiple elements in quick succession, bright lightning seemed to be wreathing her every movement. Nikolai was managing well enough on his own, his pistols were in constant motion, preventing more soldiers from reaching them. He began to walk backwards, facing Zoya as she moved forward, checking her back and preventing anyone from following them.

Zoya suddenly dove, and for a second he thought she was trying to impale him, only to hear a thud from behind him, she’d taken out an assailant he hadn’t seen. She was standing a breath away from him, her chest heaving and her eyes alight with a cackling energy. He hoped it was out of adrenaline and not because she was about to decapitate him. If that was the case, it would make his next words very awkward. She pulled back and turned away, but Nikolai’s hand shot out and grasped her arm. “Zoya!” he yelled over the clamour of the fight, “will you marry me?” She stared at him openmouthedly, whirling around to parry an oncoming sword, “Nikolai, now is not the time!” He turned, shooting at two figures behind her back, “now may be the only time!”

Momentum from his movements pushed him forward and then they were grasping each others’ forearms, “I love you,” he whispered, before turning to disarm a figure from the corner of his eye. They fell back into one another, “I know what I want Zoya, do you?”

Zoya struck someone down behind his shoulder, the use of her powers causing her hair to lift in the wind, highlighted by the blue electricity. She glowered at him for a second, before hitting his chest with her fist, “Tolya! Marry us!” Nikolai grinned, brushing his fingers against her perfect face for a brief moment before kicking someone in the chest, sending them flying. “I’m a little busy at the moment,” the man roared, tossing someone into an oncoming group like the world’s most ruthless game of bowling. “Tolya, now!” Nikolai yelled. “Fine then!” He clenched his fist and a whole cluster of Fjerdans fell to their knees. Nikolai reached out, drawing Zoya in by the waist as they continued moving through the Fjerdans. She glanced up at him and Nikolai found himself near giddy at the understanding of what they were about to do. They may only have a few moments left in this world and he wanted to spend those moments by her side, as her husband, something he had never dreamed would be possible. He wanted the rightful Queen of Ravka at his side for as long as she would have him, whether it was on the battlefield, at a state function, or as it looked more likely by the second, buried beneath the earth.

“Friends, or lack thereof, we’re gathered here today to witness the union of the two people in Ravka with the worst timing.” Zoya turned from his grasp, flipping a Fjerdan over her shoulder before taking his hands in hers, her ferocious eyes trained on his. Nikolai tucked her hair behind her ear, “Zoya Nazyalensky, do you take me to be your husband, your king, your demon fool?” He had never seen such visible excitement on her face as when she replied, “I do.” “Fantastic,” Nikolai hummed, ducking down as she blasted someone back with a scorching flame. With their hands still joined, they pulled apart, Nikolai drawing his own sword from its scabbard and slashing mirthlessly, the mirror of Zoya’s ruthless movements behind him. “Nikolai Lantsov,” she turned her head back to look at him. “Do you take me,” they were facing now, as if they were bound in some sort of strange dance for which no one else could hear the music to. “To be your wife?” Nikolai twirled her under his arm, “in sickness and in health? With health looking less and less likely by the second?” Zoya ducked an oncoming blade, falling against him, and he wrapped his arm around her, taking out another assailant with a pistol. “I do.” He said against her hair, holding onto her as she used a gust of wind to propel them towards the base of the ridge where Tolya had reached. “I now pronounce you king and queen,” Tolya grunted, but he was smiling. “You may kiss, though I advise against it until we’re in the clear.” Nikolai dipped Zoya down but before he could do as Tolya said, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, yanking her up and she launched herself at an approaching warrior. “You may kiss,” Tolya yelled again, knocking out another group of Fjerdans. Nikolai spun, taking out a few stray soldiers behind both Tolya and Zoya before taking her hand in his and pulling her back towards the ridge. “Just kiss!” Tolya said. Nikolai pulled her into his embrace, relishing the way her arms wrapped around him as he finally, finally kissed Zoya, the press of her mouth against his nothing short of electric.

They broke away all too quickly, the trio scrambling to the top of the ridge, occasionally blasting back those who tried to follow them. At the top of the hill, Tolya unloaded the pack full of Genya’s potion as Zoya rubbed her palms together in tight circles, the scent of a storm descending upon them. “Are you ready?” “Don’t have much of a choice,” Zoya huffed, her eyes shut tight as thunder rolled over the field, “my husband’s stupid plan better work.” “I don’t know if I should be worried more about you or the Fjerdans if this doesn’t work out.” “Me,” she said, her eyes flying open, flashing silver, dragon’s eyes, “always me.” Nikolai backed up, winding his arm up as Tolya did the same launching canister after canister into Zoya’s awaiting gust of wind. He called out direction, telling her where to aim and he could see the sweat breaking across her brow as she maintained the storm and controlled its wind.

When the last of the potion was dispersed, Zoya stumbled backwards into him, sinking to the ground as they watched the people below fall into unconsciousness. “If we make it back to the capital, I want a ring,” she whispered. “When we make it back to the capital, I will give you much more than a ring,” Nikolai laughed, seeing the blush rise in her cheeks. She squeezed his hand tightly, letting out a soft exhale of exhaustion. A flurry of movement caught his eye from below, the flapping of a white flag from the Fjerdans, the sight releasing an audible sigh from Nikolai’s chest. They had done it. Zoya turned to him, her head still resting against his shoulder, “we did it… we won?” “Don’t sound so surprised,” Nikolai teased, smothering a grin as she got up on her toes, bringing his mouth to hers. Once again, the moment was cut far too short when Tolya pulled them both into a bone crushing hug, refusing to let go until Nikolai reminded him that Tamar would kill him for not coming back down as soon as possible. They limped back to the battlefield with Tolya taking the lead, Nikolai with his arm around his General’s waist as she leaned into him, her arm around his neck. They helped up soldiers as they went, Nikolai clapping hands and thanking them, until they finally managed to make it back to their friends. He knew there would be terms of settlement and a million other things to discuss in the coming hours, but for now all he wanted to do was embrace his friends and let the feat they’d managed to achieve sink in. Their friends were bruised and scraped, Tamar had a wicked cut on her forehead, and David had somehow lost a shoe, but they were alive. They were all alive.

“What happened out there?” Genya asked, embracing Zoya, “we lost track of you once you got to their ranks.” ‘We just fought our way through,” he replied, the weight of Zoya against him felt unimaginable, but he refused to let her go. Not that she didn’t seem content where she was, leaning against him just enough that it looked like nothing more than the king supporting his commander. “We fought our way through, knocked out a ridiculous number of Fjerdans, saved the day, and oh yeah, Nikolai and Zoya got married.” “You what?” Genya hissed, turning on them, “you what?” “Looks like David will have to perform an opera naked in the shadow Fold after all,” Zoya shrugged, letting herself fall completely into Nikolai, there was no need to hide from their friends anymore. Nikolai rested his chin on top of her head, taking in the absurdity of the moment. They had won the war, they hadn’t died, and most mind blowing of all, he was married to Zoya, and for once she didn’t seem to be on the verge of throttling him. Was it too early to call today the most ridiculous day of his life? “What?” David said, glancing up at them from the ground in alarm. “You got married without me there?” Genya shook Zoya’s shoulders. “It was very spur of the moment,” Nikolai offered, “we thought we were about to die.”

“Do shut up, your highness. You really thought I hadn’t noticed you asking to access your mother’s old sapphire tiaras, looking for a stone to make a ring with? This was anything but a spur of the moment plan.” Zoya raised a brow, “interesting.”

“Is it really?” Nikolai winced, scrubbing a hand through his hair as the rest of the group turned to him, demanding answers while his queen curled up into his side, her knowing smirk making the barrage of questions that much easier to face.

[malghra]

a chorus so sublime: chapter 1

I must admit, I can't explain

Any of these thoughts racin' through my brain

It's true

But, baby, I'm howlin' for you

Alright

There's something wrong with this plot

The actors here have not got

A clue

Baby, I'm howlin' for you

For Darklina Week, Day 1, Songs & Lyrics, Title from Breath of Life by Florence + The Machine

Chapter title and lyrics from Howlin' for you by The Black Keys. 

This fic starts in episode 5, so you can assume that the story is mostly canon compliant up until episode 4. Any changes pre-episode 5 that will be referenced in the story will probably concern Mal. I lowkey ship show!Malina, they're very cute, but then again I lowkey ship almost everyone with everyone on this show 😂 Darklina is just the only ship compelling enough to tempt me into writing. Anyways, I'm probably going to write Mal closer to his book counterpart, just because I feel the relationship needed a bit more conflict and it will add to Alina's inner struggles.

For now, what you need to know about Mal is that he did sleep with Zoya and that he didn't react well to the revelation of Alina's powers. Just remember that for future reference.

What else? Alina is going to leave the Little Palace at some point, and after that, events will unfold similarly to what happened on the show from episode 6 onwards, but I wanted to develop the Darklina relationship a bit more before it all falls to pieces and I try to come up with a way to put those pieces back together.

The first chapter is Aleksander's POV of his and Alina's first kiss.

I spent a bit of time debating what Aleksander should call himself in his POVs. I honestly couldn't see him referring to himself as the Darkling. I also decided that in the universe of this fic, he hasn't told Alina his real name yet. I imagine that at the beginning of this story, he mostly identifies with his title, and not with his true name, so for now, he'll be referring to himself as The General.

Chapter is below the cut, I hope you'll enjoy this!

The day of the winter fete had arrived, and the General had been up since before sunrise. Despite his mixed feelings regarding such events—especially ones such as today when his Grisha were expected to perform like a troup of otkazat'sya clowns, there was a tinge of excitement to his disgruntled thoughts.

Today was the day Ravka and the rest of the world would learn what the Sun Summoner could do. She still had a lot to learn, she still needed time to grow, but she could give them a good show. Their audience of royals, nobles and foreign dignitaries would be easily enough beguiled by the light spectacle they had practiced.

It was a new start, a day of hope and promise, but that wasn't the reason he had risen before dawn. Sleep tended to elude the General for long bouts of time every couple of years. It didn't matter though. He didn't need much of it anyway, but it was an easy way to pass time when he got bored or tired of life.

Fortunately for him, that was not the case right now. These were exciting times. He had never been closer to achieving everything he'd been working for during the last couple of centuries.

He finished his cup of tea, and as he passed the mirror, he reached up to close the top button of his shirt he must have missed earlier.

He heard the soft padding of footsteps in the other room. It was almost time.

"Ivan!" he called out. "My kefta."

As he turned away from the bed, he found himself eye to eye, not with his loyal Heartrender, but with his Sun Summoner.

"You're not Ivan," he blurted out, taken aback by her sudden and unexpected presence in his bedroom.

"Sorry to disappoint," she retorted sardonically. Saints! Why was she always saying or doing the unexpected thing, usually displaying an utter lack of the deference he was so used to being treated with by everyone else around him? And why did that make him want to smile instead of chiding her and reminding her of decorum and etiquette?

"Do I sense a little disdain for my Heartrender?" he asked, mostly to distract himself from his train of thought. "You know, once you get to know him he's actually quite funny."

Ivan Krasimirov tended to have little patience with people and he didn't care much for pointless social interactions, but the General had known him since he was a boy and he liked to imagine he knew the reserved Heartrender better than anyone else. And Ivan was a loyal man, who understood the cause and had display unseen measures of dedication.

"I bet you find volcra hilarious," his Sun Summoner huffed.

Her innocently intended quip stung, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, but he managed a wry smile. It was rather hilarious after all, perhaps even more so if one knew.

"May I?" she asked. For the first time since she'd entered, he noticed that she was holding his kefta.

"Thank you." His arms felt oddly stiff as he turned around and reached back so she could help him into the garment.

"I hear you were able to focus and split light without the gloves," he told her. She had shown tremendous progress in the last couple of days, but it was better to be prepared. He'd ordered Kostyk to make the gloves weeks ago, just in case.

"I appreciate the gesture, though."

"Well, they were only a safeguard, really," he assured her. "In case of nerves." She was standing closer than he'd expected when he turned to face her again.

"I imagine there are few gatherings in Keramzin that involve such..." He found himself looking for a word that wouldn't sound as an insult to the humble childhood she still seemed to be clinging to so stubbornly. That stubbornness had its charm at times, but in this case he couldn't really appreciate it. "Spectacle," he decided.

"None, in fact," she answered with that some sarcastic aplomb from earlier, and then she whirled around and darted away from him.

Frowning, but intrigued, he followed her out of his bedroom.

Despite her sudden jitteriness, she confessed that she wasn't nervous anymore, though she had considered throwing herself down the stairs to get out of it. Almost certain that this was just her odd sense of humour, he reminded her that he had healers.

He tried not to smile as she laughed at his retort. He studied her as she stood with her back to him, wondering at her suddenly anxious demeanour and the tension he could feel rolling off her body.

He sat down on the edge of the table, listening as she explained why she wasn't nervous anymore. Confusing, unfamiliar warmth pooled in his chest as she spoke but he tried to ignore it.

"That we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope for the future," she concluded her little speech. She was so close to where he wanted her. He almost had her. He knew he would be able to make her see reason. What she was sharing with him, the fact that she was sharing it with him at all, it all made him hopeful.

Triumph made his chest swell, and his power hummed just below the surface of his skin, ready to surge, to call out, but he wouldn't show her the immense satisfaction that overtook him in this moment. He settled for a heartfelt, "That means a lot to me, Alina," turning her name into a soft caress.

She turned around, half surprised, half... proud, he decided, satisfied that she had pleased him. He could take it a step further.

"You mean a lot," to me, he meant to say. It should be easy to feed her the lie that had come to carry more truth in it than he cared to admit. He needed her, but that should be the end of it. Hadn't he taught himself to stop wanting a long time ago?

She'd lowered her eyes, making it even easier for him, but he found himself incapable of saying the words. "To everyone," he concluded.

She blinked and met his gaze again. Before he could even try to decipher the look on her face, she had closed the distance between them, her hand on his collar.

Some deeply ingrained instinct almost made him recoil. He wasn't used to this. It had been a long time since anyone dared to approach him in such a way.

And then that pull was drawing him in again, that tug he had felt from the first moment he had laid eyes on her, that he had dismissed until he had touched her arm and knew, even before cutting her skin. The confusion and discomfort that always came with it must be clear on his face, but if she had seen them, she must have decided to ignore them.

Then she surprised him by kissing him, softly and tentatively, tender fingertips gently grazing his beard. He couldn't remember when he had last been kissed like that.

He had expected that sense of elation so akin to the triumph and satisfaction he'd felt earlier. He should have predicted the ringing in his ears, the thumping of his heart, the tingle running through his veins as her power called to his, begging to answer her call, as overwhelming as it was.

But the urge to respond to her kiss, the desire to surrender, the sudden, vast fear that gripped him, they all took him by surprise.

Something that had laid dormant for ages bubbled up from a place deep inside of him, frustratingly elusive and only vaguely familiar. It slipped away from him like water he tried to cup in his hands before he could recognize it.

He might have started kissing her back—he was too stunned to tell—but then her lips left his, and she nudged his nose with hers as she pulled away. His eyes flew open at the sudden loss of contact. He couldn't remember closing them.

She was searching his face, colour high on her cheeks. As he rose to his full height, he could see that sliver of doubt growing, that fear of rejection creeping up on her, even as hope sparkled in her eyes, her lips curling into a cautious smile.

He offered her a smile back, let the surprise he didn't need to feign show on his face.

"Not many people surprise me, Miss Starkova," he told her.

Her face lit up, and he followed her example as she lowered her eyes, allowing himself a pleased grin. He started leaning in to initiate a second kiss.

The door was pushed open and Alina jumped back, turning her back to him.

He cleared his throat, pushing his shoulders back to compose himself.

For the briefest moment, Ivan's eyes flitted from him to Alina, but he hid his reaction well.

"Excuse me, General," he apologized. "Your presence is required at the fete."

"Of course. Thank you, Ivan."

He glanced back to find Alina's cheeks flushed and her eyes on her feet.

"Miss Starkova," he said coolly, and she bit her lip.

"Next time, knock before you enter my chambers," he snapped at the Heartrender on his way out the door.

"Apologies, moi soverenyi," he mumbled.

The General dismissed the man with a nod. He should be thanking Ivan. He had almost acted on impulse, like some common fool. So then why was he clenching his fists to keep from strangling his most loyal Heartrender?

[sanktnikolais]

Six Degrees of Separation

A/N: Because focusing on one work is my weakness and my mind wouldn't let me write my current one if I didn't take this off of it. I am: a mess. HAHKLHASFD. Also because it’s my birthday today and I want to give you guys something before the day ends so have this from me uwu

Word count: 2260

AO3

A long time ago, the Little Palace had welcomed a young, raven-haired squaller. She was nine when her guardian accompanied her to the capital to train as a soldier for the Second Army. 

          Her training had started that same day, and after only a year, the young Squaller was the best among the other students in her class. At ten, she had already made a great impression of herself to the instructors and the older Grisha. It pleased her, somehow, knowing that she was better than most, as she had spent her childhood trying to please her mother who never batted an eye to her achievements in her former classes.

          Maybe it was also her confidence that made her reprimand another student. Or so she had thought.

          It was during a recess when the young Squaller had gone to the Little Palace’s gardens, trying to etch the scenery in her head so she could draw it in her letters that she sent to her aunt every week. The garden was peaceful at noon, the soft breeze rustling the leaves and wafting the scent of various flowers nearby. 

          She had gone a bit further into the gardens when she heard a sound of a wood splintering and breaking. 

          “Oh, no.”

          The young Squaller looked to her right just in time to see the branch of a tree fall down, followed by a clatter of notebooks. She looked up, and was surprised to see a boy with golden curls trying to get down from his place in the tree high above ground. 

          “Be careful—” she tried to say, but stopped abruptly when the boy’s foot slipped from a dent in the bark. She whipped a hand out to whip a draft of wind to cushion his fall. It was a bit of a clumsy summon as it took her by surprise, and the boy landed on the ground with a loud oof. 

          The young Squaller ran towards the boy, who was slowly sitting up while rubbing his shoulder. He had a wince on his face as his other arm started to gather his scattered notebooks.

          “What were you doing up there?” the young Squaller demanded, hands resting on her hips. The boy looked up at her, and she was startled by his hazel eyes. She was sure she hadn’t seen anyone with such light-colored eyes before. She bent down to help the boy in collecting his things.  “That was dangerous, even for boys like you.”

          The boy gave her a grin, which quickly turned into a grimace when he’d moved his arm a bit rashly. “Yes, I think I’m quite aware of that. It’s cool. What you did with your powers, I mean,” he said, waving his hand in the air in weird gestures. He stood up in his full height, and the young Squaller noticed that he wasn’t that much taller than her. “A bit uncontrolled, I noticed.”

          It sparked an irritation in the young Squaller, and she shoved the few notebooks she had helped get from the ground to the boy’s hands. “A thank you would be nice,” she said sharply. 

          “My apologies,” the boy said, arranging his notebooks in a clean stack. At least he did look apologetic. He grinned again, that all-too confident grin that brought out the vibrancy of his eyes. “Thank you, dear extraordinary Squaller.”

          “Just don’t be an idiot next time.”

          She had expected the boy to look offended or mad, but all he did was laugh lightly and nod. “Of course. I will take note of that. I must go.”

          “Sure. Whatever.” The young Squaller waved a dismissive hand to the boy, who laughed and winked at her in return. He turned and limped across the garden, whistling a tune that sounded broken and off, and then he disappeared behind a thick brush that led to the courtyard.

          She was about to leave as well, but a flash of white caught her eyes. There was a piece of paper left on the ground. She bent over to pick it up. On the expanse of the material was a rough sketch of what she could guess as a ship, and at the top right corner was a messy scrawl of “Kingfisher”. 

          The young Squaller looked at the direction the boy had disappeared to, silently wondering who he was. She had never seen him in the Little Palace before, so he might be a new student. It explained his sudden exit when she saw him. 

          With a shrug, the young Squaller folded the paper and tucked it inside her pocket. She would give it back the next time she saw him.

          It was several days later when she saw him again, but this time, he stayed down on the ground and was resting his back on the tree bark, hands busy scribbling on his notebook. She approached him, paper in hand, and stopped at least a few feet away. 

          The boy stopped writing and looked up, a smile appearing on his lips when he saw her. “Hello,” he said. 

          “You left this in the grass when you fell,” the Young squaller said, giving the folded paper to the boy, who took it rather enthusiastically. 

          “Saints, thank you!” he exclaimed when he finally unfolded it, eyes brightening up. Then the boy seemed to notice his own outburst and shook himself. He gave her a sheepish smile. “Thank you, really. I thought I lost it.” 

          The young Squaller smiled back. “So, you’re fond of ships?” 

          The boy averted his eyes and looked back down to his notebook, his ears turning all shades of red. “Weird, I know, but—”

          “Who says it’s weird? I think it’s actually cool.” The young Squaller sat next to the boy, who looked really surprised.

          “You do?” 

          “Sure. They go against the waves of rough seas and oceans but still manage to float upright.”

          The boy laughed lightly. “That is a nice way to say it,” he said. “But I’m thinking of something different with this.” He gestured to the paper. Then he leaned his head a bit closer, as if he was going to tell a secret, and whispered, “What if they flew?”

          The young Squaller drew back in surprise. “No way.”

          “Yes way.” The boy opened his notebook and showed the young Squaller his other sketches and ideas. 

          “That’s impossible.”

          “I prefer improbable.”

          It was the start of the friendship between the young Squaller and the boy with golden curls for the next few months, even though they barely see each other. It would sometimes stretch at least two weeks before they saw each other again by the same tree in the garden. Usually, it was the boy who kept their conversation going, telling the young Squaller all about the ideas he had in mind while she just listened to him. 

          It brought a bit of escapism from the exhaustion of the lessons in the Little Palace, and she appreciated the rare times she met the boy with remarkable ideas, until she looked forward to seeing him almost everyday. 

          But these rare meetings suddenly stopped when the boy didn’t show up at the same spot in the next few days The few days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. The boy never showed up again.

          The young Squaller had been disappointed at first, but she knew better than let herself get sad over the sudden disappearance of the boy. And by the time she had entirely stopped expecting him to show up, she realized that it was a good thing they never knew each other’s names. The boy had never bothered asking for hers, so she didn’t try to ask for his. 

          Maybe they had never been friends at all. 

          It would be nine years later when the young Squaller saw the boy again, but she had long since forgotten the short time they knew each other from the palace gardens.

***

          The silence hung heavily in the air. The redhead privateer levelled her challenging glare with an amused look, and for the nth time in the past few days, Zoya had the urge to punch it off his face. 

          “Who are you, really?” she repeated her previous question that remained unanswered. “And stop telling me you’re a mere privateer in the seas, because I am most certain you are not just someone.”

          Sturmhond gave a hearty laugh. “But it is what I am, dear Zoya,” he said, grinning his blinding smile. For a moment, there was something familiar radiating around him, a resemblance of a past memory. “Though you are quite right when you said I’m not just someone.”

          Zoya narrowed her eyes. “Elaborate, then.”

          “I’m actually a close friend to the prince.”

          His statement surprised her. But then she remembered his words to her when he got her out of the university. It only made her more suspicious of this pirate that was casually standing in front of her like he didn’t have to care for anything.

          “Is that why you have eyes on him at the university in Ketterdam?” she demanded, stepping closer to the privateer, but the redhead didn’t as much budge from his place like Zoya expected him to.

          “A good friend doesn’t leave a friend to fend for himself in an unknown territory.” Sturmhond waved a hand in the air. “Especially when he’s the second prince.”

          “If you’re a good friend, you wouldn’t have left there without making sure no threat was to come at him when the stadwatch realized that a Ravkan soldier had been identified hiding among the crowd.” She shook her head. “You should stop being an idiot for once.” 

          Sturmhond went silent at that, which satisfied Zoya in a way she couldn’t quite place. There was something triumphant when something had finally made the privateer shut up. She lifted her chin in a silent challenge, expecting Sturmhond to back down. But he didn’t.

          He gave her a dashing grin instead. 

          “Ah, there she is,” Sturmhond said, shrugging his coat tighter around himself. “Now I know why you were the one sent to handle the rescue mission in Ketterdam.” Then his expression softened, and he regarded her with obvious respect in his eyes. “I’m sure the Second Army commander would appreciate you returning safely.”

          Zoya’s anger flared. The rescue mission had been a complete failure. If the privateer’s compliments held such underlying slurs, then she would’ve been pleased to have insults said directly to her. 

          “You’re really that confident to get past the patrols on Os Kervo?” she said. She shook her head. “Without anyone to confirm your identity, getting past those patrols would be impossible.”

          Sturmhond shrugged, the calm and easy expression back to his face. He looked confident enough for himself.  “I prefer improbable.”

          Something in Zoya’s mind clicked, and she was left gaping at the privateer, who only winked at her before brushing past her. She was sure she had heard that line before, but wasn’t sure when or where. The thought continued to trouble her, so she whirled around to face the retreating privateer.

          “Hey,” she called out, “have we met before?”

          Sturmhond stopped and turned halfway, his expression inquisitive. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, dear Zoya. But maybe I’m just that handsome.” He nodded, giving her a lopsided smile. “Get some rest. It’s still a week before we get to Os Kervo.” 

          Then he was off, whistling an off-key tune that stayed in Zoya’s mind for the rest of the night. 

***

When Sturmhond had returned to his quarters below deck, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. A laugh escaped from him, and he shook his head. His suspicions were confirmed. What were the chances of meeting her again? He wasn’t the one to believe in fate. 

          But this certain moment was making him consider.

          He shrugged off his coat and went to the desk at the opposite side of the room, hanging the garment on the back of his chair. Reaching a hand over the drawer, Sturmhond opened it and took the old, worn out notebook at the very bottom of the stack. 

          A wave of nostalgia hit him, making him smile. This was where he had spent most of his late nights growing up, sketching the ideas he’d come up with when the sound of gunfire and explosion were too much for him to be able to sleep. 

          Sturmhond sat down on the chair as he opened the notebook, seeing the mess that were his scrawls and drawings, mixing with each other in a series of lines and curves. He turned the page. An old paper was wedged in between the pages, the edges torn from ages of handling. But one look at it, he knew exactly what it was. 

          The sloppy handwriting of ‘Kingfisher’ on the top right corner was already fading, but it was still readable. He remembered how he had panicked the night he fell from that tree, the thought of losing his greatest idea almost making him cry. But then a certain Squaller had returned it to him after a few days, with her stoic face and firm voice, and Sturmhond knew he was forever thankful to her for giving it back to him.

          Because he was able to make the idea come to life and set out to the seas on it now.

          “Who would’ve thought I’d see you again, dear extraordinary Squaller,” he murmured to the page. 

          For the first time in a long while, Sturmhond felt a real smile appear on his face. *** A/N: This is a rough excerpt from another probable multi-chapter I accidentally made. Idk when I'd write and post the full one, but we'll see. HEHE.

[rotzaprachim]

the undone and the divine

Kanej. Teen. Post Crooked Kingdom. I just like to write rambling domestic fluff without plot or dialogue these days I guess? (References to murder because this is Ketterdam but references only.)

On AO3

It’s like that first time they tried in the hotel bathroom, when he sort of fixed her bandages and kissed her neck and fell into a million pieces, right there and then. Except it isn’t like that at all, because this isn’t their first time anymore, and this is his bathroom, in a house that’s got his own false name on it, and because she isn’t cut and bleeding on the counter. The raised scars from Dunyasha’s knife stand out along her bicep against the melange of other cuts and scars, older and newer, a story in survival wrapping out from under the loose straps of her sleep shirt.

It’s not like that first time, because they are not the people they were then, because the five years between then and now, the distance as much as the closeness, have done something he hopes might be healing but that is at the very least walking forward.

It is like the first the first time because they are here, in a fancy tiled bathroom with steam enough to bead on their skin and make their clothes stick. It is like that first time because of the way they’re positioned, him standing in front of her, her perched on the sink with her knees wrapped around his hips, but with something tighter now, almost like possessiveness. She is nobody’s but her own, but he is hers and always will be.

She’s good with her fingers and better with knives, and as she runs the razor blade over the rough stubble on his jaw, she makes far fewer mistakes than he ever did. The feeling of her fingers on his face is almost familiar now, even if it takes much of his considerable focus not to flinch under her touch. Both of his hands are wrapped tightly around the cool enamel sides of the sink. He can’t flinck, of else her hand will slip and gash his face open. Maybe that’s a blessing. He’s best at playing games with stakes. Mostly, he just needs to calm himself, blank out his mind, focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the way it hitches now and again.

He can trust her hands better than his own. One of the older louts in the Slat’s bunkroom had demonstrated the best angle to slit the throat of a Razorgull panhandler who’d edged onto their turf and on another occasion he’d received instruction in how to most convincingly cut the wrists of a scab who’d ratted some rum smuggling operations to the Staadwatch so as to make the man’s untimely under-custody death resemble, in certain lights a suicide. As such, Kaz had a acquired a good working knowledge of several practical uses of a razon blade, but no one had ever taught him how to shave.

She doesn’t need to say anything, just tilt her head sideways, but he knows to turn his head anyway and let her fingers find purchase again. It’s not about power, but it is about control. His own body, his soul if such things exist, has proven itself the most difficult man Kaz Brekker has ever tried to control. It’s about the control they have over themselves, his wrists and throat bared to her. She could destroy him right here and now with only a slip of her blade, and he’d gladly let her.

Instead she runs the pads of her fingers lighlty over his cheeks, looking for places she’s missed, and, finding none, sets the razor down on the enamel lip of the sink with a light clink. She retracts her knees and jumps down, circling back to her own mirror to plait her hair. He does that for her, sometimes, he’s getting better at getting the wispy bits at her temples and the nape of her neck into the braid proper. He turns the hot water on. These mercher types waste their hard-stolen cash on all means of useless crap and expensive, random posturing, but Kaz’s gotten far more accustomed to hot water on tap than he’d dare let anyone back at the Slat know. Anyone who calls him soft is still more than welcome to a bareknuckle fight. No one’s yet bested him.

(There’s no such thing as a bareknuckle, empty-handed fight in the Barrel and if you think there is, then son you’re got too much honor to make it out of here alive.)

He wastes a minute or so of water until it runs hot over his hands, not feeling terribly broken up about the extravagance. The Ravkan name for Kerch isn’t Vodyzemly without reason. He splashes it on his face, washing the soap and lather from his face, feels the cooling rivulets of water running down his neck and seeping into his shirt, feels her eyes on him. He knows she knows he knows she’s watching. His fingers run along the bottom edge of his sleep shirt and he turns to her, looks her in the eye in one of their thousand silent questions, and peels the shirt off- slower then he needs to, yes, perhaps preening slightly- at her small, decisive nodd. Yes. There’s the tension of the fight in both their shoulders.

He’s conscious, so conscious, of her gaze on him now. When he was small he’d follow the older kids through the fields at the harvest, tying up the bundles of grain they threshed with waxed farmer's twine. Even after the weather turned cold, the boys insisted on working with their shirts off, the girls on shoving their shirtsleeves up and their necklines down. He didn’t understand then. He understands now more of why humans do things like this that they have no need of doing. He has a bathtub now, in a room with a door that locks and he didn’t in the attic of the Slat, but he likes doing this, here, knowing that her eyes are on him and that she’ll probably scold him for indecency in the next ten seconds.

(She doesn’t. He’d be almost disapointed, if he couldn’t hear her breath hitch.)

So instead he splashes hot water on himself, liking the bite of it, running a washcloth up his neck, under his arms, along the planes of his chest. He might not be Nikolai Lantsov, exactly, but this is one part of his self he’s never been uncomfortable in.

He reaches all the way around her to pull a towel from the shelf. He’d ask her except that she looks almost flustered, and that’s a rare thing for the pirate known as the world-shaker. She’s always beautiful, he knows, but there’s something about the rare handful of mornings like this one, carved from the hard living of legend-building, all their armor cast aside. The sea-dark curtain of her hair loose and unbraided over her shoulder, the bare inch of skin at her waist where her shirt rides up or the thick Fjerdan cardigan she wears against the chill that hangs almost to her knees. She sits on the kitchen counters with both her hands wrapped around a massive mug of coffee while she interrogates him on the various doings of Ketterdam’s sketchiest traders. He tells her the worst dirt he knows while he tries to keep eggshells out of the frying pan. Once he had to throw out an entire skillet of eggs and sausage out she cracked up laughing at the rundown of merchant council’s current tetrahedron of cheating.

Not a drop of grisha blood in either of them, breakable and fallible and flesh-and-blood as can be, but sometimes it feels like the other is one of the only people on earth they can be human around.

The towel still wrapped around his shoulders, he loops his thumbs into the waistbnd of his tartan sleep pants and pauses. Another question. Sometimes speaking makes it harder to breach topics like this than gesture. She shakes her head, strongly, not now, not today, and he nods, yes, of course, raises his hands to awkwardly run them through his steam-damp hair.

“Wait, Kaz,” she says, holding a hand out and, very slowly, he laces his fingers through her own. There’s flecks of shell-blue varnish on her nails and a faint tracery of floral designs wrapping around her forearm all the way to her knuckles. He hadn’t noticed when she came in from the sea on the east wind last night. “Kiss me. Please.”

He does.

And then he kisses her again on top of her head, breathing in the salt and soap scent her hair has now, and heads downstairs to get the morning coffee started.