#grishaverse ocs

[loserkaleidoscope]

List of my OC blogs! @dumbassinyellow - Vanya Sokolov @vengefulghostc - Corvina Sokolov @fierymilly - Milena Orlova @nebular-metanoia - Vano Mera @blueheartloverboy - Lennox Hawthrone All of them are very open to receive asks and other various interactions <3

[polycrowtruther]

Polycrow kids in order of when they joined the family:

Sihobian (currently 9) - an Irish/Wandering Isle girl with a very thick irish accent, curly strawberry-blonde hair, and a sassy streak a mile wide. Came into the Crow's lives together on a slaver ship with her older brother Ndulue (currently 11) - a Nigerian/Novyi Zem boy who is mute. Sihobian "speaks" for him (but an adult would call it advocating for him) because they were kept together often during their time in captivity and he trusts that she understands the general gist of what his sign language means. They were adopted when they were 6 and 8 respectively, and by now Jesper has managed to help standardize Ndulue's signing to a blend of Kerch and Zemeni (allowing him to communicate for himself more effectively with other people) and Nina and Wylan have become almost fluent at it as well. Kaz, Inej, and Matthias can understand enough to communicate with Ndulue and understand his needs/wants/when he is expressing his emotions, but they do not have the same fluency yet that Nina, Jesper, and Wylan have.

Ndulue has a gifted ear for music, and loves to read with his Omma in his spare time - if he's not already in the music room playing the piano with his Dad. Sihobian loves running wild, and is starting gymnastics lessons with Inej that she is surprisingly already excelling at.

Once adopting them officially, Inej found out she was pregnant with their first child which she suggests they name Neyah (in honor of Sankta Neyar). She is 3 by the time of the fic. She takes the most inheritance from Jesper and Inej, though she has Wylan's freckles. She loves it when Matthias carries her on his shoulders.

Then, there is Vivianne (12 by the time of the fic), who was adopted when she was 10. She's a Kerch girl who is very Ethel Cane coded. She's got mousy brown hair and big blue eyes, and she almost always ties her hair back with a fraying red velvet ribbon. She is still getting used to what happiness is like, and often seems taken off guard when she laughs loudly or smiles so hard her cheeks sting. Now that she notices it happens more often she seems to only grow more and more happy, which leads Kaz to believe whatever she was running away from was worse than where she is now, and she (like Wylan) had fled to survive. The Crows are very alert and protective of her for this reason. Nina, Jes, and Wylan are also working with her to understand her talents as an Alkemi, as well. She loves to cook, and Wylan often encourages her to use her Alkemi talents in the kitchen (even though the results are not always edible, to Nina's disappointment).

Then Kaz gets pregnant and had an (+ very traumatic, almost killed him) emergency c-section. Thankfully their baby - named Felix - ends up with only a bit of jaundice an extra week's stay with the Healer, and is otherwise healthy so far. He is one by the time the fic has started, and takes the most after Kaz (although Felix already shows signs of having the Fahey dimple and has the same jewel-like green eyes Nina was born with).

Kaz is 28, and is finally recovering from the pregnancy in earnest. Matthias is 30, Inej is 27, Nina is 28, Wylan is 27, and Jesper is 29.

Inej has recently found out she's pregnant again and is in her second trimester at the time of the fic starting. Her future daughter will have ruddy reddish brown hair and olive skin, and Nina will suggest they name her Marjorie.

To the kiddos: Matthias is called "Big Guy" (long story), Inej is Mum, Nina is Omma, Jesper is Papa, Wylan is Dad, and Kaz is "Boss" (this one was primarily because it made Jesper giggle every time and Kaz is a simp for a Jesper giggle).

[fyeahgrishaverse-ocs]

Hi! Welcome to fyeahgrishaverse-ocs, here in the world of the small science and crime we aim to showcase your original charcters and their stories that relate to Leigh Bardugo's Grishaverse. You may know that there is another, inactive grishaverse oc blog, and we thank those admins for their hard work! We will reblog any ocs that link to the Shadow & Bone TV series, books, and also Six of Crows & Rule of Wolves.

We are tracking the tag #fyeahgrishaversocs, so feel free to use that, and we aim to reblog every post we can. You can tag anything relating to an OC, writing, edits, information posts, asks, etc. For the next week or so, we’ll be scouring the tags to reblog older oc posts.

If you create a poll relating to your OCs, feel free to tag us (@fyeahgrishaverse-ocs) and we will vote and reblog the poll asap!

We’re really excited to see your ocs! And hopefully, we can inspire some more creations within the fandom. We appreciate reblogs to get the word out!

[ladyniniane]

Snippets of my current WIPs

I was tagged by @lilias42 and @mwezina to post a snippet of my current WIP. Thank you✨!

-Marya has just discovered that a long lifespan comes with her powers and that she may live for centuries, unchanged.

Le rebord de la baignoire appuyait sur le bas de la nuque de Marya en un rappel constant de ses inquiétudes. L’eau remua lorsqu’elle s’agita, un clapotement rompit le silence. Alanguie, masquée par un paravent de vapeur, elle avait perdu la mesure du temps. Si cela se trouvait, une éternité avait passé. Ce qui était tout à fait approprié, quand on y pensait. Ses mains en coupe recueillirent le liquide. L'eau fila entre ses doigts. Les années couleraient désormais ainsi. Elle remplit de nouveau ses paumes avant de les vider. Un siècle. Puis deux. Puis trois. Puis quatre.

The edge of the bath pressed against the back of Marya's neck as a constant reminder of her worries. The water stirred as she moved, and a splash broke the silence. Languid, masked by a screen of steam, she had lost track of time. If anything, an eternity had passed. Which was quite appropriate, when you thought about it. Her cupped hands scooped up the liquid. The water trickled through her fingers. From now on, the years would flow like this. She filled her palms again before emptying them. A century. Then two. Then three. Then four.

-Here is a snippet of my untitled Fire Emblem Three Houses WIP. It's a sequel to my main project, expanding the story of a secondary character. Here, Ismene has just joined house Gautier as an apprentice physician and she's meeting with the margravine for the first time.

Orsolya lui fit signe d’approcher. Ismène prit d’abord son pouls. Ses gestes étaient précis mais légers et jamais intrusifs. S'approcher de la margravine lui fit oublier sa réserve. Elle était dans son élément. Sa concentration et son professionnalisme invitaient sa patiente à lui faire confiance malgré son manque supposé d'expérience. Les jambes de la margravine n’avaient rien d’anormal. Peut-être était-ce une douleur circulatoire ? (...) Orsolya haussa un sourcil.   — Êtes-vous vraiment une apprentie ou avez-vous déjà exercé ?   — J’ai déjà pratiqué avec mon maître à la campagne, ma dame. 

Orsolya beckoned her to come closer. Ismène began by taking her pulse. Her gestures were precise but light, never intrusive. Approaching the margravine made her forget her reserve. She was in her element. Her concentration and professionalism encouraged her patient to trust her, despite her potential lack of experience. There was nothing wrong with the margravine's legs. Perhaps it was circulatory pain? (…) Orsolya raised an eyebrow. -Are you really an apprentice or have you practised before? -I used to practise with my master in my home village, my lady.

I tag @violets-in-her-arms-writes, @queenfredegund, @lumeha, @intricatecaprice, @tockamybeloved @sinniel and whoever wants to do it!

[0itmelex0]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE day five ❯❯ vampire, werewolves, and witches... oh my!

featuring lorenzo willingham as a vampire

[justmoreocs-writing]

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Zariyah said, addressing Nikolai’s concerned looking reflection. He’d barely waited after knocking for her to call out to him, and she knew that silence only would have had him in the room quicker.

‘Like what, Zariyah?’ he asked, voice tauter than she was used to. He moved closer to her, but didn’t step into her personal space. Still, she could feel the energy, the tension, buzzing all around him.

‘Like I’m broken.’

‘You’re injured,’ he said through gritted teeth. She saw the movement of his hands flexing by his sides. And yet he wouldn’t make the move to touch her. Not because of some sense of decorum, or because he knew it was better for her that he didn’t. It was all because of the gloves. The fear that still coursed through him about the rumours. The King of Scars.

‘And it’s happened before,’ she reminded him simply, forcing herself not to wince as she planted a hand on her hip, as she turned to face him. This close, she had to tilt her head to look at him; she could see the shadows of exhaustion clinging beneath his eyes. ‘When did you last sleep?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘Is that a request from Niki, or an order from my King?’ she asked, bowing her head mockingly.

Something flashed in his eyes, and Nikolai took a step back. ‘At least let Genya look at you, Zari.’

She huffed out a sigh. ‘So she can tell me all the different kinds of makeup I could try?’ she teased. The furrow between his brows didn’t move. ‘OK. But I’m fine.’

‘Thank you,’ he breathed, gently catching her hand as she passed.

Zari gave it a brief squeeze before heading to the door, making a mental vow to speak with Zoya about Nikolai and how they might be able to encourage him to try getting a little sleep at some point.

[ijbolgawon]

THE BASTARD'S WITCH. kaz brekker

in which. kaz finally gives in, even if it makes him look weak

wc. 1.2k

a/n. i suggest listening to this song since it's one of the main reasons i even wrote this lol

Kaz Brekker knew the sound of footsteps approaching, the distinct rhythm of each person who dared step into his office. He heard the short creak of the floorboards outside his office, the subtle shift of weight, and for a brief moment, he thought it was her.

Y/N.

His grip on his cane tightened as he turned around.

But it wasn't Y/N. It was Pekka Rollins.

Two of Pekka’s men loomed behind him, their postures too relaxed, too sure of their authority.

“Mister Brekker, isn't it?” Pekka greeted, his voice like the slow drag of a blade against stone.

Kaz didn't move. He slowly watched as the man pulled a chair in front of him as his men grabbed Kaz’s shoulders, kneeling him in front of Pekka.

He made a show of looking around, as if he were the one letting Kaz stay here, rather than the other way around.

“You’re after the Heartrender,” Pekka asked, even if it sounded more like a statement.

Kaz’s expression didn’t waver.

Pekka smiled, all teeth. “Go ahead. Take the job. But if you do, I’ll make sure your little Summoner doesn’t see another sunrise.”

A long silence.

Kaz forced himself to remain still. Not to react. Not to show the way the words latched onto something deep, something ugly.

“She’s not my concern,” Kaz said. Even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. He felt his own cane being pressed to his throat.

Pekka chuckled. “That so? Then why does it feel like she is?”

He leaned forward, slowly. “I’ve been watching her, Brekker. Ever since she came to the Menagerie, I knew she was special.”

Kaz’s fingers twitched inside his gloves, his hands itching with anger.

“She still wears that collar,” Pekka continued. “Still belongs to Heleen. Which means —” His voice dropped, his words slow and deliberate. “She belongs to me.”

Kaz said nothing.

Pekka studied him, his head tilting slightly. “So here’s the deal. If you want the Heartrender, you kill her. If you want Ghafa’s freedom, you do it for me.”

He continued, a slight smirk forming on his lips, “Or maybe I’ll just kill the witch myself. And we’ll see if you still care to finish the job after.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then another.

“I’ll deal with her.”

Pekka’s smirk widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And then, just as quickly as he came, he was gone, leaving him alone, knees stuck on the wooden floor. Kaz stood there for a long moment, his mind already working, already calculating.

He would deal with her.

The job was supposed to be simple. In and out. No blood.

Yet Y/N found herself gasping against the alley wall, pressing a trembling hand against the wound just below her ribs. The knife had been quick. She hadn’t even seen the attacker’s face.

One moment, she was making her way back from the job Kaz had sent her on, the next, steel in her ribs. Blood seeped through her fingers, warm and thick.

She straightened, forcing herself upright as she heard footsteps. Making her way back to Slat, barely alive, a trace of blood sticking to all the buildings she had passed by.

Throwing herself on the nearest chair inside, she ripped her coat open, fingers grazing over the bloody cut. Her free hand grabbed the aid kit, mindsely searching for the needle and the thread.

There is no way she could've done it by herself, but she didn't want anyone to find out she had failed at the easiest job: she was a Grisha after all.

As soon as she began stitching, Jesper made his way inside, a soft smile on his face.His grin faltered when he saw her.

“Well, that’s not good.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, “Brilliant deduction.”

Jesper walked forward, gaze flicking to the blood darkening her coat. “What happened?”

“I accidentally stabbed myself��,she jokes, showing him that she was not in the mood.

Jesper sighed, defeated. “Kaz is already pissed, you know. And now this?”

“Why is he pissed?”, he takes in her frown, then his face suddenly changes. Like the realization hit him. ‘You can't tell her’, he recalls Kaz's words, and he wishes he hadn't opened his mouth.

Jesper hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pekka paid him a visit.”

Not failing to notice the way she stiffened, he continued.

“He made a deal,” his voice was too casual, too careful. “A million kruge. Inej’s freedom. But there’s a condition.”

Y/N swallowed. “What condition?”

The door slammed open. Kaz barely had time to look up before Y/N stormed in, her coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal the blood staining her shirt.

He took it in immediately: the slight hitch in her breath, the tension in her shoulders, the fire burning in her eyes.

“You’re going to kill me for a million kruge?” she asks, voice latching with despair.

Kaz shut his ledger. “You should be resting.”

She scoffed, stepping forward despite the limp in her stride. “Is a million kruge more important than me living?”

Silence.

Her breath came sharp, uneven. She reached into her belt and pulled out a knife, flipping it so the hilt faced him.

“Then do it.”

Kaz didn’t move. Her fingers curled around his wrist, forcing the knife into his palm. “Do it, Brekker.”

He felt the weight of it, the cool steel pressing against his skin.

Then, slowly, he placed the knife on his desk and stepped toward her.

She backed away instinctively, but her wound betrayed her, her knees buckling, and she stumbled.

Kaz caught her before she could hit the ground, his gloved hand draped around her waist.

Her breath shuddered, their lips almost touching. “You’d do anything for your freedom, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers curled around his sleeve, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then kiss me.”

A command.

Kaz saw the shift in her eyes, the pull of her power curling around the words. But he had already anticipated it.

His fingers pressed into her wound.

She gasped, her body jolting as pain lanced through her. And then he kissed her.

His lips crashed against hers, sharp and unyielding, stealing the breath from her lungs. It was not soft or gentle. It was the same as everything Kaz did: calculated, precise, deliberate.

When they finally pulled away, she winced, a sharp inhale cutting through the silence. Kaz looked down.

Blood.

His hand was still pressed against her wound.

Understanding flickered in her eyes, then horror.

“When a Grisha is in pain, their powers don’t work,” Kaz murmured. “I knew you were about to command me.”

He had been pressing on her wound from the moment she stumbled. Not to hurt her. Not to stop her.

But to choose. To choose the kiss. To choose her.

Y/N’s hands trembled against his arm, the pressure he was applying making her even more dizzy.

“Kaz…”

He stepped back, his touch remaining as a ghost on her skin. The weight of the moment settled between them, thick and suffocating.

“I’ll deal with Pekka.”

Then, before she could say anything else, before she could look at him like that, he turned and walked away.

[undercover-grisha]

Kaz: “Alright, it’s come to my attention that your teachers don’t teach you about how the banking system works yet. A clear flaw in the Ketterdam education system, but luckily you have me as a father and I can teach you how banks work better than they could anyways.”

Aashvi Ghafa (5 year old):

Jordan Ghafa (8 year old):

Kaz: “Now, you’re going to come up to me and convince me to loan you this money.”

Aashvi: “Hello, Baba! Can I have the money?”

Kaz: “And why do you need it today, young miss?”

Aashvi: “Because I’m adorable.”

Kaz: “Fair point. Bad reason. Denied.”

Aashvi: “Because I’m very sick.”

Kaz: “Do you have your extended medical history, and a medik, and your prescriptions, and your insurance provider with you? No? Denied.”

Aashvi: “That’s not fair.”

Kaz: “Exactly.”

Jordan: “I’ll pay for her.”

Kaz: “You don’t have any money.”

Jordan: “Yes I do. I just took it from that table while Aashvi was talking to you.”

Kaz:

Kaz: “I am. So. Proud of you.”

[that-one-ostrich-friend]

hello!! i have a request for a kaz brekker fic if you’re feeling up to it!

I love the idea of kaz with a civilian/university!reader, so i was wondering if you could do something along those lines? maybe the reader is an academic and he comes to her for help with specific jobs? something domestic would be cute as well! (as domestic as kaz can be of course)

if you dont feel like writing it thats understandable! thank you :)

Pastries

kaz brekker x reader - pastries

word count: 1k

summary: a light night request calls for coffee and pastries

warnings: none

a/n: now i have a kaz fic that isn’t just angst!!

     The candle on Y/N’s desk flickered faintly as she bent over her notes, her fingers smudged with ink from hours spent untangling old Ravkan phrases for her linguistics assignment. Her dorm room was quiet except for the scratch of her quill and the occasional creak of the floorboards above. She paused, stretching her neck and glancing at the clock. It was nearing nine, and most of the other students had retreated to the university's common rooms or their beds.

     Just as she reached for her cup of tea—long gone cold—a knock echoed through her small room.

     She frowned. No one ever visited her this late.

     Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, Y/N crossed the room and unlatched the door. Standing on the other side was a figure she had come to know far better than she’d expected: Kaz Brekker, dressed in his usual somber attire, gloved hands occupied with a small paper bag and two cups of what looked—and smelled—like coffee.

     “Kaz?” Her surprise was evident in her voice. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

     His sharp gaze flickered past her, scanning the room briefly before meeting her eyes. “I have something for you to look at,” he said simply.

     Y/N raised a brow, leaning against the doorframe. “And pastries?” she teased, nodding toward the bag. “That part of the job, too?”

     Kaz’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. “Consider it a peace offering. Are you going to let me in?”

     She stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. He limped in, his cane tapping lightly against the wooden floor. Her dorm was modest but cozy: shelves filled with books, a small bed in the corner, and a desk cluttered with papers. It wasn’t exactly the sort of place she imagined Kaz Brekker spent much time, but he’d made a habit of showing up over the past few months with scraps of coded text or foreign phrases that needed translating.

     “You didn’t send word this time,” she remarked, closing the door behind him.

     “It couldn’t wait,” he replied, setting the bag and drinks down on her desk.

     Y/N smirked as she returned to her seat, glancing up at him. “And here I thought you just missed me.”

     Kaz said nothing, but his silence was telling. His gloved hand retrieved a folded piece of paper from his coat and handed it to her. “It’s in Zemeni this time,” he said.

     She unfolded it, scanning the neat but unfamiliar script. “Zemeni? That’s new for you.”

     “New job, new problems,” he replied, taking the seat opposite her.

     Y/N glanced at the pastries. “And you brought coffee,” she mused, pulling the bag closer. “You are trying to bribe me.”

     “You complain less when you’re eating,” Kaz said, his tone dry but his eyes betraying a flicker of amusement.

     Y/N laughed softly, reaching for one of the pastries. She broke it in half and popped a piece into her mouth, savoring the buttery, sweet flavor. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to be thoughtful.”

     Kaz sipped his coffee, saying nothing, but his ears reddened slightly at the edges.

     Y/N shook her head, smiling to herself as she turned back to the Zemeni text. “Let me see what you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

     The two of them fell into an easy rhythm, one that had grown familiar over the weeks. Kaz would present her with a text or a cipher, and she’d pore over it, occasionally asking him for context or clarification. Tonight was no different. As she worked, she couldn’t help but notice how quiet he was. Kaz was never particularly talkative, but tonight he seemed especially preoccupied.

     She glanced up from the page, catching him watching her. “You’re staring,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

     Kaz didn’t flinch, though a faint crease appeared between his brows. “You mutter to yourself when you’re reading,” he said.

     Y/N blinked. “I do not.”

     “You do,” he insisted.

     She smirked, leaning back in her chair. “And you’ve been paying enough attention to notice?”

     Kaz’s mouth opened slightly as if to respond, but no words came out. Y/N tilted her head, watching him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. For all his sharp wit and unshakable confidence, Kaz Brekker had a surprisingly difficult time with straightforward compliments—or any sign of vulnerability, for that matter.

     “Relax, Kaz,” she said softly, turning back to the text. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

     “Be careful,” he replied, his voice low but laced with a subtle warmth. “I might stop bringing pastries.”

     “Oh, don’t threaten me like that,” Y/N said with a grin, jotting down a few notes on the paper. “Now, about this Zemeni phrase. It’s a merchant code. See these symbols here? They indicate weights and measures. Whoever wrote this is trying to conceal shipment details.”

     Kaz leaned forward, his cane resting against the side of the desk. “Can you decode it?”

     “I already did,” she replied, sliding the paper back toward him. “It’s a list of cargo: textiles, spices, and—” She paused, her eyes narrowing at the final line. “Weapons.”

     Kaz’s expression darkened slightly. “Anything about where it’s headed?”

     “Not explicitly, but these markers here suggest it’s being transported by river. My guess is someone’s using the trade routes to smuggle contraband.”

     He nodded, his mind clearly working through the implications. Y/N watched him for a moment, marveling at the way his sharp mind seemed to move faster than anyone else’s.

     “Whoever wrote this must be pretty clever to use Zemeni as a cipher,” she mused. “Not many people in Ketterdam would bother to learn it.”

     Kaz looked up, his gaze piercing. “That’s why I came to you.”

     Y/N’s cheeks warmed slightly, though she kept her tone light. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Brekker.”

     “I don’t flatter,” he replied, his voice quiet but firm.

     For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N felt the weight of his words settle between them, heavier than the text or the pastries or the coffee. She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure of what to say.

     Kaz was the first to look away, his gloved hand reaching for the paper. “I’ll take this back,” he said, his tone brisk once more.

     “You’re welcome,” she said, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair.

     Kaz stood, his movements slow but deliberate. He picked up his cane, pausing at the door. “I’ll be back if there’s more to decode.”

     Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the desk. “Or if you run out of pastries to bribe me with.”

     He hesitated, his grip on the doorframe tightening. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

     “Goodnight, Kaz,” she replied, her voice softer now.

     She watched him leave, the sound of his cane fading down the hall. For all his sharp edges and carefully constructed walls, there was something undeniably human in the way he lingered.

     Y/N smiled to herself as she turned back to her desk, already wondering when he’d come knocking next.

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

Alternate Shadow and Bone idea: The sun summoner turns out to be an old lady from a quiet village, who sensing she didn't have long left to live, hired a skiff and decided to brave the journey through the Fold in hopes of seeing her estranged extended family on the other side. When the volcra attacked, her fear set her power free, which until then she was ignorant of because it only came out as burning things when she got frustrated with cooking. Because of lack of education in commoners, she too considered Grisha abnormal witches until she was taken to the palace by the extremely disappointed Darkling. She sees the Grisha children, orphaned, hunted and abused for existing anywhere else, the Darkling running around to keep the country from collapsing while the King sits on his ass and decides to do something worthy since she has practically waned away her whole life anyway.

Her training progresses slowly because of her age and not because "wahh, I can't live without Mal for a month". Also because she and Baghra have the biggest old lady beef and bicker all the time. She's a better mother figure to Aleksander than Baghra. Kills the stag with zero hesitation because she had to butcher animals and store the meat for long winters. Has beef with the Apparat as well and tells the brainwashed children that he gathered in a cult to wise up and go get a life. Doesn't blame Genya for doing what she had to to survive and doesn't guilt trip her to take her side. She understands because her parents married her off when she was young, fortunately her bastard of a husband died soon after. Becomes friends with Ivan because paranoid Darkling assigned him to keep her heartbeat and blood pressure in check, so the old sun summoner won't randomly die. Is not impressed with Nikolai when he comes back to Ravka at all. In her opinion, everybody has done more for Ravka than him and he doesn't get to swoop in, decide he wants to be King and take all the credit.

Ending: Either gives her powers up because she's old and tired of life or leaves after things settle down, continues living for centuries as a healthy old woman because of her powers and becomes a local legend like Baba Yaga. She and Aleksander keep in touch, he comes over for tea, пирог (pie) and advice.

[inayakaisen]

Hiraeth

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary: You're drunk and insecure, Kaz puts you to rights again.

[drunken comfort (if you can call it that), insecurity, yearning, desiderium]

You stumbled into Kaz Brekker's office high.

It'd been a moderately good day for you, as good as you could get, short university classes, no calls from your mother, a job gone smooth AND a little after party at the Crow Club with your best friends.

By heritage, Fjerdan-Ravkan, but Kerch to the core- you'd promptly called your roomie and told her you'd be late, giggling at her worried questions.

"Business", you hiccuped into the phone after your second drink. You were an unfortunate lightweight, but that hadn't stopped you from trying to match drink to drink with Jesper as Matthias watched on disapprovingly.

Kaz hadn't joined, like usual. The two of you had grown somewhat close over the years- bonded by time and proximity and tension. He seemed to genuinely tolerate you- even seek you out, when he was in a good mood. In return, you chattered his ear off and bestowed him with your company, healing, and Inferni skills. He'd never know, though. He'd never know about the times you'd risked your college career just to go on another job with him, the times you'd penned poems only to fling them all into the fire, all the boys and girls you'd rejected at college, telling them your heart belonged to someone else. He'd never know, you told yourself as you snuck glances at his dark hair, his siren eyes, the way his gloved hand moved across the smooth surface of yet another mansion floor plan.

"And what're you staring at?" He said, eyes still on the map. He'd let you stumble into his room, collapse into the divan beside his desk and watch him as he planned the next job, curiously not complaining.

"Definitely not you", you retorted, falling into the usual snap and retort banter routine that the two of you had followed over the years. "Do you get any sleep at all?"

"More than you", he responded, finally glancing at you. His gaze dragged over you in a way that sent a tingle down your spine, but you knew better than to get too excited. He saw you as nothing more than a comrade, a healer, a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

"How many shots?"

"Huh?" Your eyes snapped to him, still disoriented. You sat on the divan, cross cross applesauce, head leaned back against the high headrest, higher than God.

"Then why are you so drunk?" He seemed deadpan as always, his dark eyes fixed on you. You squirmed.

"I might have had two brownies...I didn't know they were the special kind."

His lips twitched, irritation and faint amusement written across his face. "Of course you did. Why stop at two? Why not eat the entire tray and wash it down with a barrel of rum?"

"I didn't know!" You said in a voice that might have bordered on whiny. Alcohol made you sappy, and you didn't know what drugs did. A deadly combination of the unknown and emotional. "Trust me."

"Luckily for you, ignorance isn't fatal." He dragged his cane across the floor, standing up. "This time , at least. How many fingers am I holding up?"

You squinted, his gloved hands mildly blurry without your glasses. Nina had taken them off as you'd been getting ready, telling you that an hour or two without them wouldn't do you any harm.

"..three?"

"Wrong." He snapped. "Four."

He stepped closer, though not close enough. That was the problem with him, you thought drunkenly. Always close, never close enough. He was an enigma that you'd tried to unravel, a closed book you wanted to open and read and run your fingers through.

Something that'd never happen.

One of his hands straightened the collar of your dress, gloved fingers barely brushing against the sliver of bare skin exposed at your neckline. Your favourite black top, the one you'd so carefully layered silver lockets on in hopes that Kaz might wander down to the bar and LOOK at you. He was looking at you now, but it was too late. Your hair had strayed from its styling, your lipstick was rubbed away.

"You're a mess." He said under his breath, voice as rocksalt as ever but sewn with mild concern, and something soft, something quite like endearment...or were you too far gone?

"Clean me up, then." You looked up at him, eyes half lidded, already drowsy. But you didn't want to be. You wanted it to last, for him to be gentle and kind to you, for this rare moment to linger. But that was a dream of a dream. Maybe you'd always be left hoping.

You could only catch the twitch of his lips as you drifted off, the way the expression in his eyes changed, mirroring yours- vulnerability, concern, endearment, gentleness. You drifted off, but you caught the last word he said as your eyes shut, quiet and gentle,

"Always".

[call-sign-shark]

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: A great healer, a terrifying heartrender, you are both the disease and the cure. With such a reputation, living on the run quickly becomes necessary for survival. When General Kirigan, ruler of the Shadow Fold, sets his eyes on you, he doesn't see just a weapon, but the key to his dark ambitions. And, most importantly, the echo to his shadows.

Words: 2.5k

TW: Mention of prostitution, child SA and murder, reader is physically described.

Part I - Keep Moving, Little Girl

Masterlist || Next

The Little Palace was veiled in an eerie calm, which wasn’t very usual for a place that crowded by both young promising Grishas and renowned, experienced ones. The luxurious wall, bathed in the golden light of dying embers, gave an almost supernatural aesthetic to the place.

General Aleksander Kirigan sat at his desk, his fingers steepled and his black eyes fixed on the fragile flicker of a single candle before him. The little flame danced, its body undulating as it struggled to keep the surrounding darkness away from the little bubble of warm light it created. The room was silent, save for the crackle of the hearth a bit further, and yet, despite this silence, the general’s mind was far from quiet.

He had heard the rumors countless times over the past few months – it had started with nothing more than vague accounts of a few people found dead in a mysterious and gruesome way, but the narrative slowly turned into a monstrous witch, her hair as white as frost, leaving death and blood in her wake.

At first, he dismissed them. Ravka was rife with tales of rogue Grisha, exaggerated to feed the fears of peasants and nobles alike. A chimera created by children to tell scary stories, or skillfully crafted clichés to create a deep-ingrained fear of Grisha by politics. But the more he ignored them, the more the whispers persisted: they spread like wildfire and grew darker with each retelling. The most recent account had given him a pause though: a Heartrender, they claimed, whose power was unlike anything ever seen. From what has been reported, the creature could control men as if they were marionettes, forcing them to turn on each other in a grotesque display of violence. One so-called survivor claimed that, with only a few movements of her hands, he saw his colleague forced to turn the barrel of his gun to his temples and shoot himself a bullet right through his brain. Aleksander had raised a brow at the statement:

Such abilities should not exist. Not without the cursed used of Jurda Parem.

Aleksander’s jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair. If the rumors were true, this woman was no ordinary Grisha. She was a weapon – an unrefined, dangerous force that needed to be claimed before it destroyed itself or got destroyed. And if she truly possessed the kind of power described, that little white-haired heartrender could be either a great asset to his cause or an uncontrollable threat that needed to be neutralized. Or rather, a problem that needed to be resolved.

The shadows around him stirred, as if sensing his thoughts, their tendrils coiling in anticipation. He, who was often too absorbed by his own plans, surprised himself when he realized that his mind raced through the topic of that wild sorceress, weighing risks and rewards, battling between curiosity and schemes. However, one thing had become certain: he could no longer ignore the whispers. He had to find her.

Kirigan rose from his seat, the folds of his pitch black kefta sweeping behind him as he crossed the room with hastened steps. He opened the door to find Ivan, who was waiting just outside, his stoic expression as adamant as ever.

“I need you to gather a small team,” The general said without preamble nor explanation. His voice was long and commanding, but Ivan could sense that he also seemed lost in his thoughts, “We’re leaving at first light.”

The tall Corporalki tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly – the only other expression he had in his palette. “May I ask for what purpose, General?”

“There’s a woman,” Kirigan replied, his tone laced with intrigue but also something darker Ivan couldn’t really pinpoint. “A Heartrender whose power surpasses anything we’ve encountered… At least if the stories told are true.” He paused, his lips curling into a faint and slightly calculating smile, “I must say that these latest accounts intrigued me. If she is what they say she is, she could change everything.”

“And if she’s not?” Ivan asked, his skepticism carefully measured. As much as he trusted General Kirigan, the tall Ravkan man with a stern face couldn’t help doubting. He was a man of facts – not of silly rumors.

Aleksander’s eyes darkened, the flicker of the candlelight reflecting in their dizzying depths. Eyes so black that no one could distinguish the pupil from the iris, “Then we’ll ensure the stories end with us.”  He turned back toward his desk without additional explanations, his mind already plotting the route, the approach, and the questions he would ask her.  Hair white as the purest snow, eyes as frozen as the deadliest ice desert…There was a part of him that wondered if she even existed, if this was nothing more than another ghost tale spun by frightened villagers. But another part – the darker, sicker and more desperate part – felt the faint pull of something undeniable. He wanted her to be real.

He needed her to be real.

In the back of his mind, General Aleksander Kirigan thought he could almost hear her, like a faint hum carried on the wind. The monster they spoke of wasn’t just some distant threat. She was out there waiting, somewhere in the Ravkan snow, all alone and vulnerable – and she didn’t even know she already belonged to him.

Your shrill scream resounded in the bedroom, bathed in the soft and muted light of Ravkan mornings. Confused, your chest heaved as though you had run for miles even though you had just woken up. Your body was damp, covered in a thin layer of sweat, some locks of hair sticking to your temples.

If there was one thing that plagued your dreams, turning them into terrific nightmares, it was that smell.

The Menagerie smelled of desperation, as Tante Heleen liked to call it. Or rather the awful combination of fun fair treats, sweat, and a dash of discreet, but still noticeable, fragrances of blood. It clung to the air just like the cheap perfume the girls were forced to wear, a sickly-sweet mask that tried hard to hide the rot that lay beneath. One full year had passed since you had escaped from this hellish place and yet, the impression this foul smell was still clinging to your skin and hair, no matter how roughly you washed or how scorching-hot the showers you took were, remained. You had known it your entire life, ever since you were left at its gate as a child.  As much as you tried, you couldn’t forget the way your tiny and cold hands tightened their grip around Tante Heleen’s skirt as the woman had dragged you inside, her soft voice cooing false kindness. Like a butcher leading a cattle through the death-smelling corridors of a slaughterhouse.

“You’ll grow into something beautiful,” Heleen had said, glancing at your long white hair while your own eyes surveyed the golden bars at the windows, though you were too young to understand why they were there as well as the malice behind the brothel Madam’s words, “A perfect White Tiger, ma petite chérie.” But the cruel truth was that beauty didn’t save anyone in the Menagerie. It only made you more of a prize to be shown off, sold to the highest bidder and then both used and abused. Beauty was nothing but a poison, a weapon Heleen turned against its bearer in this place made of gilded cages and broken spirits.

By your pre-teens, you had made quite a reputation: despite growing up in this foul nightmare, Tante Heleen never managed to break you entirely. Mastering the art of silence and deadly stares, your unyielding demeanor made you a source of fascination. The bruises on your porcelain skin faded away as quickly as the tears you refused to shed, never succumbing to the horrors clients would make you go through. The same clients who were willing to pay obscene sums not just to touch you but to try and tame you. The men who came for you were often the ones who wanted to conquer that defiance. The ones who wanted to make you scream. Still, you never gave them satisfaction. Worse, they often left more bruised than you because you did fight like a tigress. Even if they ended up overcoming you, your ice-cold eyes would bore into them, frozen and sharp, making even the most depraved feel as though they were the ones who were soiled. No, it wasn’t your beauty alone that drew attention; it was the air around you, heavy with something dangerous.

If being honest with yourself, you had to admit that most of the other girls at the Menagerie didn’t like you. Sometimes, you would catch them whispering about you, sometimes in awe, sometimes in jealousy, but most of the time it was in fear. Why? Because you were eerie. Unsettling, the least. Because you were something else with your pale skin – paler than the Fjerda wolf girl – and long white hair. With the slim hourglass figure and small height, which contrasted far too much with the hatred that burned in your void-like pupils. Besides, you never did much to befriend them: you didn’t weep after being summoned, didn’t cling to anyone for comfort and almost never gave yours to soothe the other poor animals’ pain. The only one you tolerated was the Suli Lynx.  

The unsease the others would feel around you only worsened when they discovered that you were a Heartrender. Frightening abilities that manifested themselves one night in an uncontrollable outburst, leading to someone’s brutal death.

The nightmare you had lingered, its remnants jagged and raw. The menagerie’s cages, the laughters, the sensation of hands that burned like brands – they had all dissolved into the room’s silence. “Memories. They are nothing but memories” you told yourself, yet the weight of your not-so-far-away past pressed against your chest like iron shackles.

“Miss, you shall leave the room by eight o’clock.” A voice spoke behind the thick wooden door of the bedroom you rented – a small barren room you had found shelter in for the night. It was no more than a shabby inn, with walls cracked and floorboards uneven. You took off the thin, tattered blanket from you and swung your legs over the side of the bed to sit on the mattress for a moment, your head in your hands. Your fingers trembled slightly, not from the cold but from the residues of the dream.

“Yeah, sure.” You mumbled, staring blankly at your boots sat by the door through your slim fingers, and the satchel rested on the old rocking chair, packed and ready to leave. Never unpacking, that was one of the rules you followed since you fled from the Menagerie.

Through the frosted window the snow was falling steadily. Frosty flakes swirled like restless ghosts in the early morning gloom, covering the world outside with a white coat that muffled every little sound. All of them except the relentless thumping of your heart, which threatened to burst your ribcage open.

The floor groaned under your weight as you stood and moved towards the small basin by the windows. Almost mechanically, you splashed your face with icy water, hoping for the cold to chase away the remnants of sleep. When you raised your head to take a look at the cracked mirror, the reflection that stared back at you seemed to belong to a stranger — diaphanous, long straight hair as pale as the snow, and eyes frighteningly empty. A doll’s face, your clients said. But no doll could house the kind of emptiness that simmered in your cursed blood, right?

You turned away, hating what you saw.

Minutes later, you were dressed, your boots were laced, and your long dark cloak pulled tightly around you. When you reached for the door, you caught yourself hesitating only briefly… Maybe you could stick around for a while this time… No.

Keep moving.

The cold hit you immediately as you stepped outside. The wind bit you through your cloak with such virulence that you couldn’t help clenching your jaw. And yet, you welcomed it, let it numb you.

Snow crunched beneath the sole of your boots as you walked on a little road, endless and uncertain. With one quick movement, you pulled your hood up and buried your face against the wind, going forward with determined steps. You didn’t know where you headed but you knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t stop moving for you had to put as much distance as you could between the Menagerie and you, and it wasn’t enough yet.

Alone in the forest you walk. Or were you really alone?

Even in this desolation, you couldn’t shake the unpleasant feeling that you were being watched. It was subtle – a whisper of unease that prickled at the back of your neck, making your hairs rise. As stupid as it sounded, you quickly glanced over your shoulder at the empty snowy forest behind you. Nothing stirred, no sound broke the quiet save for the howl of the wind… And still, the feeling lingered, like a cold thread winding through your thoughts. In a reflex you couldn’t quite control, your hand tightened around your cloak’s collar and shrunk into it, not knowing if it was to hide from the cold or from these unseen pair of eyes.

Keep moving.

Above the faraway howl of the wind, a faint whisper seemed to hum at the edges of your senses.

Then you felt it.

It resonated, too soft to be real, but to real to be a hallucination. You frowned as you walked faster, all your senses in alert. It wasn’t words, only a presence, dark and vast, like shadows stretching beyond the horizon.

Keep moving!  

You clenched your fists and tried your best to shove the thought away. It was certainly some kind of paranoia that had gotten into you, fed by lack of sleep, proper food and long-term shelter. A part of you rationalized, telling itself that no one had ever found you yet, and no one would ever, despite the little… troubles you left in your trail.

Your crystal eyes fixed on the road ahead, your steps quickening as if you could outrun the unease that was gnawing at your mind.

But far away, very far away in the distance, a man dressed in black was studying a map. His gloved finger, covered in the finest leather, hovered over a region he had marked in red himself. His lips curled into the faintest smile, as if he wasn’t used to.

“She’s close”, he murmured to the shadows with a voice soft and filled with a quiet satisfaction.

“Are you sure?” They whispered back

“I can feel her,” He replied, black eyes riveted onto the horizon.

Soon, he thought,

Very soon.

Please reblog and/or comment if you liked it. 🖤

taglist: @augustwookie

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Passing The Baton (Six of Crows One-Shot)

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: To your knowledge, your crush on Kaz is unrequited. Apparently this is not the case.

CW: Kaz is dumb but we love him

SAB/SOC Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Kaz ‘Dirtyhands’ Brekker. Bastard of The Barrel. Also- your unrequited love. Kaz had caught your eye just as he had caught everyone else’s. Everyone knew not to mess with the Dregs, and that was thanks to Kaz. Before he’d risen through the ranks of the club, the Dregs had been no one. Quite literally the dregs of society- and while, yes, that was where the name came from, it was quite the rise to fame as the Dregs started getting more and more popular, and more and more dangerous.

Even the Crow Club was starting to become a real pain in the other clubs’ asses. 

But Kaz? He’d fascinated you well before any of this. You’d been working at the Crow Club as a serving girl since before Kaz arrived. Not long, mind, but long enough before that you got to experience both sides of the Dregs’ fortune. 

Kaz hadn’t seemed to take much notice of you at first- and why would he? Weren’t you just another serving girl being groped by the drunk patrons? Anything to make a few Kruge. But he did take notice when you threatened to cut the balls off a patron when said patron got a little too handsy one day.

He’d taken you back into his office and thwacked his cane on the table hard enough to scratch the varnish and told you rather harshly to never do that again. To come to him next time there was an issue like that and he’d deal with it… discretely. 

What that had meant was clear only to Kaz, and that was fine by you. But that was when your little crush had really taken off. What could you say? You liked a bad boy. Someone who could handle his own and Kaz could definitely handle his own. Cane or no. 

Despite telling you off, Kaz had clearly taken note that you weren’t afraid to get your hands a little dirty either, something he had an appreciation and mutual respect for. And so you went from lowly serving girl to, well, still a serving girl, but a serving girl who also took jobs for Dirtyhands and worked with him to secure patronage for the club, and Kruge for his and your own pockets. And for Per Haskell’s pockets as well, you supposed. Lazy bastard. 

But you longed for more.

 

You longed for Kaz’s touch, for his lips on your skin. You longed for his affections as much as you longed for his approval. It was a dangerous combination.

As far as you could tell, he did not feel the same way. But then again, would you have ever known otherwise? Kaz kept his cards close to his chest- as he should. 

Today seemed different though. You’d barely made it back from a job and Kaz seemed… angry, to put it lightly. You had no idea why, though, considering you got what he wanted, and made it out alive, too. Win-win. 

Inej may have had to save you, but that was beside the point. 

“You need to be careful,” he said, mouth pursed angrily. “You can’t be making reckless choices and silly mistakes. This is The Barrel. I can’t afford mistakes.” 

You met his harsh gaze head-on and shoved the ledger he’d asked for into his chest with vigour. Kaz didn’t even break the gaze between you, just reached with one gloved hand to take the ledger off you. 

“I got what you wanted, didn’t I?” 

A muscle in Kaz’s jaw twinged. 

“That is not the point.” 

You let out an exasperated scoff, removing your hand from his chest with another soft shove. Surprisingly, Kaz lets the action move him. 

“Then what is the point?” You ask, frustration evident in your features. 

“The point is- oh, for Saints’ sake,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We could have lost you. I could have lost you.” 

Your eyebrows practically disappeared into your hairline. 

“You could have lost me…” you trail off, echoing his words, feeling them out for hidden meanings. 

“You’re a good investment. I don’t like to lose investments.” 

Oh. Okay. An investment. You should have known that that was all you were to him. That’s all you were ever going to be to Kaz no matter how much you wished differently. Ridiculous. 

“Of course,” you reply, turning to walk away. “Your investment needs a dri-hey!” 

Kaz’s gloved hand snatches at your forearm and yanks you back towards him. You re-balance yourself and glare at him, looking between the tight grip he has on your arm and his heated glare. 

“Stop,” he says before forcing his features to soften. “I’m not one for feelings.” He practically shudders through the word. “You’re more than that. An investment, I mean.” 

You stay quiet, not giving him anything to work with here, but you’re surprised he can’t hear the uptick in your heartbeat. 

“Look,” his grip loosens. “I don’t want to lose you. Purely selfish reasons. Not because you’re an investment, but-” Kaz clears his throat and avoids eye contact. “I care for your wellbeing.” 

It’s not an outright declaration of love, but it’s about as close to it as someone like Kaz would give. He’d bared his soul to you here. All the fractured, broken pieces of it. He’d bared his heart for you to treasure or smash into bitty little pieces. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“Are you saying you have feelings for me?” 

Kaz grunts and lets go of your arm. You brush your fingers over where he’d just touched you. 

“I suppose so, yes,” he said, eyes flitting to the door like he was thinking about making a run for it. 

“Don’t suppose it would interest you to know I felt the same way, would it?” 

And there it was. Passing the baton back to Kaz. Passing your heart in return for his. Now it was he who held the power to treasure or smash you into pieces. 

Kaz finally met your gaze, and his lips ticked up into a small smirk.

“Oh, I knew that.”

[ladyniniane]

Share 5-10 facts about the OC most on your mind right now

Thank you for the ask✨!

Here are 10 facts about my Shadow and Bone OC, Marya! Her story can be read here for those interested.

Marya was born into serfdom. As such, she was bound to her owner's lands and could technically be bought and sold at will.

Standing at 170cm, she's tall for someone who couldn't always eat properly. It runs in the family, as her mother is tall and a force of nature.

She was never afraid of the dark as a kid. A hint of the powers that she would later develop.

She loves legend and fairytales and frequently references them.

Even though she knows how to read, she struggled with writing when arriving at the Little Palace.

Used to harsh routines, she adjusts quickly to military life and finds a sense of purpose in it.

She likes wearing black the most.

Though she's good with kids, she doesn't want to have any.

Her goal is to obtain her family's freedom. Her parents are still alive, but she lost her little sister, something that terribly affected her.

In typical responsible big sister fashion, she's good at taking care of others. However, she hates being bed-ridden and doing nothing. I feel like she could be the worst patient ever.

[0itmelex0]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE day four ❯❯ twisted

featuring lorenzo willingham adrik turgenev as a high ranking heartrender; a devout and loyal soldier of the darkling

[justmoreocs-writing]

‘Zari,’ Nikolai breathed, and she barely had time to look towards him before she was held in an embrace. His arms wound tightly around her. For once, she couldn’t smell his aftershave but rather dirt and blood and all the things she’d hoped they’d left behind them. All the things that were meant to be confined to the past so they could live their lives for themselves.

But he was king now. Life didn’t work out that way.

Carefully, Zariyah pried herself away from him. The world still went on around them, and already Dima was talking to some of his little entourage, reminding them that the king wasn’t in danger from her.

‘Thought you knew to behave better than that,’ she chastised softly, her attention skimming over him. There were no additional outward wounds on him that she could see. His hands were covered with the gloves he still wore to hide the scars. Scars she wished he didn’t shun because they proved he survived. That he was a fighter, a soldier, rather than some pampered prince like everybody teased him for. She understood his reasons, but it still hurt as a reminder.

‘Never,’ he teased gently. ‘Zari –’

‘Niko,’ she signed, keeping her mouth shut tightly and knowing that for once she was grateful people at the palace could never be bothered to try properly communicating with her mother. ‘What happened?’

Something shuttered behind his eyes. She saw his throat bob with a swallow. Never before had she seen Nikolai Lanstov speechless when he should have so desperately wanted to let the words tumble. For so long there had been no secrets between them, and with Dmitry as well.

‘Nikolai,’ she signed, a little more urgently this time. She wouldn’t force him to tell her, not if he wasn’t ready to, but she felt the need to remind him that she was there. No matter what hell he’d lived through, she wouldn’t balk at him because he was her best friend.

Instead of saying anything, Niko pulled her in for another hug. His chin rested carefully on the top of her bowed head.

‘We’re still here,’ she mumbled against his shoulder.

She felt him place a soft kiss on the top of her head before he pulled away. ‘We’re still here,’ he signed, though there was no hiding the sadness behind his eyes that broke her heart more than she thought possible.