#oc: ravka

[eliseliedl]

The Elder Scrolls Online 4 / ?

[quiiettreason]

𖤓 𝓓awn & 𝓓evastation

━━━  part 002. mirrorball

masterlist

summary — Nikolai Lantsov saves his savior from a hungry kelpie and interrogates her

word count: 2.7k words

warnings — fem!oc ( i know, i’m sorry), mentions of cruelty toward women and faeries, discussion and descriptions of war, and nikolai being a little shit.

good shit — the actual start of enemies to lovers (except it’s just eulalie being a bitch) and fae lore (and lore about Ravka that I made up).

anna’s annotations — maybe i went a little overboard with sturmhond but whatever. i had a lot of fun writing this.

It was not every day that a man got saved, stepped on, and threatened by the same girl in twenty minutes.

And now, Nikolai felt like a fool watching his savior (future killer, perhaps?) get dragged to a very unfortunate death. Blood colored the waves and turned the seafoam a gruesome shade of salmon. He would have met an early and very watery grave if it weren't for her, and Nikolai would be a liar if he weren't at least a little intrigued by her.

Swiftly, he threw off his sopping, teal frock coat and stumbled into the shallows after the strange girl. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest. It had to have been either the bravest or stupidest thing he had ever done—and he'd done a lot of stupid shit. A piece of driftwood bumped into Nikolai's shin. It wasn't very big or sharp, but it would have to do. Nikolai picked it up and sliced it into the kelpie's flank to get its attention with a grunt.

It worked a little too well.

The kelpie reared its head, dead, black eyes meeting Nikolai's. Its mouth was slick with the girl's blood, and it reeked of death. He didn't even have time to wrinkle his nose because the kelpie lunged at Nikolai, jaws opening wide with those surprisingly sharp teeth. He tried backing away, but the kelpie was faster. Its teeth cut through his shirt and plunged deep into his skin. Nikolai groaned and kicked the kelpie off him. Blood drained from his shoulder, mixing with the girl's gore swirling in the whitecaps. Nikolai fell into the water, his peripherals turning dark and fuzzy as he fought to stay conscious again.

To his relief, the kelpie was spooked by clamoring from a ship nearing the shallows. Nikolai lifted his head, spotting his crew yelling at him. A weak smile upturned his lips as he rested his head back on the sand. Thank the Saints.

"Captain!" he heard Tamar shout through the sloshing of boots as she neared, wading through the swells. She stood over him and offered her hand to him. "Saints, man, you look like absolute shit."

Nikolai took Tamar's hand, pulling him to his feet. "Just the woman I wanted to see," he grumbled as he tried to stay standing. "How kind of you to finally show up."

"Don't be so dramatic. We went up and down the coast looking for you. I was beginning to think the sea finally got you," she replied, watching her brother and a former Corporalki—the Volkvolny's very own Healer—gather around the half-dead girl. Something seemed to be wrong with the girl.

Nikolai clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyebrows together as he stumbled toward the three in the shallows. Dimitri, the Healer, looked up at his captain with concern written across his rugged features.

"What's the matter?" Nikolai asked.

"Her heartbeat is foreign," answered Tolya, his hands clasped together and hovered over the girl's chest. She isn't human, Captain."

It can't be easy, can it? Nikolai thought, placing his hands on his hips. "Can she be healed?"

"I don't know. I think she's fae," the Healer said, examining the stranger's wounds. They looked fatal.

"I wouldn't care if she's a damn dragon, Dimitri. We wouldn't be having this splendid conversation if it weren't for her," he responded a bit too harshly. In his defense, Nikolai was in immense pain from the kelpie bite on his shoulder.

"I've never healed a faerie before, sir," Dimitri managed.

"Obviously. Those are children's tales. Get her onto the ship as fast as possible. Tolya, keep her heart stable. I have questions for her," Nikolai ordered before turning to get into one of the rowboats to paddle back to the Volkvolny.

He decided to keep her in the brig of his ship just in case the girl really was fae. After all, kelpies proved to be real, and Nikolai had been—reluctantly—wrong before. So very wrong. Tamar had done her best to keep the bleeding on his shoulder to a minimum while Dimitri rested. Healing the stranger had done a good number on the poor boy.

After an hour or so, Dimitri finished healing his captain's shoulder. Nikolai was restless, as always, during the process. Though he'd set Tamar and Roksana—one of his Inferni—outside of the girl's cell, he was anxious to get down there and question his prisoner.

But only after a good, hot meal and perhaps a glass of wine.

Once he had done just that, Nikolai padded down the steps to the brig, finding Tamar sharpening her axes, and Roksana slumped against the iron bars of the captive's cell, picking at some dirt under her short fingernails. Roksana looked up at her captain and ruffled her short brown hair away from her face.

"Feeling better, Captain?" the Inferni asked. Nikolai didn't need to look at her to know that she was smiling by the way her raspy voice lightened.

"Much better, thank you very much," he replied, sitting on one of the crates across from the cell. Nikolai rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and rested his forearms on his thighs. "You think she's really a faerie, too?"

Roksana pursed her lips and glanced behind her. "Perhaps. I haven't gotten a good look at her."

"Scared, Solovyva?" Tamar teased with a final scrape on her ax.

Roksana made a face at the Shu girl. "No. She's just been asleep this whole time, and oh, I don't know, after fighting off a damn kelpie, I thought that she might appreciate the rest."

"She's only asleep because I've kept her that way," Tamar shot back.

"My point still stands," Roksana responded indignantly.

"The real question is if he thinks she's fae?" Tamar said, pointing at Nikolai. She looked up at him expectantly. "So, what say you? What if our miraculous prisoner is fae?"

Nikolai shrugged. "Then the rumors are true," he replied matter-of-factly. "The fae truly do exist beyond children's bedtime stories."

"She could be dangerous. Didn't your nannies warn you that the more beautiful the monster, the more vile?" Roksana questioned, furrowing her brows.

"Though," Tamar piped in before Nikolai could respond, "she did save your sorry, drowning ass."

"True. I was told a lot of stories growing up, but I didn't pay much attention to them. Not enough adventure or sword-fighting and too much fantastical fear mongering for my taste," he answered casually. Nikolai shrugged again. "Like I said, bedtime stories. Besides, she could be a Tidemaker for all we know."

"I don't know. Dimitri seemed pretty spooked after he finished healing the girl," Tamar jested, nudging Roksana's boot with her own playfully.

The prisoner stirred awake in her cell, peeling her scarred body off the sad excuse of a cot in the corner. Roksana glanced behind her and moved away from the bars, closer to where Nikolai sat, wary of the girl. The captive pushed herself to a sitting position, groaning and wincing as her joints popped and clicked in protest. She slowly blinked her eyes as if she was trying to focus her vision. Finally, the girl pushed a strand of messy, damp brown hair behind her slightly pointed ear.

Roksana kicked Tamar childishly. "Bitch, I told you. You owe me fifty coin."

Tamar pretended to be offended and kicked the Inferni back, which startled the prisoner.

Nikolai returned the faerie's gaze easily, his eyes studying her carefully. She was an incredibly beautiful thing, Nikolai was forced to admit. Her delicate facial features were almost too perfect to bear; her tanned skin was unmarred (save for the injuries she had sustained in her fight with the kelpie), and her body was slender but muscular, especially her strong thighs.

And that anchor pendant. It seemed so out of place.

The faerie caught him gawking and furrowed her brows. Those eyes—were they hazel or green?—traced every part of Nikolai's being as if she were trying to find out all his secrets. Or maybe she was just trying to remember if she recognized him from the beach. Either way, under her gaze, Nikolai felt naked.

"Well, that was quite the experience, wasn't it, darling?" Nikolai smirked, forcing himself not to waver under her harsh stare, instead replacing it with his usual carefree, charming demeanor.

"Why am I in a cage?" she asked, giving him a pointed look. Her voice was rough from the amount of seawater she’d likely swallowed, and she stayed in her corner on the cot, bones aching.

"It's just a safety precaution, gorgeous. Nothing personal. I've been taught that the likes of you are rather dangerous," he said, standing up and approaching the iron bars of her enclosure. He leaned against them as if to mock her and say, ‘Come closer—see if I care.’

"The likes of me?" the girl echoed, raising her eyebrows. "Why would I hurt you? I'm the reason you're still alive."

Nikolai shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "One can never be too careful."

Her dark eyebrows furrowed, scrutinizing him again. She didn't seem to be a fan of the pet names. Then, she leaned back against the hull of the ship and exhaled sharply.

"Well then, if you're going to kill me, just get it over with," the girl answered.

Nikolai chuckled, leaning even closer to her cell. "You're the first woman who's asked me to kill, how charming." He gave a sharp whistle, getting the Grisha women's attention. "Tamar, Roksie, leave us for a moment, will you?"

The girls in question exchanged a look between themselves but said nothing. Nikolai waited for them to disappear at the top of the stairs before speaking again.

"Why did you save me?" he asked.

"No one should ever have to die by drowning, or worse, a kelpie, even if you're Ravkan and a pirate," the girl rasped, then broke into another coughing fit.

"Privateer," he corrected her. "There's a difference. Was that the only reason? Preventing a gruesome demise?"

She rolled her eyes at the correction. "That's the only reason. What were you expecting?"

"I'm not sure," Nikolai replied honestly. "You know how our people are. Ravka has a certain... reputation among the fae, and I've been taught that there's always some ulterior motive with your kind." Nikolai's eyes swept her again, taking in the cuts and slashes on her skin, her weak movements, her chapped lips. "You don't look so well. Are you thirsty, by chance?"

"Do not mock me," the girl said hoarsely, shaking her head weakly. "And do not pretend to care about my well-being when you have me in a damn cage, for Saints' sake."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. He could understand why the faerie was so wary of him. She must have been terrified and in shock after the attack. Or perhaps this was just how she was.

"Why would I lie?" He paused before speaking again. She was a tough one to crack, and it was irritating Nikolai. "Have many people told you that you have a delightful personality?"

"Have many people told you that you're utterly insufferable?" she snapped back.

Nikolai smirked, his lips curving in a half-smile. "Oh, many, trust me, but they usually tell that to my face. They have a lot more to say, most of this less flattering. You, on the other hand, haven't called me a 'stuck up Ravkan prick' or tried to punch my pretty face," he quipped back, resting his forearms on the iron bars of her cage.

She didn't respond right away, thinking, judging him. "I don't think you're stuck-up, but I do think you're a prick. I don't want to punch you; I would rather strangle you."

Nikolai laughed heartily, tossing his head back and pushing off the cell bars. "Please, darling, at least take me to dinner first."

The girl frowned more if that was even possible. Nikolai only grinned, knowing he was getting on her nerves. Like most people, the faerie seemed to want him to shut up, but that definitely wasn't going to be happening anytime soon. Not if Nikolai had any say about it.

"Who are you?" the girl asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Or perhaps that was the natural state of her face. Her lips twisted into a scowl, eyes cold as winter, and her chin tilted up defiantly. She would make a good fighter.

Nikolai let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. He could practically see the impatience brimming behind her eyes, which made his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile.

"Does it really matter?" he finally said, leaning against the bars of her cage once more. "You've already made up your mind about me, haven't you? The Ravkan prick with an ego the size of The Fold itself?"

"I'd like to know who my captor is," the girl replied plainly.

"I've been told I'm a vexation," he responded vaguely.

"That wasn't what I asked," she snapped, standing up from the cot and nearing the bars.

Almost unconsciously, Nikolai moved away from the cell. Coward, he mentally cursed himself.

"Sure, it is," he said, his eyes widening slightly as she gripped the iron bars.

In the stories, it was written that the heavy metal burned fae skin, but this faerie's skin was seemingly unaffected. Or she had an incredible tolerance for pain.

The girl must have noticed his awestruck gaze. "Impossible that iron doesn't hurt me?"

Nikolai's lips pursed, and he shook his head. "Improbable."

"Answer my question."

"I did," he insisted.

"Fine. What's your name?" the girl pressed harshly.

"Most call me Sturmhond."

The faerie scoffed, one corner of her lips curling up into a supercilious half-smile. "No, it's not. I'm not calling you that."

Nikolai smirked and shrugged, daring to near the cell again. She could easily reach out, grab him by his collar, and gouge his eyes out with her lovely fingers. But the faerie had already shown that she knew mercy by not feeding him to the kelpie on the beach and sacrificing herself instead. With that knowledge, Nikolai knew he could safely push his limits.

"I've also been known to answer to 'sweetheart' or 'handsome.'" He flashed her a broad grin.

"In your dreams," the faerie spat with another scoff.

"Oh, I do look forward to it," Nikolai quipped. He paused before speaking again as she turned her back on him and walked away. "What name shall I call out, then?

The faerie stopped in her tracks as if she were thinking over what to answer him. She looked over her shoulder. "Maeve."

"I don't suppose that's not your real name, is it?" Nikolai didn't expect her to be truthful with him. After all, the fae was said to be deceitful by nature, and his alias was very obviously just that—an alias.

"Is Sturmhond your real name?" the girl, allegedly called Maeve, asked, turning fully around.

"Maybe."

"Are you always this vague?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow at him and placing her hands on her hips.

"Are you always this argumentative?" Nikolai shot back.

The girl tilted her head and pressed her lips together in a tight line. "Yes, actually."

Her beautiful eyes drew away from Nikolai as she was weighing her options. What those were seemed scarce, so he gave her some. Although he was wary of her—albeit—the faerie could be of some use, maybe even be a good fighter.

"Well then, Maeve, now that we're acquainted," Nikolai began casually, "you have a choice."

'Maeve' scrunched her eyebrows, looking back up at him. "You're giving me a choice?"

"Naturally. I'm offering to keep you on the ship with my crew, find you someplace where your skills could be of some use, and of course, food and shelter. Or, you are welcome to leave when we port next," Nikolai proposed transparently.

She looked suspicious. "That's it?"

Nikolai nodded. Ever distrustful, he thought.

"Where do you port next?" the faerie asked, nearing the bars. This time, Nikolai stayed rooted in his spot.

"Ketterdam. We should be there in four days time," he answered. Nikolai searched her freckled face. "Think about it. In the meantime, if you can behave yourself, I might let you out of this cell, so you don't have to sleep on that dreadful cot."

With that, Nikolai smirked and turned on his heel to jog up the steps to the main deck.

[hrtrenderr]

The Tsarinas Of Ravka

self indulgent sketch I did for the shadow and bone D&D campaign i’m in.

——���

Nadezhda - The first queen of Ravka. She was a very dutiful wife, helping her husband to unify Ravka through subtle diplomacy.

Her design was influenced by byzantine fashion

———

Mila - A quiet Northern woman who struggled to adapt to her role. Her husband was paranoid, often causing her to withdraw more from court. After the creation of the fold, and difficulties politically, Mila grew close to her mother in law. Together the two worked to ease the strife in the Ravkan court.

Her design was Influenced by traditional russian dress from the early 1900s

———

Ksenia - The second wife of King Anastas. She was more than fond of one of her ladies in waiting, with no romantic interest or feelings for her husband. He lost his first wife in child birth, and in grief found romantic partership with his closest advisor. Ksenia and Anastas still had a very good friendship, and ksenia raised his children as her own.

Her design was inspired by early middle ages fashion

———

Avelina - Born Princess Akwete of Noviy Zem, Avelinas arrival in Ravka was the first diplomatic crossing of the fold since its creation. Her husband, King Ivan, fell for her very quickly and the pair married after a year. The two ruled together, and Avelina brought great change to the fashion of the Ravkan court.

Her design was influenced by tudor fashion

———

Elizaveta - Born into the court, Elizaveta always had her sights set on the prince. The two married and had several children. Unfortunately, through the years all of their older children died. This strained the marriage of the King and Queen, and caused Elizaveta to become overly protective of her youngest son.

Her design was a blend of Tudor fashion and Edwardian court dresses

———

Irina - With an arranged marriage from a young age, Irina was raised to be a wife and Queen. She was a dutiful wife, trying to be perfect and supportive to her husband. Unfortunately, her husband unfaithfulness created a child that would come to live at court. While she was never hostile to the boy himself, Irina had to endure her husband favoring him over their children.

Her lore is entirely based on campaign lore, and her design is heavily influenced by late 1800s russian court fashion

[aces-and-kings]

The Aces-and-Kings Carrd (2023)

[aces-and-kings]

"My father taught me this world was only a preparation for the next, that all we can ask is that we leave it having loved and been loved."

"Then I will search for you through 1,000 worlds and 10,000 lifetimes until I find you."

"And I will wait for you in all of them."

i’m such a whore for everlasting eternal love that transcends all realities through space and time

[potaetosugakookie]

would anyone be interested in reading a nikolai lantsov fanfic? with an oc or reader insert? the privateers best girl turned queen of ravka? I've had this idea for ages but I'm unsure if I should put it out there.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Eye of The Storm ⛈| Six of Crows Imagine

Takes place during the events of Shadow & Bone S2

My Masterlists

Characters & Pairings: Crows x Squaller/Saint!Reader (platonic), Kaz Brekker x reader (slight/eventual)

Content Warnings: fighting, blood, profanity, cannon divergence | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.9k

Requested 📨: yes/no

Premise: As the Crows make their way back to the Slate following their climatic dethronement of Pekka Rollins, they are ambushed by his supporters with no plan of action to escape. As they slowly accept their fate, what was once a clear night is rained upon with lightning and thunder in its wake. Having beat the odds of meeting one living Saint in their lifetime, the Crows are stunned when their savior, a player in the ever unfolding drama in Ravka, is the legend in stories of restoring life in the world when all hope was lost.

Note: although the Saint name I give is not Y/n, it’s still a reader insert and explains more at the end (it’s not an OC) also I know Zoya is called Sankta Zoya of the Storm but I have yet to get to her arc so for this the reader has powers equivalent to her

————————

The sirens had finally seized, concluding the hysteria in the streets of Ketterdam once it was revealed the Firebox outbreak was a hoax. Constructed by none other than the Bastard of the Barrel and his thieves amongst men, the Crows. After years of heated tension, and guided vengeance, against Pekka Rollins, Kaz Brekker succeeded in his plans of putting down the Lion that had ruined his life. Constant mental torture as he manuevered his players on their chestboard now able to rest.

“Where were you?” His voice was raspy, face still painted with his blood from the beating as he addressed Inej when she appeared from the shadows. They had been making their way back to the Slat. Nina, Wylan, and Jesper were flanked beside him, the dimly lit street light shining down on the group. Inej had been the only one not accounted for, flooding Kaz with anxiety mixed with anger that she strayed from the plan.

“I--.”

A gloved hand came up, stopping her. “Actually, I’d rather not hear what you have to say.” he wanted to shout. Reprimand her for being so foolish. Voice how her actions could’ve gotten her or one of them hurt because they had no idea where she was.

Despite these desires, the pain in Kaz’s body was too much and he was in need of a strong drink. Inej narrowed her eyes, but the man brushed past her leaving the others to send her looks of sympathy. Falling in step, the group followed behind Kaz, making note of how empty the streets were at that time of night. It was eerie. Yeah they may have caused an uproar with their little stunt, but they assumed there’d still be people out and about.

Dance halls and clubs are empty. The markets closed for business. Not a soul in sight. Wylan was the first to speak, “I’ve never seen it this quiet.”

“Very odd if I must say,” Jesper agreed, unconsciously letting his hands fall to where his guns strapped to his belt. His intuition was picking at his brain at the feeling that something wasn’t right.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s plotting now that Pekka is gone,” Inej made note of their surroundings. They were only a block from the Slat. Soon they’d be in the comfort of their home, able to bask in the relief they pulled their task off. A warm cup of tea by the fireplace before it came time for bed. Inej was looking forward to it.

But unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Nina suddenly froze, “Stop,” all movement seized, heads turning to the heartrender. Unease consumed them as they took in the sudden paleness of her appearance. “I hear heartbeats.” There was a subtle gulp, the woman adding in a low tone, “a lot of heartbeats.”

Tensing, they were met with the sounds of footsteps approaching from every angle. Inej pulled out her knives, as did Jesper with his guns. Wylan clutched his satchel to his chest, thinking of what he could use to help them out of this situation, though the odds were not looking good. Meanwhile, Kaz reversed his steps while the others spun around, the Crows forming a circle with their backs to one another, Kaz keeping space between him and Jesper. Allowing them a full view of the square.

They watched the herd of men step into the light. Revealing themselves with menacing eyes filled with vengeance. Kaz tensed, recognizing them as Pekka’s men.

Well the ones still loyal to the King of the Barrel. Several had already pledged their support to Kaz or took the chance to ditch town while they had the opportunity. Yet, here was a group of at least twelve, likely part of Pekka’s inner circle who’ve taken the actions of Kaz more personally. Those who refused to kneel. The young criminal should’ve known better than to expect a sudden shift in power would come easily to him.

“We have no business with you, gentlemen,” Kaz spoke with a level of calm that surprised even him. Deep down he was consumed with nerves seeing he and the Crows were severely outnumbered.

“Oh, but we do,” a gruff voice replied. Kaz’s eyes drifted to the owner, who’s hand mavuevered over his gun. “See, some of us are not too pleased with your little show tonight, Brekker. And we’ll be damned before claiming you as the King of the city.”

Jesper tilts his head slightly, whispering under his breath, “What do we do, boss?” Beside him Wylan was visibly freaking out. Nina raised her hands, ready to counter any attacks while Inej tightened the grip of her knives.

“This is it,” Kaz thought, clutching onto his cane. No ideas surfaced to help them escape. Accepting his time was up. Though he was going to fight for his Crows, the Bastard of the Barrel was ready to come to terms with his fate.

But before anyone could make the first room, a crack of lightning followed by its booming thunder shook the ground. Several flinched, including the crows, some of the Dime Lions stumbling by how close and sudden the element was to them. Rainfall began to pour down the once clear sky. Dark clouds covering the stars and skies.

The rain was thick, drenching everyone from head to toe. Their clothes became heavy. Had it not been for the skewing of their visibility, making them struggle to see where they were, they’d be annoyed by their state. But there were more important things at stake.

The storm made it hard to see. Only getting a glimpse of shapes and figures when flashes of lightning in the near distance hit the earth. Coupled with its thunder. Kaz barely could make out the enemy, bringing his cane up for any sudden attacks.

“What’s happening?” Wylan shouted, gurgling when the water hit mouth. “What do we do?”

“I-I--,” Kaz stuttered, the feeling of nausea swarming him at the cold, wet, rain hitting his face. It brought him back to the worst days of his life. Floating on top of cold, wet, bodies in the harbour, begging the Saints to save him. The man wanted to crawl away and hide. Yet the fear of not knowing what waited for them when the rain stopped kept him from falling to his knees in a panic.

“Hey! You there!” the same man from before shouted, Kaz squinting his eyes to see him raise his gun only to be thrown back by an invisible force of wind. His partner beside him went down next, though what hit him appeared to be a beam of light.

Kinda like a lightning bolt.

“What the hell was that?!” Inej shouted over the thunder.

‘A Squaller?’ Kaz thought to himself, watching another bout of wind sweep his oncoming attacker off their feet. He had not heard of another Grisha roaming the streets of Ketterdam. Surely if a squaller were inhabiting the area he’d know.

Using the butt of his cane Kaz knocked him out unconsious. When he glanced back up, his eyes landed on a cloaked figure standing on the roof of a nearby building. The rain made it impossible to make out their face. But judging by the way they moved their hands, and the fact his enemies were being bombarded by gusts of air, their savior was in fact an Ethereaki.

But what kind exactly?

At first Kaz believed they had to be a Squaller due to the wind. Yet, he then witnessed the rain shift direction, and water from a puddle shoot up to hit a man about to attack Wylan. A Tidemaker would better fit that description, however Kaz wasn’t aware of a Grisha able to control both air and water.

“I don’t know,” Jesper responded, shooting at an assailant he saw racing toward them, “But I’ve never been so happy for a thunderstorm as I am now.” At that moment Kaz realized nobody else noticed the mysterious person on the roof. His attention turned to Jesper beside him, oblivious to the help he was getting from a fellow Grisha. Turning back to the roof, expecting to see the cloaked individual, but they were gone.

As the fight commenced the storm ensued. Thunder overpowering the sound of pelting rain and gunshots. The Crows fought for their lives as the number of Dime Lions against them decreased. Nina managed to incapacitate several as did Jesper and Inej. The fight came to a climatic end with the last one standing was, quite, literally, hit with a lightning bolt causing the Crows to freeze where they stood.

Smoke filled the space, and when it cleared they were met with the mysterious being. Rain pelting down on them, however they seemed to pay no mind. As though it were a natural occurrence. It was still hard to see them. The streetlight candles had been blown out from the rain and wind, and the moon was covered by the clouds. Both those combinations obscured the face of their savior.

Nina raised her hands, ready to defend the group but Kaz motioned for her to stop, causing confusion amongst the rest. Who was this person and what did they want? And why was Kaz not doing anything?

“Well,” their voice, a feminine one at that, breached the once silent square. “That was entertaining if I’m being honest. Been a while since I’ve squabbled with angsty men,” she chucked, “but I was in dire need of practice.” Now hearing the woman speak clearly, they were able to identify her Ravkan accent. For Nina, her heart nearly stopped.

“I know that voice.” she felt the eyes of everyone, including the woman, on her. Hands lowering to her side, Nina's face etched into pure astonishment. Adding more confusion to the group who were at a loss of who this woman was.

“Oh!” The woman chuckled, not commenting on Nina’s words, “Apologies for the storm, let me just--,” they watched in stunned silence as her right hand rose, displaying a motion before the rain slowed and stopped altogether. Then with two fingers, she waved them around causing the clouds above to dissaperate, allowing the moon to shine down.

“Did she just--.” Jesper whispered to Inej, who’s expression resembled that of witnessing a miracle. “Can squallers summon thunderstorms? I thought that was a myth.”

Inej blinked rapidly, voice so low the others barely made out her reply. Tone in absolute awe, “Only one can.”

“One?” Kaz repeated, feeling a wave of unease beneath his skin.

Water from puddles splashed as the woman walked forward, stepping into the ray of light. The Crows, now able to see her fully, were greeted with her (y/h/c) hair and bearing dazzling grey eyes like the storm clouds she’d summoned. She appeared to be slightly older than the group, possibly by a few years. Then again Grisha were known to age slower than regular folk. For all they know she could be in her 50s. Look at the Darkling, who passed as a man in his early 40s to the naked eye but had lived for nearly 400 years.

Adorned in a deep grey kefta, the white and blue embroidery etched on resembled lightning bolts along with tiny drops of rain. It was unlike any kefta the Grisha wore. Those in the Ravka’s Second Army, with the exception of the Darkling, wore certain colored keftas and embroideries to signify their order. But to the knowledge of the Crows, no Grisha wore grey.

“Saints,” Nina gasped, jaw dropping slightly, causing the woman to smirk.

“Now, now,” she playfully tsked, “I’m not above swearing, but considering that applies to me….” her smirk never faltered, “I’m sure you can understand.”

Jesper’s head spun, looking between his comrades to see they were reacting the same way, “I’m sorry, are you saying that you’re--.”

Nina beat him to it, “Sankta Imber of the Drought.” Inej gasped, as did Wylan. The former repeated the name in wonder, falling to her knees in respect, “Sankta Imber….”

Kaz tightened his grip on his cane, mind racing to remember the tale behind the name. Who’s story was passed down from generation to generation for centuries. Who, like the Darkling and the Sun Summoner, was said to be either myth or once lived but suspected of perishing long ago.

Legends say that Sankta Imber of the Drought had been born in the century following the creation of the Fold. A farmer's daughter in the region of East Ravka, her family lived through the period where the country was stricken with a severe drought lasting over a hundred years, beginning not long after the Black Heretic disappeared. With no rain bringing water to the crops came a deadly famine. Hundreds of people and animals were lost, not only due to starvation and dehydration, but also illness. The economy in all of Ravka crumbled. Both States were fighting against each other for resources, as the food supply from East Ravka to West was now scarce. An increase in fires and dust bowls destroyed a lot of ecosystems, further deteriorating the country.

What was left of it that is.

There was little to no hope, with even prayers to the Saints to help them becoming meaningless words. Those still worshiping begged for a savior. The one who would bring the rain and storm. Ending the drought. Releasing them from the famine.

The idea a Squaller could summon a powerful storm was unheard of. Being able to bring forth powerful winds, rain, and possibly lightning and Thunder? Surely a Grisha of sorts would be only known by folklore. Especially given Tidemakers were the ones to control water.

Yet, it all changed one day as the 104th year of the drought approached.

“You’re more powerful than you think, Imber,” Baghra's stern voice echoed in the cave. Sitting opposite of her, with her head down and tear stains painting her cheeks, 15-year-old Imber Egorova made a sound Baghra could only assume was a whimper. “Denying it will do you no good. It will do this country no good.”

“How do you know?” The girl whispered, voice hoarse from crying following another gruesome 12 hour training day. “What makes me different from any other Squaller here?” She referred to the 20 other Squallers residing on the Little Palace grounds. Though some trained with the renowned Gisha teacher, none experienced the level of intensity Imber did.

“No Squaller here has shot someone 80 yards by their power during an exercise,” Baghra rebutted, causing Imber to wince at the memory. The reason why she was suddenly called to Baghra’s cave in the first place. From then on Imber barely got a lick of sleep or time to eat a proper meal.

The older woman gave a pointed look, “nor have they been able to summon electricity.” Ignoring Imbers stunned expression, she continued, “yes, girl, I know what you did when your sister’s heart stopped before you came here. Why your family was so willing to let you go after the testers proved you were Grisha,” Baghra leaned back in her chair, face void of emotion. “Ravka has not seen more than a few inches of rain since this drought began. No storms. And with the famine,” there was a light pause, “It’s claimed more lives than the Fold.”

Imber shuddered at the mention of Ravka’s darkened entity. Not wanting to think about its black abyss swimming with volcra.

“The point is, child,” Baghra captured her attention once more, “Besides the Sun Summoner, you could be the one to end part of Ravka’s suffering. But that will not happen if you cannot believe it yourself.”

Weeks shy of her 16th birthday, Imber received a letter from her father, which would change not only her world, but the one around. After contracting a bacteria from contaminated pond water, her mother and sister succumbed to a deadly illness after only a week. Her father had buried them on their land by the dead oak tree where they used to have picnics before Imber was taken to the Little Palace.

Distraught and riddled with unbearable pain, Imber collapsed to her knees in the middle of the courtyard, crumbling the letter in her hands. Her peers were silent, staring at her with sympathy. Unsure of what to say to the grieving teen, despite many knowing the exact feeling Imber was feeling.

Sorrow, anguish, regret. Never having the chance to correct wrongs or make memories with the loved onces they longed for. The cries of the Grisha filled the otherwise silent courtyard.

Suddenly, a rumble came from the sky..

Imber didn’t hear it over the sound of her sobs. Her companions, however, drew their attention upward, where they were greeted by a sight unimaginable. What once was a clear blue canvas, barely any clouds to begin with, transformed to that of a dark shadow. Wind, so powerful they thought a Squaller was responsible, nearly sent them off their feet.

“What’s happening?” A girl shouted, though they had difficulty hearing her due to the mix of rumbling overhead and breeze of wind.

“I don’t know!” the boy, a Tidemaker, beside her squinted, “Imber!” He lifted a hand to protect his eyes while focusing his view on the kneeled Grisha. A flash of light where her hands were plaed on the ground had him flinching. ‘What in the---.’ The spark occured once more. Chills filled his entire being as his eyes became saucers, falling to a whisper. “Saints above.”

Witnessing the sparks, an Inferni moved closer, ignoring the warning sent by the Tidemaker. “What is she doing?” His answer came by being blasted back by a gust of wind.

Imber let out a broken scream, head tilting back toward the sky as bolts of lightning released from her hands, igniting bouts of thunder in its wake. Gasps and shouts echoed around the Squaller from fellow Grisha and palace guards. The group behind her ran to find cover as the wind became too much, sending barrels and crates flying. Lightning and thunder, the duo reuniting as lost friends.

A sight to behold.

As the tears rolled down Imber’s cheeks, heavy rain soon replaced them. Drenching the lands of East Ravka for the first time in a hundred years.

For hours the girl remained kneeling on the grounds of the courtyard. Alone as everyone had seeked shelter within the Palace walls, letting the water from above coat her. The kefta she bore grew heavy. She paid no mind to it.

It wasn’t until she began to shiver from the freezing atmosphere that Imber retreated inside. Coming face to face with the reality of what transpired. As two guards escorted her to the throne room, Imber barely took notice of her peers watching the storm draw on from the windowsills. Some glanced at her in a mix of wonder, awe, and fear. Fear at the unknown, but wonder at what will be known.

Entering the throne room Imber was greeted by the King, Queen, Baghra, and the General of Ravka’s Second Army. Whereas the country’s monarchs were visibily bewildered at Imber, Baghra appeared impressed in comparison to the General’s excitement. Nerves consumed her on top of the immense grief Imber was experincing. Rain continued pelting the windows and roof of the Little Palace. Every once in a while, the occupants in the room flinched at the crack of thunder.

Upon making eye contact with the King, Imber bowed her head, curtseying as best she could with the weight of her soaked kefta. From there she underwent an hour of intense interrogation at the hands of the King and General. Baghra was questioned as well. Admitting she suspected the scale of Imber’s power but decided to stay quiet until the time came. The General, while pleased to know the world’s most powerful Squaller was among his ranks, voiced concern at the possibility of their enemies discovering her.

“Ravka has been praying for the day storms finally wash over her,” his tone was calm, almost haunting. Imber couldn’t look away as he moved toward her, tear stains painting her cheeks. “To save them from this wretching drought. Bring an end to this famine that has wiped away countless lives. Rain has touched grounds for the first time in over a century, Miss. Egorova. The people of Ravka are going to celebrate you. Erect statues on your name for being the hope they prayed for all these years.” he halted directly in front of her, keeping hold of her gaze it sent another wave of chills not relating to the cold clothes Imber wore.

“You are now the symbol of this dark period coming to its end. You are Sankta Imber of the Drought.”

“The storm lasted a fortnight, dispersing across Ravka’s lands until every inch had been touched by lightning. Yet the rain continued for months on end after the winds disappeared,” Nina recited the story etched into her brain. The crows silent as they took in her words. “Many say it was the raw grief of Imber losing her family that the storms were so strong. The constant rain marked as a symbol of her time in mourning.” The crows familiar with loss could relate. Kaz, Jesper, and Inej looking elsewhere than the Grisha.

Nina let out a breath, “Now whenever a powerful storm appears in Ravka, locals believe it to be Sankta Imber reminding them they will never experience a drought again. Famine will never touch their lands so long as she remains. Rain will be their protector, and she will be its champion.”

At the end of the Heartrender’s tale, Imber clasped her hands behind her back. “Nice to see my reputation still precedes me after all these years.” Chuckling, she took another step toward the group, “Still odd to hear myself spoken like a myth when I still live and breathe the same air as you.”

Again, no words could describe what the Crows were feeling at that moment. No one however was more shocked than Nina herself. And her reasons were far more than just being in the presence of a living Saint. “But you…”

Imber’s smirk turned to a soft smile, “Been some time since our last acquaintance, Nina Zenik.”

All eyes turned to the brunette, Kaz the first to speak, “What?” Not only was his mind racing, but now it was full of questions and doubts. They knew each other? But judging by Nina’s reaction, it was not all that meets the eye. She was stunned beyond belief like they were. “Care to explain, Zenik?”

Tensing by the tone of his voice, Nina sent him a light glare, “I don’t know her as Sankta Imber,” her eyes returned to the Grisha, this time showcasing betrayal as the memory of the woman in a blue kefta like her fellow Squallers appeared in her mind. “But as Commander Y/n Tempestasov of the Second Army.” Everyone felt the shift in the air at the mention of the Darkling’s army.

Why was one of the Darkling’s soldiers, a Saint at that, coming to them in the middle of the night? Traveling across the sea and saving them from Pekka’s men. There had to be a reason.

Kaz tightened the grip he had on his cane. Thinking back to events of the past several months. He would’ve recognized Imber, or Y/n, whatever she wanted to be called--at the Winter’s Fete. The kefta was unique; it would've captured anyone’s attention. As a powerful Squaller, Kirigan surely wanted her close to his side. Yet the Grisha had not been present on the skiff nor did Alina mention anything of meeting another living Saint.

Then there was the fact that the legends of Sankta Imber of the Drought were from nearly 300 years ago. It was believed she had died or dissapeared roughtly 20 years after she brought the storm to Ravka.

Meaning she’s been hiding in plain sight for centuries. A ghost among the living. Playing the role of a Second Army soldier under a false name to preserve her identity.

Another chuckle brought Kaz out of his thoughts, “Allow me to fill in the blanks, Crows,” Imber smirked at their reaction, “yes I know who you are. Do not doubt Nina’s loyalty--the last time we saw each other I was a different person. Roughly eight years if I’m correct,” bringing a hand to her chin, the Saint acted like she was deep in thought, “You’d only just arrived at the Little Palace before I escaped.”

“Escaped?”

Imber retained her posture, more serious than the initial laid back she had presented, “You’ve witnessed the evil General Kirigan is capabale of first hand.” they stayed silent, but each of their expressions faltered. “I discovered the scale of it a long time ago, after he made me a prisoner of the Little Palace under the guise of a trainer.” Nina bowed her head, the memory of Commander Y/n paroling the grounds where the Etherealki trained. She always appeared detached, but was kind to the young Grisha who had not yet succumbed to the corruption of the Darkling. “He was responsible for everyone believing I had died or dissapeared. After instilling fear in me at the thought of being captured by enemies, he had me locked in the caves of the Little Palace.” Inej let out a gasp, face consorting with sadness.

Imber shrugged, “sooner or later people stopped searching for me. Unaware I was close the entire time despire my storms becoming a blanket over Ravka for years. I was all but the myth you’ve heard.” Turning her head to Nina, Imber offered a soft smile, “It was years before he let me out. When he did I was named Commander under a false name and trained Grisha for centuries. Changing my name each time he did because someone asked too many questions and we had to clean up his mess. Y/n Tempestasov is the recent name of the many I’ve gone by. Frankly it’s my favorite if I’m being honest.”

“Would you prefer it if we called you that?” Wylan raised his hand, resulting in a side eye from Kaz at his formality. The Saint, however, smiled at him, “I’d like that. Imber Egorova…” she trailed off, connecting her gaze with Kaz as though she read him like a book. “She is of the past.”

Ignoring the weight on his chest, knowing damn well what the Saint was refering to, Kaz changed the subject. “Enough sentiment. You still haven’t said why you’re here.” The sound of his cane echoed on the pavement when he moved closer to her. “The Darkling might be dead but how are we to trust you’re not doing his bidding.”

The woman scoffed, obviously offended by the assumption, “Believe me, I hate the man more than anyone. Probably more than you and Alina combined.”

Jesper made a face of shock, voicing what they all thought, “You know Alina?”

“She sent me,” Y/n mused, shocking them more when she added, “And Kirigan is alive.”

“How is that possible?” Inej wondered aloud, unable to grasp the news.

“Turns out his own creation did not kill him after all. Instead he used merzost to create shadow monsters. Monsters that can only be destroyed with a certain blade that, like me, is also a legend.”

“Neshyenyer,” Kaz narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to call bluff. Y/n smirked in response.

“That is where you come in. We have some mutual friends, and they sent me to retrieve you lot to find the sword. Said you were the best of the best.” Hand going into her pocket, she removes a rolled parchment tied with a ribbon. “For your cooperation, the King of Ravka plans to generously compensate you.” She held it out to Kaz, “For you, Dirtyhands.”

He ignored the name, deciding not to question the depth of her knowledge on him and the Crows, and instead took the parchment. Once unfolded, he read the message inked onto its surface, detailing the extent of the mission and amount of kruge to be paid. He stopped at the name signed at the very end, ‘Nikolai Lantsov.’

‘Mutual friends,’ he remembered she said. Intuition telling him it was not only Alina and Mal the Saint referred to. Only person Kaz recalled that could likely be said aquaintance was a certain privateer.

Footsteps wandering away had the man look up, finding Y/n to take her leave. Kaz and Jesper flanked to his sides, the whole group watching her depart. “Come along, Crows,” she called out, the playfulness returning. “A storm is approaching.” light rain began to fall once more, followed by the sound of thunder in the distance. Kaz pictured the smile on her face by the tone of her voice. “And we’ve got work to do.”

[black-suns-rim]

My main sky ocs!

They aren't sky kids, they are ancestors/spirits. Also drew them in their casual clothes.

Maveth is an ex wasteland general. She fled from the war after realizing the cause wasteland was fighting for was wrong and after finding Novian. Novian lost his family due to the war. Maveth is his adoptive mother.

Ravka, aka Pops, is a muralist and a father to 10 kids (all adopted). He, maveth and Novian live in the same village.

Risto is an illegal smuggler. He travels often, selling what he smuggles. Ravka and Risto are brothers.

To sum them up, basically we got the giant woman who looks like a butch lesbian but is actually straight, a shy and traumatized child, the closeted gay father of 10 adopted kids and the illegal smuggler who’s also a man whore.

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- slight ptsd and mentions of scars

A/N- CHILD OF THE STORM IS BACK YALL. I am SO sorry for disappearing for like, three months life's been A LOT. There's only two three more chapters left until the fic's over. I cannot believe it's been more than a year. BUT there is something new coming up very soon (tho it would be a lot sooner IF I JUST FIGURE OUT HOW TO FIX THE DAMNED PLOT HOLE). Anyways, this chapter's a bit long so buckle in. And let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @evelyndane @marauders-wife @el-de-phi

Ch-65 ~and it was either going to make her stronger than ever~

Anaya stopped at the doorway. She took a deep breath before entering the ballroom.

The place was a massive hall with shiny golden walls and chandeliers that covered almost the entire ceiling. It was where all of the royal events were hosted.

And tonight, for Nikolai’s coronation, Genya had done a great job of making even the hideous Grand Palace appear endearing. 

Even though Nikolai was supposed to be the centre of attention tonight, every head turned as Anaya went in. 

Even Nikolai himself had turned to look at her.

“Great” she thought, not quite fond of the gesture. She’d already been late because she’d spent the afternoon working when she should've been preparing for the event.

She walked forward, her gown brushing against the laces of her shoes, a smile on her face.

She saw Genya and Zoya standing in a far corner, gesturing to her to come to them.

“Councillor Nasrazeen,” A man spoke up, blocking her path. “It’s an honour to finally meet you” he smiled. Though his narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow expressed how he was much more irritated to meet her.

 “Duke Verensky” he introduced himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Duke Verensky” Anaya said, a smile plastered across her face.

“I have to say,” he began. “Ravka truly is changing its ways of working” He raised his brows. “Given how the Council is now being led by a Grisha woman”.

There it was.

When the news of Anaya’s position had reached the nobles, some had been intrigued as to why she’d become the Councillor. Others had simply refused to accept it. 

“Surely you’re aware of all the events that have happened in our country since last year,” Anaya said, her voice unwavering. “Ravka is certainly seeing changes it hadn’t ever seen before.” She tilted her head. “And perhaps it’s for the best.” 

But the Duke only narrowed his eyes further, “That we shall see” he gave a nod, walking away.

The coronation began shortly afterwards and lasted for a while. 

Anaya glanced at the clock. It’d only been an hour since she’d arrived, and yet it had felt like an eternity.

The prying eyes of the guests and their never ending questions made her want to walk out the door, but she had no other choice but to stay.

“Why exactly did King Nikolai choose you for a position that holds such great importance?” One of the guests asked.

“I believe you would have to ask his majesty himself about his decision” She offered as pleasantly as she could. 

“Still, if you had to think of a possible reason, what would you choose?” She pressed.

It’s probably because I don’t ask useless questions.

“It could be, as I’ve worked by his side during the civil war and because of my experience on foreign lands” She said. 

“Surely you would need more factors than that to be worthy of running a country” the woman said, smiling.

Why don’t you run it instead.

Anaya forced her lips into a smile, “Duchess, I-”

“I deeply apologise for interrupting you,” Genya appeared by her side. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to borrow Miss Nasrazeen for a moment” she smiled and dragged Anaya away by her arm.

“How do I thank you for this favour Genya” Anaya let out an exasperated sigh as she went to the corner where Zoya was.

“By actually dressing up on time” Genya grinned as she rolled a single amber eye.

“That woman is a menace,” Zoya added, handing Anaya a glass of champagne.

“That I figured out” Anaya rolled her eyes, taking the glass.

“I have to say,” Genya glimpsed at her dress. “You do look good in blue”.

“‘Immensely endearing’ is the term I’d use” Anaya flashed a grin. 

She lowered her voice“ I'm surprised how you managed to turn this hideous palace appealing ”

“What can I say” Genya straightened her shoulders. “I'm very talented”.

“Where is David by the way?” She asked

Genya rolled her eye, “He left as soon as the Coronation was over. He's very repulsive to social gatherings”.

“However do you deal with him” Zoya said, shaking her head.

There was a brief silence, filled by their similar thoughts.

“It's so hard,” Zoya sighed. “Pretending to be thrilled about all this, as if nothing happened”.

Anaya gave a single nod of her head. “That's what this all is” she lifted a shoulder. “Pretending to move on, getting used to the changes, acting along in the play”.

“Atleast Nikolai’s doing it a lot better than us,” Genya said, her gaze drifting over to where he was standing.

Anaya nodded in agreement. 

Even after all he'd endured, he'd managed to keep the act going, playing the parts he was expected to.

She had no idea how he did it all, when she could do nothing to shake the feeling of her scars creeping over her, reminding her of how they came to be.

Slithering like thorned vines over her arms, her back.

The evening stretched on and the nobles continued to pester Anaya with their inane questions.

And she had no choice but to offer them and answer.

…………………………………..

Anaya stood near one of the tables at a corner, a glass of champagne in her hand. It was getting immensely difficult to get through the event without it.

She then noticed two of the grisha students silently creeping out with a bottle of champagne hidden behind their backs.

“And where exactly do you two plan to be going?” Anaya said, appearing behind them.

The Fabrikator and the Heartrender turned around hastily, trembling in fear upon the sight of her.

“Nowhere…ma’am” The Boy began, refusing to meet her gaze

But the Heartrender cut him off, “I actually needed some fresh air so I told him to go outside” She offered.

Despite being shorter, Anaya seemed to be the one looking down at them.

“And I suppose you also need the champagne to enjoy the fresh air” She raised an eyebrow.

“We-” The girl began, but Anaya's sceptical gaze stopped her from further speaking.

Anaya looked at them for a moment, “What are your names?” She said, finally speaking.

“I- Nestor Verakov”, ma’am” The boy looked at his feet.

Anaya's gaze shifted to the girl.

“Nina Zenik” she said, managing to look up.

Anaya sighed, “Fine go, just don't let the General see you” she glanced at Zoya who was surrounded by a group of First Army officials.

They barely nodded before rushing out the door.

Anaya sighed and went back to her corner before another noble could drag her off.

She looked around, taking a sip from her second glass.

“Going very fast on the champagne are we?” She turned to see Nikolai with a smile on his face. “I will need my Councillor to be able to work tomorrow you know” He walked to her side.

Anaya sighed, “Yeah yeah”.

“You know,” He stood beside her. “Even though it’s supposed to be my day, you’re the one gathering all the attention” He flashed a grin.

Anaya rolled her eyes, “These people ask the most inane questions” She shook her head. “I get people asking how I plan on bringing developments to the country,” She waved her hand. “But how am I supposed to know what kind of woman the new king would be willing to marry?” She turned her hand.

He shook his head in disdain but he was smiling, “Ah, the nobles” He tilted his head briefly. “They tend to do that quite a lot, you’ll get used to it”.

“Perhaps you should tell them that the King’s looking for a seamstress who plays the eighteen string Khatur”.

Anaya turned to him, “Why specifically the eighteen string?” She raised a brow. “Why not the twelve?”.

“I” He began. “am a cultured man Anaya” He spoke as dramatically as he could manage with the guests watching them. “The eight string is for uncultured fools, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Anaya put her glass down. “I don’t have much interest in string instruments”.

He paused briefly then spoke, “I’d have to thank you for your advice” His voice was much lower and serious.  “Really helped me get through all this”.

Anaya looked at him and gave the barest shake of his head, “Well I’m not one to offer advice,” She met his gaze. “But I’m glad I could help” Her lips formed a small smile.

……………………………………………

The topic had come up the previous morning. Anaya had been in her study, working, when Zoya and Genya had shown up to have tea with her.

“Nikolai doesn’t seem very thrilled about it,” Zoya had pointed out.

Genya nodded, “He appears distressed” She lowered her voice. “After all he’s endured, I’m not sure if he wishes to be King all the same.”

“But he has to,” Zoya said.

Genya gave a distant nod, pondering upon something. “Anaya” She turned to her.

“Hmm?” Anaya looked away from her papers. 

“You should speak with him”.

Anaya furrowed her brows, “What why?”.

Genya picked up her teacup, “He needs someone to tell him that he doesn’t need to fret about being the King”.

Anaya looked at her with an utterly confused look, “Why me? Why can’t either of you speak with him?”. 

She glanced at Zoya. “Well not her, but why can’t you do it”

Zoya rolled her eyes.

“I don’t…really speak with him” Genya said, hesitation lingering in her voice. “Given all that has happened”.

Genya had been pardoned only because of Alina Starkov. So there still was some hesitation between her and Nikolai. And Anaya had the feeling he didn’t fully trust her yet.

“Plus, he does seem to listen to you,” Zoya added.

Anaya raised her brows.

“He does, actually,” Genya agreed.

So Anaya had spoken with him. 

Not the entire day. The only time she’d seen him was when she’d been walking down the hall with the Finance Minister. 

When she’d been walking back to the Little Palace at night, then she’d seen him. Standing near the lake, almost irrecognizable.

"Nervous about the big day?" Anaya asked as she walked towards him. 

He turned to her in utter curiosity. His gaze softened upon the sight of her, "Well yeah" he sighed. "It's quite weird".

 He looked up at the night sky, the gleaming stars. "Even though I've been preparing for this my entire life, it still seems very daunting". 

She stood next to him.

 "It is understandable" she met his gaze. "I mean it's not everyday you get to be the King" she tilted her head. "It can be quite strange, when the moment you've been waiting, preparing for so long, finally comes". Her voice was low, the breeze on a summer night, making the trees waver gently. 

"For a long while, it almost seems impossible".

 "Improbable, actually" Nikolai lifted a finger, a corner of his mouth turned up.

 "What?" She said, utterly perplexed.

 "Nothing is truly impossible, it's only ever improbable".

 She nodded briefly in amusement, "Well, alright".

The silence lingered in the air, gentle, comforting, a hand held in another.

“Is this what you wanted to do?” Nikolai spoke, turning towards her.

She furrowed her brows in confusion.

“To be the council leader,  run the country?” He amended.

She looked at him, startled by the question but soon, her gaze softened. “Well, I’ve been certain for a long while” she looked at her hands. “That I wish to help the people, work for their betterment”. 

“And if being the Councillor is my way to do it, then I’m content with this job.” She lifted a shoulder.

She turned to the sky, admiring the gleaming stars, the moon at the centre of it all, shining the brightest.

She could feel his gaze on her, lingering in the silence. She didn’t look at him, she didn’t believe she could.

“It’s not easy,” he finally spoke. “Pretending to be your best version, when you’re still picking up the pieces”.

“Isn’t that what we’re all doing?,” she said, finally turning towards him. “Pretending to be okay when we’re not?”.

He nodded, looking at the sky, appearing as if he’s reminiscing.

“You’ll make a great King,” Anaya’s voice wavered in the air. 

He met her gaze, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Especially because you’ll have an immensely talented Councillor by your side” She lifted her grinning, a small grin playing on her lips.

He smiled, “That, I will”.

[eliseliedl]

The Elder Scrolls Online 2 / ?

[happyhauntt]

and i am coming home to you — nikolai lantsov.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: there are some things that cannot be saved. nikolai swears she won't be one of them.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: serious angst, pre-established relationship, descriptions of injuries, blood and torture, oc was held as a prisoner of war, allusions to ravka's war with shu han, suicidal thoughts if you squint. trauma. fluff & romance but in an angsty way. nikolai is so in love and so am i.

─── word count: 2.5k.

     There’s a soft, dusky twilight bleeding in through the window. The last few seconds before the sun goes down, and the shadows stretch like yearning fingers out of all the cracks and crevices.

     Anya used to love the sunset. Used to lay in her bedroll beneath the trees and wait for the world to go quiet. All the colour would bleed away until the blue and black and stars were the only witnesses left.

     She loved the sunset until one day, the darkness came and never left. It settled over her like a second skin, and that once-familiar comfort became something she feared she’d never shake off. She feared she would die there, in the dark.

     Once or twice, she even wished for it.

      The dark comes calling again, now. It no longer feels like an old friend. The light fades from the window, cloaking the cabin in a strange half-dark. The waves crashing against the sides of the ship are a dull roar in the back of her mind. An unwelcome accompaniment to the rest of her terrible thoughts. Her head aches. Her skin burns.

     He saved her, but what was left of her to save? What is left of her now but a ghost, a corpse, a pile of skin and bones and blood that can do nothing else but scream and scream and scream?

     That's what it feels like. Her body. Her heart. Little more than a carcass left to rot, picked over by crows.

     She would love him if she could. A fierceness rests between her lungs, the single spark of life left within her after they stripped her of the rest. This, she'd cradled close, clutched between gnarled, bloody fingers. This is his. This, they couldn't tear from her if they tried.

     And they had tried.

     The bed rocks beneath her. After so long trapped in a dingy cell, the mattress should feel like the height of luxury, stuffed with goose feathers and lined with linen, but it all feels like stone. She tastes blood in her mouth, and she doesn’t know if it’s her own. The silk sheets ghost over her flesh, feeling sharp as razor blades.

     Anya never learned to love her cage, but she doesn’t trust freedom, either. Not yet.

     It's not that he's the reason she lived. He isn't her reason to keep breathing. Anya Kamenev is her father's daughter, and has endured untold horrors, and if there is one certainty in the world, it is that she is not weak. She survived for herself, for her parents, for her country. She wanted to be home again. The trees blossoming in the summertime, fresh ripe fruit on her tongue, winter air that smells like snow.

     She wouldn't die like this. Not at their hands. Anya would go quietly in her bed at a ripe old age, surrounded by people who loved her. Or she'd go to her knees on a battlefield, still screaming as the bullets rip her wide open, and with her last breath, she'd take them down too.

     Not like this. Not in a dark laboratory, or a torture chamber. Not at their hands. Anya is stubborn. She'd bleed green if someone told her she was wrong. She'd make it true.

     But he loves her. He loves her, and that is everything. He’d appeared before her like a vision sent by the Saints, like something holy in a place she knows no god would ever touch. Like a miracle. On the bad days, his love is blossom trees and fresh fruit and winter air combined. He has held her hand through darkness, guided her through battle, and even when he left for his apprenticeship, he'd kissed her like it was a promise.

     They'd taken everything else. Broken her bones and slashed her skin. Wrought her apart to scratch at her soul. She'll bear the scars for the rest of her life, long after the wounds are healed. Her body will never be the same. Her mind may never recover.

     But this wasn't hers to give up. This is his. Loving him had been a candle in the darkness. A reminder that she was human still. A reminder that even in the blackest night, dawn will come again.

     But now, lying alone in his bed in a dim cabin, Anya grows restless. The mind is a strange thing, and something about this safety feels foreign to her. There are voices in the walls. The shadows have eyes. The ship lurches in the waves and she swears there is a hand right there, reaching out—

     She's on her feet before she realises what she's doing. She never was a girl built to run — her instinct has always been to stay, to fight — but this is different, and blood doesn’t always feel like blood when you touch it.

     Her knee buckles beneath her the moment she puts weight on it. A strangled shriek escapes her lips as pain streaks through her like lightning. The cabin door slams open, and Nikolai appears. His tailored-red hair glows in the candlelight, a halo of bronze. His face is still different, crooked nose and freckles and green eyes, but he will never be unfamiliar to her.

     He crosses the room in two strides and falls to his knees beside Anya. His teal overcoat has been abandoned, and what remains is a loose white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, still speckled with her blood. Her stomach twists at the sight of it as his hands find her shoulders. Something solid, finally; her guiding light once more.

     The chill that had stolen over her body vanishes where he touches her, and Anya leans into him heavily, her face pressed into the warmth of his shoulder. An agonising moan rises up within her, but she holds her breath. She bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

     "You shouldn't be up, love." His voice is still the same soothing cadence in her ear. One hand brushes through ragged, tangled girls. It seems someone tried to brush her hair while she was unconscious; bathed the worst of the blood away, changed her into fresh clothes, but the scent of iron still lingers on her skin. His fingers catch in a knot, but the sharp spike of pain on her scalp goes unnoticed. The rest of her is screaming too loudly.

     "I cannot be in that bed any longer." Anya shakes her head, once, and breathes in the salt-and-cedar scent of him. Hands outstretched, clawing blindly, she grasps him tightly and swears she'll never let go again. "I cannot be here."

     How long had the Shu held her? How many days have passed since they killed the last member of her unit, since his cries grew too quiet and she'd been left alone with her worst nightmares? Had anyone notified her parents? What will they say, when they learn the truth? When they discover their worst fear has come to pass, and their darling daughter was tortured for being Grisha?

     "You cannot be anywhere else, Nastya," says Nikolai. He sounds like aching. His lips brush against her temple as he speaks, voice soft as silk. His hands are gentle, too, as he scoops her up from the floor and settles her back onto the bed. She holds herself stiffly, choking back another scream as her knee jostles and jerks.

     He winces as if every choked-off cry is a blade through his heart. He murmurs sweet apologies as he readjusts the pillows and perches on the bed beside her, close enough to touch, wary of disturbing her leg any further. His hands linger on hers. The tips of his fingers trace light patterns over the inside of her wrist.

     For a moment, nothing has changed.

     "Do you need anything, Captain?" The voice in the doorway is a little startling, and for a second Anya is back in that cell. She stiffens as the woman watches them both, a soft frown toying at her mouth. Golden eyes shine with pity.

     Nikolai rolls his lips together for a moment. "Perhaps some water, please, Tamar." The woman nods, and tugs the door closed behind her as she departs, leaving the pair wrapped in stony silence.

     Nikolai's eyes trail over Anya, searching, inspecting her injuries as if committing every scar to memory. He cannot count how many times he has done this since he found her. Sitting on the bed just like this, close enough to feel the warmth of her, counting each breath as if they might be her last. His eyes harden at the bruises on her throat, the gash across her cheek. Sweeping lower, his gaze settles on her knee again. He swallows roughly. Darkness sweeps over him like a burial shroud.

     The skin of Anya's leg is mottled, black and yellow and purple, a medley of half-healed bruises intermingled with fresh ones. They hurt her. They broke her. And for the first time since he left Ravka, anticipating a bright and shining future filled with adventure, Nikolai is drowning in regret.

     "Tolya did his best, but he's not a healer." His throat feels tight, like there's smoke in his lungs. Her skin is littered with newly-pink scars and stitched-up wounds. Her leg is the worst of it. Nikolai doesn't recall seeing injuries like this, even in the army. "We'll get you healers when we dock. The best healers. They'll be able to help with the rest of it. They'll be able to—"

     "Fix me?" Anya sounds hollow. His eyes snap to hers, and he finds someone staring back at him, but it isn't Anya. It isn't the girl he fell in love with. Somewhere within, she might be hiding, but here and now, he's faced with a ghost. "I lost count of how many times they broke it. Sometimes they'd drag a healer in to mend the bone, and then... snap. Other times they'd just leave it. There are some things that can't be fixed if you break them enough."

     A rough shake of his head. His heart sits like lead in his chest. "We'll fix it. You'll be good as new in no time, Nastya, I promise you."

Silence falls over them for a moment, filled with nothing but crashing waves and crackling candles. His fingers keep drawing circles over her wrist, and her pulse flutters gently beneath his touch. Her hands remain in her lap, pale and thin.

     "How long was I gone?"

     He doesn't need to ask what she means by that. His heart squeezes. "Six weeks, we think. They reported you missing-in-action when your unit didn't reach the checkpoint."

     Nausea rises like a tidal wave in Anya’s throat. Six weeks? Every horrible moment had felt like an eternity, and yet she never believed, never could have guessed it had been that long.

     "Sturmhond came to find me. Why?"

     An old fury lashes through him, one that had only settled when he laid eyes on her, half-dead in that dingy cell. Fingers curl into trembling fists as that anger rises again, unbidden, but not at her. Never at her. His jaw ticks at the memory. "Command thought attempting a rescue would be too... risky." He spits the word through gritted teeth. The Saints only know what he’ll do the moment he gets his hands on the First Army General responsible for that decision. "They couldn't prove you were in Shu Han, and crossing the border to rescue you would have risked an international incident."

     A necessary sacrifice. Collateral damage. A most unfortunate loss. That's what the bulletin had read, when he finally received it. Sturmhond kept up-to-date on Ravka, its military engagements, its economy. When he'd docked in Os Kervo eleven days ago and sent the twins out for supplies and information, the last thing he expected to hear was that a scouting group had gone missing near the Shu Han border.

     His last correspondence with Anya had mentioned that she was being deployed there, that she'd been tasked with leading a reconnaissance mission with the aim of finding new ways around the Fold. It had only taken a little digging to discover the names of the personnel who'd gone missing.

     He sees Lieutenant Colonel Anya Kamenev: MISSING IN ACTION every time he closes his eyes. It might be seared onto his brain forever.

     Anya’s eyes fall closed. Her jaw is tight. With pain or anger, he cannot tell. It was a sound tactical decision, she thinks. She cannot blame them for that. She might even have made the same call.

     But her leg screams at her. Nikolai's hand squeezes her own. Your country abandoned you. The words ring through her mind like a death knell.

     "You disagreed with their decision?"

     That familiar crooked grin slips over his face. He almost looks like a boy again, and not the man who loves her, made world-weary by the things he’s seen. They could be home again. It almost makes her cry. "Ravka was concerned about tensions with Shu Han. Nikolai Lantsov was unable to risk an international incident. Sturmhond had no such concerns."

     A ghost of a smile. His heart twinges at the sight of it. "Your letters never mentioned why you chose the name Sturmhond."

     "I'll tell you some other time, darling. It's quite the tale." He leans and kisses her forehead, lingering a few long moments just to breathe her in, feel the warmth of her skin beneath his lips.

     She'd been so pale when he found her. So cold. He thought he'd been too late. Every moment of the past eleven days had been agony as they docked in Shu Han and scouted out any scrap of intel they could find about Ravkan prisoners of war.

     "We'll dock soon. I sent word ahead to the generals, to let them know you've been liberated. I'll take you home."

     Home. A long journey around the Fold, most likely through Fjerdan territory, and then a trek up to Balakirev, and yet— A whimper escapes, almost too quiet to hear. Home. She thought she'd never see it again.

     "They'll want to question me, though." The thought of interviews, of recounting every detail of her torture, of having to admit that she's Grisha, that they killed the rest of her unit but spared her for experimentation, it all makes her sick.

     Nikolai shakes his head. His eyes are steel. "If they want to try, they'll have to go through me. Now sleep, love. Rest. I'll be right here."

     When sleep comes for her, finally, it does not come with those long, yearning fingers. Anya fears she will never love a sunset again, nor wish for the blissful peace of the night. But Nikolai lies down beside her, wraps her up in warm, solid arms, his chest beneath her head. She hears him breathing in her ear, a slow and steady rhythm, though she knows he isn’t sleeping.

     He’ll stay awake the whole night, to keep her demons at bay.

[hrtrenderr]

Very Low Effort piece i did recently of my dnd character katya :D her story is heavily inspired by anastasia, so i drew her with the music box.

for a brief explanation, both of her parents did die and she’s deeply traumatized. one day ill type up a lore post about her

[cas-backwards-tie]

⟡ shadow & bone masterlist ⟡

general kirigan

--series--

the darkling's secret weapon | [Female OC] Forced to marry the General of the Second Army as a way of guaranteeing a peace treaty between Ravka and Fjerda, Samantha's thrown into much more than she'd anticipated. Determined to heal the rift between Grisha and Otkazat'sya, she puts her plan into action.

[jmeestella]

First commission completed from my raffle winners! We started, wow, no words, just like 📈📈📈!

I already knew this queen, but it's my honor to introduce to you to Ravka! The oc of @sketched--in--stone

Thank you very much for entrusting me with your oc 💖 I hope you are as happy with your commission as I was happy drawing her 💯

[grishaverse-week]

Thought I could include my own Grishaverse OC!

Day 4: Freeform-OC's, Non-Canon, AU @grishaverse-week

The Bloodwitch, a dreaded Grisha with the power of manipulating liquids and the human body has earned her name righteously. In a world where the Sun Summoner shows up too late and the Darkling is dead, it is her who arises to fill up the empty power vaccuum. All that is left of her interference are nothing but pools of blood. It is said the Bloodwitch's red robes and gloved hands are naught but a curse laid by the Saints, forced to bear the blood of her 'enemies' wherever she goes. Little do they know that their Saints are Grisha too... She is revered among the Grisha as their savior and Sankta and later named as Ravka's Red General.

[aleksanderscult]

What would you think Aleksander's google search history be like? :D (If he had access to it oc)

Now that's very interesting and fun!

Grishaverse trilogy:

"Tips to keep your cool"

"How to endure immortality"

"I've caught feelings what should I do?"

"Local pastry shops" for his sweet tooth y'know ;)

"Sneaky ways to overthrow the shit monarchy"

"How to make your love interest see reason"

"100 + 1 ways to kill your romantic rival"

*after Alina escapes*:

"Ship schedules from East Ravka's port"

"How can you feel less lonely"

"Merzost: What side effects are there?"

"How to make your nichevo'ya pick you up and make you hover above the ground like a badass"

"Rizz lessons"

"Creative ways to dispose your second romantic rival"

"Tips to deal with heartbreak and loss"

Nikolai duology:

"Tips for better patience"

"Tips for better patience"

"Tips for better patience"

*after he sees Alina*:

"Cure for brainwashing"

"Tips for even better patience"

"Tips for even better patience"

"Tips for even better patience"

"How to annoy your enemies"