#fabrik front line

[chicinsilk]

Harper's Bazaar October 1990

Irene Pfeiffer wears a large fuchsia wool tailored coat (Besson), worn over a cashmere turtleneck sweater (Fabrik Front Line). Clothing and accessories, by Claude Montana for Lanvin Haute Couture. Hair, Madeleine Cofano for Bruno Dessange; makeup, Rob Van Dorssen.

Irene Pfeiffer porte un large manteau de tailleur en laine fuchsia (Besson), porté sur un pull à col roulé en cachemire (Fabrik Front Line). Vêtements et accessoires, par Claude Montana pour Lanvin Haute Couture. Coiffure, Madeleine Cofano pour Bruno Dessange ; maquillage, Rob Van Dorssen.

Photo Torkil Gudnason

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Little Sun" - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[This is a work of fiction. Slapping your partner is physical abuse.]

SUMMARY: Nikolai left Ravka to gather whatever aid he can get for his home but he comes back because he promised you.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.2k

Apparently, Коля [Kolya] is short for Nikolai and it's the cutest thing I've heard in my life. Also, let me know if you're fine with just Cyrillic or do you want me to include Latinized spelling in the future.

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

Tolya and Tamar have a bet. Not a very dramatic piece of information if one knows a thing or two about the siblings. But it’s the nature of the bet, not its sole existence, that’s so interesting - it’s their longest unresolved wager:

The whole thing started when they noticed Sturmhond saying “Солнышко would love this” to himself. Most of the time it’s a whisper, a stray thought that somehow wriggled free out of his mind at a sight of a sunset, a panorama of a city or a treasure his crew found - if something is worth appreciation, the enigmatic “Солнышко” would surely want to see it. Judging by the softness with which the captain says those words, Tolya and Tamar are disillusioned that “солнышко” is merely a term of endearment for someone close to Sturmhond’s heart. What directly sparked their bet was whether this hopeless love is returned. Tolya, probably biased by the poetry he so eagerly reads, was convinced that they were witnessing a dramatic love story of a princess and a sea dog or something along those lines. Tamar, however, remained more cynical in her judgement - whoever the lady is, she probably doesn’t spare the privateer much thought, if she’s even aware of his existence. Little did they know, the answer awaited them on the other side of the Fold.

The sanctuary is never quiet nor is it ever boring. Although its population doesn’t impress, the determined freedom fighters rarely catch a break, keeping the beehive constantly buzzing. People coming to and fro, the noise of neverending chatter, footsteps echoing through the grand halls and in the middle - you, one responsibility away from completely losing your mind.

You’re doing your rounds, utilising the march between ‘checkpoints’ to talk with Dima, a quite hyperactive Fabrikator, about his new project. It looks promising but you’ve learned to expect nothing less from the boy. He’s tripping over his feet because his gaze is boring into you, looking for any sign of approval or disapproval, and not the tiles in front of him. 

The parchment rustles as you look through the blueprints. “That’s a lot of iron…” you say quietly. Pondering the schematic, you habitually rub your jaw. “If First Army is to use this on the battlefield, it needs to be lighter, so fewer soldiers have to man it. Some parts ought to be substituted with wood. Maybe these two?” You point to fairly small elements on the blueprint, which look to be part of the traction mechanism. Dima conceptualized a machine built on impressively complicated, codependent systems - one change is going to influence all the other parts, which in turn will circle back to the substitute and put a different strain on it.

Dima gasps. "My lady,” his voice is quiet, breathy.

Suddenly, the boy stops but you don’t think much about it. You stand beside him, still eyeing the blueprint in search of ways to save the more scarce resources without endangering the quality of the firearm. 

“I know it’s going to be difficult, Dima,” you forestall his complaint. “We also don’t want this whole thing to shatter after firing the first round but there’s only so much-.”

"My lady, he's back,” he interrupts you.

You look up at Dima with furrowed eyebrows. But the boy doesn’t meet your eye - instead, he’s looking away towards something, or someone, by the entrance to the sanctuary; a haunted glint hiding in his pupils. Confused, you follow his gaze to the door, only to feel your heart stop for a moment:

The blond hair, the elegant kaftan with aiglets and the insufferable, juvenile confidence written on his face.

"Мой Коля,” you say barely above a whisper. The world smudges and blurs as tears fill your eyes.

Not having much care about the stoic image you’re supposed to maintain, you shove the schematics back into Dima’s hands (he nearly drops them) and rush to the ghost who’s been haunting your thoughts for far too long, pushing through people standing in your path.

The phantom becomes flesh and bones only when you feel his arms wrap around you, pulling you tightly to himself. The scent of seaweed and resin lingers on his clothes as though he was born a sea dog and became a prince by sheer coincidence. You hear Nikolai take in a deep breath, his nose buried in your hair. This feels almost too good to be true but good enough to be a cruel joke.

A minute or two passes by and even then it’s difficult for you to lean away to look at his face - Nikolai seems absolutely unwilling at letting you go again anytime soon. Literally and figuratively.

"I was beginning to lose hope," you say quietly. Although his eyes remain just as mischievous as they usually are, a hint of softness hides inside them.

"You know me, солнышко,” he says with a grin on his face. The pet name makes your chest both tighten and burst with passion you have nearly forgotten. After a long period of emptiness and coldness, this scorching devotion is burning you alive. “I promised you I'd come back."

Only when his warm hand reaches to wipe away your tears do you realize you’ve been crying all this time. Even if you tried, there’s no way of stopping this - all of the nights you’d spent worrying and all the days you’d been yearning for him, they finally find their outlet in this longed-for reunion. You’ve imagined his tragic death so many times, you can hardly believe all of that was just an atrocity of your mind.

“Please, stop crying,” Nikolai whispers while relentlessly wiping your face, “or I’m going to cry too and I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of our guests.”

A chuckle of both disbelief and overwhelming relief escapes your lips. Even now, at such a heartfelt moment, he can’t help his humour but Saints’ did you miss it.

You sniffle. Absentmindedly, your fingers trace the smooth material of his kaftan. Not a cut or a burn on this textile, as though it beared to witness to combat. "You’ve been gone for so long, I don't know if I should kiss or slap you."

He gives you a playful, questioning look. "Can I choose?"

"Not a chance."

Nikolai gasps when he feels your hand against his face. The strength of the slap was nowhere near to the punch Alina threw at him not too long ago but considering who you are, it aches incomparably more. To a degree, he understands that he might, after all, deserve some of your anger. Aside from the misguided, love-fueled belief you’ve always had in him, you had virtually no reason to think he’s alive, mourning him each time you lay in bed alone - until now.

He doesn’t have a chance to form a response to your outburst as you grab both sides of his face and clash your lips against his. That’s something Nikolai can condone and he does so with a nearly obscene lack of hesitation or reluctance. His arms hold your waist in a tight embrace. The saltwater on his skin tastes like insufferable youth and fabulous adventures. For a moment, you let yourself forget about the pending civil war, thinking only about the warm, soft lips you’ve missed so dearly. Your Коля came back to you, so everything is perfectly fine.

At the same time, Tolya turns to look at his sister with a proud grin. “Told you,” he says nudging her arm but Tamar only scoffs and shakes her head.

[bi-bard]

You're the First Glimmer of Hope I've Had in a Long Time - Kaz Brekker Imagine [Shadow & Bone]

Title: You're the First Glimmer of Hope I've Had in a Long Time

Pairing: Kaz Brekker X Reader (use of they/them pronouns for the Reader)

Word Count: 6,194 words

Warning(s): brief violence, descriptions of manipulation, mention of violence/trauma at the hands of the Darkling

Summary: The Winter Fete has arrived. It brings games, excitement, and brilliant performances. None more brilliant than that of the Sun Summoner, who is about to make their public debut.

Author's Note: What? Kyli taking a break from writing challenges to update an OC that she hasn't talked about in ages? Wow.

MORE OF THIS OC HERE!

----------------------

Festivals were never a part of (Y/n)'s life in Ketterdam.

No, the city known for being lined with misfortune and grief was never known for putting on grand parties.

That must have been why (Y/n) was so focused on the sight outside their window. Why they couldn't pull their eyes from the carts being pulled in toward the main entrance. Performers of all sorts. Guests being brought to see them.

If the dread wasn't a heavy enough weight in their stomach, the anxiousness from the thought of a crowd watching them surely would be.

(Y/n) had become so focused on the bustling sounds outside that they hadn't noticed the doors opening and Genya walking in.

"Enjoying the festivities," she asked.

(Y/n) tried to hide any shock that may have presented itself. "From through a window, in a room with a locked door."

She hummed. "Come on. We have to get you ready."

There was a huff and some rolled eyes before (Y/n) finally plopped themself in the chair in front of the Tailor.

"You could pretend to be interested in all of this," Genya suggested. "It is all in celebration of you."

"It's not," (Y/n) replied. "It's a celebration of an idea of me. One that I may never well become."

There wasn't a response from the fellow Grisha. Instead, she reached out and touched (Y/n)'s face. There was so much concern etched onto her expression that it almost knocked the wind out of (Y/n). They had been too harsh.

"Sorry," they muttered. Genya wasn't at fault for (Y/n)'s predicament.

"No need," Genya forced a grin before going to sort through her case. "I understand your feelings about this all. Your stay, your gift, men like Kirigan."

"Speaking of...," (Y/n) grumbled. "Is the black necessary?"

"He insisted."

"It just feels like he's putting me on a leash. 'Look at my shiny pet'."

"You wore black before... almost exclusively."

"Of my will. It was different then. Better."

Genya nodded. "Well, I promise to make this feel right. More like you than him."

"Thank you."

It was then that the door to the room opened again. In walked David, the resident Fabrikator, with two gloves in his hands. They were tied together with a blue ribbon.

(Y/n) stood up rather abruptly, ever cautious of new people. Even more cautious of gifts that were coming from a place like the Little Palace.

"The General had me make these for your demonstration," David explained, holding them out. (Y/n) took them, turning them over in their hands.

"They're lovely," Genya complimented.

"What is their purpose," (Y/n) asked.

David grinned, clearly proud of his work. "They'll make it easier to split one beam into two."

"I see," (Y/n) mused. They gently placed the gloves on the nearby table.

David's grin fell as he watched the sun summoner easily turn one beam into two, allowing it to flutter around the space in front of them.

"While I appreciate the offer, I will be quite alright without them."

"Would you not like to try them?"

"Is there a reason that I should when I just showed you that I was perfectly capable of performing on my own?"

David took a breath before clearing his throat and taking the gloves. He walked out of the room again.

Genya's voice stopped him at the door. "See you at the Fete!"

David merely shared a look with her before leaving. A look that lasted far too long for it to be called polite or friendly. It almost made (Y/n) chuckle. How could two people be so blind that they couldn't see that they were sharing such a longing look?

"Come on then," Genya said. "We have to make sure that you're ready."

(Y/n) merely nodded, biting back any knowing look that wanted to form.

The final step of Genya's work was carefully placing a ring on (Y/n)'s finger. She explained that it was a symbol of luck. A personal gift from her. (Y/n) made no effort to argue. Some battles were not worth fighting.

Genya proceeded to drag (Y/n) through the halls of the Little Palace. There was some muttering about the kefta and how lovely it was going to look.

(Y/n) didn't believe her. Not truly. But who were they to crush Genya's spirits more than once in a day?

Instead, (Y/n) kept their attention trained outside, watching what festivities they could through the window.

Their walk was interrupted quite abruptly. (Y/n)'s eyes were dragged from the window to see Kirigan standing there.

"I was just going to find you," he explained. "I was hoping to discuss tonight's event."

(Y/n) took a deep breath, pushing their shoulders back to appear taller. "I was on my way to get ready."

"I will happily discuss the events while we walk to your fitting."

Genya and (Y/n) shared a look. (Y/n)'s was begging Genya to come up with some excuse why they could not go wandering off with the man who kidnapped them. Genya's was quietly pushing (Y/n) to just follow the general and get the conversation over with.

Kirigan motioned down the hall, pushing (Y/n) to walk with him.

As they walked forward, Kirigan fell into step. His hands were behind his back, a smug grin on his face. In his mind, this was the first step toward his goal. His future. A new age that he was prepared to usher in.

"How are you feeling," he asked, maintaining his act of care. Not mere kidnapper, but something close to a friend. It was not having as strong of an effect as he wished that it had.

"Fine," (Y/n) answered simply. Short answers were not unknown between the two of them.

"You decided against the gloves," Kirigan noted.

"I did not come here as a beginner," (Y/n) explained. "I have no need for them."

"They were a mere safeguard anyway," he replied. "In case of nerves."

"Luckily for you, I have learned to perform under pressure," (Y/n) shrugged. "I do not need any of them. Especially not from you."

Kirigan would have much more to say if they hadn't reached (Y/n)'s fitting room.

"Goodbye, Kirigan."

"Good luck, (Y/n)."

The door to the room opened and closed quickly, leaving little time for Kirigan to attempt another conversation.

(Y/n) was immediately pulled in a thousand directions. They knew that rest would not be offered until it was time to be presented before the crowd arriving for the event.

If only they had known about the plan unfolding just under their nose.

If they hadn't been so hidden, then they would have. Kaz's plans had become very familiar to them, as if there were a signature on them. Like an artist would to a painting.

While the dear Sun Summoner was being escorted, poked, tempted, and prepared to be put on show like a cow being taken to market, the Crows were making their moves around the Little Palace.

It all started with the layout of the palace. Kaz sneaking in as a guard and finding the fitting room that had been hidden by a door with no handle. Jesper looking for the perfect escape course for the soon-to-be-reunited group. Inej taking on the role of a performer to make it onto the grounds.

Once that had been done and the quartet had reconvened, it was time to put the proper plan into action. This was not merely collecting information. This was going in and returning with the person that mattered to them.

Kaz, Inej, and Jesper maintained their acts. They knew how to get to the main event and how to find the one that they needed to.

And then, there was the Conductor, who had become a much different part of this than he originally thought that he would be.

He was their distraction. Their hope of pulling the attention of General Kirigan away long enough to get to their dear missing Crow.

Night had fallen.

The Crows were in place.

The Conductor was just approaching the entrance.

And (Y/n) had just been guided to the main hall.

They never realized just how accustomed they had become to hiding in the shadows. How comforting being unknown had become to them.

They stepped into the room, dawning a black kefta with bright gold details. They were met by countless stares, each one more stunned than the next. Every single one of them felt too intrusive. (Y/n) wanted to go back to being hidden. They wanted to go back to being with their Crows.

If only they knew just how close that trio was.

Kirigan stood with a confident smirk on his face. A proud owner. The kefta had been a leash. 'Look at that. It's my new pet. So well-behaved, aren't they?' It made (Y/n)'s stomach churn.

He approached them. "The color suits you."

"When it's of my own choosing."

"Behave," he scolded quietly.

"Don't make it so difficult."

There was a deep breath taken by the general before he offered a hand to them. "Come on. We have a performance to give them."

Kaz and Inej were just stepping into the main hall, each one adorned in the outfit of the guards. Neither one of them truly knew what to expect of that night. But during such unprecedented times, who truly did?

They watched as Kirigan stepped onto the small, lifted platform.

Kaz found his eyes drifting just in front of the stage. He found the back of a black kefta with intricate detailing. He knew who he was watching. He also knew that he could do nothing about that.

Inej stepped away from him, finding a place with a clear view of the stage.

(Y/n) stepped on the stage after Kirigan, stepping behind him so he could look out at the audience surrounding him.

"This is (Y/n) (Y/l/n)," Kirigan announced. "And they will bring liberation to us all."

(Y/n) had to fight any urge to lower their head or close their eyes. They had to fight to not hide from the crowd watching them. They hid that urge well... from the ones who didn't know them.

Kirigan stepped off the stage, taking a few steps forward before bringing his hands together in front of them. The sharp slap was accompanied by quick-moving darkness that consumed the audience. Maybe that was for the best.

(Y/n) lift their hands, moving them until a circle had formed in front of them. Another sphere formed in the other hand. With a deep breath, they casted it forward, forcing the light to consume the dark. It was an explosion, one that left the room speechless.

As the atmosphere settled around them, murmuring started. Small whispers of 'Sankta (Y/n)' filled the room as people began to kneel and touch their foreheads and then their hearts.

(Y/n) dragged their eyes along the crowd.

It was then that someone stuck out. Someone familiar. It was a matter of seconds before they were seemingly gone.

Inej.

(Y/n) would always recognize the Crows. No matter how long it had been or what was going on in the world around them. They would always recognize the Crows.

And if Inej was here, then that meant that (Y/n) may finally be free.

(Y/n) played the role of polite and kind well as they made their way off the stage. They bowed their head and thanked people, trying to make their movements seem less intentional than they were.

Maybe if Kirigan hadn't been pulled away, he would have paid more attention to them.

There was another Grisha whispering in his ear that distracted him.

News of a man reporting to have found the Stag.

In his hand was a letter promising a location in exchange for a meeting with the General. The only reason that he had been trusted was because the only people meant to know of the Stag was the First Army. This man would not arrive with a lie of something he should have no knowledge of.

The man had been guided to a room. Kirigan's chambers, to be specific. He was told to wait there. Kirigan would be there to speak with him soon.

The man- the Conductor- did not heed such warnings.

Again, his role was not what he thought it was. His goal was much different than the three criminals he had brought across the Fold.

They intended to bring home their dear friend. He intended to kill the Sun Summoner before the revolution of West Ravka could be stopped.

He found the hidden room easily. (Y/n) was sitting near a mirror, getting ready for the dinner that was going to occur that night.

He was silent as he stepped forward. He quietly, effortlessly grabbed (Y/n)'s head and pulled it back enough to drag a blade along their throat, leaving them bleeding and gasping for air.

Unbeknownst to him, Kaz knew that this was going to happen.

Just as he knew that the person the Conductor had just killed wasn't the Sun Summoner. It was all merely a trick. One meant to lure in whoever was dumb enough to take the bait.

The Conductor was found outside the fitting room, knife in his hand, and no ounce of regret sitting on his face. He was dragged away to a place where he could be held until the general was able to speak to him.

While the chaos was unfolding, (Y/n) was busy finding whoever they had spotted in the main event.

Escaping the guards was easy enough. Old tricks and techniques got them away for long enough that they were allowed to trace the halls freely. Too many people were focused on the main event to notice them moving.

They just needed to know the truth. They needed to know if this was truly the day that everything was made right.

They had become so fixated on finding whoever they had seen that they weren't paying enough attention to the world around them. Such a failure resulted in a sudden shock when they were grabbed and dragged into another room.

They shoved themself away from the body that had grabbed them to see a guard standing calmly. She had let (Y/n) go quite easily. This was no fight or murder attempt. It was simply an act to save some time in the long run.

"What are you doing," (Y/n) asked.

They looked around the room quickly. It was dark. There was a large round table with figures and maps thrown all around it. There was another room where (Y/n) could just barely see the edge of a mattress. It was someone's chambers, (Y/n) just wasn't sure whose.

"Answer me," they demanded.

"I am merely an aid," the guard replied.

There was the sound of a creaking door being opened. (Y/n) turned around quickly, hands raised to fight off whatever attacker was there.

There was no attacker.

"Baghra," (Y/n) said. "What do you want? Where am I?"

"I'm here to protect you," she explained. "Come on."

(Y/n) didn't flinch.

"You don't know where you are, do you," she tilted her head. "Kirigan could come back at any moment if you wait here."

(Y/n) stepped forward, whispering angrily, "You dragged me into the chambers of the man holding me hostage?"

"If there were any other option, I would have chosen it. Now, come on."

There was a quiet huff before (Y/n) stepped inside the passageway that had been hidden behind some bookcase.

"I am trying to get you out of here," she continued as the pair moved. "Save you from living your life as a slave."

"I don't need your help-"

"Yes, because your precious Crows are here, I know."

(Y/n) stopped abruptly. "They are? Truly?"

"You didn't know?"

"I thought that I was imagining things."

Baghra let out a sigh before continuing to push them along.

"Why help me now? You have had ages to protect me. To get me out."

"I didn't have a way to get you out without being caught. The guards and Aleksander have kept a close eye on you until tonight. Might be something your Crows did."

It was. (Y/n) just didn't know that yet.

"Aleksander intends to use your power to expand the Fold," she continued. "Weaponize it. That's what he created it for in the first place."

"The Black Heretic created the Fold," (Y/n) corrected. "Hundreds of years ago. Kirigan- Aleksander- whoever he is may want to weaponize it, but he didn't create it."

"Is it truly impossible?"

(Y/n) paused. Grisha aged slower than normal humans, that was true. "I thought that the Black Heretic was killed for what he had done."

"Is that what Aleksander told you?"

Another pause. No. (Y/n) had heard that ending to the story somewhere else, hadn't they? They wouldn't have blindly trusted his word if they had never heard about it before, would they?

Most people left out what happened immediately after the creation of the Fold. They usually jump to the impact of it. Where Ravka was now.

Baghra's story was adding up much faster than (Y/n) thought it would.

"Child, Aleksander is the Black Heretic," Baghra said. "He chose a nobleman's name to hide after he had created the Fold. And he made himself a hero."

(Y/n) didn't truly doubt the story, but they needed the confirmation. They stopped walking. "How do you know this?"

"How do you think I know this?"

Baghra waved her hand and darkness began to fill the halls around them.

"You're related," (Y/n) concluded.

"More than a mere relation," she replied.

"You're his mother."

"Yes."

"You're his mother and you have done nothing for centuries?"

Baghra didn't respond, merely staring at the Sun Summoner in silence.

"You were steps away from your son, you knew what he had done, and yet you did nothing to stop it?"

"Do you believe that I have the power to tear down the Fold? To reverse the unimaginable?"

"No," (Y/n) shook their head. "I'm not talking about the Fold. I mean everything that he did after it. Young Grisha, young boys and girls forced to join armies... helpless women forced to play his game. You could have protected them. Stopped him from manipulating them and twisting them and... using them."

"He has had a long time to master the art of manipulating young, naive girls."

"And you have had just as long to master how to stop him from doing so."

"Who exactly do you so desperately want me to protect?" Baghra stepped closer to (Y/n). "You have made no friends here. No connections. Who are you so desperate to help?"

Genya. Of course, it was Genya. The one person that (Y/n) saw every day. She was far too familiar to (Y/n) for them to not feel a desperation to pull the young woman to freedom and peace. Not that Genya would ever follow them. She was stuck too far under Kirigan's thumb.

And Zoya, who had been one of few to look at (Y/n) with some kind of genuine respect. The only one to see beyond the Grisha abilities and see someone clever and talented. She was strong enough to fight back. She probably would have helped Baghra tear down Kirigan's little empire if he hadn't gotten such a firm hold on her.

(Y/n) would never say either of these names. They were still too apprehensive about the woman's intentions to allow her such information.

"It's bold of you to blame me for my son's crimes," Baghra continued. "My son tried to create his own army using merzost. He didn't think about the people who lived there... what such power would do to them. Turned them into the twisted, evil things that attacked you."

"The Volcra."

"Tell me, is that my fault?"

"I never said it was," (Y/n) replied. "I just wish you had taken action before you knew of my existence. I should not be the only thing inspiring you to be better."

Baghra took a deep breath before shaking her head. She walked to a heavy-looking door and pulled it open. "You need to go. Now. Take that path. You must hide. You already almost gave him the Stag, don't give him your power too."

(Y/n) never told Kirigan of the Stag. They had only told Genya. Survival is a powerful motivator.

"Follow the main path until the fork," Baghra advised, not following (Y/n) beyond the entrance. "Turn right. Wait there. There's food there. I have some Grisha that are loyal to me. They'll keep you safe until I can devise a plan. Go."

(Y/n) didn't listen. They followed the main path, but at the fork, they went left. Baghra's interest was one that they didn't want to entertain any more than they had Kirigan's.

Relief didn't cross (Y/n)'s face until they made it to the stables.

After stealing some clothes and narrowly avoiding some guards, (Y/n) stepped out into the main field. The new clothes didn't fit right, but they did what was necessary. All (Y/n) needed was something to last long enough for them to leave.

There was a carriage waiting there. It seemed like an easy enough plan. Steal the carriage or at least a horse and make it out before Kirigan truly knew they were missing.

"(Y/n)."

They froze, ready to fight whoever had spoken. They were met with Jesper standing before them.

They never realized how comforting his face was. Not until the mere sight of him forced a shaky sigh to escape them. The relief that crashed over them at the sight of him, alive and well and here.

"Jesper..."

(Y/n)'s voice was weak. Weaker than Jesper had ever heard it before. But that wasn't what worried him most. What worried him most were the tears sitting in (Y/n)'s eyes, waiting to fall.

He found himself angry. Angrier than ever before. What had they done here? What had these people done to his best friend? And how long was it going to take for him to shoot them all for it?

He decided to hide his seething anger with some light humor, "You doubted that I'd find you?"

Never. That was what (Y/n) wanted to say. They never doubted him or Inej or Kaz. They were simply too overwhelmed to get the words out. Too overwhelmed by anger toward Kirigan and those who had lied to protect him and his plans. Too overwhelmed by relief at the knowledge that it had been Inej standing there in the room of unfamiliar faces.

Instead of speaking, (Y/n) took a few more stumbling steps forward, falling unceremoniously into Jesper's arms, tightly wrapping their arms around his torso. Jesper quietly hushed them as he felt them shaking. He mumbled small words of comfort, but he was certain that none of them had any impact. He just wanted to know that he had tried.

There was a sound somewhere. Some kind of distant crash in the direction that (Y/n) had come from.

"Get in," Jesper dragged them over to a crate on the back of the carriage. They listened to him, curling in on themself so he could get the lid shut and leave them in darkness.

(Y/n) could hear a few faint voices outside, but they were too quiet to recognize. That was okay. Jesper would keep them safe. They believed that.

For the first time in ages, they let their eyes close and their breath even out.

The carriage didn't stop until early morning. (Y/n) only knew due to the small amount of light poking through the small cracks in the wood.

The lid opened and Jesper's face once again took on a form of comfort. He offered a hand to them.

They stood up and carefully climbed out of the box. Inej and Kaz were standing there, Kaz with little to no expression and Inej with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Jesper made sure that (Y/n) was steady on the ground before smiling proudly at the other two.

"Hello," (Y/n) said softly. They decided to try to pull some tension away from the situation. "Took you guys long enough-"

The joke barely left their lips before Inej stepped forward and wrapped them in a tight hug. They hugged her back, eyes screwing shut as they let out a heavy sigh.

"I've missed you," they muttered to her.

Inej stepped back and touched their face. "I missed you too."

"I saw you. At the Fete. You were watching the presentation."

She slowly bowed her head.

"Please don't do that," (Y/n) begged. "I don't want you to see me as anything other than your friend. I am no Saint."

"Ravka would disagree," Kaz's voice chimed in. He had both of his hands clasped on the top of his cane. They were shifting a bit, as if he was physically trying to keep himself from stepping forward and wrapping his arms around (Y/n).

"Hi," (Y/n) grinned at him.

He nodded. "Hi."

There was a long pause as the two of them watched each other. Each one deciding who should make the next move. Each of them deciding what an acceptable next move would be. They had been waiting for the moment when they faced each other again and neither one of them had bothered to consider what they should do when it finally happened.

"Well," Jesper clapped as he finally spoke. "I am starving. Shall we?"

"Find a safe place first," Kaz said. "We can't have (Y/n) walking around in the open. Too much of a risk."

"Fine," Jesper muttered, rolling his eyes.

The quartet found shelter in a rundown house of sorts. One that hid them well but gave them enough room to see if any unwelcomed guests were to join them.

Inej and Jesper went out on a search for food. Kaz insisted on staying with (Y/n). It was for protection... and not at all because of how much time he had lost with them. No, no, that would be a foolish reason.

"I missed you," (Y/n) commented quietly once the two were alone. "I thought of you a lot while I was at the Little Palace."

Kaz stayed quiet. He was scared of saying the wrong thing. Of his emotions taking over and leading him into pouring out every word that he would never be able to say otherwise.

He was scared of telling (Y/n) how much he had missed them.

Of telling them how when he heard that they had gone missing, he thought his heart had stopped. How he had been prepared to cross the Fold on foot if that was what it took to ensure their safety and ensure that they came back to him. How he could have spent a hundred years fighting to get them back and it would have never mattered to him. He would have done it all so effortlessly because a world with a thought of them was better than a world without ever having them.

Of telling them that he kept dreaming of them. Not just after their kidnapping, but before. How he had seen visions of them reconnecting, of the moment he was finally able to be enough for them. He could vividly see the moment that he let them be there, warming him with the energy that twisted around their veins. Let them see him beyond the role of the leader or the boss.

Of telling them how desperately he had been craving them. Their presence and their voice and their gift. Even their touch. Something so unknown to him, terrifying even, yet so tempting. How could you miss something you never experienced?

Kaz didn't know and he was sure that knowing would do him any good.

Instead of taking that risk, Kaz sat quietly.

"You crossed the Fold for me," (Y/n) commented after a while. He raised an eyebrow at them. "Why? Surely there are other people who can perform sleight of hand in the Barrel. You could have left me. Allowed me to stay stuck with Kirigan. Probably would have been less expensive that way."

Because I needed you, he thought, but his tongue put a stop to those words before they could consider escaping, "Inej and Jesper convinced me."

"That's it then," (Y/n) asked. "That's the only reason?"

"What other reason would there be?"

(Y/n) took a deep breath. "I don't know."

Before either one of them could continue the ever-so-riveting conversation, Inej and Jesper found their way back to them.

The four of them ate quietly for a few minutes before (Y/n) asked about how they crossed the Fold. It was a story that Jesper was all too excited to tell.

He spoke of the Conductor and the train through the Fold. Of Milo the goat and the fate that became of him. (Y/n) grinned as they listened. They had missed Jesper's rambling so much more than they realized. It was calming to listen to him rant and rave about the things that had upset him or merely distracted him. It was familiar. (Y/n) needed familiar.

"And then, there was this drunk soldier that almost spilled his drink all over me," he explained. "He was going on and on about needing a crew to go find this mysterious Stag that the general wanted for something."

"The stag?" (Y/n) interrupted. All three of the others looked at them. "You know about the Stag?"

"Kirigan sent out a notice," Inej said. "He wanted it tracked. Sent out a drawing."

"It was the leverage we had to ensure that at least one of us could make it into the Little Palace," Jesper added. "Took us ages to find the thing."

"You found the Stag," (Y/n) asked, looking between the three of them.

"Inej did most of the work," Jesper confessed.

"This is brilliant," they replied, a genuine smile stretching across their face. Oh, how good it felt for it to not be a forced act of politeness.

"What is this Stag," Kaz leaned forward. "Why does the general want it so much?"

"It's... It's an amplifier," (Y/n) explained excitedly. "One of Morozova's creatures. It's... I've been seeing it in my dreams. If I can get to it, I may be powerful enough to take down Kirigan... maybe the whole Fold."

"If it made you that powerful, then why would he want it?" Jesper furrowed his eyebrows.

(Y/n) paused, embarrassed. As if any of this was their fault. "His plan was to use the Stag to make himself powerful enough to use me to expand the Fold. He wanted to use it as a weapon. It's... It's the same reason that he created it. He's the Black Heretic that created the Fold centuries ago. And he was biding his time until he found me. To him, I am a tool. A means to an end."

Inej and Jesper shifted, both of them uneasy about the realization. Kaz's eyes shifted for a moment but that was the only reaction that he allowed to be on display.

"We have to find it before he does. Do you remember where it was?"

"Yes," Inej nodded. "It wouldn't be a short trip."

"We just need to get going as soon as possible then. Who knows how long we have until he finds us here? We don't know how much of a head start we truly have."

Almost as soon as the sun fell, the Crows were ready to move out, hoping to use the shadows as a cover.

They were interrupted by the sound of a carriage outside. All four of them paused. Inej moved to the window.

"It's from the Little Palace."

"Saints," (Y/n) muttered, moving over to join her. "He's brought Grisha."

"What kinds are they," Inej asked.

"That's Zoya... she's a squaller, that one's an Inferni, the one in red is a Heartrender, and the one pushed back into the carriage is David, a Durast."

"We have to split up," Kaz advised. "Much easier to take a Grisha one-on-one than a whole squad of them."

"I could take them all out with a single blow," (Y/n) replied.

"And fall right into Kirigan's hand," he added. "We cannot risk that before you have the amplifier."

"Fine."

"With me," he instructed them. He looked to Inej and Jesper. "Stay safe. Rendezvous at the fountain, understood?"

Both of them nodded.

"Wait," Inej said. She jogged over and handed (Y/n) a knife. "I know you don't need it, but... just in case."

(Y/n) grinned at her. "Good luck."

Kaz and (Y/n) made for the entrance farthest away from where the carriage was. The hope was to have enough time to collect themselves before anyone was able to track them down. Then, they'd be ready for a fight if they needed one.

(Y/n) noticed Zoya following them before Kaz did. As much as they wanted to believe that mutual respect would have some impact on Zoya's actions, they couldn't take that risk.

They reached over and took Kaz's hat, placing it carefully on another man's head.

When there were sounds of people gasping and yelling, (Y/n) led Kaz into an alley as if they were just two more scared faces in the crowd.

Kaz paused, staring out at the street. "You need to go."

"Not without you."

"Not a choice, go."

"Kaz-"

"Go."

"Kaz, no, I'm not abandoning you three-"

"We will find you," he snapped. "Go."

(Y/n) paused, watching him closely for a moment. They hoped that he would realize what he was attempting to do, what he was facing. They had just gotten him back; they didn't want him to get himself killed now. All four of them had gone through too much to go through that now.

"We found you once. We'll do it again," Kaz promised. "Now, go."

(Y/n) finally relented, turning around and making their way down the alley, taking a turn to end up on a different street than Kaz did.

Kaz found the other end of the alley. An empty street. Quiet.

And then, there was a clear shift in the air.

Kirigan stepped out of the darkness. Kaz shifted, planting his feet more firmly on the ground.

"I know you kidnapped my Sun Summoner," Kirigan said as he stepped closer. "And now you're going to tell me where you stashed them."

"They were never yours," Kaz replied simply, still taking steps back from the general. "And we didn't take them. They found their way back."

"Where are they?"

"Don't know. I just know that they didn't feel like being a captive anymore."

There were a thousand things that Kaz wanted to say to Kirigan. Even more things that Kaz wanted to do to hurt him. But he wasn't a fool. He knew better than to enter a fight with someone like Kirigan.

"As far as I know, they could be halfway back to Ketterdam already."

"And the Sun Summoner belongs to you again?"

"(Y/n) never belonged to me."

It was one of the things that drew Kaz to them in the first place. This fierce independence that was only overcome by a desire to protect the people they cared for. Kaz never realized how much he admired it.

"Unlike you, I never needed to hold them captive for them to listen to me."

Kirigan stepped forward again. Shadows began to creep up behind him.

Kaz reached into his bag and pulled out a smoke bomb. He held it tight in his hand.

"You should have stayed in Ketterdam, Mr. Brekker."

As Kirigan threw the cut at Kaz, the smoke bomb hit the ground.

What was left was a broken barrel, a few pieces of the wall knocked loose, and no sign of the Crow anywhere to be seen. Kirigan let out a quiet grumble as he stormed off.

Kaz continued his path down a new alley, trying to find some way to Jesper and Inej before they could all go find (Y/n).

As Kaz was making his daring escape, (Y/n) was making it out of the city. They were heading for the forest nearby, desperate to have some kind of cover. They needed to be away from the crowds. There was less of a chance of them being ratted out and if they were found, the Grisha were less likely to hurt any civilians if they were in the woods.

(Y/n) had no way of truly knowing what was going to happen. They wanted to believe that it would all work out, but they were never foolish enough to hold onto that much hope.

Regardless of whatever future may unfold, (Y/n) knew one thing: they had come too far for this to be the last time they see the Crows.

So, as they made it into the forest and found a safe and hidden spot to make camp, they pulled out the sharp blade that Inej had offered them.

In a tree, they carefully carved a message. A message that served two meanings. One was to tell the Crows exactly where they were without telling anyone else. The other was to be a reminder to all of them about how important it was for them to make it out of this together.

N.M.N.F

No mourners, no funerals.

----------------------

Author's Note: That title could relate to three different things in this story. Just so y'all know.

Also, I was very aware of the fact that I would get my ass kicked if I didn't feature Kaz and Kirigan meeting.

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What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[ravkanfoxprince]

The smell of oil and and metal in the air, the clinking of adamant materials meeting each other and the hard floor under his back, Nikolai was half hidden under the newest of his experiments, working on putting it together piece by piece, fixing miscalculations. And he was doing so in his old-new space; with some Fabrikator help he restored the old unused stables and turned it into a private workshop, where he could tinker away as his heart desired without interrupting the poor Fabrikators in their workshop and without endangering anyone but himself if something went wrong.

It felt great, working with his hands, fixing things, fixing problems he had an idea of how to fix it. He had to agree to David, sometimes machines were easier to understand than people.

The conference with the cabinet wasn't entirely unsuccessful. The punishment for discrimination and persecution towards Grisha have been severly sharpened, and given the new threat that targeted them, they were offered to be trained at the Little Palace without the expectation to join the Second Army, just for the sake of their own protection. Ravka couldn't afford offering higher pay for Second (or First, for that matter) Army soldiers, not for all, so those who volunteered to guard the entries to the bigger towns would receive an extra fee. For as long as the threat of being captured for the new experiements wasn't erased, he made the suggestion that everyone who entered a new town must be written up by those guarding the gates, since everyone could be a potential danger. It was just a suggestion he wasn't sure if it was out of proportion.

And he put his mind to join the guards, traveling from town to town and contributing his share on increasing the people's safety. As Nikolai didn't feel much at home at the Palace in the moment, his absence wouldn't make a big difference and he was of more use in the front line. He certainly wouldn't progress in finding more experiment hot spots from keeping his ass on palace grounds either.

All of these things were waiting to be signed on Zoya's desk. Of course, even though he made the negotations, she was the queen and so it needed her agreement and signature to become effective.

Saints, he missed her. Being at the same place physically, being able to work together because they had to function, while simultaneously having rift between them the old Fold paled against was the worst. All he wanted to do was to walk up to her, to talk to her, really talk to her and make things even, but her anger (and fear?) made it a difficult approach. That, and the fact he didn't want to lie to her even more than he had already done. He was absolutely certain that Zoya's (and likely Genya's) unmoving stance on the situation, the goal, would be to get rid of Aleksander. And Nikolai wasn't sure if he wanted that. Sure he could think of plenty of other, less awkward and limited ways to have someone's company, than having a disembodied presence slipping into existence and ghosting out of it whenever the link let it happen. But getting rid of the person, however controversial they were, didn't sit well with him. Not anymore.

Something dripping down close to his eye let him snap out of his thoughts, recognizing that he'd been zoning out with a tube in one and a wrench in the other hand, about to check why the oil didn't go from one point to the other smoothly. With a laugh at himself, he put the tube back into the connection to keep more oil from running out and slid out from underneath the flying ship, grabbing his water flask.

Maybe being away from the Palace would be good for him. For all of them, at least for a while. The re-occuring thought that had also led him away to Caryeva a few weeks ago, solidified with each passing day.

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- none 😽

A/N- Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @nadeleine123n

Ch-24 ~Unexpected manoeuvre~

Later that night, Anaya was jerked awake by Tamar calling her name

“Time to go,” she said.

“Now?” Alina asked blearily. “What time is it?”

“Coming on three bells.”

“In the morning?” she yawned and got out of her hammock

“Where are we?” Anaya asked hoarsely

“Fifteen miles off the coast of West Ravka. Come on, Sturmhond is waiting.” She was dressed and had her canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

As Anaya was putting her kefta on, Tamar handed out a tawny coat in front of her, "I'm sure those people won't exactly be happy to a see a grisha from the little palace"

She put on the coat and left her kefta on her hammock, stuffing her notebook in the inside pocket. 

On deck, Mal stood by the ship’s starboard rail with a small group of crewmen. It took Anaya a moment to realize that Privyet had been wearing Sturmhond’s garish teal coat. The boy would've been hard to recognize if he hadn't been the one giving orders. He was swaddled in a voluminous greatcoat, the collar turned up, a wool hat pulled low over his ears.

A cold wind was blowing. The stars were bright in the sky, and a sickle moon sat low on the horizon. 

“What’s happening?” Alina asked.

“We’re going ashore.” Mal responded

“In the middle of the night?”

“The Volkvolny will raise my colors near the Fjerdan coast,” the captain spoke. “The Darkling doesn’t need to know that you’re back on Ravkan soil just yet.”

Sturmhond bent his head to conversate with Privyet

Anaya looked up at the starry sky. Whatever sort of trouble was coming their way, she was ready to face it. And whatever the mad captain intended to throw their way wouldn't be much of a surprise to her, she'd already seen worse.

She looked over at Rabeah, who'd been talking to the fabrikator from a few nights ago. 

She noticed Alina and Mal speaking in low voices.  Mal bent to kiss her, a sight that made Anaya grimace. Sturmhond’s voice cut through the dark. “Can we get to the cuddling later? I want us ashore before dawn.

Mal took Alina's hand and they returned to the group.

Sturmhond gave Privyet an envelope sealed with pale blue wax, then clapped him on the back. They boy appeared as he was about to cry. Tolya and Tamar slipped over the railing, holding tight to the weighted ladder secured to the schooner.

Anaya looked over the side. She was surprised to see a smaller structure, similar to the sketches she'd seen in Sturmhond's cabin, floating alongside the Volkvolny. IIt was quite an extraordinary ship. Its two hulls looked like a pair of hollowed-out shoes, and they were held together by a deck with a giant hole in its center.

Mal and Alina followed, stepping onto one of the craft’s curved hulls. They picked their way across it and descended to the central deck, where a sunken cockpit was nestled between two masts. Sturmhond gestured Anaya to follow and then leapt down after them, then swung up onto a raised platform behind the cockpit and took his place at the ship’s wheel.

Anaya looked around but was quickly relieved to find Rabeah standing near the cockpit, glancing in her direction with curiosity

“What is this thing?” Alina asked the question building up in Anaya's mind

“I call her the Hummingbird,” he said, consulting some sort of chart. "Though I’m thinking of renaming her the Firebird "

The girl's expression quickly changed but the bloke only grinned

"Cut anchor and release!” he ordered

Tamar and Tolya unhitched the knots of the grapples that held them to the Volkvolny. Anaua saw the anchor line slither like a live snake over the Hummingbird’s stern, the end slipping silently into the sea. 

“Make sail,”  Sturmhond called

The sails unfurled. Though the Hummingbird’s masts were considerably shorter than those aboard the schooner, its double sails were huge and rectangular, and they required two crewmen each to maneuver them into position.

They pulled farther from the Volkvolny.

The captain shook himself, then called out, “Squallers!”

A Grisha was positioned in each hull. They raised their arms, and wind billowed around them, filling the sails. Sturmhond adjusted the course and called for more speed. The Squallers obliged, and the vessel leapt forward. 

“Take these,” the privateer spoke He dropped a pair of goggles into Alina's lap and tossed another pair to Mal. He then handed similar pairs to Anaya and Rabeah.

They looked similar to those worn by the Fabrikators in the workshops of the Little Palace. All of the crew seemed to be wearing them, along with Sturmhond. 

Anaya pulled them on along with the others. 

The boy soom called for more speed, he seemed to be in a hurry. 

The Hummingbird sped over the water, its shallow double hulls skated from wave to wave, barely seeming to touch the surface of the sea. 

“All right, Squallers,” commanded Sturmhond, “Take us up. Sailors to wings, on my count.”

Anaya looked around in confusion, unable to comprehend what was going on

“Five!” the captain shouted.

The crewmen started to move counterclockwise, pulling on the lines.

“Four!”

The Squallers spread their hands wider.

“Three!”

A boom lifted between the two masts, the sails gliding along its length.

“Two!”

“Heave!” cried the sailors. The Squallers lifted their arms in a massive swoop.

“One!” Sturmhond yelled. 

The sails billowed up and out, snapping into place high above the deck like two gigantic wings

Sturmhond was laughing like a lunatic. The Squallers were calling out to each other in a volley, making sure they kept the updraft steady.

That was when Anaya finally realized, They were flying.

[kat-is-laem-oa]

Chapter 1: EMIEL

(Next Chapter)

The man who entered the room was shrouded in darkness, both literally and figuratively. His features were hidden beneath a cloak of shadows, and his piercing gaze seemed to cut through the dimly lit space. As he and his crew walked through the door, their presence alone demanded attention and respect. It was clear that they meant business, and their purpose here was serious. Their appearance was out of place on this side of Kerch, so far from the bustling streets of Ketterdam. Belendt was a small town on the outskirts, known for its quiet streets and peaceful community. The sudden arrival of these strangers had disrupted its tranquility, sending whispers and speculation rippling through the townspeople.

“We are looking for Emiel.”

As soon as Miss Kaatje heard the name, she felt a nervous chill run down her spine and her shop suddenly felt stifling. She fought not to stumble over her words, a rare sight for her, trying to comprehend why three unfamiliar faces had come seeking one of her assistants, who was only a young Fabrikator boy hidden in the back of the parlor.

“You just missed him by about… three months or so.”

The man's eyebrows scrunched, eyes and mouth forming lines. He leaned in closer, voice laced with disbelief as he asked, "Really?"

Kaatje's words were delivered with a tone of polite authority, her eyes scanning the trio before her. They stood awkwardly in the little café she’d called Kaat Skratch. Their nice clothes slightly rumpled and hair windblown while the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries lingered in the air, tempting their grumbling stomachs. Kaatje herself was focused on the pile of dishes in front of her, her hands moving deftly as she washed and dried each one with care. With a final flick of her dishcloth, she turned back to face the group. "If you three would like something to eat or drink," she began again, gesturing towards the inviting tables and chairs around them, "please feel free to let me know. However," she added firmly, "if you aren't paying customers, I'll have to ask you to leave." Her friendly smile faltered slightly as she awaited their response. 

Almost comically-timed, had it not been for the vibe of the situation, another bartender yelled out while walking further into the back rooms, “Emiel! I need your help with something before rush hour!”

The tallest of the trio couldn't help but make a joke, "I guess he didn't travel very far in three months." The female beside him gave a slight nudge in response. Meanwhile, Kaatje remained still as ever, leaning back against the edge of the sink with her arms crossed and letting out a sigh.

“What do you want with the boy?”

"At least have a conversation, Miss?," Kaz asked, trying to remember her name.

“Kaatje. Remember that name. If anything happens to that kid, I’ll be on your tail,” the woman growled, pointing a finger at the tallest. In response said man nodded vigorously and scrunched his nose in agreement. “He’s not hard to find, sticks out a bit,” added Kaatje with another sigh. The girl of the group remained still until the other boys walked off in the same direction as the boisterous bartender.

“What do we think is the deal with him? Maybe a funky nose, missing limb, different colored eyes, hm?”

The girl’s voice joined in, a hopeful note laced with caution, “I hope it’s something as simple as that.”

The three teens tiptoed towards the cracked door, their footsteps muffled by the worn carpet beneath them. Kaz held a finger to his lips, silencing any potential noise from his companions. They peered through the gap, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room. The bartender, a stout man with a thick beard and surprisingly high pitch voice, was regaling a brown-haired coworker with some trivial tale from the week. The coworker was busy reshaping a set of knives from the kitchen, his swift movements and precise control indicating that he was most likely a Fabrikator, as they had been told. But as their target seemed clear, there was still a sense of confusion among the group. Kaatje's description of the boy as "sticking out" didn't quite match up with what they were seeing before them.

It wasn’t until he turned around and crossed to the bartender that they realized it might’ve been his race. Emiel Elken was a fake, Kerch-imitation name; the boy was clearly of Shu descent. He appeared to be around the same age as Kaz's crew, maybe slightly older or younger. As the bartender carefully reviewed and packed up his collection of knives, Kaz subtly nudged the rotting door in front of him. With a creaking groan, it ominously swung open, startling the younger boy but merely alerting the other man to make his exit.

“Didn’t mean to run into another appointment, Elken. If you don’t have any more, we might need some help up front later, okay?”

The boy remained silent. His body spoke for him, curtly nodding while hunched in on itself as his eyes darted between his coworker and the unexpected visitors. The tense energy shifted abruptly as they entered, and once the door shut behind them, a heavy silence descended upon the room. Their presence seemed to have muted any sound or movement from the boy, leaving the air still and charged with uncertainty.

"Are you Emiel?" Kaz asked with his usual bored tone. He always seemed to lack any emotion except for annoyance and disdain towards life at all times.

Emiel paused for a moment, taking deep breaths before speaking. It seemed like forming words was a struggle, his hand reaching out to grasp them from an invisible barrier. Finally, he managed to say, "Yes, I'm Emiel Elken. What needs fixing?" His speech had a rehearsed cadence to it.

The tallest of the group chimed in with a strong, charming Zemeni accent as he scanned the area. He couldn't deny the curiosity that sparked within him, his gaze becoming slightly lost in the enchanting features of the shorter man behind the desk. Emiel's eyebrows furrowed like a curious puppy and he turned his head to the side, his expression matching the tilt of his head perfectly.

“I’m Kaz, this is Jesper and Inej,” pointing to the second man and woman respectively, 

“We've come to offer you a job,” Kaz declared, cutting off Jesper's attempt to speak. His voice was low and commanding, filled with an unspoken threat.

“I already have a job.”

“We have a new one for you. It's only temporary, and you can return to your current position by the end of the month,” Kaz remained vague with his explanation.

“I’m quite comfortable. Fabrikators aren’t exactly rare around here but it’s enough. What would be enough to make me join three strangers who showed up at my place of work?”

“10,000 Kruge enough?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

First chapter! I've been really into writing and I've planned a little bit for this. I'm so new to writing and I'm nervous but I hope this is interesting enough to catch your attention! Chapters will most likely be this size, but if any of you have suggestions for build or style, let me know~

I don't know what else to say, but much love! - Wren

[crowshoots]

anyways my thoughts on the uhhh fabrikation stuff

... no

like. okay. okay so FIRST OFF how jesper's secret is revealed - i don't think jesper was ever going to say it word for word, so i'm fine with kaz being the one to state it out loud to the audience, but the fact that it was revealed so quickly and then moved on in the FIRST episode is so??? like i really loved the subtle hints they gave for it in season 1 and then just... having it shoved out like that just felt like such a let down. and they didn't even make it a decent reveal, either, it was just - there

jesper is not a trained fabrikator.

jesper has never gone to the little palace and has not gotten any training besides whatever he'd picked up from his mother. he cannot just take a hunk of metal and bend it into a perfect key to free himself of handcuffs in two seconds.

jesper would not be comfortable with doing his fabrikation around someone like wylan, who's not stupid and knows exactly how that piano wire got fixed, and he wouldn't do it in front of other people like that without an excuse about how it happened.

oogohghghg okay let's talk about saint neyar

it was. REALLY fun to see a fabrikator/durast be acknowledged in terms of the types of things they can do. a lot of times people only narrow in on what they can do with reinforcing materials and making things. it was fun to see someone utilize their fabrikation in ways i've imagined and even said jesper would do eventually before, such as manipulating weapons or sensing people behind them by the metal bits they have on their person

saint neyar only wanting to hand off the blade to jesper? fun great sexy. durast to durast talk? neat neat cool epic. jesper getting over all of their wrapped up trauma in what it means to be a fabrikator while also handing off the blade to inej two seconds after that? not cool epic neat or sexy.

jesper's attitude towards being grisha comes from a long line of combined factors. he was not only being told that his abilities were a curse (also the delivery on that line WAS a+ actually) but he was actively bitter about the fact that if his mother wasn't a grisha, she wouldn't have died. he's terrified for his life, he's terrified for his his safety. the show hasn't made it abundantly clear about why jesper would be hiding their grisha identity, but jesper's fucking terrified about people finding out

kit does a good job with jesper's expression when someone directly states it to him (kaz, wylan) because his entire body language goes much less lax/his face stiffens, which was GOOD but that's only just the start of the iceberg on jesper's thoughts of what it means to be grisha and his abilities

AGAIN, JESPER IS NOT A TRAINED GRISHA AND THE THINGS THAT HE DOES IN THE SHOW would take a bit for him to be able to do. the way the show sets it up implies that jesper is some master fabrikator who's just been keeping it quiet, not a humble farm boy who lost his mother and has locked himself off any training because he doesn't think it'll bring him anything but trouble. the thing with the shots makes it sound like jesper is purposefully hitting her shots with her fabrikation, not subconsciously

jesper would bristle so fucking much at the concept of a stranger telling them what they could or should do with their fabrikation. im just. AAAAAAAUGH its not that easy!!! their stuff isn't just a mental block for them to get a pep talk about and then hop over its an immensely ingrained problem that has ties back to trauma and self image and its not just fixed instantly

[pinkcheetahvintage]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage 80s Avant-garde drop waist wool houndstooth dress size Medium M.

[marvelmusing]

An Era of Power

Part Seven

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: The day of the Winter Fete has finally arrived, and it is everything you could have ever dreamed of.

Word Count: 2.1K

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Genya certainly lives up to your expectations. Your Winter Fete kefta is unbelievably beautiful. Underneath you’re wearing a black, silk gown, and in that alone you feel like a princess. Then you put on your kefta.

You stare wide-eyed at your reflection and Genya’s smile is illuminous as she stands behind you. The kefta is smooth against your fingertips as you run your hands over the front of the garment.

“What do you think?” She asks.

“There’s a lot of black.” You say, tracing your finger along one strand of embroidery.

The main colour is the same dark purple as your usual, everyday kefta. The swirling patterns of embroidery that cover the hems and sleeves of the fabric are a mixture of black and gold. The fur lining is also black, something you’ve only ever seen on the General’s kefta.

“Is that a problem?” You shake your head at Genya’s question. Then you glance back at her.

“It’s quite similar to the General’s.”

“That may be the point.” You raise a brow at her, but you can’t hide your teasing smile.

“You’re meddling.”

She doesn’t meet your eyes, brushing your shoulder and picking at some imaginary loose thread.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t stop.” You tell her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You haven’t done my hair yet.”

She rolls her eyes as you laugh.

“Sit down then.”

The rest of your morning is spent providing help to anyone who needs it. Polina and Pavel have you oversee their last minute practice, and you assure them both that everyone will be impressed with their summoning.

There’s a small army of Fabrikators setting up the fireworks display on the grounds, and you help them position the rockets and ensure that each and every one is angled correctly. David is very much in his element as he checks everything at least three times that you’re aware of.

As the sun starts to set, the Grisha gather in the main halls of the Little Palace and the guests begin to arrive. Once you spot Genya, you loop your arm around hers and declare that you are not letting her go for the entire night - to which she laughs and suggests you go and get drinks.

The two of you manage to avoid talking to a large number of otkazat’sya nobles and enjoy watching the Inferni twins’ demonstration. Fedoyr points out all the best sweet treats on offer, and you join him in tasting most of them.

You frown when Genya tells you she’s going to find David.

“And leave me alone?” You say, feigning shock. She shakes her head at you, before she glances over into the crowd.

“I don’t think you’ll be alone for long.”

Then she’s gone. Turning around, your eyes scan through the people gathered in the hall, eyeing the glittering jewellery and the bright colours. Until you find a familiar black kefta.

The General’s eyes are already fixed on you, and the moment your gaze meets his he’s moving through the crowd towards you. People part instantly for him, and it isn’t long before he’s standing in front of you.

He inclines his head politely, and you smile.

“I believe I had ordered for a guard to watch over you tonight.” He states casually. When you had noticed the oprichnik following you earlier today you had dismissed him. You’re certain he only followed your request after seeking the General’s approval.

“Would that not have drawn too much attention to me?” You ask.

The majority of the Little Palace believed you were simply a talented Durast that was favoured by the General - which wasn’t exceptionally far from the truth.

His eyes leave your face, dropping down to admire your new kefta which fits you perfectly. The corner of his mouth quirks,

“I doubt anyone would have noticed an extra guard, not with you looking so beautiful tonight.”

The room is already warm, but your cheeks flush in response to his words, and you glance down at his own kefta. You nod as you fiddle with your sleeve and say,

“Genya did a good job with the design.”

He nods, glancing down once again.

“Yes, I suppose the kefta is also rather beautiful.”

Your cheeks burn even hotter, but your mouth manages to form an equally coy reply,

“I’m particularly fond of the black.”

Your eyes meet his and you shiver at the intensity of his gaze.

“Would you care for a dance?” He asks, gesturing towards the doorway which leads to the ballroom, and in the distance you can hear the small orchestra begin to test their instruments.

“I would love to.”

»»---------------------►

“Come with me.” The General murmurs quietly against your ear. He straightens himself, and you set down your empty glass on a tray. The two of you had danced together for the majority of the evening, and you’ve never felt happier. You nod, and he takes your hand to lead you out of the ballroom.

It doesn’t take you long to realise he’s taking you to the library, though you’re not sure why.

The two of you walk through the tall shelves, the General’s fingers still entwined with yours. He only relinquishes his hold on you when you approach one of the largest window seats in the library. You know this window overlooks the lake, you’ve sat on this very seat several times over the months you’ve been living at the Little Palace.

The General slides open the window at the left hand side, and your eyes widen when he hooks a leg over the window frame and climbs out onto the roof. You laugh in astonishment.

“I don’t recall this being a part of my schedule for the evening.” You remark as you look down at the ground several feet below you. The General ducks his head back through the open window, and holds a hand out to you.

“Do you trust me?”

You nod, taking his hand instantly.

“I do.”

He helps you climb through the window frame, and holds onto your waist as you gain your footing on the narrow strip of roofing.

“Careful.” He says in a low voice, his body close to yours as he steadies you. Once you’re both certain you won’t fall, the General takes your hand and leads you along the roof. You aren’t walking for long before you reach an area where the roof is slanted and the General sits down. You follow his lead, tucking your kefta and dress underneath you as you sit.

“Saints.” You breathe out as you take in the view.

As you look down, you can see the majority of the partygoers gathered out onto the grounds, and you can see the Alkemi and the Inferni heading over to where the fireworks are waiting to be lit.

The tree line of the Little Palace and the lake are illuminated by lanterns, casting a warm glow over the grounds despite the chilly winter air. Luckily the snow had melted several days ago, but the lake remains frozen solid thanks to your efforts. Even further in the distance, you can see the bright lights of Os Alta glinting through the darkness on the edge of the horizon.

“I thought you might enjoy a more exclusive location, to watch the Fete’s final demonstration.” He says, and you smile widely.

“Won’t you be needed down there? By the king, or the other guests?”

“I’d much rather be with you.” His voice is soft, as he brushes something from your cheek delicately, and part of you suspects that he only wanted an excuse to touch you.

After months of the two of you hesitating over whatever had been growing between you, tonight seems to be the night in which you have both decided to embrace it. It feels natural to sit by his side, accepting his attention and affection so readily.

Without thinking, your hand drops to rest over his, and in that moment the first firework bursts into life. You turn away from the General, but your hand doesn’t leave his. Unknown to you, he stares down at your fingers curled around his for a long moment. Even when he pulls his eyes away, he barely watches the fireworks, electing to admire the delight that sparkles in your eyes with every flash of colour.

You’re captivated by the dazzling display of light before you. A mosaic of blues, reds and purples sparkle in the sky, and your vantage point on the roof allows you to relish in their beauty. With each booming explosion of colour, the world around you is bathed in soft light that you can feel illuminating your face. Subconsciously, your fingers tighten around the General’s with excitement. Your smile doesn’t fade once during the entire demonstration.

The applause from the people below is heard clearly even from where you’re sitting. You know the Fabrikators will be pleased with their work, and that David will likely have at least ten more ideas for next year’s Fete.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” You remark, your awe from the display still evident in your voice. The General nods, with a tender smile and the most genuine happiness that you’ve ever seen on his face.

“It was.”

Pulling your knees closer to your chest, you lean down to watch the Grisha all playing with sparklers - another successful creation from the Fabrikators. Bright keftas are illuminated by the small bonfires lit as well as the dazzling flickers of light from the sparklers that dance as the people enjoy twirling them in their hands.

After centuries of watching your fellow Grisha suffer through persecution and servitude, watching them now has you feeling as though you have finally found your place amongst them.

The responsibility you feel is a little daunting, that you will bring about the turning point that they have been waiting for. But with the General by your side, and so many people that you have grown to care for, you can only feel pure joy.

“This is all I’ve ever dreamed of.” You whisper softly, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Turning to the General, you see him regarding you with an intense look in his dark eyes. He reaches over, cupping your face with his hand.

“General Kirigan, I-” He shakes his head slightly, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

“Aleksander.” He says in a low voice. “Please, call me Aleksander.”

There’s a brightness in your eyes at the sound of his name, and a small smile curls at the corner of your lips.

“Will you kiss me, Aleksander?”

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. For a second his touch is soft, barely there, until your hand slides to the nape of his neck, encouraging him closer. Your lips tingle, and your entire body is flooded with the strength of his amplification, the certainty making you feel as though you can do anything. Aleksander tilts his head, pressing closer as his mouth continues to steal the breath from your lungs.

You’re both smiling when you break apart, foreheads brushing together lightly as if you cannot bear to be truly parted in this moment.

He kisses you again, a chaste press of his lips that lingers as each kiss goes on - once, twice, three times. Pressing a hand against his chest, you attempt to slow his eagerness, and breathe out a soft laugh as he looks at you, his eyes wide with confusion. At the sound of your laugh, any concern melts from his expression, as he realises you only need a moment to breathe steadily.

His smile is bright, you can’t stop staring at the thrilled sparkle in his eyes, nor the windswept tangle of his hair, or his kiss-flushed face.

The two of you stay on the roof for quite some time, exchanging soft kisses and tender looks. Despite the warmth of Aleksander’s body beside you, soon you’re shivering in the winter night, and he suggests you move back inside.

He shuts the window carefully behind him, and when he turns back to face you your lips are on his once again. The two of you smile into the kiss, and Aleksander cups your face in his hands as he walks you backwards. A soft laugh escapes your lips as your back hits a bookcase, and Aleksander’s smile widens considerably.

“I have an idea.” You say softly, and despite yourself your head tilts back as Aleksander mouths at your neck.

“As do I.” He all but purrs against your skin. You breathe out a small laugh,

“Vastly different ideas.” He draws back and frowns at you. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Now?”

“The night is still young, General.” You tease and he tilts his head aside as he considers you. Then nods, gesturing towards the door with an open palm.

“Lead the way.”

»»---------------------►

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[kolarpem]

Fabrikator Notes: Fixed the weight of the kefta to make it stable/heavy and simplified the skirt so that there is less clipping/sticking! Also cleaned up the inner lining around the edges for fur to adhere onto, making the fur MUCH easier to apply. Before this I was painting where I wanted the fur to be, which is a big time sink. This also allows it to show up on the cuffs and skirt much more easily. Also re-drew some of the patterning in the front so it would flow better. Still need to make buttons and belt, but that's low on the hierarchy.

[thebadgerclan]

Failed You

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: He feels like he’s failed you...

Shadows trailed behind Aleksander as he hurried to the field hospital.  You’d been shot by a Fjerdan marksman, shot by a bullet that was meant for Aleksander.  It should have been impossible; kefta were bulletproof, even at close range, the worst a bullet should be able to do is bruise.  But somehow this bullet found its home in your chest, and anger was only one of the dozens of emotions your husband was feeling.  Anger, rage, frustration, confusion, fear, terror, sadness, all of them at once.

The field Healers had stepped in and removed you from the field as soon as you’d been shot, taking you to the hospital set up 2 miles from the fighting.  Aleksander had remained, commanding his troops and leading the Second Army to victory, but he felt none of the joy his Grisha felt.  As soon as victory had been declared, he was running to you, his shadows at his back, warning anyone who might approach him to back off.

“Where is she?” he demanded as he entered the tent.  “Over here, moi soverennyi,” the head Healer informed him.  “The bullet missed her heart and all major blood vessels, and Sonya was able to heal her with no complications with the help of a Fabrikator, who extracted the bullet.  She’s in pain, but she’s alive, sir.”  Aleksander only nodded, feeling his calm, collected facade begin to slip.  In front of his soldiers, he was always the picture of composure, but knowing your life was nearly taken from you had cracked that composed man, exposing the fearful, vulnerable man beneath.

“She’s just in there, sir,” the Healer said, allowing Aleksander to enter the makeshift private room.  “Call if you need anything.”  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  After taking a moment to compose himself, Aleksander rounded the corner, seeing you propped up in a bed, your kefta draped over a chair.  Your eyes were shut, but they opened and landed on him. “Y/N,” he breathed, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.

Aleksander fell to his knees at your side, taking your hand in his, squeezing it tight and pressing his lips to it.  “Oh Saints, you’re alright.”  “I’m fine Sasha,” you said, squeezing his hand, but your husband lifted his head.  “No you’re not!” he cried, his steely eyes wild with anger and fear.  “Y/N, you were shot!  A bullet that was supposed to be mine…your kefta didn’t hold up.  This isn’t supposed to happen.  You could have died, and it would have been my fault.  I’m supposed to protect you, and I failed.”

Frowning, you took Aleksander’s face in your hands and forced him to look at you.  He rose from where he knelt on the ground and perched himself on the edge of your bed.  “I knew you’d feel guilty about this,” you said, and your husband cocked his head.  “But you don’t need to.  You understand that I’d take a thousand bullets for you if it meant keeping you safe, don’t you?  I would walk into a line of drüskelle happily if it meant you would live to see another day.

“Because I love you, Aleksander, and you mean more to me than anything else in the world.”  Your husband sighed before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead.  “I love you too, Y/N, so much that it pains me.  But I never want you putting yourself in harm’s way for my sake.  I couldn’t live with myself if something worse happened to you.  If that bullet had been a bit to the right….”  “But it wasn’t, Sasha,” you said, needing to stop his thoughts before they became too dark.  “I’m alive, and the Fjerdans were defeated, were they not?”

“They were, but-”  “Then there’s nothing to be upset about.  Sonya said I just need a day or so to rest before I can travel back to Os Alta.  No long term damage done, Sasha.”  But Aleksander looked unconvinced, and you grasped his hands tighter.  “What’s on your mind, love?”  He was silent for a while before he spoke.  “I just keep seeing you being shot,” Aleksander confessed.  “I can’t stop hearing you scream and seeing you fall.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that.”

His eyes shifted, and you knew he was replaying the scene again, but you tugged on his hands, urging him closer.  “Aleksander, my love, I’m alright.  I know that you won’t be able to forget what happened any time soon, neither will I, but I’m alive.  We’ll figure out what happened with my kefta, and we’ll fix it.  Look at me, love.”  Aleksander had diverted his gaze to your joined hands, but at your insistence, he looked at you, his gray eyes brimming with tears.

“Sasha, darling, I am alive.  And you didn’t fail me, love, I don’t want you thinking that you did.”  “I just love you so much, Y/N,” Aleksander cried, his tears falling.  “I can’t live without you, my love, and I almost lost you today.”  “I’m not going anywhere, Aleksander.  I’m staying right here, by your side, for the rest of eternity.  I love you too, my Sasha, I love you so much.”  Aleksander nodded, overcome with emotion.  “Can I…hold you?”  “Of course, darling,” you said, and Aleksander maneuvered to sit behind you with you lying on his chest.  With you in his arms, Aleksander felt considerably better, and he let himself focus on your beating heart and that fact that you were alive and with him.

[heliads]

Your Meaning (Part Two)

Someone requested a part two to this Darkling imagine: “Protective Darkling imagine. Reader is a Fabrikator and has doubts about why he would spend so much time with her.”

part one / masterlist

The sun shines on Os Alta the next morning. To any foreign observer, it would seem like the perfect morning- all clear skies and bright weather. You certainly seem happy enough, walking briskly back to the Materialki laboratories as if nothing could possibly be the matter. If someone were to look a little closer, though, they’d notice the way the others seem to hang back and stare at you, as if you’ve become a celebrity overnight.

You can hear them whispering about you in the workshop all that morning. Their eyes follow you as you stand up to get supplies, as you turn in completed projects. Is it true that she’s- that they’re- that he defended her? Is that really black lining her kefta? You know what that means- it means he likes her. I guess it was true after all.

It only takes an hour or two before someone finally dares confirm the rumors lingering around the room. You’re intent on finishing the latest assignment the Grand Palace has sent your way when you sense that you’re not quite alone at your desk anymore. When you look up, a girl hovers nearby, hands clasped in front of her as if seconds from prayer, although you’re not sure that you’re anything remotely Saintlike anymore.

After a moment, you realize that you recognize her. This is Tatia Marinova, a fellow Durast. She’s given you no reason for ill will, having helped you with various projects over the years you’ve spent at the Little Palace. Now, she looks at you through wide eyes. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Good morning, Tatia.”

This, apparently, is all she needs to remember why she’s come. Tatia straightens up slightly, tossing her shoulders back. “Good morning to you as well, Y/N.” She considers you a moment longer, as if trying to gather up her courage, and then adds another question in a hurried yet quiet tone. “Is it true that the Darkling helped you? Are you, well, together?”

You can’t help a small smirk. “Yes, it’s true.” 

That’s all you need to say- Tatia’s eyes go wide and she utters a brief thank-you before scurrying off to her corner of the workshop, where she converses excitedly with a group of her friends. Judging by the way they keep glancing at you, she’s relating everything you did and didn’t say.

Were you a little dramatic with her? Maybe, but you can’t deny that you aren’t having fun. All you have to do is walk around with your black-lined kefta, and it’s as if you’ve just announced your plans to topple the Lantsov regime and rule all of Ravka by Aleksander’s side. Besides, it’s not as if he’s going to hurt anyone other than that one Heartrender, and besides, the guy had it coming.

Regardless, when you fall into your usual habit of staying late after hours in the workshops, you can’t pretend that you aren’t happy to see Aleksander when he finally drops by to walk you back to the Little Palace. His proud look only grows when he notices that you’re wearing the new kefta. “I see you liked my gift?”

You smile through his kiss. “I enjoyed it immensely. Although, I do have words about the other part of it-” 

Aleksander cuts you off, already knowing about the shadow-scarred corporalnik to which you refer. “That rat had it coming. He insulted you, love, made you doubt me. I can’t have that.” 

You give him one last suspicious look, although it doesn’t last long. “It was dramatic, certainly. I’ll allow you that.”

He chuckles. “I didn’t think you had a problem with that. The rumors have been circulating all day. I’ve had plenty of time to hear about your remarks to the other Materialki, you know.” 

You look over at him, surprised. “You heard about that all the way back in the War Room of the Little Palace? I suppose word of that sort of thing travels faster than I thought.”

Aleksander reaches over, clasping your hand between his own to keep it warm. “Oh, most certainly. I hear you confirmed our relationship.” 

You widen your eyes in mock innocence. “Should I not have?” 

Aleksander leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “I had assumed that if they didn’t know after the kefta and the lingering effects of my talk that corporalnik, they would be fools. You did nothing wrong.”

You grin. “You call that a talk? I’d hate to see what you call an actual war.” 

This feels good, doesn’t it? Just being able to walk with Aleksander, and make casual jokes as if you’ve been seeing each other for a lot longer than the time you already had. It makes you think that something like this could last.

Aleksander brushes a stray piece of hair away from your face. “Regardless, I’m glad that you’re still here. A part of me worried that you would be afraid of me and what I could do after I took care of the Heartrender.” 

You frown at him. “Because you threatened him? I knew why, though.” 

Aleksander sighs. “Many of the people in this country and beyond fear me because all they see is a monster, some wretch of a thing that clings to the shadows. The reason I loved you in the first place was because you saw me as a man, not a beast. By attacking the corporalki, I feared you would lose that trust in me.”

You shake your head firmly. “I know you can destroy cities with a blink of an eye. So could many of the people here. If I wanted to fear you, Aleksander, I would fear you breaking my heart, and seeing as I’ve already done that, I have nothing more to run from.” 

Something almost like a smile touches on his lips. “That was wise, Y/N.” You grin. “I’m a Durast, aren’t I? We’re supposed to be the scholars to your soldiers.”

Now he smiles in earnest, kissing you again just because he can. “All the same, it means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.” 

Despite the chill of a Ravkan night, your heart feels like it has the strength of a wildfire in your chest. “And you mean a lot to me, Aleksander. I’m not leaving you because of your shadows or because others are afraid of me.”

His fingers tap absentmindedly against yours. “I’m glad of that. I’d speak to many more of my Corporalki if necessary, though. I don’t care what they say of Materialki. I’d rather have you than a dozen of the most brutal soldiers.” 

It’s strange, you know. You have heard so much of the Darkling’s temperament, the look of wrath and rage in the gaze of the Black General just before he kills you. Could this possibly be the same man to which they refer, this man who holds your hand on wintry evenings and whispers lines of love letters in lamp-lit streets?

Maybe he’s right, and you should be afraid of him. He has the ability to hurt you beyond your wildest imagination, even beyond what your talent as a Durast can save you from. However, he has something that no one can match: trust, love, the knowledge that even if he could kill you, he never would. Protection is a rare thing in this world- at any opportunity, you could be killed by enemy soldiers or experimenters or even former friends who wish to get ahead.

Aleksander, though, is different. He knows your strengths, knows you to be a powerful Grisha, yet does not see you as a threat that he must eliminate. He knows your weaknesses, and loves them all the same. It is hard to know, sometimes, how to identify the best things in your life while they’re still there in front of you. Now, however, you know you have your golden days right around you: you have Aleksander, and that is the same as centuries of fortune and prosperity. In the end, he loves you, and you love him. What else could you want more than that?

grishaverse tag list: the other half of our power couple @underc0vercryptid​, @deadreadersociety​, @cameronsails​, @aleksanderwh0r3​, @story-scribbler​

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Dee and Master: whumptober, trapped

Whumptober alternative prompt: trapped

Taglist: @ashintheairlikesnow @vickytokio @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @redwingedwhump @finder-of-rings @malcolmisthebrightestboy

CW: humiliation, intimate whumper, body shaming, noncon touch (non sexual)

“C’mere pup.”

His master's soft murmur caught Dee off guard. The quiet ‘slap slap slap’ of his bare feet ceased as he froze in the open doorway to his masters study. The soft glow of the dying fireplace danced over master Bernard's face, casting the man's deep set eyes in shadow. A shiver prickled up Dee’s spine despite the heat, ever present even in the remotest corridors of the old mansion and he suddenly regretted his late night trip to the bathroom.

“Don’t be shy.” Masters' teeth glittered white in the night's darkness, letting the barest hint of impatience shine through. Dee hurried to obey, stumbling over the doorstep into the study. The smell of smoldering coals bit into Dee’s nose as he stood in front of his master, head bowed and sweaty palms hidden behind his back, locked in position seven. Waves of nausea crashed through him, turning his legs to crumbling wooden beams nearly collapsing under the weight of his fear.

“Kneel, pup.” Master ordered with a snap of manicured, unscared fingers and pointed between his feet. Dee sank onto the soft fur carpet immediately, large arms tugged close and back curved into a graceful arc, folding his body as small as he could make it while he fought the urge to turn his head, keep the fire in his line of sight.

‘Never take your eyes off a threat, dog!’ was one of the first lessons the handlers had beaten into him. Right after the most important one: Obey your owner, always, under any circumstances. The fire's orange glow flickered over master's burgundy slippers and pricked Dee’s bare feet with its heat. He shivered, squirming closer to the man lounging in the dark leather armchair and away from the flames, trading one threat for another.

The leather squeaked under master Bernard’s shifting weight. The man’s pants leg brushed against Dee’s shoulder as he leaned forward. Artificial concern laced master’s voice. “Are you cold, puppy? Feel free to get closer to the fireplace.”

“No.” Dee blurted, pulling every ounce of self control from his trembling body and willing it to still. “No, thank you master, I- uhm, I’m not cold.”

“Oh is that so?” Slender fingers found their way under Dee’s chin, leaving goosebumps in their wake before they tipped Dee’s disfigured face up, forcing his mismatched eyes to meet masters. Dee choked around a clump of fear, an inhale frozen somewhere deep in his throat. He had never dared to look directly into his master's eyes, steal grey and sharp. Dee felt like a fish, gutted but still gasping, his innards staining the cutting board red, exposed for everyone to see. “I’m sure you won’t mind taking that shirt off for me then?”

“Master? I don’t understa-”

The click of master Bernard’s tongue silenced Dee instantaneously. He shut his mouth, eyes dropping to the creamy fur carpet, painfully aware of his prosthetic eye moving in its socket. Squashing down the nausea building in his stomach, Dee obeyed. Trembling hands gripped the hem of his grey sweater and pulled it over his head in one quick motion. He fumbled with the fabrik, placing the garment beside him as neatly folded as he could manage.

Master hummed, a pleased low sound. “My, what a tidy pet I've gotten.”

Dee’s little pet heart fluttered in his chest. “Yes, master.”

The scarred corner of Dee’s mouth twitched upwards. His cheeks burned under his master's rare praise and the sting of humiliation was almost, almost lost in the warm prickle of pride.

“And so eloquent.”

The sting grew sharper. Another ‘yes master’ sat on the tip of Dee’s tongue but he let it die a silent death. He hadn’t been bought to make conversation, nor to keep his master company in lonely winter nights, that Dee was painfully aware of.

“One would never guess it by the looks of you,” Master Bernard continued. Every softly spoken word cut into Dee like a dagger clothed in silk. The fire's heat nipped at his toes, crawled up his spine, a crackling beast right behind him. He squirmed in place, unwilling to get closer to his master but aching to escape the fires' painful radiance. Dee tugged his feet further under himself and curled up smaller in a feeble attempt to shield his unsightly body from masters gaze.

Somehow it stung more painfully even than the fire, melting away his skin to reveal all the doubts and fears festering underneath.

Hideous. Dangerous. Disgusting creature.

Smooth fingers wound around Dee’s chin, digging short sharp nails into his scarred cheek until he whimpered in his master's grip. Bernard lifted Dee’s face ever so slowly. Terrified of what Dee would find in his master's eyes, he stared down the tip of his nose at the man's shoulder. The crinkles of his lavender shirt swam in and out of Dee’s vision.

“Look at me. Good puppy.”

Masters' praise rang hollow in the air between them. He was so close Dee could taste his master’s breath on his own tongue. Black tea and pepper. Suppressing a gag, Dee fought the urge to lean closer and nuzzle into masters cruel hands.

Bernard's grip gentled until he cupped Dee’s face with unprecedented tenderness. Thin lips stretched over shining teeth as he smiled and began to message slow circles into Dee’s jaw, loosening the tension that had started building the second he’d stumbled into the study. Every inch of skin Dee’s master touched turned to gooseflesh, while Dee’s stomach flipped, tying itself into knots.

“My precious pup.”

The knots turned to butterflies and a quiet whimper escaped Dee’s trembling lips as he nosed into masters palm, eyes wide with adoration and all former apprehension all but forgotten.

Precious? Him?

“Do you know what they call you? When you’re down in the ring?”

Scars rubbed against master's smooth palm as Dee shook his head. His heart sank, heavy and frozen in his chest where it had fluttered warm and hopeful mere seconds ago. The insults they all whispered behind his back should stay in the shadows of the stands, die between seat rows.

He didn’t want to hear them.

His master didn’t care.

“A brute.” He whispered next to Dee’s ear and toyed with the remnants of a burned earlobe. Dee shuddered, overwhelmed by shame and a disgust he didn’t know who he felt it for, himself or his master. “Mister Bernard's mindless monster.”

Master brushed over his cheek bone. His nails caught on the ridge of a scar. “As vile as it is ugly.”

Eyes burning behind tightly closed lids, Dee hitched in a ragged sob. The tenderness of master's touch and savagery of his words threatened to tear him apart. He was falling to ribbons in his master's hands.

“Hush, puppy.” He cooed, pressing a thumb to Dee’s trembling lips. “They just don’t know you the way I do. All soft and pliant and pathetic for me.”

“Yes-” Dee breathed, unable to hold back the tears, spilling silently over burning cheeks. The fireplace sizzled behind him, its blistering heat burrowing into Dees bones.

He was burning again.

With a smile, master pressed his thumb past Dee’s lips and watched him gag around the pressure on his tongue. “My monstrum.”

[holden-norgorov]

I was wrong: an apology for Show!Kaz.

Listen, at first I didn't even want to write this post down, but as I noticed that a considerable amount of people have been showing disappointment toward Kaz not being "smart enough" in comparison to the book, I feel the need to point some things out with the hope of making you re-evaluate your line of thinking.

The thing is, Kaz Brekker in the show is a character that very much grows to book-readers with a needed careful and attentive rewatch.

I binged the whole season in a consecutive-7h-long binge-watching session during April 23rd, and came out of it feeling mildly disappointed with the way Kaz had been written (but not portrayed; Freddy was truly amazing). The one aspect that really bugged me at first was that his typical modus operandi when it came to plotting and scheming (by which I mean, keeping the big picture of his plans to himself and revealing just tiny pieces to everyone else according to each one's strengths and weaknesses, so as to make sure to reach the maximum potential of success while risking failure as little as possible) seemed to be kinda absent. I could easily make peace with Kaz not being as ruthless as he is in SoC, because the writers couldn't possibly make only-viewers willing to root for someone like Kaz without presenting at least some way in which he was vulnerable compared to other villainous characters. And to be honest, the fact that Kaz was ambushed by Pekka and forced to his knees not only nicely ties up with him wishing for Pekka to kneel in front of him at the beginning of SoC, but it also provides a reason as to why he would become closed-off and hesitant to apologize to Inej in the future. He was so concerned and willing to openly apologize to Inej in this scene that he lowered his guard enough without thinking and ended up giving Pekka access to Inej's name and revealing to him his own soft spot for her, before being beaten up.

That said, this was not my issue with the character. My issue was with the absence of his modus operandi as a masterful planner. I just didn't feel it during the binge-watch. But then I carefully rewatched the show, paying close attention to the actual succession of events more than to how accurate the characterization of the Crows was compared to the books. And I completely changed my mind.

If you pay attention, you can see that Kaz has been manipulating Arken from the very beginning, and everything Arken has accomplished was made possible because Kaz wanted it to happen, so that Arken would believe to be one step ahead of him and not see his betrayal coming. He quickly realizes that he and Arken think alike, and that he has to find a way to outsmart him.

As soon as the Conductor appears in the show, Kaz points out that he reached out to him not only because he can make them cross the Fold, but also because he smuggles Grisha who are unwilling to fight out of the Little Palace. He immediately grasps that the Conductor actively profits from the existence of the Fold and therefore that his own transport has to be constantly operative and effective. Which makes him realize that there has to be a political interest in his smuggling business for it to be allowed to flourish and survive undisturbed, and that someone has to financially back him up and subsidize the mantainance of the train and the feasibility of the crossing.

Soon after the Crows discovered that Nina had been captured and could no longer guide them to the Little Palace, Arken tries to sabotage their mission by convincing them to abandon it. This is where Kaz understands that he is actively interested in their kidnapping of the Sun Summoner to not happen, and begins suspecting he might have a separate agenda.

He purposefully risks the whole mission on Jesper not gambling everything away while looking for alabaster coal by deciding to grab the goat by himself, which is a less time-consuming task. This grants him the opportunity to attend to a quick rally for West Ravka's independence led by General Zlatan, where he sees Arken retiring with him in a private tent. His suspects about Arken are validated, and he understands that Arken has been smuggling Grisha out of East Ravka to the West with the support of Zlatan, who is also making some kind of alliance with Fjerdians and keeping a blind-eye to druskelle hunting and capturing Grisha (as we find out later on).

While they are crossing the Fold, Kaz is visibly skeptical of Arken's story about the transport being conveniently effective because of his knowledge of engineering and physics, and a chunk of luck. Arken seems to know too well how to safely cross the Fold, and the trasport seems to have worked far too many times for it to be the product of the underground, illegal practice of just one man.

In East Ravka, Kaz comes up with the Royal Archive Heist with the hope of stealing the Little Palace blueprints from the Palace of Kribirsk. But there's a very short scene here, which apparently seems unimportant but is actually pivotal: Kaz gives Arken money to make friends with East Ravkans so as to grant them a safe passage to Os Alta. Keep in mind: at this point Kaz is sure that Arken has been given by Zlatan a personal agenda to carry out regarding the Sun Summoner (I genuinely believe he also grasps that the secret plan is to kill her, so as to prevent the Fold from being destroyed and their smuggling business from being no longer profitable), so he knows Arken has total interest in making sure that they actually have a ride to the Little Palace. Which means, by urging him to "make some friends", Kaz already knows Arken will come up with a plan to be able to arrive to Os Alta and carry out his own mission at any costs, if the blueprints of the Little Palace that they are planning to steal end up being useless. And not only that: he wants Arken to believe he is being one-step ahead of them by "saving their asses" with this back-up plan, so as to easily come to the conclusion that the Crows have no reason to distrust him (how could they, when he finds them a second way-in?) and completely disregard the idea that Kaz might stab him in the back before he does the same thing to them. This is some mastermind thinking and completely IC for Kaz, because all the inner workings of his schemes go completely unnoticed on the outside.

Now that Arken proudly looks like the one who managed to grant them passage to Os Alta, he has no reason to believe Kaz might have ulterior motives when he decides to be the one carrying out a preliminary exploration of the Little Palance's hallways, despite his wounded leg making it difficult for him. But here's when Kaz sees Marie and immediately understands that she's supposed to be a decoy for Alina. So he coldly plans the whole kidnapping operation so as to make sure Arken ends up trying to kill (or directly killing) Marie. Which is why he shows no surprise when Arken reveals he can actually open the Fabrikator-made door with a device he carries with himself (probably provided by Zlatan to be able to get access to Alina's private rooms, or maybe already in his possession from when he had smuggled other Grisha out previously), and shows no hesitation when saying outwardly to everyone that Arken will be the one actually carrying out the kindnapping just because "he knows his way around Grisha locks". I actually believe Inej senses that there's something going on that she doesn't fully know when Kaz so light-heartedly allows Arken to lay his hands on their 1 Mln Kruge prize, but her suspicions (likely born out because she knows Kaz too well) are quickly put to rest and given an explaination only after Arken effectively falls into his trap.

After Alina escapes from the Crows in the following episode, we are led to believe that Kaz abandons the idea of kidnapping her again because of Inej, and this turns out to be actually true (despite Inej herself being incredibly suspicious of this, because of how unseemly it would be). Inej also believes Kaz to be so calculating that she points out that he might have planned to let Alina go in the first place and to detonate Arken's transport so as to travel with the same sandskiff Alina is embarking on and kindap her there. Inej would not have such a suspicion if Kaz's reputation didn't live up to that modus operandi.

While we actually learn that Kaz was being genuine with Inej about having abandoned the idea of kidnapping Alina, we also quickly learn that Kaz has spent the last two episodes silently coming up with a whole new other plan to make sure they can go back to Ketterdam without being killed by Dreesen and Pekka Rollins.

Now, as you can see, this is actually a lot. And this whole progression of events is handled so smoothly by the writing that it's fully admirable only by rewatching the show and paying close attention to Kaz's actions, while also knowing how his mind works. All of this is internal workings, which is typical Kaz.

So, I was wrong. His modus operandi is very much present. It's just barely detectable, as it should be for it to be believable. I hope this might reassure some deluded fans who came out of their watching session feeling let down by Kaz not looking "smart enough". It's all there! And the fact that so many of us couldn't see it at first hand, if you think about it, is just further proof that Kaz's intelligence and ability to scheme were handled extremely well. They couldn't make his mental workings too obvious to the casual viewers, or the character would have lost what actually makes him brilliant, which is the ability to outsmart others without being detected, exposed or anticipated.

[siriushxney]

⊱┊ searing light | chapter one

— pairing ; darkling!dream x sun summoner!reader

— au ; shadow and bone

— wordcount ; 1.7k

— warnings ; cursing, talks of war, no dream yet but he will appear somewhere in the next few parts!

series masterlist | next

the fold was scarier then you could've ever imagined — it stretched for miles upon miles, casting a shadow down upon where it stood. down onto the land of ravka. for centuries the blackness of it stood tall — no way to get through, under, or over safely. but despite the risks and dangers, with war raging on both sides of the country — you had no choice to go through for resources.

climbing out of the back of the truck, you could feel the rocks digging into the soles of your feet as you walked alongside the rest of your squadron — the cheap leather boots that were supplied to you and the rest of the first army, doing nothing to shield your feet from the rough and jagged ground. but despite the aching state that the boots left your feet in at the end of the day, you reminded yourself daily that it could've been worse. you could have been on the next skiff to enter the fold — the chance of coming back being slim to none.

anything was better than going into the fold.

“Y/L/N, why don’t you keep the move on?” another cartographer bumped their shoulder into your own, knocking you out of your tense state, and urging you to continue moving down towards your new camp.

everyone in ravka knew what the fold looked like — it was hard not to when it stood at unreachable heights and stretched the length of the country. but despite this, you had never been this close. no one ever spoke of the coldness it radiated, bringing a chill and goosebumps to anyone that dared to near it. and the thing that no one could have prepared you for at all was the sounds.

the sounds of the creatures that lived inside of the black barrier, screeching at deafening volumes and with such ferocity that it could send even the bravest of man or woman running for the hills.

with a deep breath and encouragement for yourself running through your head like a mantra, you pushed forward, closer and closer to the fold.

“Y/N!” you stopped in your tracks — the other cartographers passing you with quick feet and watchful eyes. turning, you caught a glimpse of a boy that you knew all too well — wilbur. while he was also in the first army, he was named a tracker due to his brilliant mind and tracking skills — skills that proved to be beneficial numerous times, making him one of, if not the best tracker in all of ravka. “you know, for a little mapmaker like yourself, you sure do have quick feet,” wilbur threw his arms around your shoulders, pulling you to continue walking beside him.

“you know, for an amazing tracker like yourself, you do stick out like a sore thumb — what if you're on enemy territory? they're gonna spot you from miles away, you tree.”

“I’ll have you know that despite my large stature, I’m quite good at blending into my surroundings — that and I don’t wear bright colours like them,” wilbur halted, standing awkwardly as he watched the group clothed in bright purple, blue, and red observed and trained with eagle like eyes — their hands drawn to grasp in front of their body as they waited their turn to strike the dummy.

them — the grisha.

grisha were people, much like you and wilbur, who were gifted with abilities like no other — abilities that could either take, or save a man's life. there were three orders of the grisha — the corporalki, the order of the living and the dead, who had people known as heartrenders, healers, and tailors; the materialki, the order of fabrikator’s who had people known as durasts and alkemi; and then there was etherealki, the order of the summoners, who had people known as squallers, inferni, and tidemakers.

but there was one being that you had heard about — someone they named the darkling. a grisha who did not possess an ability like any other — instead, he had the ability to summon and control darkness itself. a walking horror story with the ability to wipe out dozens if he wished.

he came from a line of them — a line consisting of only his families blood.

“I can feel their ego wafting onto us from here,” wilbur whispered slightly, not wanting any of them to hear due to their nature to lash out at people they considered ‘lower’ than themselves.

“no kidding,” you looked around the area in wonder, before looking down to your hands — a map that the head cartographer had handed each and every one of you before you arrived at the camp, displayed your tent being directly where the grisha now stood. “wait… this is where my tent is supposed to be, is it not?” you spun slightly as if it would magically appear.

wilbur stopped your spinning, and guided you towards a different area of the base. “they moved our tents this way, in order for the grisha to have more room — as if the entire upper region of the base wasn’t enough for them,” he couldn't help but grumble out now that he was farther away from the gifted individuals, throwing one more glare before looking ahead once more.

you casted one more look over your shoulder as you followed beside him — one grisha catching your eye for a moment before she turned away. the purple of her uniform — something that they called a kefta, catching your eye instantly alongside the grey embroidering on it. she was a durast — someone who could manipulate things such as steel and glass.

as much as grisha were dangerous and cold — they had a knack for looking their best at every waking moment, with a style that could kill. quite literally.

—

many of the first army stood shoulder to shoulder as they were awaiting orders — the general standing overhead with a paper in hand that no doubt held the list of names of the unfortunate people that would be ushered onto the skiff that would cross the fold.

wringing your hands nervously, you waited for your name or wilburs to be called, hoping and praying to any saint that would bother to listen. wilbur dug his elbow into your shoulder lightly, drawing your attention to him. “we’re among the youngest batch of the first army — we’re in the clear,” he spoke his words with such certainty. but as much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn't.

“I don’t know… I have a weird feeling, wil,” you gave him a serious look, only to be brushed off with a roll of his eyes. “I’m serious — somethings not right.”

wilbur brought a hand to your forehead, feeling for any sign of heat that could indicate sickness, before lowering it slowly and leaning it. “maybe you should rest — I think all those waffles you’ve eaten are making you fall ill,” while his joke was lighthearted, you couldn't help but sigh.

sigh over the fact that he didn’t believe you in the slightest, and sighing at the fact that you haven’t had a full meal, let alone waffles, in over five years — merely table scraps left over from the grisha’s wonderful and elegant meals they were served daily.

“attention soldiers! tomorrow is the first journey through the fold of this season, and we are taking volunteers!” the room laughed at that, the general included — no one sought out to enter the fold — you were selected and that was final. “knowing that none of you will volunteer however, I have taken it upon myself to select a group of you that will accompany the second army across the fold.”

the first army was full of people like you and wilbur — mapmakers, trackers, and ordinary soldiers that could barely hold their own in a fight. mere children when they entered the army, chosen based on how healthy they were. if you could walk, talk, and breathe normally — you were selected.

the second army however, is what the battles were one with — with grisha only ranks, they dominated against the fjerdans and the shu, two nations that had it out for ravka.

no one could bring themselves to laugh this time around — all too weary and nervous to crack a joke.

“entering the fold tomorrow will be… malyen oretsev, atlas cooper, wilbur soot...” you turned to wilbur in horror. “please come to the docks at 1600 for deployment. that will be all soldiers,” the general stepped down from the stage, leaving a room full of shocked, scared, and relieved soldiers.

he tried to put on a strong face for you, but you could see through it as if it were glass. the man that he was today had retreated into the scared and small boy who could never fight for himself. “wil…” you could only whisper tearfully, knowing full well that this moment could be the last time you’d ever see him.

wilbur slapped on the best smile he could in the situation, and pulled your into a hug. “I’m going to be okay, you hear me? if not you can kick my ass,” he laughed lightly in your ear, not able to hide the way his voice shook.

“I can’t kick your ass if you're hurt,” your mind searched for some way that you could fix this — perhaps it was a mistake? or maybe he could get out of it through faking an injury or a sickness. “what if I shot you in the foot?”

“you have a terrible aim.”

“if it means you stay, wouldn’t you take the chance?”

“I have to go.”

“wil-”

“Y/N,” he gave you a look — a look that you had given him minutes before. “I have to go — I have orders to, you know that.”

an order was an order. there was no way out. no amount of arguing, begging, or offering could buy your way out of doing something no matter what your case was, or what the order was. wilbur swore to follow orders at the beginning of his first army career, much like you had.

“I promise you I’ll come back to you.”

“you better,” your head lowered to his chest once more, basking in the warmth one more time before you had to let him go.

if there was really anything as saints, you prayed for them to watch over him.

he had to come back.

because you didn’t know what you would do if he didn’t.

— word bank

grisha [gree - shah] — unique individuals who have abilities

ravka — a country in the books of shadow and bone

corporalki [core - pour - ral - kee] — an order in the grisha

materialki [mat - eire - al - kee] — an order in the grisha

etherialki [ether - ree - al - kee] — an order in the grisha

fjerdan [fee - yair - den] — the ethnicity of fjerda residents

shu [shoo] — the ethnicity of shu-han residents

[crow-summoner]

Darklina Week Day 2: Role Reversal

Sun Summoner!Darkling and Shadow Summoner!Alina

Alina, a cartographer for the Ravken Army, undertakes a dangerous mission to stay by her only friend’s side. They must cross the Forge, a hellscape of intense heat and unrelenting light that has torn their country in two. Nothing can survive the Forge for long. Nothing but the monsters that call it home. Alina thinks she and Mal will make it as long as they’re together, but when their mission falls to pieces, Alina discovers something shocking about herself. She can banish light. Her powers draw the attention of the Golden General, a military leader who scares and intrigues Alina in equal measure. One thing’s for sure. Alina can’t go back to life of a mouse, and the General’s her best option to fight for something more. Can Alina save her world, or will she die trying?

Or, an AU where light powers aren’t necessarily good, and shadow powers get to be heroic. Content warning for some volcra expy related gore and some canon-consistent sprinkles of Malina at the beginning. There’s plenty of Darkles after that, now with extra sparkles.

Story under the jump

The Forge

Alina sits at the inn window, adding the last buttery yellow lines to her painting. For being such a blight against their nation, the Forge made a lovely landscape. She dons her fabrikator sunglasses, and turning her back to the unrelenting sunlight, she lifts her tented mirror up to compare her painting to the real thing. Her superior officers would kill her if they knew what she was using their equipment for, but the Forge is too bright to look at directly. Her superiors may not appreciate art, but if she’s going to risk her life for more supplies, she wants to leave a memorial for herself.

“It looks too much like a vacation spot,” Mal says, dragging up a chair so he can sit next to her. He’s already wearing his glasses and darkened veil, which will supposedly keep the Forge from boiling their eyes out and trap moisture near their faces. Alina would be happier if more than army issued fashion stood between her and certain death.

“You make a pretty bride, you know that?” Alina says instead of responding to the criticism. There were enough horrors in the Forge. She wanted make something pleasant. She places her canvas between the shelf and the wall, hoping that someone working at the inn will find it.

Mal huffs. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw the bags under my eyes. Don’t know how people sleep around here.”

Alina supposes people can get used to anything, even perpetual daylight. She secures her mirror and knives to her belt and dons her veil and gloves. She shimmies down the narrow walkway as if showing off the latest fashion. “What do you think?”

Mal makes a show of considering it, rubbing his chin under the veil. “I think the sveta will be too smitten to eat you.”

Alina tilts her head in mock coyness. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” She leaves it unspoken that she wishes someone else was smitten with her.

“Come on,” Mal says, taking her by the arm. “I want to be on time for once.”

By the time they reach the skiff, Alina and Mal are five minutes late. Thankfully, Alexei, her fellow cartographer, covered for her.

“You owe me,” he says, shoving her maps into her hands.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” Alina promises.

“You already owe me twelve cakes!”

“Then I’ll name my first born after you.”

Alexei snorts. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to have kids. We’re all going to be beef jerky in a few hours.”

“Squeak. Squeak, Alexei.” It’s the code their cartographers have for when Alexei’s boundless optimism is bringing them down.

Normally, Alexei would grumble but acquiesce. Today, he just stares at the skiff. “Do you really think the sveta are real?”

Alina shrugs. “What else could eat our men out there?” Admittedly, invisible creatures made of light sounded farfetched, but she’s seen the battle scars. Other soldiers had claw mark scars across their chest and spots where something inhuman had taken a bite out of them. The light could blister, burn and tan flesh, but it couldn’t do that.

“I dunno. Maybe him,” Alexei said, eyeing the golden carriage in the distance. “The Geldling.”

Alina quickly hushes him. General Kirigan tolerates others calling him the Golden General, but he does not take kindly to the Geldling. Sure, the epitaph was based on an old Kerch word for gold, but gelding is also what one did to a prized horse to keep it docile. It was as good as saying their leader is a ballless pet, and everyone knows it.  

Sure enough, one of the heartrenders lifts his veil and glares at them. He might have been handsome once, but his sour expression makes the lines on his face hard.

“Captain Herring may be rough, but he’s not a cannibal.” Alina hopes this is enough to cover over their mistake. The heartrender doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t fight them either. That suited Alina well enough.

“Watch what you say,” she whispers to Alexei. “We have to depend on these people to survive. Don’t make them mad.”

Alexei nods. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, the rest of their time at the dock goes smoothly. Soon, all the soldiers and Girsha gather inside the metal skiff, ready to take off. A tidemaker hoses them all down, making Alina feel like a drenched rat, but the water is important in such a hot place.

Alina makes sure to stand by Mal, gripping his arm for support as the skiff slides along the sand. There’s enough space to move around, but something about the lack of windows makes the room feel unbearably tight. It’s like one big coffin.

Squeak, squeak, Alina tells herself. No one’s going to die today.

The skiff rattles as they pass over marker zero. They’re officially in the Forge. The panels in the side of the skiff slide up. Rows of dark nets allow squallers to force air out without letting the light in. They’ll have to use the tinted mirrors along the sides of the skiff to direct it.

Alina fans herself, wishing the nets could ease the heat. She was drenched just minutes ago, but her uniform’s now bone dry. Sure, the tidemakers periodically release a mist from their fancy containers and push it around the cabin, but that’s like giving a starving man a single bite.

“I bet I can sweat more than you,” Mal jokes, and she’s sure it’s to help distract her. Even the dumbest man in their unit wouldn’t brag about that.

“No way. Sweat more than that heartrender over there, and you have a deal,” she whispers back. It was a hard challenge. The heartrender already smelled like he’d bathed in nothing but used socks for years.

Mal leans back in shock. “Yikes. Are you trying to kill me? I can’t beat that.”

Alexei sniffs beside them, rubbing under his veil. “My lids are scraping my eyeballs.”

Alina reaches over and slaps his hand the way she used to do with the younger kids at the orphanage. “Then stop picking at them.”

Alexei mumbles. He’s a good cartographer, but he also comes from money, and that didn’t always make for a good soldier. Alina wonders if she should have erased his name instead of Ruby’s. This mission called for two cartographers, and Ruby could withstand discomfort better than he could, but Alina wasn’t thinking rationally. Mal was going to go into the Forge by himself, and Alina needed to remove someone so she could forge her own name on the mission papers. Mal wouldn’t give Alexei a second glance, but Ruby had red hair and a slim figure. Alina couldn’t risk Mal having “glad we’re still alive” sex with her after the mission. It was petty, childish even, but Alina couldn’t help herself. If they all survive the skiff, she’ll woman up and tell Mal how she feels. Lord knows hanging in this middle ground wasn’t doing either of them any favors.  

The skiff shakes, and Alexei grabs the walls. “Saints! It’s the sveta.”

The squaller at the helm shushes him. “Just a bump. Don’t call attention to us.”

Alexei’s shoulders slump, but he retakes his position behind the squaller without another word.

Alina can’t help but lean around her squaller to peak in her mirror. She’d heard about calcified roots surviving the Forge long after the crops perished. The real thing must be prettier than the paintings. Instead of a root, Alina finds the fragments of a skull and the front of a skiff.

She steps back, her stomach sinking into her boots. It’s one thing to know the odds, but it’s another to stare the evidence in the face. Better men than them have failed to cross.

The crew stand in silence as the skiff passes the first marker. Alina gives her squaller the proper directions and distances, and soon they pass the second marker. The third. The fourth. Alina allows herself to hope. Just eleven more and they’re home free.

She scratches her arm, and flakes of dry skin come off. No wonder the skiff regulars look like leather. She’d rather go AWOL than do this again. Then again, she didn’t have be here this time either. She has no one to blame but herself.

The skiff rumbles and tilts. It’s just another bump, she assures herself, but something raps against the ceiling. The heartrenders tense up, and the squallers shift their positions.

Oh, no.

She checks on Mal just to be sure, but he’s clutching his gun tight, his head tilted up. It’s the same stance he took when he found that rabbit in a barren forest or when he was about to catch her during hide and seek. He’s sighted something, only this time, that something is stronger than them.

The squaller at the helm brings the skiff to a stop and signals for the shooters and heartrenders to take position. All the non-combat staff – cartographers included – must gather at the center. Alina takes out her knife and her tented mirror, praying she won’t have to use them.

“Protect yourselves if you must,” the squaller whispers, “but don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Alina’s never felt more useless in her life.

The skiff continues to shake, harder this time. Something whines above them. Something answers it’s call from somewhere in front of them. Another whine sounds from behind the skiff. From all sides. How many of them are out there? At least a dozen given the sheer number of cries. No one dares make a sound. The sveta are fierce, but they’re just as blind as a human in the Forge. Maybe if they don’t hear anything, they’ll get bored and hunt elsewhere.

The ceiling dents in with a clank, knocking the skiff to the right. One of the soldiers jumps at the sound, aiming where it came from. The squaller at the helm blows him away, but not in time. The shot blows a hole in the ceiling, letting the light in. The beam hits a tidemaker’s shoulders, carving a smoking black line through her kefta. She screams, tearing off the cloth to expose a blistering gash. A healer pulls her to the side as one her friends tries to stifle her screams with a damp cloth, but it’s too late. The sveta cries draw closer.

Something claws a large hole through the ceiling, the soldiers scrambling to avoid the new beams. Some squallers attempt to blow up a tarp to cover the open areas, but it stops in thin air. No. Not thin air. The tarp drapes over something Alina can’t see with her naked eye. Under the plastic, she can make out its large, pointed wings and snout.

“Blast it,” the squaller at the helm shouts, and the soldiers open fire on the creature. It whines, batting away the tarp, and then it’s gone.

For a moment, no one makes a move. The cabin is utterly silent. Then something flashes across Alina’s mirror, and the next thing she knows, the soldier beside her explodes in a splash of red. On the other side of the skiff, a healer’s hand disappears. He draws back, clutching his now bloody stump as one of the creatures screeches in triumph.

Alina backs up, though there’s nowhere left to go. Oh, saints. She should have never come here. She begs every saint she can think of to forgive whatever sin brought her to this horrible moment. Shooting her fellow man in combat. Wishing harm to the girls Mal so much as looked at. Disregarding Ana Kuya’s rules at every turn. Whatever it was, she repented. Just please don’t let her die at some monster’s hand.

The durasts burst dust in the air. It makes their own people cough, but it helps make the sveta more visible.

BAM!

Another chunk of ceiling caves in, forcing the crew to huddle along the perimeter to escape the light. Not all of them were quick enough. Several soldiers blister and peel, crying as the sveta tear off chunks of flesh from their bodies.

Alina can only stare. It’s too late for prayers. Too late to run. She should have talked Mal into fleeing while she had the chance, and now ... Alina holds out her mirror, a new hope setting in. They might not make it out, but she can at least die by Mal’s side. He has to know how she feels.

Alina slowly shifts through the chaos, dodging shots and beams of light. She finds him by the helm, taking deep breaths as he aims and shoots. Something heavy hits the floor, gurgling. Of course. Leave it to Mal to find the creatures without a mirror.

She shines her mirror in the direction the creature fell, hoping to avoid tripping its body, but to her surprise, she can just make out the sheen of its skin. The colors change as she tilts the mirror, first blue, then pink and maybe green. All the colors of the rainbow. It reminds her of looking through a prism. Not invisible then. The sveta are just reflective.

Alina giggles. Ana Kuya would be so proud of her, committing to her education even as she’s about to die. She keeps giggling over and over, knowing that if she stops, she’ll have to cry. There are just so many bodies around her. They used to be people, and now they’re meat.

Someone grabs her wrist, and a shot of energy courses through her, quieting the hysteria. Mal drags her beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but he’s busy readying his next shot. “I lo – ” She doesn’t get any further. Another soldier’s bullet ricochets off the wall and hits Mal in the shoulder. He doubles over, his gun clattering to the floor.

Alina drops her mirror, pressing a palm against the wound. The blood seeps from between her fingers no matter how hard she tries to stop the flow.

Mal slides to the floor, Alina crouching beside him. The light streams against them, burning her chest and his back. The pain means nothing compared to the loss.

“No. Not like this,” she says, covering Mal’s body with her own.

The pain in her back only lasts a second. It occurs to her that this is not a good thing. It means her nerves have been eaten away, but she’s glad to do it if it means Mal can live.

Something rumbles in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s going to burst, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight it.

All around her, the creatures cry and flap their wings erratically. She doesn’t have time think about it as the world goes dark, sinking her into a deep oblivion.

 *****************************

 Alina wakes, draped over someone’s shoulder, face buried in the red cloth of his kefta. She only lifts her head for one moment, but the light’s unbearable.

The light?

“Mal,” Alina shouts. She wiggles to free herself from the Grisha’s grip. The sveta will come back at any moment. She has to find Mal. Protect him. Where is he?

But they’re not on the skiff anymore. They’re back at the dock, the skiff a shredded husk. People rush every which way, some tending to the wounded and some salvaging the cargo from the hold. Mal could be anywhere among them. Then Alina catches sight of the ground. Oh, saints! So many people lay unmoving on the dock, and Grisha and First Army soldiers keep dragging out more. All these people she trained with. Ate with. Sung bawdy songs with when they’d all had too much kvas. Dead. They can’t all be gone. Right? Right?

Alina kicks at the Grisha. She needs to see for herself who made it out. Mal better be among them. Of course, he would be. He was the best tracker Ravka’s ever seen. He’d always find his way back home. Home to her.

The Grisha swears at her, trying to stop her feet with one arm. “Be still.” She recognizes him. The heartrender that had sneered at Alexei’s comment earlier. Alina drives a fist in the heartrender’s back. If Grisha like him had done more they wouldn’t be in the situation. He did it on purpose, didn’t he? He let their soldiers die because someone spoke against his leader. His pride meant more than the supplies they’d get from West Ravka. More than human life.

“Fine.” With a huff, the Grisha drops her flat on her butt, sand puffing in her face. She’s coughing too much to fight him off when the heartrender takes her by her bicep and drags her towards the camp. Another heartrender takes her other arm, his grip gentler than his coworker’s.

“Was that necessary, Ivan?” The second heartrender asked.

Ivan only grunts “Fedyor” as a warning in response. Fedyor shakes his head with what Alina would call fondness if she thought anyone could be fond of something as sour as Ivan.

“Where’s Mal?” Alina asks Fedyor, but he only lifts a brow. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize the name of a common solider. There were so many of them, and Grisha only concerned themselves with their own. “The boy I was with on the skiff.”

“Ah. Him,” Fedyor says. “The First Army tends to their own wounded. He’s in their care.”

Alina knows what that means. He’s laying outside the infirmary tent, waiting for his turn to have an undertrained medic pour alcohol in his wounds then pack them with mustard plaster. If he’s lucky, they’ll still have enough bandages for him to get his own. Having to use the scraps from old uniforms inevitably led to infection, and without supplies from the west, the camp outpost could not provide the steady diet of alcohol needed to survive that misery. Mal is popular, though. She’s sure someone will be willing to sacrifice their stash for his comfort.

Then it occurs to her that she’s not doing the same thing. She’d been horribly burned by the light, and yet her back doesn’t ache. Someone must have removed her jacket while Alina was unconscious, but her undershirt is scorched where the light hit it. Her chest is unusually red, but it’s not blistering or charred. The worst she can say is that she feels like she’s been awake for days.

“Why would someone heal me?” She’s heard it a thousand times before. Healers were too rare to waste on common soldiers. They were for Grisha and those wealthy enough to be a priority. She is neither, and yet when she looks up at Fedyor, he’s gazing down at her with some feeling she dares not define. It was the same look the Grisha gave the golden carriage when it barreled into the encampment. The same look the peasants near Keramzin gave the bones of Saint Felix on his day of worship. If she didn’t know better, she’d call it reverence.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity when he finally says, “We survived.” Alina doesn’t know what she has to do with that. It was luck. Pure and simple. But then Fedyor closes his eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”

A chill runs through Alina despite the heat. She looks at the tents, the people running around them, anywhere and everywhere but at Fedyor and that look, full of expectations she can never fill. They’ve long since passed the First Army section, but they’re now leaving the main Grisha area, heading up the northmost path. There’s nothing there except for the single yellow tent towering over the rest of the encampment.

Alina pulls back, but it does nothing to stop the heartrenders. “What does the General want with me?”

“Just answer his questions, so we call all get on with our day,” Ivan says.

“I don’t know anything! Let go of me!” She turns to look back at the First Army camp, too far away for anyone to see her let alone help. Not that they could do anything if they wanted to. No one says no to the General.

Fedyor grips the back of her neck, and her whole body turns to puddy. The heartrenders lean into her, holding her upright because her knees can no longer bear her weight. She’s too relaxed to move at all.

Ivan sniffs. “You weren’t supposed to do that for anyone but me.”

Fedyor grins. “Sorry, luv. Desperate times and all that.”

They march her straight into the lion’s den.

She doesn’t know what she expected to see. A jeweled throne and a menagerie of exotic animals like the ones she’d seen in the illustrated book of fairy tales back at the orphanage? Enemy soldiers kept in cages and chained otkazat’sya serving the Grisha like the Fjerdan pamphlet a traveler tried to give them before Ana Kuya kicked them off the duke’s property? But this place resembled the main tent for the First Army. Soldiers clustered together around a round table. A large map hung from a board, thread and pegs marking paths, places and interesting parties. And yet the General’s tent was larger than theirs, made of bulletproof core cloth while they had to make do with spun cotten. They must not need to ration oil either given the number of lamps lit, and the gathered Grisha shone like banners in their blue, red and purple keftas. No olive drab for them.

Most of the room turned to face them when the heartrenders dragged Alina in. Some now look at her with open curiosity and others with incredulous expressions. Soft mummers pass through the crowd until someone raises their hand, and the whole lot fall silent. Saints, Alina never heard a tent so quiet before. Even during lights out, at least one person snored.

Without needing to be told, the Grisha step back, parting down the center to make a path. A lone man strides forward, his telltale yellow kefta billowing around him. Notes of silver, white and gold weave through it, enough thread to stitch three tents of this size together, but he’s not wearing the jewelry she’d expect from his high rank, and his clothes are core cloth like any other Grisha. She’s never seen a high officer without any silk on, no matter how impractical it might be. After all, most never saw battle. Not like this one had.

The Golden General is younger than she’d expected given what others said about him. She’d seen a shriveled man with boney hands covered in warts in her mind’s eye, but this man barely had a decade on her, and his warm blonde hair and fair, flawless complexion were pleasing on the eyes. Too pleasing. Even the most beautiful boy back home had some freckle or ruddiness to his skin, but the General’s looks almost painted on. It’s eerie, and yet she can’t look away. He’s like the very embodiment of the light, except there’s a coldness in his gaze and calm comportment.

He may be light, but he’s not warmth.

That right, she tells herself. Ana Kuya warned her about such things before. One of the orphans she’d grown up with saw a gold coin glittering in some bushes under a hill. He’d climbed down for it, only to be rolled by some travelers. They took the buttons from his coat and the boots from his feet. He came home with nothing but his pants and a gash on his forehead. Ana Kuya warned them all then: not all that’s gold glitters. Sometimes, it burns instead. Gold tempts the desperate, but Alina is not blind. The General only looked like a man. He can boil someone’s insides. Make their flesh rot from their bone as if they were already dead.  Burn them with a glance. And here he is, looking straight at her.

The General stops a few feet away and clasps his hands behind his back. He looks her over, and she doesn’t know whether to be scared or grateful that she can’t read what conclusions he’s drawn. He nods at the heartrenders, and Fedyor rubs the back of Alina’s neck. Her limbs come back to life, panic rising from her core. She wants to run, but there’s no point.

The General stares at her, impassive, and then finally: “Is it true?”

For a moment, Alina believes the absurd. He’s read her thoughts and knows what she said about him being a monster. Then it occurs to her that he’s talking about the skiff. She closes her eyes. What does he want her to say? She was unconscious for most of what went down, and she can barely remember what she was present for. Flashes of her coworker’s blood and blistering arms intrude behind her closed lids, forcing them open again. Maybe it’s best she can’t remember.

She must have taken too long to answer because the General speaks again. “Is it true that you can banish the light?”

All Alina can do is blink. This has to be a joke, but the General’s expression is serious, and everyone around them is leaning in with anticipation. She knows better than to laugh in their faces and question their intelligence, so she makes do by stuttering, “No one can do that.” It takes a moment, but she remembers to add a quick “sir.” She’s not used to being around anyone important.

She braces herself for him to yell at her the way the generals in their army do, but he merely nods. “Then what did happen?”

Alina struggles for an answer. She tries to tell him that she doesn’t know how the sveta got in, or how their ship made it, but no matter what she says, she keeps returning to those burning soldiers. The General frowns, and she knows she needs to come up with something – anything – to appease him.

The General raises a hand to silence her, and when he speaks, his tone is smooth and calm. “It must have been scary out there. It’s one thing to read about the attacks, but it’s another to live it.”

Alina hadn’t expecting any sympathy, so she just nods.

“You must be exhausted.” When Alina nods again, the General continues. “It’s hard to make sense of anything when you hurt so much. I could help with that if you’ll let me.” He gestures beside him, inviting her closer.

He may have asked for permission, but Alina isn’t sure she really has a choice. Still, he’s been nothing but polite so far. She has nothing to lose by playing along.

Alina slowly closes the gap between them, and the closer she gets, the closer she wants to get. It’s like he’s a magnet, and she’s loose filigree coming together for the first time. She feels the warmth now, not in his continence, but all around him. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t tingle. It numbs the heaviness of her limbs and banishes the panic that’s haunted her since the skiff penetrated the Forge. Before she knows it, Alina’s pressed up against the General. She’s vaguely aware that it’s not appropriate to stand so close to a superior, and it’s definitely not safe to be within biting distance of a monster, but it feels right. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

The General doesn’t seem to mind either, staring deep into her eyes like he’s trapped, too. Her reflection stares back at her in his eyes. They’re just so bright and shiny. She has a hard time placing the color. It reminds her of one of the duke’s vases. The blown glass was iridescent and shimmered with every color around it. She and Mal had argued for years over what color it really was. He said purple. She said green. They finally settled things with a good arm wrestle. Green won, of course. Alina decides that the General’s eyes are green, too.

“May I?” He asks, and though she can’t see where he’s pointing, she answers his unspoken request, sliding her hand in his. His palms are rough from life on the road, but they’re warm, and his grip os gentler than Fedyor’s had been. She could hold his hand and stare into his eyes forever.

“What happened?” The General asks in a voice softer than silks.

The words spill out of Alina on their own. She tells him about forging her name on the staff list. The attack. Shielding Mal. The sveta descending on them, and then – “All I could look at was him, but I could feel the light getting sucked away. Everything went black, and then I woke up on the docks.”

The General says nothing, but his eyes briefly narrow. It’s not a threat as far as Alina can tell. Whatever she said seemed to confirm something for him. The General pushes up her sleeve with his free hand, never breaking her gaze. She doesn’t fight it. She’s curious, too. Something happened back on that skiff. It’s there lurking there in the back of her brain, begging to be revealed. She knows once it’s free, it can never be caged again. The thought simultaneously thrills her and makes her shiver.

The General trails one finger up her arm. Something inside her responds to act, rejoices in it. His finger stops and curls around her forearm. She notes that the nail on his thumb is longer than the others. Sharp. He drives that nail into her flesh, and it’s like a thousand arms stream out of her at once.

Darkness surrounds them, putting out the lights. No, the lamps are still on. She can feel their flames licking at the shadows just as easily as she can feel the General’s grip on her arm. All around them, the Grisha shout. She can’t see them so much as she feels where they are in the dark. It the strangest sensation, and yet it feels like home. Everything is darkness.

Everything but him.

The General glows, smiling down at her. A true lamp would illuminate the world around them, but there he stands, the sole bright spot in the blackness. Standing together, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. Then the General lets go of her arm and the darkness withers, fading into the ground or retreating under Alina’s skin to fight another day.

Alina clutches her chest, suddenly empty inside. Her head swivels every which way, desperate to find that surety again, but it’s gone. The aches have returned, magnified tenfold. She can barely keep herself upright, and soon, she’s on her knees, her head swimming.

“A shadow summoner,” some squaller says, and it’s as if a dam broke in Alina’s mind. She stares at her rough, ruddy hands. They’re not the hands of a hero, and yet it’s true. It’s all true. She can banish the light. She saved the skiff from the Forge.

She’s … Grisha.

Alina frowns, remembering what Mal said when that Grisha girl made eyes at him from the General’s carriage. He doesn’t tumble witches. Alina was glad to hear it then. It meant less competition for her, and she and Mal had exchanged plenty of digs at the Grisha over the years. Surely, he wouldn’t think she’s like the rest of them just because she has powers. She didn’t grow up coddled and self-important like the rest of them. That had to count for something. He knew her. The real her. He wouldn’t be scared of her because of her shadows.

No matter how hard Alina tries, she can’t bring herself to believe it.

The General holds out his hand. Alina stares up at him, sure she should bat it away. She’s not one of his Grisha. She’s a mapmaker and an orphan and Mal’s best friend. But that may not be true anymore, and she’d be a fool to burn any bridges.

She takes his hand, letting the General lift her to her feet. He pulls her close again, so close she can feel his breath against her face. She should let go, but she clings to his hand like it’s the last safe ledge in a rockslide. He gives her a knowing smirk, and she wants to wipe it off his stupid face. She’s had a rough day. She would have clung to literally anybody, but then the General leans in, and she feels that warmth again. His lips brush her ear as he whispers, “You and I are going to change the world.”

Notes:

Whoo! This is my first Grishaverse fanfic. It may be a little late, but it’s here. One shot for now, but I might be interested in continuing this in the future. Hope you enjoyed!