#merzost 3

[aleksanderscult]

Mal after seeing Alina for the first time in 2-3 months happy, healthy, strong: "oH mY gOd WhaT ArE YoU WeArInG?? YoU BeLoNG tO HiM NoW?? I CaN SeE YoU'Re HavInG a GoOd TIme hERe!!"😑😠

The Darkling after Alina ditched him twice, tried to kill him twice, the second time by using merzost and throwing a chapel on his face: "Here take this throne beside me, be my Tsarina. You were so hot that night.😩🔥 Also *takes out engagement ring* will you marry me?"🥺🖤❤️

[maimingaffairs]

HII IM DEEPLY AMAZED BY UR WRITINGS CUZ U GOT ME GIGGLING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL AND KICKING MY LEGS. ANYWAYS!!

I would like to request angst to fluff for Aleksander where they were past lovers but reader was killed just like what happened to Luda. Eventually on the present time (Alina's timeline ig), during the winter fete, Aleksander saw reader's face as Alina was doing her magic showcase ig and Aleksander followed reader outside (maybe for fresh air) and then thats when reader started getting flash backs maybe a headache (DO UR MAGIC HERE LOVE) and maybe when whe wakes up, he's asleep by her side and she just says "Sasha?" in that sweet tone and ALL FLUFF

(SORRY IF THIS WAS A BIT LONG, IM KINDA HAVING AN ENERGY OUTBURST)

hi my anon baby <3 i worked on this for a couple of days. sorry it’s so late!!! i feel as if i’ve seen a couple fics like this and i tried to make it as different as i could while still staying within the margins of your request… i hope it’s okay.

warnings: canon typical violence, character death (kind of?) blood, angst, fluff, all of it. just all of it.

word count: 4.7k

of Wildflowers & Damnation

(aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

-

Some days were easier than others. Just as on the other side of the coin, some days were harder. Inconveniently, today happened to be one of the harder days for Aleksander. He tried to reason with himself often that after nearly five hundred years of living, that he shouldn’t be so affected by loss anymore. 

That didn’t make it any easier, unfortunately. He’d lost so much in his life, that he didn’t mourn so heavily, and then he’d lost you. 

He’d met you nearly two hundred years after the creation of the fold, and to say he loved you would be to say it was only a bit cold in the arctic, which is to say, it was a gross understatement. He loved you more deeply than he ever knew was possible, and perhaps that’s why it was so terribly hard to accept even all these years later, that you just weren’t alive any longer, while he lived on. 

He had tried to bring you back, he really did. Much to his mother’s dismay, for the second time in his life, he resorted to the use of merzost to heal you. But you never woke. 

Aleksander stood silently near his door. It was nearly time for him to find Alina, to join the festivities at the Winter Fete, to show the country’s most influential just how powerful the Sun Saint really was. He knew it was time to go, but his mind wouldn’t rest.  It wouldn’t stop replaying your last day with him. 

-

The two of you walked hand in hand through the forest that was just behind your small home. Aleksander wasn’t normally one for such plain and domestic types of endeavors, but the wildflowers were blooming in the valley at this time of year, and he wanted nothing more but to see you smile at them, as you did every year before that. 

“Do you have a favorite flower, Sasha?” You had asked him softly and looked up at him with a big grin. You better than anyone knew that he wasn’t much of a flower person, but the question was still on your mind as you walked together. 

He thought to himself for a moment as he peered down at your excited face and then he shrugged, “Oh, there’s too many to choose from, my lovely. Perhaps a dandelion.”

“Dandelions are weeds, Aleksander.” You pointed out and he shook his head and nudged your side. 

“They still bloom, do they not?”

You didn’t seem to like this answer, because you simply huffed under your breath and gave his hand a little squeeze, “Okay but I meant a real flower. Not a little yellow weed.” You insisted. 

He thought for a moment longer and then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, “Alright. Poppies.” He finally conceded and you seemed to like this answer much more than the last, because you hummed and sidled up to him sweetly, your head resting against the side of his arm. 

“Poppies. I would’ve taken you for a rose person.” You mused. 

“And why roses?” He asked, curious to hear your response. 

“Because. They’re terribly beautiful, but you wouldn’t dare just grab one recklessly. They’re covered in thorns. You have to be gentle with them, work around the thorns. Then it’s yours to have. Kinda like you. Just gotta work around your thorns.” You replied and then let out a tiny giggle, “At least, that’s what I did. Seemed to work out just fine for me.” 

Your words made his chest feel as if it was flooding with impossible new amounts of affection for you and he stopped the two of you where you walked and he leaned down to delicately wrap both of his arms around your waist. You eagerly wrapped your tiny arms around his shoulders and he moved down a bit more, closer to your level. 

To Aleksander, you were the sweetest thing in the world. Everything from your kind smile to your fiery attitude made him swell with love for you. To love and be loved in return was such a strange concept for him to grasp. Especially when the returned love was given by such a gentle soul such as yourself. He often found himself unworthy of such a love, unworthy of your kindness, your care, your acceptance. You knew of his past transgressions, yet you loved him anyways, always insisting that mistakes get made. Everyone messes up. To the world, he was The Darkling. The Black Heretic. A wicked man with a soul as dark as his eyes. That version of himself even existed in his own mother’s eyes. But to you, he was simply Aleksander. 

He held you even tighter now and he buried his face in your hair for a long time before he slowly pulled away from you and brought his hands up to delicately cup your face. He held your face so gently as if he was convinced it would shatter between his fingers and he watched your eyes, fascinated by you. 

“What a sweet little thing, you are. What did I ever do in this life to have been blessed with such a love?” He asked softly, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours a few times. 

“If I had to guess, it might have had something to do with your sympathy for weeds. I suppose they need love too.” You teased, and he didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your teasing before he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. You kissed him back and placed your hands on top of his, letting out another little giggle into his mouth. He pulled back and watched you in amusement, a smile spreading across his own face. 

“What could you possibly be laughing at during a moment like this?” He asked and you scrunched your nose up and patted the backs of his hands a few times. 

“Your beard tickled my lip.” You replied gleefully, your eyes meeting his in a mirthful gaze. 

He slowly pulled away from you and took your hand again, pulling you into his side as the two of you started to walk once more, “Shall I cut it then?” He asked and chuckled. 

You practically skipped alongside him as the two of you walked and you shook your head, “No. I think you look handsome. But you might need a haircut soon. You’ve got bangs nearly.” You pointed out and reached up with your free hand to push a strand of hair away from his eyes, “Don’t worry. I can do it for you.” You added and laid your head against the side of his arm once again. 

He laced his fingers in between yours and gave your hand an affectionate squeeze as he led you down along the dirt path, “How have your lessons with my mother been going?” He asked. 

It was your turn to nearly roll your eyes now and you took a quick glance up at Aleksander, “Well. She doesn’t like me much, and I’m still not very good at controlling my fire so… to be continued. Maybe. I don’t know. Perhaps I just don’t want to learn anymore. I have no use for these powers.” You replied and tapped the side of his hand with your pinky finger. 

You were an Inferni, a poor one at that. Normally Aleksander would protest and tell you to embrace your gift but he didn’t this time, resigning to let you speak your mind. If you didn’t want to pursue your abilities, he wouldn’t force you, “I don’t think she dislikes you.” He replied down at you finally. 

“Oh, I think she does. She’s always got a backhanded comment locked and loaded just for me.” You argued with a little sigh. 

Aleksander knew it wasn’t you that she disliked in specific. It was just the fact that his mother disliked the fact that he was selfish enough to let himself love you. She always insisted that he’d ruin you, just like the girl he loved before you. She insisted that he wasn’t meant for you, always telling him to set you free before he inadvertently broke your wings. Deep down, he knew his mother was right. She usually was. But he couldn’t bring himself to ever make you leave. Not now. He was too far in. 

He shook his head a couple of times and sighed, “She’s not exactly inviting. But that’s not to say she dislikes you. Don’t pay her any mind, my love.” He replied and then brought your intertwined hands up to his lips so that he could place a few light kisses to your knuckles.

He lowered your hands back down between the two of you once again and he glanced up over the hill in the distance. You two were nearly to the small valley and he could tell your excitement was growing, because your steps got more hurried and you occasionally would let out giddy squeals and hums. 

A snap of a stick on the path behind you had Aleksander sweeping you in front of him as he turned around to survey the area. The two of you had stopped walking now and he looked around behind both of you, finding nothing. 

“What was that?” You asked quietly and glanced up at your lover, feeling a bit uneasy. 

“I’m not sure, darling.” He replied cautiously and turned back around to glance down at you. 

Your eyes were already fixed up on his face. You didn’t look scared, but you didn’t look like you felt too secure either, and he didn’t blame you. Something had shifted in the forest around you two, there was a strange feeling. You grabbed onto his arm tightly and you gave it a little tug. 

“Sasha, we don’t have to go any farther. We can head back home now.” You whispered, but he shushed you softly and turned back around slowly to check the path behind the pair of you. 

A small snapping sound came again, but this time it was now in front of the two of you. There was a little shuffle and another snap and he felt you yank his arm again.

“Aleksander.” 

He turned around as your grip on his arm loosened and he looked down at your face, which was now drained of color. You wobbled a bit and fell forward onto him, and he swiftly caught you with a shocked exclamation of your name. 

He held you upright and that’s when he saw the arrow that had lodged itself in your back and stuck out through your chest. He wildly looked around and had spotted two men in thick furs darting out from behind a tree. Drüskelle. He had barely a second to move the two of you before they let loose another arrow and he retaliated quickly. 

One of the men let out a yell in their native tongue and Aleksander wasted no time in quickly diving down to the ground with you as another arrow flew. He gently sat you up against one of the small trees on the edge of the path and turned around, and with zero hesitation, finished the two men off easily with The Cut. As they fell to the ground, he looked around for more. When none came, he turned to you and scooped you up into his arms as quickly as he could, not daring to pull the arrow from your chest quite yet. 

“Hey, hey. Y/n. You’re going to be alright.” He insisted. 

But the way your head lolled to the side weakly made him think otherwise. You didn’t respond to him, but you looked up into his eyes, tears beading in the corners of yours. 

“We’re going home. I’m taking you to my mother, we can fix this.” He promised and didn’t wait a single second more before he was dashing off down the path with you hanging all but limply in his arms. He could feel the warmth of your blood seeping through the sleeve of his shirt and he grit his teeth, refusing to let himself panic. You were going to be okay. You had to be. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Aleksander was going to let you go now that he had finally found you after years upon years of being alone. He didn’t notice the tears gathering in his own eyes until they were falling down his cheeks and you let out a distressed sound.

“No, Sasha. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.” You whispered hoarsely, and the sound of your voice only made it worse.

He ran straight out of the forest and through the field behind your home before he finally ran through the back door. He laid you down on your side atop the round wooden table in the middle of the room and he yelled for his mother, who came shortly after he called. 

“Mother. We need to do something. Drüskelle, in the forest attacked us, and they-“ he started frantically, only to be cut off by the older woman.

“There is nothing you can do, Aleksander.” She said shortly and then shook her head, “We don’t have a healer nearby. We aren’t healers ourselves.”

He looked over at you, and you seemed so much smaller than usual now, curled up on the table with an arrow still protruding from your back, “Mother, there has to be a way. I will not let my lover die.” 

“There is no way. There is no natural way for us to save lives. You know this. Bid her goodbye.” She said sternly. 

His head perked up a bit and he reached out to make sure you were still alive by touching your pulse. 

Weak, but still there. Just barely. 

“But I can. I can do it, I’ve practi-“ 

“You cannot!” She protested and held her hand up to her son, “You will not! You will take whatever time you have left and say goodbye, for it is only the way of life. We see life come and go and we remain. Not even you can change that. I’ll give you space. That is final.” Baghra said sharply and turned on her heel to leave the two of you alone. 

Aleksander was at your side in half a second, and he crouched down to be level with your face. Tears were rolling across your face and your lip trembled fearfully. 

“It doesn’t hurt, Sasha. Don’t worry about me please.” You whispered and he reached out to brush tears from your eyes. 

“I’m going to fix this. Okay? You aren’t going to die today. I swear it.” He promised, but his faith was running thin. He reached out and he grabbed your arm gently and held you in place, “I’m going to remove the arrow, okay? And then we’re going to heal you.”

“You are not a healer, Aleksander. Don’t do this.” You begged softly and he looked down into your eyes again. He pursed his lips and shook his head a few times. 

“I won’t lose you. I won’t walk this earth without you by my side, do you understand?”

“No, Aleksander, no.” You protested, trying your best to sound stern like Baghra had, but your voice faltered and he knew you didn’t have much time left. 

He ignored your protests and grabbed hold of the arrow and quickly pulled it out of your back, and whatever voice you had left was spent on the wail you let out as your blood began to freely spill out over the table. He quickly threw himself over you, only to find you shaking. He looked down at your face to learn that your shaking was from your silent sobs and he frowned deeply. 

He was going to save you. It was going to be alright. 

He closed his eyes and placed his hand over the bleeding hole in your back, wracking his brain for the strength to use the magic so forbidden that had been abused by his ancestor, to heal you. To save you. 

He let out an agonized yell and finally felt the same cold, pricking sensation spread through his veins that had occurred the day he created The Fold. He felt stinging in his fingertips as he pushed out everything he could from his hand into your wound. Into you. 

At long last, the stinging stopped and subsided, and Aleksander realized you’d gone still under his touch. He felt a little splash of relief and he turned you around onto your back, only to find your eyes closed. He felt his face drain of all color and he shakily reached up to feel your pulse against your throat. 

Nothing. 

To say the days following were that of pure anguish was to put it lightly. He’d taken you to the valley of millions and millions wildflowers and laid you to rest there. At least he knew you’d be somewhere you loved. 

For weeks after your death, Baghra was full of warnings and disappointment for him, chastising him for using merzost once more. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done, Aleksander. You may have very well not healed your lover, but you don’t know what you’ve done. This will come back to you one day. You will regret it. There will be punishment.” She warned.

Not that he cared. 

“Let me regret it. Let it haunt me for the rest of my days, woman. It’s not the only ghost that hangs above my head, now.”

-

You didn’t recall much. At all. All you knew is that one day you suddenly did recall, as if it was the beginning of your life. 

Amnesia the doctor called it. You’d likely had a head injury and forgotten things, that’s all. 

Whatever you were before, whatever life you led, it was erased from your mind without a single clue as to what it had been prior. In the last few years that you started recalling, you’d worked as a dress maker in the city of Ketterdam. When one of your clients had graciously invited you to come to Ravka’s Winter Fete with her and her daughter in trade of two elegant gowns for them, you’d accepted her offer immediately. 

So there you stood, in the hallway of the crowded Ravkan palace, eyes traveling the faces of everyone who passed by. The two girls you’d attended with had gone off to greet the royal family, and you’d stayed back, opting to survey the crowd instead. You’d heard word that the Sun Summoner was going to be putting on a display in only a few short moments, and just as the thought crossed your mind, it all began. It started with a whirlwind of activity, and you watched the Grisha throughout the room showcase their abilities skillfully, and the sight invoked a strange feeling deep within your chest. You had the sudden urge to bring your hands together just as they did, feeling as if you could perform alongside them. You fought the urge back and flexed your hands a bit at your sides, shaking off the strange feeling.

Your eyes travelled to the front of the room and they fell upon a girl and a man, standing shoulder to shoulder, both wearing black. You assumed it was the Sun Summoner and who you had heard to be General Kirigan, the fierce Ravkan general who also happened to be Grisha. As the pair began their display of power, you felt your head begin to ache dully, and once the Sun Summoner’s light lit up the entire room, the pain in your head only grew sharper. 

Everyone in the room seemed to be filled with excitement, and as the display was done, the volume seemed to increase tenfold, making you clutch your head between your palms. 

The pair at the front of the room turned around and when you saw The General’s face, you blinked a few times. A thought clawed at the inside of your mind, begging to be let free. But you didn’t know how. You didn’t even know what it was. He seemed to notice you shortly after you noticed him, and you could’ve sworn you saw a look of complete astonishment cross his face as quick as a flash of lightning.  

Suddenly the room seemed to blur out as if in your periphery and you gasped as little flickers of imagery flashed behind your eyes. 

A field of flowers, the darkest eyes you’d ever seen, and fire. You furrowed your brow together and you leaned your hand up against the nearest wall, your chest rapidly rising and falling with short, quick breaths. Disorientation fell upon you and you found yourself stumbling through the crowd of partygoers and out of the room. The bustling hallway was a struggle for you to navigate, but you eventually prevailed and found the door to the courtyard. You all but went falling out the door and you stumbled clumsily until you reached grass and you held your hand to your chest as you stopped running. You felt sick to your stomach and your hands began to feel clammy and you swore that you heard someone calling your name- though you were unsure how you knew the name was yours- because you hadn’t been called by it before. You couldn’t even respond in anyway before your eyes rolled back into your head, and you were collapsing backwards towards the ground. 

-

Aleksander felt insane when he followed you out of the palace. He’d had days where all he could do was think of you, but never once had he seen your face anywhere but his mind. He called after you, but you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did, you didn’t respond. He walked briskly up to you just in time to watch you collapse, and he lunged forward to catch your falling body in his arms awkwardly. The strange angle at which he held you up at made you look so small and fragile, and he hoisted you up into his arms. It couldn’t be you. There was no possible way it could have been. He didn’t dare look down at your face for a few moments, standing there in the courtyard with his jaw set firmly. 

Finally, he did dare to look down, and when he did, he almost found himself collapsing with you. Sure, you were unconscious and your hair had become a bit tousled, but there was no mistaking the face that he saw. It was yours. His y/n. 

He looked around wildly, trying to come up with an explanation for the mere fact that his very dead lover was here. How you were here. He buried you. He reached up with one hand and he brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheeks. He refused to let himself feel relieved or happy or excited. If this was the punishment his mother had promised him years ago, he wouldn’t give in. But he couldn’t just leave you. Not out here, not like this. He stood with you in his arms for a while longer in contemplation before ultimately deciding he’d take you back to his chambers and wait for you to wake. If you woke. Then he’d proceed to ask who you were, to figure out what was happening. 

He carried you off through the night towards the nearly deserted Little Palace, and once inside, he made a beeline for his bedroom. Once he reached the shelter of his room, he closed the door fast and locked it, looking around to make sure no one was inside. He promptly walked you to his bed and laid you out on it, staring down at you. The urge to lay at your side was consuming his every thought and he ground his teeth together, fighting back a round of tears. 

Yours was the face he saw when he fell asleep. Every night. Some dreams were pleasant. You and him in the flowers, or even in bed together, happily. He’d hear your laugh, your hums, your sweet voice… all of it. Some dreams were not so kind, and these were the ones where he relived your last moments over and over again. 

His endless patience had seemed to run out and his will to remain complacent broke. He’d take the pain of having to lose you again if this wasn’t real, he’d be damned all over again to feel the emptiness of your loss if only just a moment of his time could be spent by your side one last time. 

So he kicked off his boots and removed his black decadent kefta, and he slid down into the bed next to you, his eyes not leaving your face once. He reached out across the minimal space he gave between the two of you and he grazed his fingertips across your cheekbones, up into your hair, down the side of your neck and along your jaw. Everywhere. He traced the outline of your lips and he swiped the pad of his thumb across your chin. Not a single thing had differed from his memory. If you’d told him he’d plucked you out from behind his eyes and laid you out in front of him, he would’ve believed it. 

Oh yes, if he was to be damned with the consequences of trying to save you, then he’d take them. He’d take them graciously if it meant one last night at your side. 

-

He was unsure of when he fell asleep, but he didn’t ever realize that he had until he felt hands on his face. His eyes shot open and he expected sunlight to light up his room, but instead it was dark, with only a glimmer of silver light filtering through the window. He frantically looked across from him on his bed and he reached up to push the hands away from his face, but once his eyes focused in the moonlit room, he dropped his hands and found himself lost in your eyes instead. 

Your hands stayed against his cheeks and you seemed to be at a loss for words. He knew the feeling well. It was mutual. 

The state of unconsciousness you had fallen into had been one of unrest. Memories upon memories began to flood your head all at once. Still, you were unaware of how you were alive and how you had come to be unearthed, but you assumed it must have had something to do with the merzost that you so vehemently opposed him using. 

He reached out to touch your face so gently, as if he thought you were only a figment of the moonlight and would disappear underneath his touch. When you didn’t, he let out a sigh, one that sounded terrified and relieved all at the same time. You couldn’t find your voice while you stared at him, your mouth wanting to form a thousand words all at once. 

Until it settled on just one.  

“Sasha?”

To Aleksander, this was the sweetest sound he’d heard in his entire long life, and he couldn’t help the tears that loosed themselves from his eyes. He could only nod in response as he wrapped his arms around your small form and he pulled you against his chest. 

If this was damnation, then he’d embrace it with open arms, and if this was a second chance to save you from the consequences of his past, then he’d do better this time. Whatever the case may be, he wasn’t going to leave this room until he was sure you wouldn’t evaporate into nothing. He laid his hand ever so protectively against the back of your head and he leaned his own head down until his lips touched your hairline. He could’ve whispered a million things to you at that moment, promised you everything, sung you praises and profess his love until he ran out of the breath to do so with, but he’d never been one for that many words all at once. So he leaned down to press his lips against yours, and it said everything he couldn’t all at once. He pulled back slowly and he tipped your head back a bit so that he could gaze down at your face, unchanged by all this time. 

And so he uttered out a promise, one that he intended to keep this time, no matter the cost.

“Yes, my sweet girl. It’s me, and I will never lose you again.” 

[thetimetraveler24]

The thing that really upsets me about Shadow and Bone being canceled is we will never find out what happened with David. Because there’s no way you can convince me that he died.

First of all, the shadow monsters don’t eat people. Even when they killed Vasily, there was still two halves of his body left over. There was nothing with David. No body, not even a finger. That’s suspicious.

Second, David is supposed to be the very best Durast of the Grisha. And with Sankta Neyar AND Jesper, the show made a huge deal about Durasts being a lot more powerful and resourceful than you might think. So you expect me to believe that David wouldn’t be able to do that when Jesper (who doesn’t even try or want to keep up with training his abilities) can do a fantastic job on his first try?

I don’t know what the plan was, but I firmly believe that David was going to turn out to be alive and it would have something to do with the conflict in season 3. Possibly something to do with Alina’s trade off with merzost. Obviously the shadow cut was part of that trade off, so I don’t think a life for a life would be how that works since that’s an equal price plus more with the shadow powers. Something happened to David, he’s still alive, but in what state and where he might be, I have no idea.

Reread this and I think it’s totally possible that David could have ended up getting caught up in the jurda parem experiment stuff. I had guessed that was how they would tie in the Crows because that would give way to the Ice Court Heist and everything. That actually seems plausible. I kind of really do think that would have been the plan. I just with we’d gotten to see it.

[cinebration]

The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Part 4]

The Darkling tries to learn a little more about your origins, only to have the tables turned on him.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

Tags: @don-daygamerz​, @weallhaveadestiny​, @kaqua​, @sinful-wxrld​, @ashdab2611​, @ultarviolence​, @chodingcreature​, @demonenotturno​, @crowssixof​, @mxacegrey​, @dreamlandcreations​, @s-r-reads​, @byulsrecs​, @peleksstuff​, @seraferna​, @imtherain​, @vexedvalerie​, @rayrlupin​, @peakyispunk​, @itsyaspwr​

Warnings: blood, violence

Gif Source: ethanhunt

The closer the Darkling drew to the Fjerdan border, the colder the air grew, his breath pluming out before him in white clouds whipped away by a sharp wind. The cold hardly bothered him, perhaps because darkness and cold often paired together, but still a chill worked itself into his bones.

Glancing aside at you, he wondered if the chill were not your doing, a ploy to weaken him or unnerve him. His gaze dropped to your hands lightly holding the reins of your horse. What other power did you conceal? What could you do without touching a body?

“Where have you been all this time?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Prior to arriving in Ravka. Where have you been?”

“Does it matter?”

Uneasiness prickled beneath his skin. “It does.”

“I’m neither from Fjerda or Shu Han. Does it matter if I’m from Kerch or Novyi Zem?”

Unbidden, the voice of Baghra echoed in his ears. “Origins are important.”

“Are they?” A note of humor lightened your voice. “I would think sometimes origins are best left forgotten.”

“Why?”

“Because the stories that grow up in their place are oftentimes better.”

Frowning, the Darkling cast another wary glance at you, wondering yet again where your strange ideas originated. Who had taught you such unusual thoughts? Had you learned it, or had you been born with it?

“Take, for instance, the Black Heretic.”

The Darkling’s blood turned frigid. Not daring to look at you, his voice dangerously level, he asked, “Oh?”

“What do they say about him? That he created the Fold because he craved too much power? That he was greedy?”

The Darkling’s hands tightened on the reins. “Yes.”

“They say that because they fear him. They fear the power that he so beautifully displayed, because they can’t begin to fathom such raw merzost.”

“You dare…” Swallowing thickly, he tried again. “You dare to speak positively of the Black Heretic.”

“He is the epitome of courage, daring to reach beyond anything done before.”

“Courage?” He almost laughed to hear it. “No one has ever labeled the Black Heretic courageous.”

“Because they are cowards. Fear has even Grisha cowering when they should be the ones who are feared.”

Your words rang out clearly across the snow-covered clearing opening up before you both. The fort was still an hour away, and the moon had risen to its peak in the sky, casting silver light through the trees.

“I agree,” the Darkling heard himself say, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the eerie silence blanketing the area. “Grisha are not nearly respected enough.”

“Because they keep to the lines,” you muttered.

“The lines?”

Rolling your eyes, you affected a simpering voice. “Oh, I’m a Healer, I can only help people. My poor Fabrikator’s hands only work on metals and fabrics.” A snort of disgust ripped itself from your throat. “There is a severe lack of imagination among Grisha.”

Something shifted in the Darkling’s chest, brushing cold fingers along both excitement and fear. “Yes, the Grisha are capable of greatness. With amplifiers—”

You snorted again, shook your head. “They don’t need amplifiers to be creative. They may be limited, but with enough practice, with enough willpower—”

You cut yourself off, pulling hard on the reins of your horse. The Darkling, alarm coursing through him, brought his horse to a standstill.

“What is it—”

You leapt off your saddle as a guttural cry pierced the silence from above. The Darkling’s horse reared, nearly unseating him as something covered in fur dropped from the trees. Pain exploded through the Darkling’s body as the thing smashed into him, toppling him off the horse and into the hard-packed earth.

On his back, the wind knocked out of him, the Darkling drew on the shadows filling the woods as the creature slipped bruising fingers around the Darkling’s neck. In the moonlight, he glimpsed eyes shining above a furry maw.

Fjerdans.

To his right, just out of sight, you shouted. Screams rent the air in disharmony.

There was too much moonlight to drown him in shadows, to choke the life out of the Fjerdan. As the Darkling struggled against the bigger, heavier man, darkness creeping into the corners of his vision as he fought for air, he tried to summon the Cut. It formed beneath the Fjerdan’s arms, pressing against his chest.

The Darkling drove it forward.

Hot blood sprayed over his face and kefta. The Fjerdan’s body tumbled in two atop him, smothering him in furs and body stench and death.

The Darkling scrambled out from under the body, spun, cape arcing behind him, to find you. The last of the Fjerdans toppled before you, your hand ruthlessly ripping rib bones from his chest.

The shadows swarmed the Darkling, drawing themselves into the faint glimmer of another Cut.

“You set a trap,” he snarled, fear tightening its fist around his spine.

Disappointment flickered across your face, chased quickly by exasperation.

The Cut formed its deadly edge.

“Only I have the power to be feared,” he snarled.

He launched the Cut.

You hit the ground, rolling through the remains of the Fjerdans that had attacked you. The Cut sliced through the trees behind you with an ear-rending crack.

You rolled up onto one knee, a shattered femur in your hand. Your arm drew back, then shoved forward, the bone flying from your hand with as much force as the Cut.

Fear froze the Darkling to the core.

The femur whizzed past his ear, nearly touching its shell. It impacted something solid behind him.

The Darkling spun to see one last Fjerdan staggering, the femur jutting through his eye socket. He sunk to his knees, collapsed to the ground.

The jagged point of the femur protruded from the back of his skull.

The severed trees groaned as they fell, tipping into the clearing and crushing the Fjerdan corpses littered around you.

Breathing heavily through his nose, the Darkling stared at you, his mind racing. Had you killed the Fjerdan in an attempt to deflect his suspicions? Had you killed the other Fjerdans because he had not succumbed to the Fjerdan who had toppled him from his horse?

In the back of his mind, the quiet voice of Reason assured him otherwise, but fear still snaked icy tendrils through him.

“What will it take?” you asked, your voice hoarse. “What will it take for me to prove my loyalty? Is it not enough I have killed for you? Is it not enough I have killed to protect you? Is it not enough that I alone am the only one who understands your mission?”

“And what is my mission?” he snarled.

“To never let the Grisha be hunted again.”

The Darkling clenched and unclenched his fists, still breathing heavily through his nose. For once, your expression wasn’t blank or smug with hidden knowledge. Bare beneath the moonlight and covered in blood, it was earnest, eyes gleaming with passion.

“You’ll do whatever it takes to get there,” you said, your voice swelling to fill the clearing with fervor. “Even if it means something drastic, like expanding the Fold or killing the Lantsovs to take their place. You know what it means to sacrifice for the sake of the Grisha.”

“Who are you!?”

“I am sent by the universe,” you cried in answer, “sent to be your iron fist! Accept it so that we can begin the work together.”

“Fanaticism has no place—”

“You need a fanatic,” you hissed, striding across the bloodied clearing. “You need someone who would have stood beside the Black Heretic and lent them their strength and their power. That’s who you need, and I am here to answer.”

Heart pounding in his chest, the Darkling growled back, “And if I say no?”

“Then you’ll be a disappointment. A failure to your origins.”

“You speak in riddles—”

“I know the age of your bones, Black Heretic.”

[blues-valentine]

*SHADOW AND BONE SPOILERS*

Eric (the creator of the show) confirmed what I thought when I ended the season. They wanted to start with the CK/KOS story lines now and they couldn’t do it without the fold down (and Darkling's death) so they had to rush into the plot and those narrative choices at the end where to keep Alina and Mal in the show by extending their story lines. They could not do that if they gave them the R&R ending. The paths they are taking for Season 3 (if it gets renewed) it’s clear — they will involve them in the KOS story line. Alina will be dealing with her dark powers from merzost. Zoyalai gets their build up (they were hinted at). Mal and Alina will find their way back to each other. They will still get their ending but this is diversion to extend their presence on the show because they don’t want to let Archie and Jessie go so soon.

So basically, you guys need to STREAM Season 2. Their ending and the spin offs depend on it.

[a-halo-for-you]

Hard Magic Systems - A Chaotic Understanding

(DISCLAIMER: I do not intend to come across like I know anything but there are some things I’ve learnt and tried to make sense of so here you go… Also, I have read books that helped this abstract understanding of this thing, not sure if I should write them here but if you’re interested feel free to message me, I should reply within 1-3 business days.)

A Hard magic system is a system that follows rules. It has clearer definitions of what is and isn’t allowed and what is or isn’t possible and the consequences when something goes wrong. 

An example I have come up with is from Leigh Bardugo’s ‘Shadow and Bone’ series. In her stories, Grisha are capable of ‘Small Science’ and fear the act of ‘Merzost’ which in Ravkan means magic. For her magic system, their abilities rely on drawing upon the components of an element in order to wield it, abiding by the laws of physics. Any that use Merzost are often villainised for it - it is very very bad and not allowed hence most villains use it. 

Having these rules in place can aid a reader in understanding how the system works, it adds stakes to characters and narratives and can be a creative tool in problem solving without audiences or readers feeling cheated by a cop out display of magic. For example if someone just wishes all their problems away and suddenly the world wasn’t ending - the only time this could be effective would be if the journey the characters went on was crucial enough to feel like it's an accomplishment to get that far. Like in Percy Jackson and The Sea of Monsters, we’re not miffed that Annabeth is rescued by the Golden Fleece because 1# We know her enough to love her and 2# They worked so hard to get to it in the first place. 

When something is resolved without any stakes, rules, limits, journey and growth it feels like a cop out, the way we watch when some writers accidentally put themselves in a corner they can’t get out of so they make the entire journey a dream by the end? Or hey, let’s just fix it with time travel! It feels kinda pointless because there are no stakes and even a soft magic system will have stakes but I’ll get to that in another post. 

When magic is used as a tool it becomes a part of the characters journey from Luffy and the GumGum Fruit to Harry Potter and being a Wizard. It becomes a part of and aids their problem solving like any other skill. 

If we look at Avatar: The Last Airbender, it takes place in a world where the audience understands people can manipulate the elements, it makes sense when Katara has her bloodbending experience because early on in the show it is established that waterbenders can draw from not just oceans and rivers but trees, plants and human sweat. Their abilities are practised, trained and developed on through the show, I mean, even Aang has to progress in order to become the Avatar and when we see him master the elements we feel kinda proud to see him kick ass and when Toph progresses to bending Metal or Zuko with his lightning- I mean excuse me?!! 

We love the magic because it's a part of their journey but it doesn’t just fix things or make them worse - it’s how they use it that matters. 

Predictability is an important part of a Magic System because if you want to keep things in order you’ll want to make sure that your Hard Magic always has a consistency to it that follows the world and story narrative. Like in My Hero Academia, the predictability would be that each character has a quirk that they are learning to control and train in order to become heroes, however they each have limitations from their personalities, physiques, mentalities, ages etc that hinder them along the way. 

‘Limitations are more important than powers’ Brandon Sanderson. 

Babe. This is for real though. I don’t care how powerful a character is, it’s not interesting if they don’t have a weakness, the more powerful they are? The more painful the weakness. You want them to lose that power or feel the consequences of their power, hurt their weakness. For fun. Anyway- 

-Once you’ve sorted the rules of your system you can look at the particular limitations, weaknesses and costs. Oftentimes I’d say strength is different from power cause someone's power could be fire but their strength could be their friends and as we know, their strength can also reflect their weakness. 

You could have a shape-shifting character but the longer they stay in their animal form the more animalistic they become creating disastrous long term effects on the group or like Nico from the Percy Jackson series, he uses shadows to travel so much that it quite literally becomes a danger to him, ‘as the more you do it, the more you lose contact with the physical world’.

Anywho, this is the end of my Hard Magic System rant - I don’t actually know if this is helpful but it helps me so maybe it will help some stranger on the internet idk. 

Don't blame me coffee made me crazy~

Next time I’ll post about the Soft Magic System and it will likely be as messy and chaotic as this one but hey-ho, 50% knowing what I’m talking about to 50% aimless passion seems acceptable.

[padfootagain]

The Last Ones on Earth (III)

Chapter 3 : A Little Palace

Hello, hello! Here is a new chapter for my Darkling series!

I’m using elements of the plot that come from the books (the attack on the Palace in the second book… with the attack on the Little Palace by the Darkling, which I’m obviously changing here because reader has a good influence…). I know the series changed that part but I found it interesting to reuse that part from the books.

I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

****

Pairing: The Darkling x reader

Warnings for the series: mentions and depictions of violence and warfare, mentions of trauma

Warnings for the chapter: None

Summary: You and the Darkling are a team, even if no one knows it. Beyond being a team, you are the only one he trusts, and he's the only one you care about, and you're each other's true love. But if you've kept your secrets hidden for a long time, now that the Sun Summoner is fighting against you, it's time to reveal who you are, and what you are capable of...

Word Count: 3523

Masterlist for the series – The Darkling’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

The Darkling is standing at the top of the hill.

Under a tall oak tree, he stares down at Keramzin. The place where Alina and her tracker used to live, where they grew up, where they met. A place of memories.

He looks down at his palm, the wounded one, the one where the stag’s bone used to sit.

A place of memories… he has many of those, filled with thoughts of you. An old cabin lost in the woods on the edge of Fjerda, a large golden field in Shu Han, the empty halls of the Little Palace at midnight, a river by a summer afternoon, a wintery night spent by a fireplace, the details of your skin across white sheets…

He closes his fist, digging his nails into the wound that won’t properly heal, until it hurts, until it almost bleeds again. A blood darkened by merzost. A blood that isn’t really his anymore.

He has plenty of these sacred places too. They all faded, with time, with fire, with smoke and ashes and tears and nights spent trembling in fear…

“All the children are gathered, sir,” reports Fedyor.

“Are they well?” the Darkling asks in a cold voice, impersonal, but he still asks.

“Yes, sir. They’re all well.”

“The adults?”

“Botkin is wounded, he gave us a rough fight. A Corporalnik, an Etherealnik and two Maternialnik were there too. We’ve talked with them. Two have agreed to help us, the other three are unsure, still. I don’t think they understand what’s going on.”

The Darkling clenches his jaw. He wants to kill them all. It would be easier, it would make an example.

But if you were here, you would tell him to spare them. He can hear your voice speak the words.

They’re Grisha too. You can’t kill them. Give them another chance.

And the Darkling wants to see them all hanged at that tree, at one of the branches under which he stands. But it would be a mistake. You are trying to convince Alina and the others that there are no other way. He can’t be a mere villain anymore. His plan has changed.

“Make sure everyone is healed properly. Botkin fought against us, he can’t be trusted. Make sure he’s under heavy guard, and that he can’t escape. Let the Grisha free to choose, they can come with us, or go wherever they please.”

Fedyor nods, before turning away again to give orders.

And a part of the Darkling regrets his decision already. It doesn’t seem safe, it doesn’t seem punishing enough. Maybe there’s a part of him that’s cruel that screams for him to make them pay for leaving the Little Palace under Alina’s orders too...

But then, there’s a part of him who thinks of you, of the way you say his name, of the smile you gave him that day, on your horse, before leaving to find Alina Starkov.

And for a moment, Aleksander remembers what it feels like to be kind, and the regrets vanish like fresh snow under the sun.

He hopes you are okay. He hopes you are succeeding. He hopes all is fine for you. He hopes, above all else, that you are not making a mistake. You will reveal secrets both of you have kept safely hidden for a long time. What will happen then? When your enemies know what you mean to each other, when they know that you are each other’s weakness and strength alike… Will they use it against him? Will they hurt you to get to him? It happened before, and history has a tendency to repeat itself, over, and over again…

From the hill where he stands, he sees a large group moving towards the road. Children, guided by his soldiers, a mix of Grisha and otkazat’sya. Children who will grow up, one day, in a world he hopes is better for them.

If you don’t come back from your talk with Alina, he wonders if he’ll let them live, if he’ll see the children in them despite his hunger for blood and destruction.

A part of him is not fooled though. If you die, the last glimmer of kindness he has left will fade too. He won’t make a difference then, between Grisha, otkazat’sya, adult, child…

He’ll just destroy it all, until the ones who hurt you are dead, buried, and gone.

Three months earlier

An empty field, near Os Alta

“Alina has taken control of the Second Army, which means that our Grisha will follow her, whether they agree or not.”

Your voice was slow, your words cautious.

By your side, Ivan was biting at his nails, sitting in a chair too small for him, but there wasn’t much you could carry across the country. Your army was quite miserable, indeed…

Most of the Grisha who were following you had been rescued from prisons, from cages, from gallows. They were tired, hungry, wounded, terrified. But they were angry too, and traumatised, and they wanted blood as much as they longed for rest. It was a dangerous combination, indeed.

“How many Grisha are still in the Little Palace?”

The Darkling aimed his question at Ivan, but the Heartrender didn’t have that kind of information. He shrugged, apologized for not knowing.

There were two Etherealki in the room as well. Only five of you to decide what you should do next. You had to step up, after what happened in the Fold, and you knew that Aleksander didn’t like it. It put a target on your back. Still, there was nothing else to be done, you didn’t have the men to act like a tamed Materialnik anymore.

“We must protect them during the attack,” you said, but Ivan shook his head.

“They are traitors…”

“They don’t know that they have a choice. Most of them are still children, or were still at the Little Palace when all went sour. Alina going there first simply means that they had only her version of the story. They probably think the Darkling is dead. What choice do they have then?”

You turned towards the Darkling, his tall figure all wrapped in black, because of his kefta, but also because of the shadows stretching behind him. You were gathered around a small campfire, the golden flames spreading enough light for you to see the features of the Grisha gathered, but beyond their frames, all was dark.

You waited for Aleksander to speak, but he didn’t. Instead, he stared at the flames, lost in thought.

“If we hurt our own, we won’t be better than the people we are trying to fight against.”

That made him react, and he knew you spoke such words simply to draw his attention back to you, back to the present.

He had to be careful with his choice of words though. If you were stepping up in his group of Grisha, no one could know that you meant everything to him, and that he meant everything to you. That you were married. That he listened to you more than anyone else.

If they knew, you would be in danger. No one could know. Even if he longed to listen to you, to discuss the matter only with you, he couldn’t.

He heaved a sigh.

“It is more complex than that,” he argued. “They will probably fight against us.”

“Not if we refuse to fight them.”

All around the fire turned to you. This was a crazy idea. To attack the Palace, try to kill the king and his heirs, capture Alina Starkov… and spare the Little Palace? Refuse to fight the soldiers who were there, and who, without a doubt, would be called to help?

“We will never manage to approach Starkov without fighting our way through the Little Palace,” Ivan argued.

“The General was close to her. Maybe he can try to talk to her, convince everyone that he merely wants to talk.”

“It will not work,” the Darkling shook his head.

“Then we don’t get Alina Starkov, that’s alright. She’ll be on the run, much more vulnerable than she is now. We will have another chance. But if we attack the Little Palace and kill our own people, we will be seen as enemies even in our ranks. We can’t afford to be this way.”

“And so, you would choose mercy, sparing traitors, instead of making examples out of them? How soft,” the Darkling snarled, his tone mocking.

You thought for a moment, the others kept on talking. When silence settled again, you broke it, trying one last argument.

“Then, we can give them a choice. We will spare anyone who takes our side, welcome them into our ranks so they can fight with us. And we will kill anyone who chooses the king’s side. May they be Grisha or not. But we must give Grisha a choice. They must choose to fight with us. If we scare them too much, if we are too violent, they will feel safer with Alina, and follow her instead of you, sir.”

Aleksander almost let a smile spread across his features. You always knew what to say…

But he didn’t. Instead, he slowly nodded.

“Sounds fair enough. Those who were misled by the Sun Summoner will be given a chance to make the right choice. The others will be considered as our enemies and killed.”

Os Alta

Three days later

Night was heavy. The moon and stars were shining, yet they seemed shier than usual. Something in their light wasn’t as bright as they should have been. Shadows were thicker, they clang at skins and frames, they made the world outside the safety of torches and chandeliers unbearably blind.

It should have been a sign for the guards that the Darkling was here, but they weren’t wise enough. Perhaps they were still too naïve, perhaps they were tired. Whatever was the reason, taking them down was easy.

The attack in itself was quick, almost orderly, on your side of the fighting. Breaking into the Palace, attacking the Royal Family… it was easy. It had been made easy by the idiotic Prince who had emptied the watchtowers and fortresses on the road leading to Os Alta…

Your plan was rather simple: Aleksander would take care of the Royal Palace, while you took a handful of Grisha with you and headed to the Little Palace in order to talk with whoever was there.

And you were not disappointed. The remnants of the Second Army wasn’t much to be accounted for, but there were a few dozens Grisha there. When you arrived, they were evacuating the children from the school. You decided to let them go. You already had enough things to deal with.

You were met by a handful of Grisha at the door. It was rushed, messy. Your arrival was a surprise alright.

“Stop! Don’t come closer!”

You recognized the voice instantly, even if in the darkness you couldn’t see his features.

“Fedyor?”

“Y/N?”

His stance didn’t change. Hands touching, his stance anchored and stable. A Heartrender ready to kill…

“Are you alright?” you asked, genuine worry shaking your voice.

“Yes, but… What… Are you with the Darkling?”

“Yes, he’s in the Palace.”

“He’s going to kill everyone.”

“Not everyone.”

You risked to take a step closer, but you noticed the way the five Grisha by his side tensed, and you didn’t dare move further.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I’m here to get you out of here safe and sound.”

“You?”

You recognized the voice coming from Fedyor’s right. An Inferni. Salomon.

“Weirdly enough, even Durasts can be useful. Especially when you’re so ridiculously outnumbered.”

“We’re part of the Second Army, Y/N,” Fedyor spoke again, ignoring Salomon’s remark. “We can’t let him hurt the King.”

“The King is not doing much to prevent Grisha from being killed all over his Kingdom, these days.”

“But the Darkling does?”

“He does. He did when he got me out of a cage four weeks ago right before I would be hanged.”

An uncomfortable silence settled on the stairs leading to the Little Palace.

“I escaped as well,” was all Fedyor answered, but he didn’t need to say anything else.

He understood. He had been through the same thing. Only, the Darkling had not reached him in time…

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. Were there more Grisha with you?”

“We all escaped. And then we came here.”

“Good.”

“Alina told us what happened in the Fold.”

“It was a mess, apparently.”

“Is he really going to use the Fold as a weapon?”

“If he can. It seems to be the plan.”

You didn’t want to lie. Not tonight. That was not how you would get people to join your side.

“We can’t let him do that, Y/N.”

“Why not? Would you rather remain here and fight for the King against your own people?”

“Because that’s not what you’re doing?”

“I’m not the one with hands touching now, Fedyor.”

He seemed to relax a little at that. At long last, he lowered his hands.

“I don’t want us to fight,” he admitted.

“Me neither.”

“What’s the Darkling’s plan for tonight?”

“Wreck chaos in the Palace, find Alina, try to convince her to come with us.”

“And if she says no?”

“I highly doubt he will kill her, if that’s the meaning of your question.”

“And if we try to protect her?”

You remained silent for a couple of seconds, letting it hover in the night, so the tension would rise, so it would all seem more frightening when you would speak.

“He doesn’t want to hurt any of you. That’s why we’re here, talking, while he’s busy wreaking havoc. But I reckon we’re past talking about sides now. To me, it doesn’t seem like we have a choice.”

“You want us to join the Darkling,” it was more of a statement than a question, but you nodded anyway.

“He’s the only one who is going to defend us, Fedyor. Alina is not interested in Grisha, she wants power, and she wants Ravka.”

“You’re wrong.”

“She has two amplifiers, Fedyor. And I know she’s looking for another one.”

He remained silent, apparently taken aback.

“She talks about saving Ravka, doesn’t she? Well… I’d rather have us save Grisha first.”

You let your words sink in.

“I’m not saying that the Darkling’s plan is perfect. But I know that he won’t give up on us. And I know that he’ll use the Fold as a threat, not an actual weapon.”

“He’s already moved the edges of the Fold. He’ll do it again.”

“He’s the only one who will give us freedom and safety, Fedyor. Alina may be able to tear the Fold apart, and then what? We’ll go back to our status quo? Until the next excuse to turn against Grisha again? We can’t keep on living like this, Fedyor. And Alina is not strong enough to offer us safety.”

You shook your head, playing with the man’s heartstrings, but it didn’t change the fact that you believed every word that left your lips.

“We’ve tried being gentle before, and it didn’t work. Alina can’t do this on her own. We need to stay together, Fedyor. Maybe the Darkling and Alina can unite, I don’t know… but what I know is that we are Grisha, and that means that no one in Ravka trusts us. If we don’t help each other, we’re all going to die.”

You heaved a sigh.

“The Darkling has secured a place for us. It’s not as fancy as the Little Palace, but it’s safe. We’re tracking Grisha all over the country to rescue them. We’re trying to get everyone to safety while we still can. The Fold is a problem for later. For now, we need to regroup and help each other. Is Alina doing that as well?”

“I don’t know,” Fedyor admitted, and you could see that he was beginning to doubt her.

“Come with us. We have time to decide what to do with the Fold. It doesn’t change the fact that we must take care of each other. And the King is not the one who will give us protection. He never truly did. You are prisoners here. Even if Alina keeps you busy, we all know that the palace is heavily guarded. We killed the guards as we arrived. This is temporary, Fedyor. You’re a prisoner here, you simply have a beautiful cell and the illusion of freedom with walks under the sun. But you can’t come and go as you please, and we both know this won’t change for as long as Ravka doesn’t change. And Alina can’t do that, not on her own, at least.”

You gave the small group a moment to consider your words.

“We’ll give you ten minutes to tell everyone hiding in there that we’re ready to welcome whoever wants to join us. If they want to help Grisha escape and be protected, then they should join our side. If they want to, they can remain with Alina, as I highly doubt that she will want to leave with us. But staying with Alina means siding with the King, and that means we’ll be enemies.”

Fedyor and his Grisha disappeared inside the Little Palace.

Meanwhile, the Darkling had joined you. Wrapped in his shadows, you guessed he had been listening to the conversation for a while.

“Alina?” you asked him in a whisper as he stood beside you.

“She fled from the Palace, she’ll be here soon. How did it go here?”

“Fedyor is gone with our message. He has ten minutes left.”

“If it should come to that… if we must fight our own… stay close to me.”

You couldn’t refrain a tender smile.

“I was about to say the same. You need your old bodyguard back.”

He scoffed at that, holding his dark cloak closer.

“You were never my bodyguard.”

“I have at least three dozens of examples popping into my head right now to contradict your statement.”

“I could say the same about protecting you.”

“That’s why we’re such a good team. Equals work well together.”

You exchanged a smile, but the door of the Little Palace opened, and you focused on the building again.

Fedyor was standing by the door, alone. He talked directly to the Darkling as he recognized him.

“Sir.”

“Fedyor.”

“Sir, do we… do we have your word that if we come with you, nothing will happen to us?”

You glanced at the Darkling, standing tall by your side. So much charisma, a cold sensation of calm oozing from his frame. Not five minutes before, he was killing people and now… now he was perfectly stern, completely composed.

He gave Fedyor a nod.

“We are fighting a war,” he spoke slowly, his words heavy with meaning. “I cannot promise you that you will be safe. But no harm will come to you from me, if it is what worries you. I know that the Little Palace was heavily guarded. I know that most of you must be terrified with what is happening to our fellow Grisha all over Ravka. I understand that you thought it was safer to stay here. And I am certain as well that Alina Starkov had good arguments to make you stay. If you come with us, you will be fully trusted, like you were before.”

Fedyor nodded, slowly. He turned around, seemed to talk to someone, and then he was walking towards you, hurrying down the stairs.

You were relieved as you noticed several more Grisha following him.

“How many decided to stay with Miss Starkov?” the Darkling asked Fedyor as he joined your group.

“About a dozen.”

The Darkling heaved a sigh, but nodded.

“You can’t hurt them,” you whispered to him, making sure no one else could hear you. “Unless you are defending yourself. Otherwise they’ll be too scared of us…”

“I want them to be scared of me.”

“Not the Grisha. Alina, yes. The entirety of Ravka, yes. The whole world, yes, but not the Grisha. They are the only ones we need on our side, but we do need them to trust us. I’ve convinced them by offering them freedom and safety. Do you understand?”

He seemed to weigh his options for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was loud enough to be heard by all the Grisha surrounding you.

“Can you and some of your Durast lock the remaining Grisha in the Little Palace?”

“It will take a few minutes, but yes. It will slow them down, at least.”

“Then do it.”

“And if they try to stop us?”

“Defend yourselves, if you have no other choice. But we won’t be the first ones to strike.”

You exchanged a discreet nod, and you brushed your fingers against his, a tender gesture signifying that you agreed with him. And he kind of hated the way he longed for such an approval coming from you.

He turned to the rest of his Grisha.

“We need to find Alina Starkov. Come with me…”

*********************************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic @budugu @sayumiht

[mrs-jamesbbarnes]

In regards to the ending of Shadow and Bone season 2. Did I like it? Absolutely not. Do I see what they’re trying do? Yeah. They combined two books into one season and added five extra characters to the story. Things just moved so fast, and the story could’ve been told a LOT better.

For instance, we did not get Alina’s struggle. I think the beauty of her story in the books came from her needing to defeat the Darkling without becoming the monster he was and wanted her to be. It was an intense and dark path she took. Ultimately, the third amplifier’s power is shared with everyone to destroy the Fold. But the fact that she had to get to that point where she was okay with dying and/or being completely overwhelmed by the power if it meant saving everyone was the whole point of her struggle. Her reward was Mal, settling down with him to live a peaceful life. And she was ready to be done, to give it all up and just rest with him.

The fact that they skipped ALL of that makes the story so unnecessarily complicated. Because now she’s not ready to rest, she wants to help the Grisha. And she’s got power. But she delved into merzost to save Mal, so now she’s given into this path of darkness. That’s something book!Alina NEVER would have done. Leigh spent three books showing that. So now she’s got that darkness in her. And we know Elizaveta is going to try to resurrect the Darkling because that bee landed on Zoya as the Darkling’s body burned. So season 3 is going to go off the rails.

Also the fact that Mal made this BIG DEAL to the Darkling about how he wasn’t going to make the mistake of leaving Alina again and then the Fold is gone and the Darkling is dead and now he’s just leaving Alina? That’s just poor writing.

I’m hoping Alina and Mal still get their happy ending. Because TV!Mal deserves it, if nothing else.

Also it really bothers me that they just pushed Zoya aside for Alina. They could’ve sent Alina and Mal off into the sunset and let the story take its course. But now Zoya is a side character because Alina is the focus. And that really bothers me that they’re going to start the King of Scars storyline and not give Zoya the attention she deserves. Because Alina needs to be gone for her to embrace her destiny. Otherwise it looks like she’s just Nikolai’s (and Ravka’s) second choice. They messed with Leigh’s beautifully crafted hero’s journey for Alina, and Zoya is going to get screwed over because they did that and I HATE THAT for Zoya.

[thereisnolumos]

Correcting all the atrocities against Russian language in Grishaverse

I think that I might’ve already wrote on this topic here before, but I can’t seem to find it and I’m continuously bitter with the way my language has been expropriated and twisted in the girishaverse series, so, without further ado, 10 things that infuriated me (and the ones I remembered now, for there are surely more) as a Russian speaking person:

1. The first being the Grisha itself. It’s a male name. A shortened version of the name Grigoriy, to be exact. To call an entire group of people like that is… try switching it to “Johnny” every time you read it and you’ll understand the pain. She could’ve at least try and justify it with some “first ever” character with such powers named Grigoriy, so that’s why they’re called that… but no

2. All the names. Listen, if you’re using Russian names while writing in English (or any other language that doesn’t differentiate between genders) you have two ways:

eradicate the switch completely, giving everyone the male version (i.e. default bcs that’s the world we live in), or

FUCKING STICK TO THE RULES OF THE LANGUAGE YOU’RE GOT THEM FROM. The female Russian last names will always have a vowel in the end. So, it’s Aleksander Morozov and Baghra Morozova (I’m dying to know what name she thought that one is a short version of, for it just doesn’t exist). It’s Alina Starkova. Genya Safina (which should be Evgeniya, bcs Genya is a short version). Zoya Nazelenskaya (her name looks to me as of Polish and/or Ukrainian origins, correct me of I’m wrong. I’m only going off from the Russian language rules), etc.

3. It’s Fyodor, not Fedyor. And it’s Kaminskyi or Kaminskyy, there is an extra sound in the end, not just -y. Actually, for this last name use the name of the President of Ukraine as a guide, their names would be of the same origin, same as Zoya’s last name.

4. You cannot use just any word as a name in Russian language. I know that it’s sort of a thing in modern English language, but it’s not a case here. So, if I recall, there was a character with the name “Privyet” in the books. Which means “hi” in Russian. Don’t do things like that. Please. I beg of you. Fun fact, we have Vera, Nadezhda and Lubov (Faith, Hope and Love respectively) as real FEMALE ONLY names, but no such thing as just taking a word like say “Otvaga - Bravery” and making it a name. Nope.

5. Don’t even get me started on the idiocy that “otkazat’sya” is. It’s. A. Fucking. Verb. Means “to refuse” in a slightly different context that “otkazat’”. There isn’t a single version of the reality where it would’ve made sense to call a group of people by verb. None. If she wanted it to mean “the abandoned” as in “the power abandoned them”, she should’ve called them “otvergnutyye” or “ostavlennyye”. If the meaning is more towards “they refused that power”, then it should be smth like “otkazavshiesya”.

6. They have stressed the wrong syllable in the “merzost’” on the show. Supposed to be the first one. Not sure whether or not she meant to use the word “filth” in regards to the forbidden magic, or if, once again, she just liked the sound of this word.

7. “Kefta” should’ve just been “kaftan”

8. I actually hate that she couldn’t just stick to the names that would’ve been found in Russian empire during the time she drew inspiration from. What is Baghra and Malyen???? Where’d she get them??? I can stretch Baghra as being a very strange short version of the name Agrafena (veeeeery old Russian name, which suits her long life), but it’s a big stretch to say the least. Malyen just doesn’t exist. Mal doesn’t exist as a name (it’s a old version of the word “small” though)

9. What is the word “Tsarina” everyone seems to use in fanfiction where Alina and Aleksander rule over Ravka? There is no such word. There are:

Tsar - the male ruler

Tsaritsa - female ruler and/or wife of a Tsar

Tsarevich - son of Tsar and Tsaritsa

Tsarevna - daughter of Tsar and Tsaritsa

No Tsarina.

10. David’s last name is extremely strange. I assume he’s not of Ravkan origins, from his first name, but Kostyk - is a friendly short version of a name Konstantin. I’m debated over the fact whether or not this form of this name has even been in use before Soviet Union actually. I’ve met people with the last name like Kostyukevich and Konstantinov though (there are many last names that originated from first names in Russian language many, many years ago. But there are rules for the ways they were formed)

Feel free to add all the ways Leigh Bardugo butchered other languages and cultures in this series

[aelsie]

Alright everyone, about this Darklina deleted scene. In a Newsweek interview Ben says,

But he is able to make her understand it in his last moments as he grabs her wrist and he feeds his power into her, so she has both.

At first, I was like—WHAT WHY DELETE NO! MORE DARKLINA! More emotional Darkling! More scenes to show he cares about her!

Then I decided maybe it’s better this way? I wonder if they decided that it would be better that she gained those powers because she used merzost (obv), because she, and no one else, did something that caused her to take a step towards the dark side, if you will. This makes her path even more similar to the Darkling. It makes everything Aleksander said even more correct. That she IN TIME (very short time apparently) will also make the same decisions as him. That everything he’s been telling her had truth in it after all. And she grows to understand and empathize with him more.

We all know that he cares for her and wants her protected anyway, in his own twisted way just from the other scenes between them. He already expressed “let me be your monster” and “let me carry the hatred in this world” which is probably to ensure that she has an equal and a balance. So maybe, they said, yes let’s make the darkness come because of HER decision and no one else’s.

Now, they could decide to reveal otherwise. They could be like oop it’s because The Darkling gave it to her. She can take it as aw hubby cares even from the grave, he wanted me to be protected-ish(?) the only way to beat your enemy is to become them maybe? And take the darkness in? Or she could react with anger and blame him for leaving the darkness with her. Seeing how she’s been so self righteous this whole time, which sounds more Alina to you?

So maybe it’s better this way, because then sunshine has no one to blame but herself. Doesn’t look like she’s particularly upset about it so far though.

Anyway, so many possibilities! I love it! I’m ready for season 3! And I better get my Darklina angst!

Pictured here: Wife mourns husband’s death. (Even if she did kill him. She summoned (literally) him. Some wives keep their husband’s stuff, some go to their favorite places. Alina said—to hell with that—I may have killed you but *WHOOSH* CUT! I know you’ll always be with me in spirit *proceeds to smile with glee*)

[ricardian-werewolf]

Fanfic Masterlist: Finished Fics:

Rating: Mature Status: FINISHED 5/9/24. Cw/Tws: heavy discussions of mental health, prices of religious trauma and sainthood. Lots of mentions of attempted assassinations by Vasily. Sexual assault mentions, smut in later chapters, graphic depictions of violence, but canon. merzost being used anti-canonically.

Ao3 Link: Masterlist

Stars 'round his wrists.

When I am King, you will be first against the wall.

Take My hand, I'll drown you with me.

But your profile could not hide the fact you knew I was approaching your throne.

The world is lying fallow and you are apart from me.

Holy Water cannot help you now.

Still, I follow the Heartlines on your hand.

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.

The Cost of the Crown.

I am a world's forgotten boy.

Once More unto the Breach.

The Sun's turning Red.

Everytime I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray.

True Faith

Just our hands clasped so tight.

****

Non-Grishaverse FINISHED FIC.

Synopsis:

Atlantic City, 1921. Prohibition has come in with a bang, and the bootleggers long to profit off of people’s desire for spirits. But some of their intentions and creations come with nasty consequences. Sometimes, liquor really can kill. And for Nucky Thompson, that’s a gamble he’s willing to take. Even if federal agents are snapping at his heels, and people are dying in the streets, Atlantic City, is after all, the world’s playground.

Chapter list:

Blood stained sheets

The ivory tower

The tin soldier

A Wolf, a man, and a plan

Every little thing she does is madness.

Leave before the sun comes up

Burning for you

Death Race

The darkest hour is before the dawn

Don’t turn your back

Series: Profunda Venae - Deep veins. 

Chronicling a split off of English history during the weeks after Victoria’s coronation, this series explores the What-Ifs of the English Industrial revolution and the idea of vampires being representative of the ruling class. It also dives into the ideas of class revolution, Nuclear Winter, the usage of productive power to control the narrative, and more. It is also mainly a narrative of just how dangerous controlling the reins of who tells history can truly be.

Written during the hardest years of my life, this series was created to be a distraction from the mires and misery of Neurodivergency in a common-education experience.

Book 1 is set in a world much like our own with certain shifts. Book 2 is a world that starts out similar and quickly becomes quite different. Book 3 is a world that is far in the past and far in the future all at once.

Book 1: The Lineaments of Malefaction: [Finished 2022]

Synopsis:

1838 - the house of Hanover and the United Kingdom are at last stable. Queen Victoria has taken to the throne with Lord M at her shoulder as her beloved Prime Minister. However, as always, those left in the shadows squabble and plot.

For what more of a travesty can there be than a sweet queen of 18, and a human one at that?

Wrongs must always be righted, regardless of who is in the way. Sometimes those means are more dastardly than anyone could imagine. As someone once said, family is not stronger than the blood that is spilt on the battlefield of power.

Chapter List, with dates of publication:

Pills and plans (2022-03-11)

Blood in the water (2022-03-12)

A murder of politicians (2022-03-13)

Ballrooms and bites (2022-03-13)

The Revenants of Pemberley (2022-03-17)

Lifting the veil (2022-03-17)

Burning down the castle (2022-03-28)

Shadows, the stars, and you. (2022-03-28)

Oh Noel (2022-04-02)

For the Queen (2022-04-02)

If we burn, you burn with us (2022-04-07)

recovery and revolution (2022-04-07)

Paint it black (2022-04-07)

A wedding and a honeymoon. (2022-04-07)

All that ends well (2022-04-07)

Book 2: The Evils of Darkness: [Finished 2022]

Synopsis:

1848 - the house of Kingsbridge and England have enjoyed 8 years of relative peace and quiet. Victoria and Lord M are at last united in matrimony and state, and those who opposed their rule are defeated or interred. Yet, plans always abound to take down those some see as unpopular.

For vampires aren’t fit to rule humans. Even in a place like Great Britain, wrongs must be righted, and balance must be restored.

No matter the personal cost.

Chapter List:

A bad beginning

Hold tight London

The Threads of eternity.

The War Game

When the wind blows

The Day After

Protect and survive

Operation square leg

Do no harm

Nuclear winter

Babylon

Unfinished FICS:

Book 3: Dum Pugnatur, Bellum Amittitur [ongoing - stagnant updates based on fixation]

Synopsis:

1865 - the thrones of Queen Victoria and King William are lost to the wastelands. The House of Kingsbridge is no more, and in its place, factions plot and squabble to rule the destroyed land once called England.

But that is easier said then done, for England herself is a place of ruin and starvation. For the nuclear winter that ripped the royal family apart has rolled its citizens back to the Middle Ages. But for those who have survived the hell of 1858, there is a new threat on the horizon that may blot out even 1848 - America has been at war with itself for going on 4 years, and there is whispers abounding that the Royal Family may be amongst the evacuees who fled on the steamship, the Kerberos.

All of these whispers and plans within plans make for a perfect firestorm to be set upon England's starving lower classes, for as someone once said: fealty is not stronger than the blood that is spilled on the battlefield of power.

Chapter list:

1. Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent

2. Ravens feathers and Mozart

3. Paternoster Row

4. The Evil Genius of the Republican Party.

5. A Plea To Fate

6. Marian

Fear and Delight, or how I learned to stop worrying and wear gloves to hide my trauma. {ongoing - abandoned until new season comes out and interior worldbuilding kinks are solved}

Synopsis:

* Set During Season 2 of the Gilded Age - does not follow central plot by the beats*. Title taken from Dr Strangelove. ***** The Russell's Newport mansion could be called many things. The New York Times called it “Grandiose - a paragon of modern architecture.” The Post deemed it: “The newly-built mansion is a sign of the shifting tides of New Money upon our cities elite,”. More attention was paid to the ongoing Opera War waged by Bertha Russell and her arch nemesis, Caroline Astor. Astor had the boxes at the Academy of Music and dealt them out like generals awarding medals to soldiers who’d survived a conflict: rarely given and precious to only a few. Bertha Russell had set up the enemy camp with her Metropolitan Opera house (still undergoing building and desperately needing funds), and sought to gain some of the broken backs of the Academy’s patrons. The more soldiers - patrons - Mrs Russell could win over in advance of the Met’s opening, the better. ***** Robber Barons, The Crows, a Princess who is in America to settle an old Score, all for one very mediocre production of Faust.

Chapter list:

Washington Square

Old Money

Abstract: Set in an alternate timeline of the Grishaverse where the country of Ravka very closely resembles the Western Front of the Great War, this is a fic that sets out to explore an idea: What if First Army developed their own order of Saints, and how this affects the war effort. Part reflection on Religion, War, femininity, and social propaganda movements, part war-story Straight from the early 20th century a la the writings of Will R Bird. All angst. Characters: Nikolai Lantsov, Dominik Vertov, Olga Kylov (oc), Will R Bird, Alina Starkov, and others! Pairings: Nikolai x OC. Rating: Mature CW/TWs: War, mentions of extreme violence, universe typical prejudices, heavy discussions of religion. Later chapters go into period typical sexism of the late Victorian period, and share cases similar to that of the Red Army's female soldiers of ww2.

Chapter List. 1. Over There

[aleksanderscult]

If the Darkling didn't care about others, he could have had such an amazing life that I feel baffled everytime anyone says he was purely selfish. He wasn't very good at being selfish then I suppose.

Thank you for touching on this matter, anon.🥹 BECAUSE I WANT TO SPEAK!

So. Whoever says (or believes) the Darkling was selfish is either unaware of the meaning of the word or hasn't read the books at all.

The definition of selfishness is:

So in other words if someone is selfish they don't give a fuck about others. They only think about themselves and their own pleasure.

And yet Aleksander Morozova:

1) Stood up in defense to a Grisha and her little sister, an otkazat'sya, against three bullies at the age of thirteen. And by doing so he jeopardized his own position (and his mother's) in the camp.

2) He meddled with merzost in order to stop the Ravkan wars and the slaughter of Grisha. In S&B we thought he did it for his own power-hungry ambitions but RoW taught us otherwise.

3) He built the Little Palace. He refused the gold King Yevgeni offered him (if he was "selfish" he would have taken it and vanish. And it was a gift that he probably never had in his life) and only asked for a home for his people. Somewhere to belong and rest.

4) Never flaunted his status when around his soldiers (ate the same amount of meal all others did and slept on the dirt with them).

4) Used his nichevo'ya to limit the losses of his army. And that took its toll for his own well-being.

5) When he became King, he forged a very tentative alliance with the Fjerdans to allow him to pass supplies for his army. He could say "Starve. There's no way I'm making an alliance with the enemy" but he did. To offer food both for the Second Army AND the First.

6) He literally came back from the dead and continued where he left. Trying to find a way to save his country from going down the drain. He could go somewhere sunny, put sun lotion and relax on a beach but nope.

7) He thought about summoning his nichevo'ya again to protect his cult even though they annoyed him greatly.

So.

For anyone who says that he was a selfish asshole. Come here. I just want to talk 🔫😄

[wastedwastelandme]

Amongst the MANY reasons why I want a Shadow and Bone season 3, one at the top of my list is that I am fascinated with where specifically Alina’s story could be going. (Warning for heavy book spoilers going forward)

One of the things I really liked in the books was the focus on how much Alina’s role was slowly crushing her, how aside from the simple joy she got from her power itself, her title as “The Sun Summoner,” her status as a symbol caused her nothing but pain. There’s huge swaths of waiting in book 2 and the beginning of 3 where she has nothing to do but dread over all the implications of her role: the Darkling’s presence reminding her of all she fears she could become or even just seen as by the people of Ravka, ageless and without equal and consumed by her own power. The cult being built around her increasing her worry of what would happen if she fails (and, you know, the fear of being the focus of a cult). The increasing realization that even if she does succeed she doesn’t just get to walk away and will most likely have to marry Nikolai and become the Sun Queen to keep the peace in Ravka for the Grisha. How all of this pulls her further and further away from Mal, being seen as someone with a grand destiny either way that he can’t be a part of. Alina spends so long fearing this and even more that it feels like a trap closing around her that she escapes with Mal at the last moment by faking her death taking down the Fold. She’s able to get away from the trap of being a symbol and it’s why it’s such a victory that she and Mal get that small and simple life.

But here, because of the timeline moving and other changes, show!Alina hasn��t had the chance to dread all this, and Mal has been steadfast by her side the whole time so she hasn’t had it all been underlined by them being slowly pulled apart. She’s aware of these things in general, but she hasn’t had the chance to really focus on and fear them happening.

This is not a criticism, and is in fact the point of my fascination.

Because while book!Alina spent so much time dreading the trap she was falling into and was able to escape it, show!Alina does not realize that she’s been falling into a trap and is now ALREADY IN THE TRAP.

She’s standing beside Nikolai as the Sun Queen without the awareness that this might not be a temporary position. The world no longer has the Darkling and the Fold as a common enemy and all the attention will be on Alina as the representative of ravkan Grisha with a unique power that has already served its purpose. She’s now truly without equal, she used Merzost, and she used the Darkling’s shadow power itself. The Apparat is very much still around with his cult leader fixation on Alina. And now Mal has left her side so they can find each other on their own, and she doesn’t have him to fall back on during this at all.

And the cherry on top of all this is that show!Alina doesn’t have the way out of this that her book counterpart did. She doesn’t have the neat tidy story of “The Sun Summoner sacrificed her life to destroy the Fold” that people will accept, because the Fold’s already been destroyed and she’s still in the public eye! The only way the people will accept someone leaving their status as a Saint and a Symbol is through their martyrdom and she doesn’t have that anymore! And she still doesn’t realize any of this yet!

I really have no idea how she could get out of this neatly, and I really really need that next season to see how this goes pretty please.

[dearmantis]

For I'm too busy committing sins

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Durast!Reader

Summary: The next experiment with Merzost has unforseen side effects and you finally realize that you have not only poked a bear with your greed for knowledge and power. No, you've signed your fate.

Warnings: I'm blatantly ignoring the established rules of the magic system, English is not my native language and this isn't really edited

Word Count: 3.6k

Authors' Note: Sorry this took so long, I just can't write sometimes. Title is still from the fruits, just like the others from the series. We have a two week time skip here, sorry for that but this made the most sense to me. let's hope part 4 will be finished quicker :/

Part 1 | Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The first time you summon you're pretty sure you didn't have to pay a price, not really. You don't notice anything odd on the second try either.

It's the third time that ends up having clear, unforeseen consequences.

You just sat down in your freshly filled, steaming bathtub, scrubbing your skin with a sponge almost an hour after your latest experiment finished when you notice it. Fine lines, as silver as the moon and shimmering like the surface of a mirror, are slowly starting to form on the underside of your arms. It's faint and seems to be spreading slowly, but you can already see what it is.

The words you use to summon are starting to appear on your skin, syllable after syllable etching themselves in tiny letters into the organ, mixed up and spread widely all over the surface of both of your arms, connected to indicate their correct order despite the chaos by long lines that loosely remind you of depictions of star constellations.

No matter how much you scrub, how much soap and force you use, it does not go away.

Burying your face in your hands you pull your legs to your chest and try to suppress any pitiful sounds of frustration. There is simply no point to cry about your own stupidity, no matter how strong the wish to do just that is. What is done is done and now all you can do is hope and pray to the saints that the experiment was worth it and that the writing stays on your arms where it's easy to cover with your kefta.

Wrapping your arms around your legs you stare up to the ceiling of the bathroom, your thoughts rushing through your brain at a speed higher than even the shadows of the General, spurred on by your own anxiety.

Working alone has been a blessing for you. You're good at what you do, so good that you're arguably one of the most, if not the most talented Durast currently staying at the Little Palace. Your work is efficient and exact in a way rarely seen in Durasts that only do repetitive tasks for years like you have, giving you lots of time to experiment with the forbidden science since you make progress with your smoke grenades quicker than most people would expect from you.

And now all of that extra time to plan and go through with experiments has come to bite you.

Groaning quietly your gaze moves towards the small window on the left of the bathtub. It's dark outside, but that doesn't mean much, not during winter. Dinner will not start for another 3 hours and you're honestly not sure if you're even going to attend. Now that you know that physical evidence of your deeds can be found on your skin simply leaving your room feels like a risk.

It's a stupid fear, you know this. There's no way anyone would force you to take off your kefta, no way for anyone to see what is going on, but you can't silence your own mind. The fear still sits in your heart, spreading it's wings and sharpening it's claws to make sure it will never loose hold, will never be exterminated from your heart like the parasite it truly is.

But it's not like you can just never eat with the other Grisha ever again. You're just a normal Grisha, they will never make exceptions for you.

Mind wandering you continue to stare outside, creating and scrapping plan after plan until the bathing water is ice cold, your mind however far too deeply hidden in the clouds for you to notice until one of the servants finally chooses to hesitantly knock on the door.

You turn your head towards her, humming quietly to signal that she can enter.

"Miss, dinner is about to begin" She announces and you pause for just a second, trying to comprehend what the woman has just said.

Dinner is about to begin? Saints, are you so stuck in your own mind that you bathed for three hours without noticing?

Your arms are tightly pressed against your torso as your eyes dart through the room, looking for a robe or towel to cover yourself up with before you simply stare back at the servant. She mirrors your looks, eyes slowly widening as she gets more and more confused and scared because of your intense eye contact, reminding you a bit of a surprised deer. Slowly, as if she's trying to get away from a predator, she turns around, attempting to escape the room, when a sentence finally forms on your tongue, an idea so horrible and stupid that it shocks even you filling your mind like a poisonous gas.

"I'm actually not gonna eat with the others today." You say before you can stop yourself. "I decided to resume my training with Baghra and I though the best way to ask her would be during a meal. Could you bring my portion of dinner to her hut?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth you want to push your head under the water and drown yourself. Baghra is still mad at you. Sure, she knows about your experiments with merzost and might even know something about the writings on your arms, but she also hates your guts right now. Well, she has always hated you, but it's definitely a lot worse now than it was two wreks ago. Also, nothing good has ever happened in Baghras hut, every Grisha knows that. It's unwritten law at the Little Palace.

The servant stares at you for a few more seconds, eyes round like plates, before she gives you a nod that is too enthusiastic to be real and a smile that is so terrifyingly false that a shiver runs down your spine.

"Of course" She answers, and then she's gone like lightning. You stare at the spot she occupied for a few seconds, silently hoping that she was just scared of you because you're behaving weirdly and not because she noticed something fundamentally wrong about you.

Sighing quietly you finally stand up, cold water dripping from your naked body as you step out of the tub and walk out of your tiny bathroom, back into your room, shivering like a leaf in the wind.

Pulling out the towel you foolishly forgot to bring into the bathroom you dry off your body, getting closer to the candle on your desk to look at the lines one more time. They're still thin like sowing needles, colour shifting in the candlelight. The skin around it is sensitive and hot to the touch from all of the scrubbing you've done to get the writings off and your eyes move to the clean kefta hanging in your closet, then the many white shirts right next to it. Even the newest one will probably continue to irritate your skin and you regret taking that bath altogether.

Your eyes dart to the clock on your desk. Dinner will begin soon and you'd prefer to arrive around the same time as your food to make sure the old woman has no chance to spit into your meal.

It's not like you can ask a healer to fix your problem - they would all report the patterns on your skin to the general - so all you can do is quickly wrap one of the bandages you've been hoarding in your desk around your arms before getting dressed and slipping out of your room.

You're almost at the entrance of the Little Palace when you walk around a corner, directly into an Oprichniki. You're pretty sure it's the same one you ran into last time as well, recognizing his copper-like haircolour and the sharp look in his eyes. Quickly moving to the side you keep your eyes on the ground, not wiling to repeat the events that followed the last time you accidentally ran into an Oprichniki.

The saints are not merciful, however, because only a few heartbeats later the smooth, polite voice of the General reaches your ear. "Ah, I'm glad to see you. You've been quite busy, or so I've heard. How are the experiments on the prototypes going?"

Forcing a smile onto your lips you look up, meeting the Generals gaze shakily. "It's going fine, sir. The last two weeks have been quite work intense for me but I got used to working alone quickly. I believe I might even miss it after I'm finished."

He mirrors your smile. "I'm glad to hear that. It's always good to see Grisha find the right environment to flourish. Maybe we could make it a permanent arrangement."

Kirigan looks around for a few seconds, before holding out his hand for you to take. "Would you allow me to walk you to dinner?"

"Oh, I'm not planning to eat with the others tonight." You answer quickly, eyes focused on his hands. What if he touches me again? Sure, he doesn't seem to have noticed anything odd about me the first time we touched, nor the second time, but now I have those markings and I don't know what they do.

Dropping his hand the dark eyes of the General look you over and you feel like he's looking though your clothes, your skin, your muscles, right at your soul, and thinks of what he finds as lacking. Like he can see every single sin you've ever committed.

"You shouldn't overwork yourself too much. You have all the time in the world to finish the-"

You cut him off, nervous energy bubbling deep in your stomach and signaling to your brain to pump you full of adrenaline. You need to get away. Away from him, away from your little workshop, away from the poor bird sitting in a cage down there. Your hands are shaking and your throat feels like you swallowed a handful of wood and metal shavings.

"I'm not working on the grenades tonight. I already finished my work for today. I chose to eat with Baghra tonight."

His eyes narrow, just a tiny bit, and your muscles tense as if your body is instinctively preparing to run from the danger right in front of you. "Is there a reason why you're choosing to dine with your old teacher? I hope you didn't run into any issues with your work."

Shaking your head quickly you try to give a reassuring smile, but you're sure it looks more like a grimace. "No, no issues at all. I just thought I might reconnect with her. It has been years since I last had a conversation with her, after all."

"I'm glad to hear that, but I have to admit that I still don't understand. As far as I know she's not particularly... popular. How come she's the one you want to reconnect with and not any of your other teachers?"

Saints why can't he just leave me alone. Why does he have to question everything?

"I just felt like meeting up with her would be nice, especially since I feel like I've grown a lot as a person since we last said goodbye all those years ago. It's like the otkazat'sya always say: Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

The laugh you force out afterwards feels like acid in your mouth, but you can't give up now. You're three lies deep already and have finished the groundwork to get out of this conversation. Giving in this late would be pathetic.

"Anyways, I'm so incredibly sorry to reject you like this and leave you standing in a hallway but I really have to get going. I don't want to insult Baghra and show up late to our meeting. I promise I will deliver the prototypes by the end of the week and to make up for the rejection I promise to design and make whatever your heart desires after my work is done, moy soverenyi."

Before he gets a chance to respond you're already jogging around another corner, leaving the Little Palace entirely not even thirty seconds later.

It's cold outside, a thin layer of frost on the grass and leaves making everything sparkle in the moonlight. In the distance you can see a servant walking with hurried steps back to the Little Palace, coming from the direction of the hut, and a frown appears on your face, your own steps speeding up again. Luckily it hasn't snowed yet so your trip doesn't take long, arriving at her hut only a few minutes after the servant must've left.

You don't bother with knocking, instead choosing to take one last deed breath of the freezing air before ripping the door open and stepping into the dark hut.

The tolerance to the heat in her house that you've build up while you still regularly trained with her has long disappeared, the warm humidity making breathing even harder than it already is due to the panic attack threatening to overwhelm you since you discovered the marks.

This is not a good day for you and your mental health.

"You could at least do me a favor an turn on a candle or two." You say quietly into the all consuming darkness as you step into the room where you know Baghra eats her dinner. Thankfully you still now the layout of her living quarters like the back of your hand.

"I knew it was you the second the servant mentioned someone invited themselves into my house." The woman responds, her voice sharp and clearly angry at you. "And since when do you need light? I trained you long enough to know you can see more than enough with your powers!"

Your jar clenches in frustration as you wake your gift to find your way to a chair, sitting down quickly and locating the plate where your food waits on the small table in front of you. All of your fear is gone, annoyance and frustration taking its place as the familiarity of Baghra and her home hit you.

In your mind you're five, being dragged in here for the first time by one of the Servants and a Corporalki guard, Baghra looking down at you as if you're a particularly disgusting stain on an expensive carpet.

Then you're seven, cowering on the floor in front of Baghras chair, holding onto her long skirt. Your body aches horribly after a few Corporalki children decided to practice on you against your will. You beg her to tell the General but she just looks down at you, black eyes cold despite the warm candle light flickering in them. "You're a Fabrikator, child. He doesn't care about your kind. You just have to pay more attention to your surroundings, run faster, and get stronger. That's all you can do. No one is gonna safe you."

You're eight, sleeping on her doorstep at the end of autumn, hiding from the other students, the cold air creeping into your bones. She doesn't open the door but you wake up to a steaming cup of tea standing next to you.

You're thirteen, carefully using your powers to look for a special type of ring hidden somewhere in the pitch black hut. The dark still scares you, like it scares most kids, and you can't help yourself. You're starting to get anxious, your control over your powers wavering as your movements get more hectic and your breathing quickens. In your panic you miss the leg of a chair, falling down with a squeak and ripping the skin on your knees and palms open. Baghra clicks with her tougue, disapointment audible, and a second later a match goes up in flames. The woman stares down at you and shakes her head.

You're sixteen, saying goodbye to her one last time, silently promising yourself that you will never step into this house again, no matter what happens.

Grabbing a piece of bread you rip off a piece and put some pickled herring on top, chewing the bite quickly before moving onto the next. Based on the movements of Baghras bones and the containers she's holding you're pretty sure she's drinking tea instead of eating. She must be waiting for you to speak, that's the only explanation for her silence. Or she's waiting for you to finish eating to kick you out, but that would suggest that she has something like manners and cares about hospitality and that just seems unrealistic to you.

Clearing your throat you grab a glass full of water, lifting it up and taking a few sips while starring into the shapeless, all consuming darkness, your powers carefully feeling around the room, looking for familiar items that could maybe give you a feeling of security.

When you place the glass back down you force the words out of your mouth.

"I think I made a horrible mistake."

The silence that follows reminds you of the kind that fills the air after an explosion in the labs. Deafening and gruesome, full of dread because for a few seconds no one knows if anyone got hurt, if someone might be dead or if they lost a limb and don't notice because of adrenaline. It's a sick, horrible ringing in your ear that only disappears when she finally responds, annoyance clear like daylight in her tone.

"Of course you have, idiot. I told you that two weeks ago. Glad that you finally caught up as well." She hisses, angrily placing the teacup back on the table, the porcelain breaking as soon as it makes contact with the wood. You drop your next bite of fish and bread back onto your plate, wordlessly reaching for the shards of the cup. Baghra tries to swat your hands away but you simply hit back into her direction, no longer a child that gets scared of her antics, pulling the pieces to your side of the table and grabbing the first few pieces to fuse them back together.

"Does the cup have a pattern I have to pay attention to while I repair it?"

You feel the way she shakes her head no, then she scoffs. "I'm not gonna save your life because you fixed my cup."

"I don't expect you to."

Neither of you says another word until you finish fixing the cup, carefully placing it back down on the table. A few seconds later Baghra lights a match, using it to set the wick of the candle that's standing between you two on the table on fire.

Soft, warm light fills the room and you look at the woman, watching as she picks up the cup and looks it over, checking your work like she used to when you were still her student.

As soon as she's done she sets it back down, using the napkin you got with your food to soak up the tea that she spilled.

"Your best work yet. Good to see that your brain didn't fully rot away while making corecloth and playing around with merzost."

"Oh, I actually haven't made any corecloth since your visit. The General ordered me to work on my own to make smoke grenades. I think he might be finally noticing my talent."

You don't expect her to throw the wet napkin at you so you don't even flinch when it hits your face full force.

"He noticed that you're messing with things and is isolating you to see what you're doing when you feel safe, you idiot! You're being played. I've told you a thousand times that he does not care for the Fabrikators, what makes you think you're the exception?"

She jumps up, long hair whipping around her head as she stares you down. "When he looks at you he does not see good ideas or talent. He sees something odd. Something that's not right. Something he does not understand. Do not be fooled. I taught you better than to fall for simple tricks like this."

You don't dare to move, not even after she sits back down and eyes your plate for a few seconds before grabbing a piece of bread and fish for herself.

"Now, tell me what idiotic things you've done so I know how to get you out of it."

So you tell her, beginning right at the start. You tell her how you couldn't take the constant mistreatment from your fellow Grisha anymore, people who thought you were weak and an easy target because you're a Durast and not an Inferni or Heartrender. How you started combing through every book, every notebook, every letter you could find to figure out how to become stronger and ultimately ended up with choosing merzost as the only viable solution to your problem.

When you arrive at the part where you have to explain today's experiment, the first attempt at making an actual amplifier, she buries her face in her hands and stays like that for ten minutes, refusing to look at you even after you finish your retelling of the events of the last months.

Her voice is tired and strained when she finally does speak, slightly muffled through her hands. "Did you at least free the bird you used?"

"Why should I? It didn't work."

Finally lifting her head she looks you over for a few seconds before snatching your hand from the table, fingers clawing into your skin. You wait for the amplification to start like it always did in the past, but nothing happens.

Shaking her head she lets go, leaning back in her chair.

"That's what I thought. It has no effect anymore. You don't know if it worked or not, you can't test it. And considering that you said you have markings on your skin I'm guessing you successfully made an amplifier. You already payed the price for summoning it after all."

A frown appears on your face, but before you can even think about asking what she means she continues speaking. "You can't be amplified anymore. That's the price, the corruption you suffered. You're on your own now. You wanted to summon merzost to make yourself stronger and now all you can do is make others more powerful."

Part 4 - The fruits of my labour

Taglist: @shawty-writes-a-little @dreamlandcreations

[bey0nd-1he-stars]

Season 3 of S&B

Let’s assume we get a season 3 because I don’t know what I’ll do otherwise. Continue to stream hose seasons that are out but preferably season 2!

But, say we get season three! What do we want included? Please tell me! I’m interested! Write in the comments, reblog or send to my inbox, your hopes for season 3!

Some things that I want included are:

- Ice court heist, obvi

- More Helnik

- Inej returning, I mean come on,imagine the pining

- Zoya x Nikolai, these two has me dying at their feet

- Zoya backstory, I feel like they owe her that because she’s such an incredible character

- ”Scheming face”

- Getting Wylan’s surename revealed

- Wylan’s drawing skills of the Ice court

- Sankta Elizaveta

- The triumvirate

- Nikolai backstory, with both Dominik and Vasily, and I would love to see his journey to become Sturmhond

- Obviously demon!Nikolai and Zoya locking him in bed

- I wanna know how Mal is doing as a privateer and I feel like he somehow finds his way back to Alina but her powers are dark now, and how are the two of them connected with merzost??

Just a few thought at the top of my head, please tell me what y’all wanna see!!

[blues-valentine]

S&B SEASON 2: THOUGHTS *a long ride*

I have conflicting emotions about that ending and overall how the whole season was handled for both SOC/S&B respectivelly.

First, I knew that I was going to be disappointed because they would mix S&S and R&R but this was a lot messier than I gave them the credit for. It left little room to develop Alina’s story line beyond the superficial. It felt to me like they were just trying to develop Nikolai for the KOS spin off and this seems unfair for Alina. She deserved her own time and it felt like they were just rushing to get her plot done.

I get TGT is not the most interesting and that the other books have been superior but it’s the start of the grishaverse and it sustains a lot of important things they just skipped over. Alina and her crew (Mal, Genya, Zoya, David, etc) deserved the time to breathe and their own exploration. Alina’s need/greed for power, the political aspect and her religious influence was glossed over and not developed further. Season 2 should’ve ended with Alina’s failed attempt to fully take down Darkling and being taken by the Apparat and therefore forced to become a religious pawn because this was an interesting aspect to Alina but also Tolya and Tamar, who ultimately were just there to fill the space in Nikolai’s story line and didn't get to explore that side.

Another thing about this season is that everything happened in such an anticlimatic way. Mal's amplifier reveal, Genya's backstory about the royal family and just so much that was more impactful in the books. David was killed off too soon. He didn't even get to marry Genya. Zoya deserved so much more and i'll hate it if I don't ever see her get to rule Ravka. Tolya and Tamar weren't given the level of depth I was expecting with their devotion to Alina. It was just too messy for me. I do think the season managed to improve some stuff. I think she Shu Han aspect was an interesting thing to add.

Don't even get me started with SOC because I feel like they have included basically everything so when the spin off does end up happening (we need good numbers for season 2 first) so many plots are not even going to happen. They took so many CK moments but without the right context so that didn't make it feel as impactful as it should've been. The actors truly did everything with those scenes especially with the Kanej scenes but it would've been so much better to have the full implications of what it means for their development. I wasn't too happy with how Inej's plot was handled. Literally we had CK before we even got SOC. And can we speak about the ableism with Kaz and his cane? Please.

Now, with that ending. I get what they had to change it. If they were to go with the R&R ending then there won't be actual story line for Alina and Mal. I’m still trying to understand why they couldn’t just use 3 seasons for the 3 books and wait to do the spins off, but I get that business is a whole different thing. So, that ending, like the whole season, it was rushed. You couldn't even feel sad because everything was happening so fast. The fact that Tolya and Tamar weren't the ones trying to bring Mal back to life was a shame because the friendship between Mal and Tolya was everything in the books. Alina clearly took part of Darkling's merzost powers to bring Mal back to life and this will cause her power corruption. But, the whole poison thing was so weird? This is a way to link the SOC characters and the KOS plot together but it's just so weird. About Malina’s ending, they did this to extend their arc in the show (x). I don't dislike the idea of them parting for a while until they get back to each other I just hated the way it felt too strange for both of them. I would have taken Mal asking Alina for time to be on it's own but not that weird excuse about his powers. And then, Alina had a whole struggle on R&R because she did not want to be a queen, because she wanted to be married for love and not for alliance. That Alina felt like a fanfic, not the real one. I have my own thoughts on where her story line will go for Season 3 (if there's one) and it could be interesting if executed right but I'm not too sure about that.

The season was far from perfect. It was messy and rushed. From both sides they skipped vital moments and interactions that could've made so many of the scenes have more sense and feel impactful. But I still would want a Season 3 and for those spin offs to be green lighted because those actors are too talented to lose for this.