#shadow and bone oc

[call-sign-shark]

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

Summary: A public confrontation during dinner escalates and leads General Kirigan to show his quiet but firm protection of you to everyone. Especially Zoya.

Words: 4K

TW: graphic mention of injury, humiliation, reference to past prostitution, slight alteration of canon events: Zoya was never Kirigan's fav.

Previous || Masterlist || Next

As you walked out of the training room alongside General Kirigan, his shadow-like presence enveloping you entirely, murmurs erupted behind you. They were only whispers and yet sounded as loud as the cacophony of screams and cries that followed the frightening silence after a bomb exploded.

Did you see what she did to Zoya? The way she almost tore her apart?

Broken ribs, one lung reduced to mush, heart badly injured, the healer who took care of the arrogant Squaller couldn’t believe such damages were the result of a Grisha. While Heartrenders had always been the most feared and valuable soldiers of the Second Army, none of them could induce that much damage with one sole flick of the wrist. Let alone a beginner who had only used her abilities a few times. The origins of your power remained a mystery for everyone including Zoya, yet she was at least sure of one thing: hadn't General Kirigan intervened, she would have died today in a painful, gruesome way.

Following the incident, you had quietly followed the Black General through the corridors until he stopped and turned to face you. His dark eyes, darkest as the blackest moonless night, had bore into you, as though searching for something.

“You need to control it,” He had said, his tone still firm but the pace of his voice slower, for he was carefully choosing his next words, “Your power is immense. I can feel it pulsing around you like a chained beast… But it’s dangerous.” He let out a long exhale through his nostrils, “You can’t let anger guide you.”

The weight of guilt you felt in your weaving chest became heavier, settling over you like an anvil, “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Aleksander interrupted, his gaze softening ever so slightly, “But intention doesn’t matter when lives are at stake.” 

You simply nodded, unable to find the words to respond, and watched him disappear upstairs with his black kefta dancing behind him like shadows lingering in his wake.

Weeks passed and life at the Little Palace soon fell into a rhythm for you — a rhythm laced with unrelenting tension and exhaustion. Days were a grueling cycle of harsh training sessions where you pushed your limits under the watchful eyes of Ivan and the disdainful stares of your peers. As for your nights, they weren’t any better. Here in this foreign place, terrifying memories of your past impatiently waited for you to sleep in order to plague your dreams, turning them into nerve-wracking nightmares. And when the nightmares wouldn’t come, it was the shadows that crept into your room at night, seeming to carry Aleksander’s presence with them and to watch you as you rolled over in your bedsheets.

Despite everything, there still were moments where you could breathe again and they were when Fedyor spent time with you. Admittedly, you had found an unlikely friend in him considering how everyone carefully avoided you, but his cheerful disposition, unwavering kindness, and humor gave you a sense of normalcy in a world that constantly reminded you that you didn’t belong here. Nevertheless, Fedyor wasn’t always there, his frequent missions for Kirigan leaving you alone to fend off the cold hostility and wariness of the other Grisha. You couldn’t blame them though, not after almost killing a well-known figure of the Little Palace in front of their eyes.

Kirigan too was rarely present during the day, the last time you truly spoke being your last discussion about the necessity of learning to control your powers. For weeks, your encounters with him were fleeting — just brief moments stolen between his duties as General and your relentless training. Yet, even in his absence Aleksander was always there, making you silently understand that he was watching over you. Not in a way that felt overbearing but in a manner that made you hyper-aware of his presence nearby. 

Sometimes it was a brush of his warm hand against your freezing one as he handed you a training sword. Some others, a shared glance across the room that made your heart miss a beat. Or the way he stood a tiny bit too close when he spoke to you, his voice a velvet promise that made your skin prickle. Each time, his intensity steadied you and unnerved you all the same for you hated how easily he seemed to consume your thoughts for some unknown reasons.

Once, during a passing encounter in the hallways, Kirigan stopped beside you, his void-like and unfathomable gaze sweeping over you as if carving every detail of your face in his memory.

“You’re improving,” He said with an even tone, though his somber pupils gleamed when the Palace’s light hit them at the right angle.

You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through your spine, nor control how your pulse quickened a little under his scrutiny, “Thank you, General.” You replied, your tone neutral despite the inner turmoil he triggered in you. His lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile that disappeared as fast as it had come before he walked away, leaving your heart racing even more.  Why the fuck am I feeling like this whenever he’s around? you thought. 

Since your childhood, you have always considered yourself an anomaly. Like an island detached from the ocean of emotions that seemed to flood the others so effortlessly. You were cold, unfeeling, almost clinical, which had often left you wondering if something fundamental within you was broken. Like, an essential piece of humanity missing. Joy, sadness, empathy — they had always felt more muted than they should have been, like distant echoes you could experiment but never fully grasp.

But not with him.

The weight of him was thrilling each time he entered the room and you hated it. Hated the loss of control, the way your supposedly buried emotions now surged to the surface like a storm breaking through the calm waters. To be honest, you didn’t know what unnerved you more: the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room or the way you found yourself wanting to be looked at like that by him. And there was more to it, something deeper. It wasn’t just about his commanding presence nor the unbearable tension when your skin brushed his, but it was a pull. A tug at something unseen within you. As though your souls had already known each other in another life, an unspoken murmur of recognition that both terrified and soothed you. You couldn’t understand this foreign ache of familiarity in his presence. 

The ache of something that called you home.

The dining hall was alive with chatter, filled with a background noise that only served to highlight how utterly alone you were even surrounded by the crowd of Grisha who lived here. Prior to going downstairs for dinner, a gifted tailor named Genya had asked you why you weren’t wearing the red kefta given to the Heartrenders. To this, you had simply replied “Why should I bother? I’m not one of them” and proceeded to leave, closing your grip on the collar of the white and comfortable fur coat you had found in your bedroom’s closet. Quickly sneaking into the dining hall, you walked to the far end of a table and sat there.

With your gaze fixed on your plate, you were trying hard to ignore the whispers all around you. As always, the other Grisha avoided you, their fear palpable and their resentment an unpleasant feeling that washed over you. Fedyor’s absence was particularly striking tonight. How much you would have loved him to be next to you, listening to his stories and laughing at his gossip but here you were, without an ally. 

You were about to bite into your fork when the room fell silent with the kind of quiet that only preceded trouble. Wondering what was happening, you looked up and quickly understood: Zoya had stepped into the dining hall and was approaching you, a cruel smirk playing on her pretty lips.

“Still sitting alone, I see. Fitting for someone like you.”  Her voice was loud enough to draw the attention from the nearby tables. Attention… Everything you didn’t need.

You didn’t respond, keeping your pale eyes firmly on her as she slowly moved her wrist to make the content of the cup she was holding swirl. It was probably wine.

Unfazed by your silence, she leaned closer and continued to taunt you, “You know, for someone so dangerous you’re awfully quiet. And out of place. Like a wolf pretending to be tame.” 

“And you’re awfully chatty for someone who begged for her life a few weeks ago.” Your words felt like sharp shards of ice that pierced through her ego. “Have you finished yet? I’d like to eat without having to bear that stupid voice of yours.” 

But Zoya wasn’t finished. 

“Tell me first... What does it feel like to be the monster even among deadly Grisha?” 

This time, your grip tightened on your fork as Kirigan’s words circled in your mind like a broken record.  You need to control it. You need to control it.

“Struggling to reply? Here, let me help.” Joining words to deeds, the Squaller let out a bitter giggle and, with a theatrical flourish, she lifted the cup she was holding and dumped its contents  —a thick, deep crimson liquid — onto your white outfit. The splash of its cold content against your chest made you freeze instantly. It was the metallic scent that hit you first and made you understand what the liquid was even before you saw the dark crimson stains on your dress and coat: it wasn’t wine. It was pig’s blood.

A chorus of gasps echoed through the room, overhung by Zoya’s and her friends’ laughter that rang hollow in the silence.

“Red suits you far better, Sankta!” She sneered.

Rage suddenly boiled beneath your skin, making your body stiffen and your little hands tremble – not with fear, but with a fury so cold it scorched you alive. And even though the whispers and laughter around you were deafening, resounding like a thunderstorm, you could barely hear them above the buzzing in your ears. For a moment, your vision blurred as you stood up in one violent motion, your chair falling to the ground with a loud thud. Your brutal movement led Zoya to take a step back, anticipating your reaction and potentially violent way to attack her back but nothing came. 

You stood rigid in front of her with blood splattered on your diaphanous skin and white outfit, your chest heaving as your quick, shallow breaths resounded in your skull. The crimson streaks soaked the fabric and created a grim contrast with your pale, delicate figure. Of course, you’d have loved to erase the smug smirk on her lips by pouncing on her and ripping her face with your own sharp nails in an animal-like fit of rage, but your body was petrified. Your eyes burned with uncontrollable anger, unblinking, as your fists clenched at your sides, even more trembling under the weight of the humiliation.

“You—” Your throat went dry before you could say something else, your resentment so deep that it strangled you, choked every word you wanted to utter and every insult you wanted to scream.

“What’s the matter, little Saint?” Zoya tilted her head, beaming.

“Is this how we treat one of your own, now?” 

The shadows in the corners stretched toward the two figures standing, creeping slowly in black smoke curls, and the more they came close, the more it seemed to feed the storm that was building up inside you. As the atmosphere became heavier, silence fell again in the room and hushed all whispers as the Black General appeared, emerging through the thick fog of his darkness. Without wasting time nor condescending to glance at Zoya, Kirigan moved toward you with an unsettling calm, his pace conveying determination and his boots echoing softly against the luxurious stone floor of the dinning hall. The two obsidian of his eyes, sharp and as dark as midnight, locked onto you as if you were the only person in the room worthy of his attention. And despite the silence, the weight of his presence was deafening. 

When he reached you, General Kirigan stopped, standing close enough for you to feel the shadowed intensity as well as his power radiating from him. Not a single word was uttered, not a sound escaped his charming lips. Instead, his hands rose, unhurried and confident, to undo the few closed buttons of your blood-splattered fur coat. The gesture might have been simple, but it carried a startling intimacy as his fingers brushed gently against the edge of your collarbone when he lifted the coat away and let it fall at your feet. The intense feeling of humiliation still crashed against you like brutal rogue waves crashing against the shore, rendering you unable to hold his gaze. As you bowed your head, your fierce nature momentarily flickered at the sight of your ruined dress with its thin white fabric soaked through and clinging to you like a second skin. But even drowning in humiliation, the light touch on your collarbone sent a surge of electricity through your whole body.

In this moment suspended in time, Kirigan’s eyes dropped, lingering on your body for a bit too long. Surprisingly, his expression held no disgust or pity — only something unreadable, almost reverent. Something scorching, making you feel exposed both physically and emotionally to the extent that your breath hitched in your tight throat. As if he had stripped you naked with the sole power of his eyes. 

“Look at me.” The Black general said in a low voice, the very top of his index finger delicately pressing under your chin to force your gaze to meet his, dizzyingly deep and intense.

Blood rushed quicker in your veins in return, every fiber of you reacting to him in an uncontrollable instinct. It was only then that he shrugged off his own black kefta in a fluid movement, but the subtle care with which he unfolded the luxurious garment and wrapped it around your shoulders was anything but cold or impersonal.

 The fabric of the kefta was thick and warm, its weight providing a comforting and protective embrace that immediately calmed both your fury and feeling of shame down. Finally, your petrified body came back to life as you batted your doe lashes as though you had just woken up from a terrible nightmare. It had been the unmistakable scent of him — earthy cedar, spiced amber, and a fragrance darker, undefinable — that had helped you emerge from that feral state of rage. A hypnotizing, reassuring smell that enveloped you like a shield and anchored its owner’s presence in every thread. 

He patted your shoulders, then took one step back just enough to give you more space. “You’ll sit with me,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the tension like a blade, and his tone leaving no room for argument.

You almost opened your lips to speak but restrained yourself to do so for the way he uttered his order had been truly disarming. It wasn’t a question, not even a suggestion. No, it was a statement, one that accepted no debate. And even though the only thing you truly wished at this moment was to run away from this hellish place and lock yourself in your bedroom, you still followed Kirigan when his hand pressed lightly to the small of your back to guide you forward under the glance of every member of the assembly and a gutted Zoya. 

One step after the other. 

The dining hall seemed to fade as he led you across the room, his touch steadying your trembling steps and giving you the strength you lacked to ignore all the pairs of eyes that were riveted on you. Once he reached his table, Aleksander pulled out a chair, the scrape of wood against the floor creaking, and he gestured for you to sit. Hesitation crept into you but the way his dark, shining eyes softened ever so slightly — not in kindness but in reassurance —  encouraged you. Moreover, pushing him and rushing out of the room wasn’t an appropriate option anyway so what else could you do besides sinking into the seat? He took his place beside you as the officers seated at the table exchanged confused looks but knew better than say something for their deference to the General was absolute.

The dinner unfolded, and exquisite plates followed, but the humiliation you had suffered earlier lingered, giving you a bitter taste in your mouth. And there were their eyes, their fucking eyes staring at you in a way so nerve-racking that you wished you could have plucked them out of their sockets with your nails.

It was halfway through the meal that Kirigan’s gaze flicked discreetly toward you, with an expression still unfathomable. One look was all it took for him to sense the unease that seeped through every bit of you. Maybe that was why, hidden beneath the table, his hand sought yours. You froze slightly, surprised at the sensation of his fingers finding you, warm and firm, and lacing yours together without hesitation. 

“Let them stare. They’ll grow bored of it really soon.” 

The gesture was grounding, a silent lullaby for your soul, and relaxed you enough to allow you to exhale a shaky breath.

“I feel like an animal in a bloody zoo.” You whispered, the word ‘zoo’ spat with disgust as it painfully reminded you of the Menagerie. For the umpteenth time, Aleksander seemed to read through your thoughts for his gaze briefly dipped to your wrist, catching the faint outline of a tattoo partially obscured by the sleeve of his kefta you were wearing and that was too large for you. His brow furrowed slightly at this observation, curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes but you turned your arm and hid the mark right away before he could study it further.

“I know the feeling.” Kirigan replied after a few seconds, his voice briefly letting you grasp a tinge of humanity before he turned to stone again and shifted his attention from you to discuss war strategies with Ivan. 

Your shoulders relaxed a little bit and, finally, you started to eat — or rather to carefully pick a few things from your plate just so you wouldn’t have to sleep with an empty stomach. Your two hands remained intertwined during the entire meal, his thumb sometimes brushing lightly against the back of yours in a soothing caress, like an anchor amidst the storm. Admittedly, the intimacy of it sent a jolt through you in a mixture of comfort and confusion that only deepened the inevitable pull you felt toward him. The way his touch quieted the turmoil in you was both thrilling and suffocating, a contradiction that left you shivering… As you always did when he was around. 

It was wrong.

This whole situation made no sense. And still, you tightened your grip around his hand. Needy. Surely.

Tenderly.

The office was dimly lit by the dozen candles flames dancing around, feeble and slow, and casting their long shadows across the walls. 

Zoya was standing stiffly near the doorway, arms behind her back and her posture irreproachable, though her confident demeanor crumbled under Aleksander’s cold, unwavering gaze. Leaning against his desk, the shadows around him curled faintly at his shoulders as a visible manifestation of his restrained anger.

“Close the door,” He ordered without looking at her with a voice calm but edged with steel. Wasting no time, Zoya obeyed. The click of the latch sounded far louder than it should have in the silence of the office. 

Aleksander spoke first while looking directly at her, his pitch-black eyes sharp and accusing. She couldn’t help but notice that he had fetched his kefta back from you once you had reached the door of your bedroom safe and sound “Do you enjoy embarrassing me, Zoya?”

She gritted her teeth. “With all due respect, General, I’ve done no such thing. I merely—”

“You merely threw blood on a member of this court.” Cold fury crackled from his tone. He had given her no chance to justify her behavior for he had already charged her guilty,  “In front of everyone. Did you think that it was acceptable behavior for a soldier under my command?”

Zoya stiffened, “She’s dangerous. A liability. I was making a point—” Her lips tightened into a thin line.

“A point?” Aleksander’s voice had turned into a hiss now , “What point, exactly? That you are envious of someone stronger than you? That you cannot stomach the presence of someone who makes you question your own worth?”

“She doesn’t belong here!” Zoya burst out with trembling words but her tone bore clear hints of both defiance and frustration. “She almost killed me! You’ve brought in a wild animal and expect us to treat her like—”

“Quiet.” His order was like a whip, “You will not speak of her like that again. Do you understand me?”

As Zoya’s fear momentarily eclipsed her anger, she stuttered, “General, I only meant—”

“Do you know what I meant, Zoya?” Against all expectations, the tall darkness’ voice was deceptively soft and still, and yet it cut deeper than any shout, “I meant for you to serve this court with dignity. To protect your fellow Grisha, not humiliate them for sport. Tell me, did you feel powerful when you poured that blood on her? Did you feel strong?”

This time, the fierce Zoya Nazyalenski looked away, “I was protecting us,” she muttered, though her speech lacked conviction. “She’s—”

“She is under my protection,” Aleksander interrupted, “And that should be all you need to know. You will respect her because I demand it. Not because you like her. Not because you understand her. But because you respect me. She’s part of this court and you will treat her accordingly.”

Tears started to prick at Zoya’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I’ve served you faithfully for years,”  She lamented, “And you would cast a loyal follower for her?”

Aleksander leaned over his desk to come a tad bit closer to her, his gaze filled with threats that didn’t need to be spoken to be horrifying. “For someone with your talents, Zoya, you can be remarkably shortsighted. This is not about her or you. This is about the unity of Grisha, something you should value more than your petty grievances.”

For the first time in years, the Squaller flinched as though struck by lightning, her confidence shattering in millions of shards like a broken mirror under the General’s unemotional eyes. He straightened and waved off the topic, “You may go. And if I hear of any more incidents, there will be consequences far greater than this conversation.” 

At first, she remained still and hesitated, as if she desperately tried to search for some trace of leniency in his expression but she found none. Just plain disappointment and anger as cold as the deadliest blizzard. For Zoya, pride had always been her armor, but today it cracked, leaving her exposed to a truth she could no longer deny: the General’s favor was a fortress she would never breach. A fortress you had conquered in the span of a few weeks while she had worked on it for years. As the door closed behind her, the sound was not just the end of a conversation—it was the shattering of the illusion that she still stood untouchable.

And even though no one had overheard what they had said, many saw Zoya leaving the General’s office in tears. Quite a paltry price to pay for the humiliation and pain she had bestowed upon you earlier.

Please consider reblogging and commenting if you want the story to continue. It is what motivates writers to write the next chapters...

tags: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune

[petertingle-yipyip]

GUILTY AS SIN - KAZ BREKKER

//don’t ask me what this is dawg, i thought of it forever ago and wrote it half asleep and threw on an ending. leave me alone//

Pairing: Kaz x Crow!Reader

Word Count: 2,119

Summary: The little Songbird. A silly nickname for the Crow that likes to sing at the Club. When debuting a very personal, very specific song, the muse of that song - who isn’t supposed to know - is intrigued by the performance.

You were seated at the piano bench with Wylan while Jesper was bleeding fabric of color on the floor. You tapped your pencil against the notepad in your lap while Wylan played the same chords on the piano.

“I can’t get this chorus!” You groaned.

“What’s this song about? That Merchant’s son?” Jesper asked idly and you had to resist throwing your pencil at him.

“No, she’s writing about Kaz.” Wylan answered.

You whacked his arm with the notepad and he laughed.

“Just play the notes again.” You grumbled.

He was right, of course. Everyone knew of your crush on Kaz. It had started when you were younger and you figured you’d grow out of it. His cruelty seemed to guarantee it, yet he was kind enough to you. He was a very confusing man, especially as he grew into the feared Barrel Boss.

But still, your heart yearned and who were you to deny it?

You let your crush exist, burning under your skin when he was around. When you met his eyes in the crowded Club, your pulse jumped. When you two were partnered for a job, your nerves were electrified. When he spoke to you, you melted. Oh Saints, were you in deep.

Wylan, with a grin still plastered on his face, began the notes. You hummed along, finding the general flow of syllables.

“What if he’s written mine on my upper thigh, only in my mind?” Your voice drifted with the music and Wylan nodded along.

“One slip and falling back into the hedge maze. Oh, what a way to die.” Jesper added from the floor.

“I keep recalling things we never did.”

“Messy top lip kiss.” Jesper teased. He was lucky your legs weren’t long enough to kick him past Wylan.

“How I long for our trysts.” Wylan continued and you pinched him, making him yelp.

“Without ever touching his skin, how can I be guilty as sin?” You finished then squealed in delight. “I like that!”

“You should be more honest though.” Jesper said, standing and leaning on the piano. Your brows furrowed and he grinned.

You suddenly regretted his input.

“You should say something about wanting to bed him.” He laughed and you stood calmly. Wylan leaned out of the way and let you fully whack Jesper on the arm.

The boys laughed and you shook your head with a smile as you jotted down the lyrics you all came up with. You worked through the next verse with them and started a bridge. You adjusted a few lines in the chorus when it rolled around a second time, then found your favorite line.

I choose you and me, religiously.

You has chosen to be at Kaz’s side every time, without fail. You wondered if he noticed, then doubted he paid that much attention.

Later that week, there were no upcoming jobs to prepare for. There was no fight to ready yourself for. There was hardly any opposition since Pekka Rollins disappeared. So you found yourself, and friends, falling into your usual downtime routines.

Nina and Matthias playfully argued about something trivial. Wylan and Jesper made nonsense bets with each other, occasionally roping in Nina and Matthias, that usually ended with owing the other a drink or some treat. Kaz was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t entirely unusual.

And you took to the stage.

Wylan had done several copies of the music for the few members of the band you recruited. While they played, you sang and lightly danced. You captivated the crowd, watching the women giggle and exchange glances at your lyrics. It seemed like they all had their own versions of that special type of crush.

The lyric change for the second chorus came up and you watched Jesper’s reaction specifically.

“My bedsheets are ablaze. I’ve screamed his name. Building up like waves, crashing over my grave.”

Jesper nearly spit out his drink and you grinned.

The grin quickly fell away and your body went ice cold when you noticed who had slid into the booth with your friends.

Kaz Brekker.

“I choose you and me, religiously.”

You finished your song and curtised to your applauding crowd. You smiled kindly before you hopped off the stage. Jesper was whistling loudly and waving

you over but you shook your head. You hid behind your hand to make your way through the dense crowd, making yourself scarce for the rest of the night.

Finally, though unsure how, you made it back to your room. The laces of your bodice had felt suffocating tight all night after seeing Kaz so as soon as your door shut, you pulled at the ends and took a deep breath.

You had sang in front of Kaz before. He said you had talent the first time he heard, and he was the one who offered you the stage whenever you wanted it. But singing that song in front him felt like you were holding a large sign that said “IM IN LOVE WITH YOU” with a bright red arrow pointing to yourself.

What else was he to think?

I dream of cracking locks = Kaz.

Without ever touching his skin = Kaz.

Every single lyric felt like an allusion to Kaz and you felt

stupider than ever.

You changed into something to sleep in and had just gotten the flush to leave your skin when a quick knock sounded at your door. You groaned quietly and flopped back onto your bed when you called for them to enter. You folded your arms under your head and stared at the ceiling as they came in. The door shut gently behind them, then a few seconds later, the bed dipped with their weight as they sat near your feet.

“If you’ve come to gloat about your lyric suggestion, I’m going to shove you off with my foot.” You warned, assuming it was Jesper.

You were wrong.

“Is that how you welcome all your guests?” He asked and you bolted upright.

You nearly collided with him but he seemed unfazed.

“I was expecting Jesper.” You admitted.

“He was very excited about your lyrics.” He nodded. “You gave him quite the ego boost.”

You groaned and fell back against your mattress again.

“Why are you here?” You asked the ceiling.

“Your song…”

“My song.” You sighed, closing your eyes in embarrassment and to brace yourself for his berating. “It wasn’t something you were meant to hear.”

“I assumed as much when you practically ran from the Club stage.” He agreed, tapping his cane rhythmically against the floor.

“Yes, well, I don’t exactly enjoy being mortified.”

“Though I’m not sure why you ran from me.”

Did he really not put it together?

You sat up on your elbows and gave him a dumbfounded expression. You doubted Kaz Brekker couldn’t figure out the truth behind your song, so you decided you’d play dumb too. The Saints themselves wouldn’t be able

to get you to outright admit to that song being very much so about Kaz, so there’s no way he would get it out of you easily.

“That song was very vulnerable.” You carefully admitted, watching for a reaction but getting nothing. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Seemed like you wanted someone to know.”

“Not specifically.” You mumbled. “I blame Jesper and Wylan. They helped me write it and then convinced me to sing it…”

He nodded slightly and you let out a sigh. You pushed yourself to sit up and crossed your legs in front of you. Kaz shifted slightly and intently looked at your expression. You had both lips between your teeth with your brows raised, waiting for him to say something.

“Did you like the song, at least?” You finally asked.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

You refrained from swatting him with your pillow. Instead, you huffed and rolled your eyes.

“You do realize that could be both insult and compliment, right?”

That half smile grew a little wider and that time, you did hit him with the pillow.

“Jackass.” You laughed and tucked your pillow into your lap.

“Tell me.” He said. “You said ‘there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.’ Did you write that line?”

You nodded. “My sister told me that when we were little, before she was recruited for the Second Army… I was struggling with my first crush and she said that it was okay to think things about people. It mainly mattered what I did with those thoughts.”

“And who do you have thoughts about now?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You pursed your lips and looked down at your scrunched pillow in your lap. It was the perfect opportunity to tell him, you recognized that, but that would mean telling him. The weight of the secret coming off your shoulders was tempting, but the fear of losing your current relationship gripped your heart tightly.

You two didn’t have the same closeness as you did with Wylan or Jesper. You could tell those two anything. Often times you did. But you and Kaz had an unspoken understanding to watch the other’s back. You never feared walking the Barrel or pissing someone off - unusually unintentionally - because you knew Kaz was there for you. In turn, Kaz knew he could depend on you for your part of the job or just your support for his death defying plans.

You were the first to agree to the Ice Court and you two had been an unexpectedly natural pair ever since.

“A man that I'll never quite get over, I fear.” You answered vaguely. “But I doubt I’ll ever truly have.”

“Then he’s a fool.” He said honestly, but the look on his face told you he hadn’t meant to say it.

“No.” You smiled softly. “It’s just… different. He’s different and complicated. I’d choose him and I if I had the chance.”

You were ignoring the fact that you did, in fact, have the chance.

“Complicated…” Kaz repeated.

“Among other things. But that’s one of the things about him.” You looked at your hands rather than him. “He’s clever and caring, but in a ‘I’d rather yell at you for being reckless than tell you I care about your life’ kind of way. And he does these subtle things to show he pays attention and he listens, but if you ever bring it up to him, he’ll deny it. He’s tough to get through to, but if you mean something to him, Saints, he’d burn Ketterdam to the ground to protect you.”

“And you feel guilty having these feelings for him?”

You looked up at him. “Not exactly… It’s more about whether or not I should feel guilty for thinking of him like that.”

“Because you think it's unrequited?”

“I’m almost sure it is. I’ve never seen him have feelings for anyone, except one woman, and it’s not the same with me.” You shook your head sadly.

“Y/N.” He hesitated.

Your brows furrowed. You’d never seen Kaz hesitate.

“You alright, Kaz?” You reached a hand for his arm, a gesture you did with the rest of the Crows without hesitation, then thought the better of it. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re wrong.” He answered carefully.

That answer cleared up nothing.

“About why he treats you differently.” He continued while staring at his hands and you listened quietly, trying to figure out what on earth the man was talking about. “It’s not because he doesn’t care. It’s because he cares about you and that frightens him. Last time he cared about someone, he still lost her. He doesn’t want the same to happen with you.”

“What are you…” You trailed off. Then it hit you. “Oh.”

His hand landed on your leg.

“How did you know?” You asked, not knowing if you should be excited or embarrassed.

Probably both. Both felt right.

“You weren’t exactly subtle.” He joked and you picked up the pillow to whack him again. “And Jesper told me.”

“Saints, that man can run his mouth.” You complained. “I’m going to stop telling him things.”

“Am I bad? Or mad? Or wise?” Kaz repeated your lyrics to you. “To have these feelings about you? To have these thoughts about you?”

“Someone told me there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.” You smiled slightly at him.

It’d be a trial to date Kaz. You always figured it would be, considering his temper and violent tendencies and touch aversion. But the look in his eyes, open and pleading, had you immediately choosing to try.

I choose you and me, religiously. 

Your smile grew a little wider when you felt his finger moving against your leg. 

M-I-N-E

[happyhauntt]

stay, i pray you — nikolai lantsov.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: nikolai has a decision to make. anya makes it for him.

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

─── warnings: takes place during seige & storm just after sturmhond reveals himself to be nikolai. angst, hurt/no comfort, pre-established relationship. this one's gonna hurt.

─── word count: 2.1k.

     "I've had an idea."

     The military encampment at Kribirsk is as familiar to Anya as the freckles on Nikolai's nose, the garden of her father's estate, the brittle ache of her injured knee. Crashing the Hummingbird had not been part of the plan — and her body had certainly not appreciated the impromptu swim in the nearby lake — but the First Army officers had recognised her and Nikolai, affording them all the honours of their stations and escorting them to the commander's tent.

     Anya hadn't felt all that comfortable with it. She may have been Lieutenant Corporal before her discharge, but it has become increasingly difficult to love the army that raised her while it serves the country that abandoned her. General Raevsky had once been her commanding officer. She and Nikolai had served under him on the northern border, oh, how many years ago now?

They'd both been green as grass, infantry grunts who'd never handled a rifle, never fired a shot or seen a battlefield begin to bleed. Raevsky greeted her like an old friend when they stumbled onto shore, asked how she was fairing as if he hadn't seen her only a few months ago, before she helped the Sun Summoner flee Ravka by smuggling her onto a ship bound for Novyi Zem.

     The tent Anya finds herself in is small but serviceable, with clean, fresh clothes laid out on the bed and a small plate of food waiting on the table. Nikolai disappeared shortly after their arrival, most likely to offer up an explanation to the commanders, but when he finally reappears, he finds Anya combing out the knots of her damp hair with her fingers, changed into a clean, loose shirt and army-issue trousers. She feels as if she never left the army and the thought makes her nauseous.

     "You have an idea?" She raises an eyebrow at him as he steps tentatively inside, allowing the tent flap to fall closed behind him. A playful smirk dances over her face. "Given that your last idea sent us crash-landing into a lake, I must admit I feel a little apprehensive."

     He huffs at her, an almost-chuckle that sends alarm bells ringing in her mind. A jibe like that would usually send him on a ranting spiral, fussing all about how his invention hadn’t been the reason they crashed and had, actually, worked exactly as intended for the majority of their journey.

     Teasing him is easy, and the way he smiles when she does sends warmth pouring through her. Seeing him so subdued is… troubling, to say the least. He hangs up his sword and crosses the tent to perch on the edge of her bed. His eyes remain fixed on the floor the whole time.

     Kneeling in front of him, she allows her fingers to graze over the bruise blossoming on his cheek. His eyes fall closed for a moment. "She really got you, didn't she? Our dear Sun Summoner has a mean right hook."

     "Believe me, I know. Scrappy little thing." Nikolai flexes his jaw and opens his eyes, and all once, Anya knows. It's written in the tiny lines between his brows and the quirk of his mouth and the ache in his eyes.

     "What is it?" she murmurs. Her fingers linger on his face, and he leans into the warmth of her, just slightly. Her knee protests, but she doesn't dare try to stand up. "What's happened?"

     He swallows roughly. "I've told you before, haven't I, about coming back here and helping Ravka. About fixing it before it's too late."

     Whispered conversations in a dimly-lit cabin flutter through her mind. Wishes pressed against her skin with kisses, hopes and dreams caught up in a lover's embrace. I could be better than Vasily, he'd said, and she had believed that, the way she believed the sun would rise in the morning. I could save Ravka.

     She hadn't told him the truth, then. She'd taken his dreams and folded them up into her own chest, to keep safe beside her heart, but she hadn't wanted it the way he did. Anya would sooner see Ravka burn. She cannot bring herself to feel mercy, not where this Saints-forsaken country is concerned. Not after it abandoned her when she needed it most.

     Now, she nods. A damp tendril of hair falls past her eyes. "I remember. You said you... you would find a way to convince Vasily to step aside, and your father would make you the heir. But it wasn't a plan. You said you didn't know how you'd do it, yet. Just that you wished you could."

     She may never forget it. The panic that struck her, bone-deep. The way his ambitions have haunted her ever since. He may not have known it then, but a ticking clock had been set that day. Anya never knew when their time would run out. Only that she would never be ready for it.

     He smiles, now. A rueful thing. There is no need to hide with her, no need to put on that winsome devil-may-care act he wears like armour. She is not a politician he can sway to his side, nor a danger he can charm his way out of, and yet he smiles at her. She is so beautiful, and soft, and she's not wearing her armour, either. Not here, not with him. There is nothing to smile about, and in a few moments it will all be different, but right now she is his, so he has to smile. He has to.

     He may weep, otherwise.

     "Kolya." Her voice is so quiet, barely more than a whisper, and he is so sure that she knows, already, without him having to breathe a word.

     His throat goes horribly tight, an invisible hand wrapped tight around his windpipe, as if that will stop his confession. His eyes flit to the roof for a moment. They start to sting.

     "Alina's power is the key to Ravka's survival," he says. Every word feels like lead on his tongue. "The Apparat has turned her into a living Saint, and the people love her. If I'm to make a bid for the throne and convince Vasily to step aside, it can't just be that I'm the best man for the job. That won't matter. But an alliance with the Sun Summoner might sway the odds in my favour."

     Anya watches him for a long moment. He holds his breath as time stretches, and eternity seems to pass before she even blinks. She withdraws her hand, allowing it to rest lightly on his thigh. The absence of her touch lingering in his face burns like a fresh bullet wound.

     He wonders if you can die from missing someone who hasn't gone anywhere yet.

     "An alliance with Alina." Anya narrows her eyes as the pieces click together in her mind." You mean—"

     "I'm going to ask her to marry me." His throat feels rough as sandpaper. "A political marriage, in name only. The game has changed and Alina is the only one who can level the playing field."

     He keeps talking, but Anya can hardly hear him. Her brain began to buzz with white noise the moment she heard the word marriage, as if her skull is home to a thousand angry wasps and someone suddenly decided to shake the nest. She can feel her blood rushing in her ears, her heartbeat thudding in her throat, but she doesn't dare give herself away.

     Anya Kamenev is a soldier, but she is also a future duchess. Her mother would be proud to learn that all those etiquette lessons didn't go to waste. Summoning a decade of training, her old governess' instructions rattling through her mind, her face remains delicate and empty. Not a muscle twitch or a quiver of her lip, not a hint of sorrow flashing in her eyes. She might as well be carved from marble. Her heart sits in her chest like a stone.

     "Nastya." The nickname he gave her in their army days is salt in an open wound. Nikolai reaches for her, grasps her hands in his as if she is all that can anchor him to this world. "I don't know what to do."

     "Of course you do." Somehow her voice is gentle, even though she feels jagged at the edges, like touching her might make him bleed. An instinct tugs at her, to curl her fingers around his own and hold him just as tight, but she can't bring herself to move. "You wouldn't bring it up to me if you hadn't already thought it through. You're a clever man, Nikolai. The cleverest I know, and don't let that go to your head. You know what you have to do now. You just want my permission to do it."

     Is it crueller, somehow, to ask for permission? To hand over her heart, and the knife too, as if that will make it hurt less when he carves it from her chest?

     A wet laugh bubbles out of him. "Trust you to keep my ego in check even now, Anya."

     "Someone has to," she says. She heaves herself into a standing position, wincing as her knee cracks and tiny bolts of lightning spike up her leg. "Although I think Alina will do a brilliant job. I don't mind handing over that responsibility to her."

     "Don't." Nikolai is on his feet in a moment. One hand remains in hers, his grip tight as a vice, but the other curls around the back of her neck. His thumb brushes softly over her cheek. The warmth of it makes her shudder. "Don't say that like you're going anywhere. I'm not sure I can do any of this without you."

     "Of course you can," Anya murmurs. Saints, she isn't sure the torture she endured at the hands of Shu Han's scientists hurt this much. If she closes her eyes, she can almost believe he's taken a blade and gutted her right here, like a fish on the deck of his ship.

     A ragged breath tears out of him as he says, "Alright, perhaps I can. But I don't want to."

     When he kisses her, it doesn't feel like a kiss goodbye. It doesn't feel like their last kiss in a thousand. There's a ferocity to him as he clutches her, teeth clashing, but that doesn't change the truth of it. He can hold her as tightly as he wants, but they both know she has always been smoke in his hands.

     “I would give you anything,” he says against her mouth, pressed together like hands in prayer. She feels his breath stutter against her tongue, hitched with a sob he will not set free. “Name it. Palaces and jewels, the moon, a temple built in your name, the heads of every man who ever harmed you served on a silver platter. Name it and it’s yours. Just stay.”

     Your heart. The tear slides down her cheek unbidden, and he kisses it away as he has done a thousand times before. She catches his lips with her own and kisses him again, fingers tangled in tendrils of his hair, still rough with saltwater no matter how many times he washes it. Your heart, your hand, a life with you away from this Saints-forsaken country.

     She’ll stay. She will, because Anya is a soldier, and though she no longer has any loyalty to Ravka, she still believes in him. And there is no pain in the world that could hurt more than abandoning him now, no matter how much she wishes she could.

     “Anything.” His voice, barely a whisper, a plea to those forgotten saints who have never seen fit to bestow a miracle upon them. “Anything, my darling.”

     He sinks to his knees before her, presses his forehead to her stomach. She leans and kisses the crown of his scalp, lingering a moment to breathe in the salt and sea of him. Ravka will never know how lucky it is to have a prince so loyal. She doesn’t know what they’d done to earn such devotion.

     “I know.” Despite the tears, her voice is deceptively still. Your heart. But he had already sworn it to his country, long before he ever loved her. “I want the same as you, Nikolai; peace and prosperity for Ravka.”

     He snorts against her stomach. His arms wrap tightly around her middle. “Liar.”

     “Always.” Pushing him away would not be the worst torture she has endured, but she worries it will scar her far longer than any blade could.

[dancingsunflowers-ocs]

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘽𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙋𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝘽𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙮

Avalen Romanov ✸ Matthias Helvar ship

-She was there the day that Matthias’ village burned to the ground. When his entire family was killed.

-She was so young, but her training was about to begin, and she needed to be shown what it meant to be Inferni. She did not like what she was shown.

-She joins The Darkling and his cause in hopes to be free, in hopes of a better world, and is sent off with Nina Zenik to help more Grisha escape Ravka.

-But when they are captured by druskelle, she cannot help but recognize one boy who had haunted her nightmares for years.

-Enemies to Lovers Trope

Tagging: @daughter-of-melpomene and @manyfandomocs 💕

[rose-of-oz]

Make Me Choose: OC Edition

@dancingsunflowers-ocs asked: Catta Rostova or Rosaline Craven?

make me choose between two of my ocs and i’ll make a gifset for the one i choose!!

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom,

@auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs,

@reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations,

@stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs,

@luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @oneirataxia-girl,

@arrthurpendragon, @surebrecs, @gabbysdawsons,

@dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @stelstellakidd,

@manyfandomocs, @lapinaquarelle, @partiallypearl, @welcometotheocverse,

@juliaswickcrs, @kendelias, @ocappreciationtag.

[heresthefanfiction]

Elya Kalik as The Raven in The Spy,

a Shadow and Bone fanfiction.

"It was the Raven's job to know everything in Ravka that moved, every rumor whispered behind closed doors. And where she couldn’t be, she had contacts. Pirates and privateers on the seas, spies living in Novyi Zem, servants in the households of the Merchant Council, Grisha and soldiers alike, both willing to give up a little information for a little more money to send home to their families. And every drop of information she gathered went straight back to him. To the Darkling. Well, maybe not every drop. But he didn't need to know that."

Huge thank to @wordspin-shares to beta reading this and putting up with my extremely sporadic writing habits.

Also, shoutout to @dancingsunflowers-ocs and @manyfandomocs for inspiring me to actually sit down and make this edit. Go check out their Grishaverse ocs too!!

Tagging:

@arrthurpendragon @untestedtheory @ocappreciationtag @themaradwrites

[manyfandomocs]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE 2024 ; day six - role swap au

In which the Sun Summoner isn’t Alina Starkov, it is The Darkling’s very own son, Anatoly Morozova

Taglist: @daughter-of-melpomene

[jahayla-parker]

King of My Heart : Nikolai Lantsov x Reader Series

Description: Princess Y/n and Nikolai have known each other since they were little as their families would visit each other every summer. However, Y/n and Nikolai seemingly always hated each other. To make matters more complicated, their parents arranged for them to marry. Will they be able to get along enough to maintain a political marriage, will they truly fall for each other, or will their hatred continue to tear each other apart until there’s nothing but destruction?

Warnings: angst, hurt-comfort, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, pining, crush(es), flirting, dancing, arguments, fighting, insults/bullying, attitude, typical Grishaverse topics and themes, kissing and other romantic behaviors and content, misunderstandings, bantering, etc.

Notes: This is an ONGOING series. When a new part is scheduled for release/to be posted, I’ll update this masterlist with those details. I’m hoping to keep updating it frequently and routinely, but please bear with me if that’s not always 100% the case!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Thoughts on if I should continue?

Taglist: @iambored24601 @nghtwngs @dcmaniac101 @naushtheaspiringauthor @larathebee @hereiamhereigo @lareinaa007 @halfofagayallofaqueer @el-de-phi @kiroshki @caspianobsessed @hauntedenthusiasttragedy @adalia-jaycee @ell0ra-br3kk3r @wonderland2425 @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @kateswone @liter4ti @torresbarnes @mischiefmanaged71 @casualladyinternet @im-here-sometimes @moonflowersandsparkles @h-l-vlovesvintage @dinonuggiessss @bubybubsters @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @opheliaofficial07

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[iveneverbeenthisdeadlol]

February - April '24

Stella - Grishaverse OC

Unfortunately, I didn't get to finish this one. And I don't think I could bring myself to finish it, at least for now. Nonetheless, it was interesting to work on.

[restinslices]

My Fandom Ocs

I was scrolling on tumblr and ended up seeing @mattmurdocksthighs (fantastic name btw) do this post showing off their ocs and I was like “I wanna do that” so here we are. No one asked for this but LISTEN- I don’t ONLY think about Mortal Kombat. And I’ll probably write about them at some point and get like, 2 cute lil like. I’ll keep updating this because my brain is always coughing up this shit. Their stories also got a lot of shit going on so I’m giving the very basic stuff so this shit ain’t too long. (Rereading this and the shit ended up long anyway). Last updated: 8/22/24

Jamie Kalivoda

Universe: Fear Street

Related to: Simon Kalivoda - Younger Brother

Sexuality: Unlabeled 

Love Interest: Ryan Torres (rip)

Faceclaim: Linda Cardellini

Summary: Jamie is Simon’s older sister and was dating Ryan Torres before the mall massacre. The leaves her deep in grief because Heather was also one of her best friends. She knows she should accept what’s happened, but she can’t help feeling that something is off since Ryan never seemed like he’d just “go crazy”. She is roped in with the main characters and tries to break the curse.

Cassiopia Lupin

Universe: Harry Potter

Related to: Remus Lupin - Dad. Polaris Lupin -  Fraternal Twin (it’s possible for twins to look this different. Look it up). Non canon mother

House: Hufflepuff 

Sexuality: Biromantic but Asexual

Love Interest: Harry or Neville 

Faceclaim: Adelaide Kane

Summary: She is the fraternal twin of Polaris and is sorted into Hufflepuff. Unlike her dad and sister, she’s actually not a werewolf (until some shit happens). Although she is the more protective and somewhat agitated twin, it comes from a place of never wanting her family to be hurt again. Her family sides with the golden trio and fight against the death eaters.

Polaris Lupin

Universe: Harry Potter

Related to: Remus Lupin - Dad. And before y’all ask, her mom is black but she’s not a cannon character so I’m not putting her here

House: Ravenclaw

Sexuality: Lesbian

Love interest: Bounces between Luna and Pansy cause she loves a lil bit of toxicity. She get it from Remus fr

Faceclaim: Chandler Kinney

Summary: In my version, Remus is gay. I know fans debate whether he’s bi or gay, in this version he’s gay. He’s in denial and ends up hooking up with a female witch, and while that confirmed that he had to face the hard reality of another thing about him being different, her ass must’ve been listening to Usher cause she said she was three months pregnant and she was keeping it (some of y’all enjoyed that more than others and I’m ok with this). At first he wanted nothing to do with this kid but came around to the idea, which was real convenient cause her mom got killed by her own family. Guess we locked in for life now. She has his werewolf gene and is trying her hardest to succeed in school to hopefully make their life better.

Aeavia Min

Universe: PJO

Cabin: 13 - Hades

Fatal Flaw: Holding grudges 

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love Interest: I ain’t think that far

Faceclaim: Park Gyu-young

Summary: Still a wip but essentially she is the twin sister of Mina Min. They are the secret forbidden children of Hades and know about it. They act as support for their fellow forbidden child Percy. Aeavia is named after the underworld judge Aeacus, which shows in her personality as she is less strict that her twin and believes that someone’s intentions matter the most and offers leeway when committing certain actions. She is also loyal to her family and fights alongside the Olympians.

Medora Montgomery

Universe: PJO

Cabin: 10 - Aphrodite 

Fatal Flaw: Recklessness 

Sexuality: Demisexual

Love interest: I ain’t think that far

Faceclaim: Cascina Caradonna

Summary: She’s still a wip but as of right now her story is that she is from a wealthy family and her father despises Aphrodite for what she’s done. Growing up her father talked horribly about Aphrodite and made it seem like she is nothing more than a “whore goddess” with no real significance. She also has experienced being over sexualized like many other girls and it always being her fault has been drilled into her head. When she is sent to camp and claimed by Aphrodite, she hates it. She doesn’t hate her cabin mates but she, like others, mistakenly believe that Aphrodite only represents sex and she blames her for all the sexualization she’s faced. She is desperate to prove that she can be more and throws herself into situations that are way too big for only her to handle. She has to figure out what Aphrodite means to her, how to love herself as she is, how to get her inner light back and has to learn how to recognize that she is a victim and that creeps exist. It is not her job to make sure they keep their comments and hands to themselves. 

Mina Min

Universe: PJO

Cabin: 13 - Hades

Fatal Flaw: Holding grudges

Sexuality: Lesbian

Love Interest: I ain’t think that far

Faceclaim: Park Gyu-young

Summary: Still a wip but essentially she is the twin sister of Aeavia Min. They are the secret forbidden children of Hades and know about it. They act as support for their fellow forbidden child Percy. Mina is named after the underworld judge Minos, which shows in her personality as she has a strict personality and believes in severe punishment for those who do wrong, regardless of their intentions. She is fiercely loyal to her family and fights alongside the Olympians (though she’s considered switching sides).

Kajsa Helvar

Universe: Six Of Crows

Related to: Matthias Helvar - Older Brother.

Sexuality: Lesbian

Love Interest: -

Faceclaim: Ivanna Sakhno

Summary: Kajsa is Matthias’s younger sister who is believed to be dead. She survived the village fire and was taken by Fjerdan officials to become an assassin (they got a bootleg Black Widow program. Shhhhh) for them since Druskelle take too long and are easily noticeable. After she finds out he’s alive, she leaves Fjerda and tracks him down but when she realizes his girlfriend is Grisha, she believes he’s being poisoned and wants to kill Nina. When Matthias refuses to let that happen, she thinks it’s too late and the only way to save his soul is to kill him. Will she succeed? Will they make up and undo her brainwashing? Who knows? Not me.

[lotusqueens]

Leigh Bardugo, Ruin and Rising

Korol Rezni. Roëd Drüsje.

The King of Scars and the red witch.

They had become a symbol of hope for their torn and drowning county and a scary story for young Drüskelle boys to shudder at.

Nikolai sometimes wondered what it felt like for Vera: to be hated and feared by the country she loved so dearly. If Ravka was the drowning man Nikolai planned to drag to shore with his last breath, then Fjerda was her’s. Despite all her words and her determination, he knew Vera would die for her country. Even if it was at Fjerda’s own hands.

[call-sign-shark]

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

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

Words: 2.5k

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

Part I - Keep Moving, Little Girl

Masterlist || Next

The Little Palace was veiled in an eerie calm, which wasn’t very usual for a place that crowded by both young promising Grishas and renowned, experienced ones. The luxurious wall, bathed in the golden light of dying embers, gave an almost supernatural aesthetic to the place. General Aleksander Kirigan sat at his desk, his fingers steepled and his black eyes fixed on the fragile flicker of a single candle before him. The little flame danced, its body undulating as it struggled to keep the surrounding darkness away from the little bubble of warm light it created. The room was silent, save for the crackle of the hearth a bit further, and yet, despite this silence, the general’s mind was far from quiet.

He had heard the rumors countless times over the past few months – it had started with nothing more than vague accounts of a few people found dead in a mysterious and gruesome way, but the narrative slowly turned into a monstrous witch, her hair as white as frost, leaving death and blood in her wake. At first, he dismissed them. Ravka was rife with tales of rogue Grisha, exaggerated to feed the fears of peasants and nobles alike. A chimera created by children to tell scary stories, or skillfully crafted clichés to create a deep-ingrained fear of Grisha by politics. But the more he ignored them, the more the whispers persisted: they spread like wildfire and grew darker with each retelling. The most recent account had given him a pause though: a Heartrender, they claimed, whose power was unlike anything ever seen. From what has been reported, the creature could control men as if they were marionettes, forcing them to turn on each other in a grotesque display of violence. One so-called survivor claimed that, with only a few movements of her hands, he saw his colleague forced to turn the barrel of his gun to his temples and shoot himself a bullet right through his brain. Aleksander had raised a brow at the statement:

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

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

The shadows around him stirred, as if sensing his thoughts, their tendrils coiling in anticipation. He, who was often too absorbed by his own plans, surprised himself when he realized that his mind raced through the topic of that wild sorceress, weighing risks and rewards, battling between curiosity and schemes. However, one thing had become certain: he could no longer ignore the whispers. He had to find her. Kirigan rose from his seat, the folds of his pitch black kefta sweeping behind him as he crossed the room with hastened steps. He opened the door to find Ivan, who was waiting just outside, his stoic expression as adamant as ever.

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

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

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

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

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

He needed her to be real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, sure.” You mumbled, staring blankly at your boots sat by the door through your slim fingers, and the satchel rested on the old rocking chair, packed and ready to leave. Never unpacking, that was one of the rules you followed since you fled from the Menagerie. Through the frosted window the snow was falling steadily. Frosty flakes swirled like restless ghosts in the early morning gloom, covering the world outside with a white coat that muffled every little sound. All of them except the relentless thumping of your heart, which threatened to burst your ribcage open.

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

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

Keep moving.

The cold hit you immediately as you stepped outside. The wind bit you through your cloak like a knife with such virulence that you couldn’t help clenching your jaw. And yet, you welcomed it, let it numb you. Snow crunched beneath the sole of your boots as you walked on a little road, endless and uncertain. With one quick movement, you pulled your hood up and buried your face against the wind, going forward with determined steps. You didn’t know where you were going but you knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t stop moving away from the Menagerie. Not yet. The world might feel vast and empty, but at least there was something usually peaceful in this isolation. Not this morning though.

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

Keep moving.

Above the faraway howl of the wind, a faint whisper seemed to hum at the edges of your senses. It resonated, too soft to be real, but to real to be a hallucination. You frowned as you walked faster, all your senses in alert. It wasn’t words, only a presence, dark and vast, like shadows stretching beyond the horizon. Keep moving!  You clenched your fists and tried your best to shove the thought away. It was certainly some kind of paranoia that had gotten into you, fed by lack of sleep, proper food and shelter. A part of you rationalized, telling itself that no one had ever found you yet, and no one would – despite the little… troubles you created on your way. Crystal eyes fixed on the road ahead, your steps quickened as if you could outrun the unease that was gnawing at your mind.

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

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

“Are you sure?” They whispered back

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

Soon, he thought,

Very soon.

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

taglist: @augustwookie

[petertingle-yipyip]

STRANGER (xi) - KAZ BREKKER

tags: @beekeepingageissome  @shadowzena43 @nikfigueiredo @mp-littlebit @starmansirius @hadesnumber1daughter @directioner5life @strvngestark @hostilityghost @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @justnerdystuffs @faeriepigeons // previously // next

Pairing: Kaz x Davina Rollins (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 6,204

Summary: Friends become allies. Ghosts die again. War against her bloodline threatens more than her own Snakes. How much can the Dime Lions try to take before Davina truly breaks?

“I’m getting really tired of being here.” You complained and rested against the side of his desk. He stood across from you and ran a gloved hand through his hair. “We should meet in my office one of these days.”

“We should stop meeting like this in general.” He scolded and you frowned at him.

“I know you wouldn’t dare meet me under any other circumstance.”

Hurt flashed across his features and you regretted your words for a second. “Why are you here?” He asked instead.

“I just wanted to see your glowing smile, Kazzle.” You said sarcastically.

“Cute.” He rolled his eyes.

“I needed something from Haskell, and now I have it. Can I leave?”

“Haskell isn’t here.”

“Exactly.”

“So you stole it from his office?”

“Steal, borrow without permission. He won’t even notice. Who cares?” You shrugged. “It doesn’t involve you.”

“Everything that happens here involves me.”

“Does ‘here’ mean the Crow Club or Ketterdam?” You cocked your head. “Because when I asked you for help a few days ago, you said the Dregs weren’t yours. And if you mean Ketterdam, then what happened to Melli involves you too and you’re choosing to do nothing.”

Kaz tilted his face towards the ceiling and muttered a complaint before looking at you again. You straightened and raised your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his response. He kept your gaze for a moment before his eyes dropped to your folded arms beneath your cloak.

You hugged the stolen bottle a little closer.

He made a small sound of satisfaction before he moved around you. You spun with his movements to keep him in front of you.

“What did you find out?” Kaz asked.

“What makes you think that?” You countered smoothly.

“You haven’t worn the cloak in weeks, Vina. Not since the night you came to the Slat.”

“I didn’t go to the Slat. I was near the Slat and you invited me in.” You corrected, as if it made that much of a difference.

“You also wouldn’t risk pissing off Haskell for nothing.” He tapped your hidden arms. “What do you need this for?”

You pushed off the desk and sat in the nearby chair. You kept one arm around the bottle and the other came free to flick some of the loose hair out of your face. Kaz watched you with vested interest and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. He watched your expression for something as he came and leaned on the desk beside you.

“Do you remember the cafe from when we were kids?” You asked. You attempted to sound casual but the context of the conversation gave your intentions away almost instantly.

Both you and Kaz knew it, though neither of you acknowledged it. He just nodded quietly.

“Well, I heard that Pekka has Melli there. I looked into it and the intel checked out. Two Lions I could see and at least four more inside.” You explained.

“Did you see Melli?”

“No…”

“And how did you come upon this information?”

“You remember Filip? Had the little wind-up dogs?”

He smirked slightly. “I killed him.”

You tilted your head quickly. You weren’t surprised in the slightest.

“That tracks.” You nodded. “Well, his son Vicente is a Lion and he told me.”

“You sought him out?” Kaz’s brows raised in accusation. “Could you be any stupider, Davina? Truly.”

“Thank you, for that.” You rolled your eyes. 

“What was it then? Just strolled by and he told you everything?”

“Absolutely not.” You laughed. “I didn’t even know he was still around, let alone with Pekka. He came to me, same as an interesting little demo expert.”

“Hmm. So that’s where Wylan ran off to.” He feigned disinterest.

“So it seems.” You shrugged with the same nonchalance. “Regardless, Wylan’s working on a couple things and I’ll make sure he’s fairly compensated. Trust that he won’t come back empty-handed.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

“So you admit you’re worried about something?” You teased and he half-smiled at you. “Does Dirtyhands have a conscience after all?”

“Not exactly… Vina, how do you know you can trust the Lion?”

“Kol asked me the same thing.” You confessed. “And honestly, Kaz, I don’t. But he can’t exactly waltz back into the Emerald Palace like nothing happened.”

“Why not?”

“I may or may not have carved off his tattoo.”

For a split second, he was surprised.

“It was his idea.” You defended. “He claims he wants to split for the Lions and head to Fjerda.”

“And if he’s lying to you, what will you do?”

“I don’t know.” You confessed. “I know I should kill him just to ensure he can’t double cross me, unless I keep his hostage until this is over.”

“That runs its own set of risks.”

“It’s possible he truly wants to leave, right?”

“He might.” Kaz nodded. “But it’s more likely that he was sent to the Rook to lure you to that cafe. Everything he said that checks out could just be a ruse.”

“I don’t have another choice. It’s the only lead I have and I’ve provoked my father enough. It’s a matter of time before he-“

Someone knocked hard on the door of Kaz’s office. You stood quickly, leaving the bottle of kvas in your chair. Kaz eyed the bottle for a second before looking back at the door. You drew the blade at your thigh and felt the dried blood crack against your palm as you spun it so the blade was parallel against your arm.

Another hard round of knocks and Kaz straightened. He took a step to be at your side just before the door slammed open. You felt a subtle hand at your back and you reached over to tap the back of your hand against his hip. 

You kicked the chair against the desk as two brawny men walked in.

Your grip tightened on your blade as they moved deeper into Kaz’s office. You barely registered Kaz putting himself in front of you, not until he reacted first. He slammed the top of his cane against the first man’s stomach and you sidestepped the altercation to take on the other man.

Immediately, you went for a slash. The blade cut a long, shallow line across the man’s chest and he staggered back. You immediately threw your shoulder against him and the force pushed him against the nearest wall. You moved closer but he reached out and got a hand around your throat. The action caused his sleeve to raise and you saw the edge of a tattoo.

Dime Lions.

You were slammed against the wall in his place. You gasped, feeling the man’s fingers digging into the sides of your neck. Daring a glance over his shoulder, you saw the other Lion slam Kaz’s head against his desk.

You wedged your knee between your bodies and the man simply chuckled. You smiled and flipped the grip of your knife.

The man threw a punch that made your head snap to the side. The taste of blood filled your mouth and your tongue ran along the spot on your cheek that you bit off.  When you raised your knife, the Lion’s free hand shot out and caught your wrist.

You smiled slightly as your other hand went under your cloak for the smaller blade. You freed it quickly before dragging it along the back of the hand around your throat.

He withdrew both hands and you stumbled to the side. You gasped for breaths, throat burning and head pounding. You could feel the warmth of blood flow returning to your head and you blinked away the dizziness. You felt his hand on your arm so you swung both blades wildly. The only indication that your blade made contact was his hiss, then he slammed both massive fists against your back and you fell to the ground behind Kaz’s desk.

You could hear Kaz struggling and your hands fumbled to recollect your blades. You sheathed the longer one at your thigh and clutched the smaller one tightly. You crept around the desk, readying an attack, when that damn voice froze you in place.

“Evening, Mr. Brekker.” Your father spoke and you crouched a little lower.

You used your free hand to tug your hood back into place. You spun carefully on your knee for a better view, strategically putting yourself behind Kaz. Both arms were pinned behind his back but you didn’t miss the subtle movement of his hands.

He was telling you to stay put. You glared at him for a moment, weighing your options. You could throw yourself into another fight, take on both Lions and potentially your father. But you recognized that that idea put Kaz at risk. He wasn’t exactly in a favorable position.

You could wait quietly, as Kaz instructed. It was safer for you both in theory. You saw it as Kaz being a sitting duck and a stubborn bastard. Then again, Kaz had been doing it longer than you had. He had a better mind for strategy.

So you obliged. You sunk down a little lower and listened carefully.

“Tell me what Davi’s planning and we’re even.” Pekka told Kaz.

“Not even close.” Kaz countered angrily. “And what makes you think I know anything?”

You heard a rustling of fabric. “The girl left a little gift in my office. And I know my daughter. Unless someone’s been putting ideas in her head. she’s not cruel enough for this. You, however…”

Vicente’s tattoo.

“Have you ever considered that you’re wrong? Maybe your precious princess isn’t so lovely anymore.”

Kaz groaned slightly and you peeked to see your father pressing the beak of Kaz’s cane against his throat. You tensed, considering your attack, but Kaz gave you the same gesture with a little more urgency.

Don’t. Move. 

“I’ll cave your head in with your own cane and dump your body in the Harbor.” Pekka threatened. “I know she turns to you. She thinks you can protect her.”

“I’d just as easily let her die as she would me.” Kaz spat.

Your stomach twisted at his words and you thought you understood why. Kaz was that little piece of your childhood you held on to, that minuscule tenderness that doesn’t exist in the Barrel. It was your assumption that Kaz held some sort of sentiment towards you, too. Hadn’t he told you so, or at least implied it?

In the moment, you weren’t sure, but it wasn’t the time to worry about it.

Pekka snorted in disbelief. “Tell me, boy. When was the time you saw her?”

“When did you?”

“I'm not playing games.”

“Clearly.”

“My men saw her come here a few nights ago. Why?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Kaz emphasized each word. “I don’t answer her beck and call, nor do I keep tabs on Davina.”

“I do, and she seems to have a soft spot for this place.”

“I couldn’t care less about your daughter.”

A small commotion, another groan from Kaz, the faint metallic smell of blood. You leaned around to see and the Lion you were fighting earlier caught sight of you. You ducked immediately but it was too late.

You shot a mental apology to Kaz and acted.

You slammed your blade into the side of the incoming man’s knee. You twisted the knife and he shouted. You hooked the other arm around his leg and threw your body to the side so he fell to his back. You pinned your knee against his throat and met your father’s expectant stare.

“There she is.” He smiled.

You had unintentionally proved him right.

“What do you want, Pekka?” You spat, jamming your knee harder against the Lion’s throat.

“You.”

“And you knew I’d be here?”

“More of a hunch… Mellaney keeps asking for you.”

Your blood ran cold. You could feel Kaz’s eyes on you but you didn’t look away from your father. The Lion under your knee was limp so you stood. Your fingers twitched, itching for the other blade at your thigh, but you wanted to do it with your own hands.

You came around the desk and your father stood straight.

“Give me Melli and you can have Vicente back.” You offered flatly. It took everything to keep your rage buried.

“Is that who’s this was?” He nudged the bag at his feet. You glanced down and saw the bloodied skin that was Vicente’s. “This is war now, Davi.”

Your hands balled into tight fists. “No, it became war when I came to your Palace in good faith and you shot me. It became war when you came to the Exchange and bought Stadwatch to try and kill me. It became war when you ambushed me at Dryden’s to kill me again. When you took my lieutenant. It’s been war since I left your household.”

He scoffed slightly and crossed his arms. Kaz’s cane clattered between you two and you kicked it away, conveniently closer to Kaz.

“The only difference now is that I’m fighting back now.”

You threw the punch without thinking. Your fist connected with Pekka’s jaw and you heard Kaz engage in his own fight beside you. Your father was quick to throw a punch back and you barely dodged the heavy uppercut coming your way. You were just able to spin away.

When he righted, you threw your elbow back against his stomach. He doubled, allowing you to grab at the back fabric of his jacket. You held him in that position and drove your knee up once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth, he caught your leg and yanked so you fell to your back.

You coughed roughly as the air left your lungs. Your head turned to the side and you saw Kaz standing, blood soaking one of his sleeves. The second Lion was laying at his feet, rocking side to side in pain. Kaz and Pekka were staring each other down now.

“Soft.” Pekka taunted.

“Enough.” You rasped and pushed to your elbows. “He’s been less helpful to me through this than you have. Dirtyhands already told you he doesn’t care. It’s between you and me, Papa.”

“You know what, Daughter, I’ll offer you a deal. Just this once.” He offered you a hand to help you up and you batted it away. You climbed to your feet on your own. “When you send Vicente back, I’ll take you to Mellaney.”

Your instinct was to look to Kaz for his opinion, but you knew that’d only feed your father’s notion of you being soft for him. Instead, you looked at the floor to think.

“The deal expires when I walk out this door.” Pekka warned. 

“And you drag your men with you.” You commented before lifting your eyes. “Is she unharmed?”

“Better shape than Vinny, I bet.”

“Difference is I have a Healer, so I can cut him into little ribbons and put him back together.”

“Then he can put your precious lieutenant back together, can’t he?”

The rage you were burying was now burning between your ribs. You dug your nails into your palms hard.

“Fine.” You breathed, defeated. “Take your Lions and the pound of flesh. Leave the Dregs out of this and you and I will settle this.”

“You brought them into this, dearie.” He tapped his finger under your chin and you jerked your head away from his touch.

“And now they’re out of it.” You glared at him. “From tonight, every time you involve them will be another finger Vinny loses… He only has ten after all.”

Pekka offered a half smile and chuckled to himself. He motioned for the conscious Lion to gather the bag and their comrade. He pulled your blade out and threw it at your feet before they left.

You finally looked to Kaz, who was suspiciously quiet throughout the encounter. Your eyes returned to his bloodied sleeve and you saw the slice across his bicep. You knelt for your blade.

“I didn’t realize I was followed.” You admitted as you stood. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to go through with the trade?” He asked.

“I don’t know…” You shook your head and moved to his side. You gently touched his arm, your hand staying on his sleeve while you turned his arm for a better look at the slice. “Can I help?”

You brought your eyes to his and he was already looking at you.

Of course he was. 

He nodded slightly and you stepped back so he could move to lean against the desk. You used the small blade to slice his sleeve the rest of the way around before tucking it safely away. You tore it into two strips, gently using one to clear the leaking blood. You ignored the way your fingertips brushed his skin.

“For what it’s worth, I tried to stay out the way.” You said idly.

You wondered if he’d say anything about the contact. It had to stir something in him judging by the way his arm was rigid. You kept your eyes on the long, shallow cut, but you felt his eyes on your face.

“Was he right?” He asked and you froze for a second. “About your feelings for this place.”

“It’s complicated.” You answered and returned to your task. “Did you mean it when you said you’d let me die?”

“You tell me.”

You dropped the soiled strip over the chair and grabbed the clean one. You looked for confirmation, hovering your empty hand a few inches from his arm. He nodded, gently pushing his arm into your hands. With gentle pressure, you held the fabric in place with one hand and wrapped it with the other. You ran your fingers over it, ensuring it was flat, before tucking the end and giving it a gentle pat.

“If I knew what you were thinking, Kazzle, my life would be a whole lot easier.” You laughed slightly. “What would you do, if you were in my shoes?”

“Do you truly believe I don’t care about you?” He asked instead.

“I think it’s complicated, you and me. For now, that’s all it needs to be.”

Kaz stood tall and you tilted your head back to look him in the eyes. His hand reached for you then hesitated. You mimicked his gesture from earlier and put your arm in his hand. He squeezed your limb slightly.

“Does he know anything that can hurt you?” He asked. You looked up from his hold on you and Kaz was already looking at you very intently.

“I don’t think so.”

“Perhaps letting him go is better. It could be safer for Melli.”

“If it isn’t…”

“You have your Heartrender. You have Wylan and his tricks. I’m sure you’d even have Jesper if you needed.”

“But I don’t have you.” You said quietly.

He pulled you a step closer.

“If it was the other way around and you needed to bring Jesper or Inej home, would you come to me?” You asked in hopes that he didn’t hear your last comment. If he did, you two would only get more complicated and you couldn’t afford that.

“Vina…”

“Kaz…”

There was something he wanted to say. You could see it in his eyes, that minuscule softness that you’d only noticed in private. You could feel it in the subtle way his grip on your arm had tightened. His breathing had begun to shake a bit and you wondered if the legendary composure of Kaz Brekker was faltering.

You reached your other hand up and carefully brushed his hair away from his forehead. His eyes closed and he let out a shuddering breath. You couldn’t help but smile slightly to yourself as you retracted your hand.

“I wouldn’t let you die. You do know that, right?” You asked gently.

He nodded, eyes still closed. You took a small step back before looping a finger under the chain around his neck. You freed it from his shirt to see your ring, safely hanging on the end. You had given that to him with the intention of getting it back but maybe you should let him keep it. A way of always having a connection.

“And I don’t think you’d let me either.” You said.

“It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, Vina.” He spoke lowly, like all his focus was on something else, as his eyes opened.

“I may be soft and stupid, but I’m not completely clueless… Wylan’s going to try and get the stimulant out of that kvas and make it a gas. We’ll use it against the Lions at the cafe first and, hopefully, get Melli out without a fight at all. Then we burn it down.”

He cracked a half smile. “Wylan’s idea?”

“Mine.” You shrugged. “But he did light up at the idea.”

“If you truly need me, Davina…” He began carefully. He was considering what he wa about to say, and you could tell by his hesitation that it was not something to be taken lightly. “You know I’ll be there.”

Little did he know just how much you needed him.

In another life, maybe.

“What about Haskell?” Your brows furrowed.

“I’ll handle it.” He nodded. “I wouldn’t let you die either.”

“I think we’ve both lost enough for a while.”

You patted his chest before turning away to recollect the bottle. You turned and offered Kaz a salute, which he shook his head in amusement at, before you practically skipped out the Crow Club.

When you got back to your office, Kol was keeping an eye on Vicente while Wylan worked. You placed the bottle near Wylan and he jumped. You stifled a giggle when his eyes met yours, solely because the way his goggles exaggerated the shape of his eyes.

“I don’t drink while I’m working.” He shook his head and you laughed.

“The hallucinogen.” You explained. “It’s in the kvas. Can you work with it?”

He made a noise of interest and examined the bottle, blindly handing you a list. You patted his shoulder as you accepted before moving to your desk, where Kol was leaning against.

“He give you anything else?” You asked and pulled your cloak from your shoulders. You winced slightly but ignored the ache in your back.

“He tried to say something about you, how you matured but I put him under. If I hadn’t, I probably would’ve knocked his teeth out.” Kol answered.

“Maybe you should’ve.” You laughed slightly

“You were gone a while. What happened?”

“Pekka.” You sighed and dropped into your chair. “Brekker caught me so we were chatting and dear old dad came to bully information out of him.”

“He say anything?”

“Kaz is the last person who’d tell Pekka anything. You don’t have to trust him, but trust that much.”

Kol shrugged before he turned to you. “You have a lot of faith in Dirtyhands.”

“Neither faith nor Dirtyhands are going to get us through this. Even when we have Melli, we’re going to be fighting the Dime Lions until someone runs his empire into the ground.”

“That someone being you?”

“Not on my own.” You shook your head. “And not anytime soon. Go home, get some rest. I’ll stay here with them.”

“You’re not alone in this, Davina. I hope you know that.”

“I know.” You smiled softly.

It took five days for Wylan to have his concoctions ready. It would’ve been sooner but you had to send Kol to Little Ravka for some of the components. You had asked Wylan to go to the Slat that day Kol was gone, just to check in and make sure the Dime Lions hadn’t tried anything.

You were glad to know Pekka was keeping to himself, at least for the time being. Wylan also came back and very cryptically explained he had a conversation with Kaz. What it was about, he wouldn’t say, so you didn’t know why he told you to begin with. He was also very excited to tell you that Jesper said hello.

When the night came, Kol kept Vicente close and you traveled with Wylan. You went with him to dose the perimeter with the accelerant and set the glass jars with the gas at the windows. You worked the locks and cracked them open, while Wylan snuck it inside and nestled it safely against the frame.

You met back with Kol and Vicente in the alley across from the cafe.

“What now?” Wylan asked.

You all had fabric across your mouths. It wouldn’t keep the gas out yet, not until you used the slings of water to soak it. Wylan rested a hand on the borrowed pistol at his hip. Kol was his weapon. You had two blades at your thigh and one under your cloak with a pistol at your back. Vicente was unarmed for the time being.

“I’ll take Vicente.” You and Kol switched positions. “Kol and Wylan, you two had around back. Break the first jar when you find her.”

Wylan nodded, determination in his eyes. “No mourners.”

“No funerals.” You answered and he smiled. “Blink last.”

“Die tomorrow.” Kol nodded before grabbing Wylan and disappearing into the shadows.

“I should have a weapon.” Vicente muttered as you dragged him with you.

You rolled your eyes. As you headed into the street, you noticed how empty it was. You looked around, realizing it wasn’t like that when you were working with Wylan. Before you could try and signal to Kol, Vicente slammed his elbow into your ribs. 

Your grip faltered and you staggered away from him. Immediately, you drew a blade. Vicente laughed, stalking around you like a predator.

“You know, Davi, I didn’t think you’d be this stupid.” He mocked and you straightened, turning in time with his steps to keep him in front of you. “I really thought you’d be smarter than this, but I guess your daddy was right.”

“I should’ve killed you.” You spat. “I will.”

“No, you won’t.” Condescension dripped off his words and your anger began to thump in your blood. “I used to have such a crush on you when we were kids, know that? Then you met those little farm kids.”

“Shut up.” You threatened. “What have you done?”

“That night you let me onto your gambling floor because ‘Someone will keep an eye on me’ -“ He mocked and you nearly threw the blade at him. “Your Snakes don’t pay as much attention as they should…”

“They were right.” You scoffed. “You didn’t just show up at the Rook. You were sent.”

He finally stopped walking and shrugged with a smile.

“Is she even in there?”

“Oh, she’s in there.” He laughed, pointing to the building behind you. In the circling, the cafe ended up behind you. “Just not sure how intact she is.”

You felt it then. Your control snapped like a taut elastic in your chest. It vibrated around in your rib cage and guided your actions. You quickly drew your arm back and flung the knife.

It dug into his shoulder and your next attack was quick to follow. You slammed your fist against his face.l before jerking the knife out. He made a move to kick out your knee but you were able to raise your foot and knock the attempt away. You spun so your cloak wiped across his vision and you tried to dig the knife into his stomach.

He jumped away and caught your elbow. He bent your arm at an unnatural angle, causing a burning sensation to shoot through your shoulder. You winced and dropped your knife for your other hand. You jammed the knife up and it cut across his leg before his knee hit your chest. You coughed roughly before letting out a scream.

He had dislocated your shoulder.

You heard glass shattering in the cafe so you turned. Before you could figure anything out, Vicente’s arm came across your chest from behind and your own blade was against your neck. You jerked in his hold but all that did was move the knife against your skin. Hot blood began to leak out and down your shirt.

“Stupid.” Vicente hissed.

“I’m not the one who let me mutilate him.” You laughed while your eyes stayed locked on the door to the cafe.

Another glass, followed by gunshots.

“They’ll die. And it’s your fault.”

Your good arm moved to one of the knives at your thigh. Your fingers were closing around the hilt and you felt the knife tip trailing from your throat to the center of your chest.

“Saints save them.” You whispered and carefully pulled out the knife.

“What do you say, Davi? You wanna watch them die?” Vicente taunted in your ear and you jerked your head away.

You took a deep breath, gripped your knife firmly, and jammed it over your shoulder. His hold on you dropped and you spun away quickly. You saw your blade buried to the hilt in his eye socket.

Over your shoulder, another knife came flying in to slam into his chest. He gasped, sputtered for air, then fell to his knees. You pushed him to his back with a foot against his chest before you leant down to retrieve your blade. The weapon came back with his eye stuck to the edge.

You made a face and flicked it until it fell off with a wet thump. One last glance at Vicente told you he was dead.

Seeing him dead didn’t have the same feeling as it did the first time you killed a Lion. You decided it was because he deserved it.

You wiped a stream of blood from your neck before you spat on the ground.

“Are you alright?” A familiar came from your side. You turned your head and saw Inej beside you.

You nodded, ignoring the pain in your limp arm. “Dirtyhands send you?”

“No.” She collected her own blade. “He came with us.”

“Us?” Your brows raised.

“You didn’t think I’d skip on the fun, did you, Love?” Jesper came up to Inej’s side with a grin and his pistols ready. “Nina should be here soon, too.”

You sighed in relief.

Kaz appeared next, barely sparing Vicente’s body a glance. He went right to your other side and you shifted your body to try and keep your dislocated limb out of his sight.

“We can catch up on how you knew later.” You nodded, silently offering Kaz your thanks, before you unclipped your sling. You tilted your head back and soaked the fabric. “Wylan and Kol have already set off the gas. Once we’re all clear-“

“Trust me.” Jesper spun his revolvers around his fingers. “I know where to shoot.”

“Never had a doubt.” You winked then spared a moment to turn to Kaz. “Haskell?”

“Too drunk to notice we’re gone.” He nodded.

You returned the gesture, remembering Kaz saying he’d handle it if you needed him. It still left you wondering how he knew but you figured Wylan’s mysterious conversation was a ploy to get his trio of friends to show.

Before anything else could be said, another round of glass and gunshots. You ran into the cafe.

The front room was full of smoke and the smell of gunpowder was creeping through your mask. You tightened the grip on your blade and used the other hand to wave the smoke from your line of sight.

You wanted to yell for them but you had no idea what you were running into. Instead, you just trusted your feet and what little you could hear. You made it through the front to the kitchen and found a hallway just as the last glass shattered.

A new wave of gas came from the wall and you heard shouts of orders. You flattened against the wall before sticking your head through the doorway.

Five Lions were huddled at the far end of the hall. Other fallen bodies littered the path and you realized it was a worse trap than you thought. Your stomach sank at the thought of what you and your friends had walked into.  A hand on your shoulder made you jump.

You slammed your good shoulder against them so they hit the wall. As you faced them, you realized it was just Kaz. He gave you a small smirk and you rolled your eyes. You stepped away and pressed yourself back against the other side of the entry to the hall. You silently winced at the pressure on your shoulder and could practically feel Kaz’s questioning look.

You waited a moment before moving.

You crept into the hall, swatting the gas away. The Lions were all fallen, some twitching or muttering in their hallucinations. You stepped carefully over the bodies until you found Kol and Wylan.

Kol was kneeling over Melli, hands moving quickly. Wylan was kneeling beside them with his pistol aimed. Your hand went up in surrender and he quickly lowered his weapon. Tucking your knife, you hurried to Melli’s other side.

You couldn’t stop the tears in your eyes. She was alive. Her left eye was bruised, as was her jaw. There were various splits in her skin, likely from punches after she stayed silent, and you vaguely heard Kol mention broken bones. You brushed the loose hair away from her forehead and a relieved laugh fell from your lips as she stirred.

“We have to go, Davina.” Kaz said and his voice was all that snapped you back.

“Right.” You wiped your eyes. “Can you two get her up?” You looked between Wylan and Kol.

Together, they got her to her feet. She mumbled your name and your heart twisted. You sniffled slightly and Kaz took a gentle hold of your hand.

“This is my fault.” You whispered.

“She’s alive, Vina. That’s what matters.” He offered and you heard an unmistakable kindness in his voice. “This isn’t over.”

“Help me take him down.” You turned to him. You didn’t care to be cryptic. You didn’t care to be nonchalant. “I don’t care what it takes. I need you with me.”

His eyes scanned your face and softened a little more every second. Everything in you was aching, yearning, for him. You needed him by your side for more than just revenge. You needed him as your friend, as your first crush, as the only person you felt knew the deepest truths of who you were.

Kaz saw right through you, and you both knew how dangerous that was. To care for someone in the Barrel was a target on both of your backs. To need someone was a death sentence, easy leverage against you. It made you weak, vulnerable, soft and stupid. 

But that didn’t stop you from needing Kaz with everything in you. It didn’t stop that spark in your chest when you thought about him feeling the same way.

“Brick by brick.” He nodded, squeezing your hand.

You were so relieved you almost hugged him.

Instead, you squeezed his hand back and gently tugged him to follow you out.

All hell had broken loose outside.

Jesper and Inej were back to back, fighting off six Dime Lions. Nina had arrived and she was beside Kol, both blocking Melli’s barely conscious body. Wylan was watching for you to exit so he could spark the accelerant.

You drew your pistol and was about to enter the fight when Kaz grabbed your arm. You turned quickly and saw him point to the rifleman on the opposite roof. Their rifle was pointed directly at you and Kaz. You dared a step and a bullet hit the cobblestones at your feet.

The cafe ignited behind you, heat slamming against your backs.

“What do we do?” You asked Kaz.

Kaz whistled sharply. Jesper’s head turned to the roofs at the signal. You heard him laugh when he caught sight of

him before returning to his initial fight. You tilted your head in confusion before you watched him and Inej flawlessly switch positions for her to take the last Dime Lion. Jesper shot down the rifleman without so much as a glance.

Your mouth slightly fell open in shock. You knew he was good but you had no idea he was that good.

You turned to Kaz and he was staring at something across the way. You looked but saw nothing.

“Kaz?” You asked carefully.

Dread gripped your heart.

“Kaz.” You tried again, putting a hand on his arm.

He went for a step and fell against you. Immediately, you put your hand against him to help steady him. You bore as much of his weight as you could while your mind was reeling. You looked to your friends for help. Jesper was checking Inej and Nina was kneeling with Kol over Melli.

You looked and saw the blood seeping across his shirt.

Wylan was the first to notice.

“What happened?” He came running over and helped you get Kaz, who was in too much pain to argue, to the ground.

“The rifleman.” You realized. You didn’t even hear the second shot. You glanced at your hand and saw it was covered in his blood too.

“Kol!” You screamed desperately.

[happyhauntt]

keep my hand in yours — nikolai lantsov

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: nikolai sees anya all dressed up for the first time since they were children. he doesn't handle it well.

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

─── warnings: fluff fluff fluff, references to other oneshots in this series but can be read as standalone, fluff, pre-established relationship, i've made anyalai suffer enough and i needed to throw them a bone with a fluffy adorable oneshot so here we are. title from 'everywhere everything' by noah kahan (aka anyalai anthem tbh)

─── word count: 2.4k.

     As a child, they teach you that staring at the sun for too long will make you go blind. Nikolai always was a reckless child, and Anya has certainly been the centre of his universe for so long now, he can hardly remember a time when she wasn't.

     Nikolai knows he is in love with Anya Kamenev. He knows it like he knows blood is red, like he knows the feeling of a rifle in his hands and the salty sea wind on his face. He knows it like he knows his heart must still be beating, because if it had stopped, he would be dead.

     And yet now, as she emerges from the dressing room, he fears that everything he'd been so sure of is false. Blood is green and the sky is pink and his heart must have stopped beating entirely, at least for a moment, this moment. He wonders if this is heaven. He wonders if this is a dream, if he died on the battlefield. He wonders how he ever got this lucky.

     "You're staring, Nik." Anya's voice is flat, eerily calm, even as she smooths her hands down the front of her dress, nervously seeking nonexistent creases. Her shoulders are squared, chin held high as she meets his eyes. She's already wearing her confidence like armour. A soldier preparing for battle. This night will be spent fending off thinly-veiled barbs and passive-aggressive insults from Ravka's elite. Everyone who thinks she isn't good enough to be queen. Everyone who thinks this is a mistake.

     Anya's knee gives an indignant twinge. She already knows that the heels she picked out will be giving her grief this evening, but she'd insisted on them. She didn't want to be seen as weak. Anya has been smiling through the pain for years now, and an evening spent dancing and mingling in heels won't make her old injury any worse.

     She hopes.

     It takes him a moment to find his words. “How can I possibly look away?” He manages a raspy, strangled murmur as his eyes trail over her figure. Any further capacity for speech fails him completely. How can he possibly form a coherent thought when she looks like that? Watching him with narrowed eyes, and that defiant tilt of her chin, and the way the neckline of her dress is high and modest, allowing him the tiniest glimpse of her collarbone.

     His mouth goes dry. He feels like a parched man, condemned to wander the desert for eternity, only to stumble upon a lush green oasis. He is utterly ruined by her, and Saints, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

     Anya huffs, casting her eyes to the ceiling before she trudges over to the floor-length mirror, surveying her own reflection with a critical eye. She's always been pretty, that was never the issue: peaches-and-cream complexion, rosy cheeks and wavy blonde hair, she was lauded for her looks even as a little girl. That one will be a beauty, they’d whisper to her mother, who’d respond with a demure smile to mask the frightened glint in her eye.

     There are scars, now, littered over her skin. Little white slashes over her collarbone, her arms, almost silvery in the candlelight. The dress Genya chose for her is emerald green satin with the hem trailing on the floor. The Lantsov emerald rests on her ring finger, while diamonds glisten at her throat and a small kokoshnik tiara rests in her hair.

     She still feels pretty. That was never the problem. But her eyes are weathered now, older and wiser and yet, somehow, altogether more foolish for agreeing to this. She still looks like a soldier. She still feels like— well. She doesn't know anymore. Maybe that's the point.

     Nikolai wrests himself from his stupor and joins her at the mirror. He stands behind her, rests his hands on either side of her waist. He's taller than her, even with the heels on, and he leans down so his mouth hovers near her ear.

     "It turns out that I'm marrying a Saint after all." His breath is warm and so are his hands. She can feel the heat of them through her bodice.

     Anya clicks her tongue, feigning irritation. When her gaze meets his in the mirror, his lips tug into a playful grin.

     "You are an insufferable flirt," she says, but she leans back against him all the same, allowing herself to sink into his embrace for a few moments.

     Nikolai's grip on her waist tightens. He drops featherlight kisses behind her ear and down her neck. "And yet you agreed to marry this insufferable flirt."

     "This is only the engagement party," she reminds him. "There's still time to change my mind."

     "And would you?"

     He thinks of that a lot. The idea of losing her sends a bolt of fear through him. He'd sooner face a thousand bloodthirsty pirates with nothing but his bare hands. He'd meet the Darkling in the Fold and spend the rest of his days living as that winged monster again, and it would scare him less than losing her.

     It took a long time for her to agree to marry him. He's been proposing, in some form or another, since they were seventeen years old. When she kissed him for the first time in a medik's tent, when he left for his apprenticeship and promised he'd come back for her, when they'd lain together in his cabin aboard the Volkvolny for the hundredth time and he'd known there would never be peace in his soul if she wasn't his.

     But she hadn't been his. Not really.

     He would risk it all for the country that abandoned her, and for a long time, that had been a crack between the two of them that could not be repaired. Like the Shadow Fold splitting his ravaged country in two, they had been at odds, stuck on separate sides of a great divide. He would always be a prince. He would always love Ravka.

     She would always love him, but Ravka had lost her loyalty when she rotted in that cell.

     Things are different now. He is the King, the Fold is gone, and there is hope, finally, for some real change in their country. Anya might have been betrayed by Ravka, but she loved him. She loved him. And under Nikolai's rule, things would change. Things would heal.

     Anya could heal, too.

     When she finally agreed to marry him, he'd wept. He’d held his breath for days and waited for the penny to drop, for another inexplicable thing to keep them apart. One of them was always leaving. And to rule over a country she'd once despised, where the nobility hated her...

     He wouldn't blame her for running. He just wishes he'd be able to run with her.

     His gaze is wide open, searching. Her own features soften as she looks at him, and she shakes her head slowly.

     "No," she says. "I wouldn't."

     He tilts her chin up and kisses her like he’s drowning, like she is the first breath of air he's ever had. His grip on her waist tightens as she sways a little, and a golden warmth slips through her strong enough to make her knees feel weak.

     When she pulls herself away from him, he tries to follow her. A frustrated groan sounds low in his throat.

     "Careful," Anya says with a teasing smile. "If you ruin my hair, Genya really might kill you."

     She turns back to the mirror, inspecting her appearance once more before reaching up to straighten her kokoshnik. Nikolai holds her tightly from behind, both arms tangled around her middle, chest flush against her back. His chin rests lightly on her shoulder.

     A tremor ripples through her and he knows, without knowing, that her knee is bothering her. He shifts himself to take more of her weight, just for a moment, and her grateful sigh is like a balm on every wound he’s ever had.

     His moss-and-honey eyes lock with hers in the mirror once again. An adoring smile tugs at his mouth. "You wouldn't protect me?"

     Anya laughs. "I sat for hours as she tortured me until I looked perfect. I'd help her."

     "My vicious girl." He says it like a prayer. A moment of silence passes before a crease forms between his brows. "Do you remember that last birthday of yours, before we enlisted?"

     Anya hums distractedly, fiddling with her sleeves. "My sixteenth, yes. My parents threw a massive ball and invited— well, more people than I've ever met in my life. They were hoping to secure a match for me, I think. Or at least start sniffing out potential suitors. Why?"

     "I think I fell in love with you that night."

     Anya raises an eyebrow at him. "No, you didn't."

     Nikolai presses a kiss to her shoulder, just above one of those tiny silver scars. They'd barely known each other, then; childhood acquaintances turned into almost-strangers. Her parents had kept her sequestered to their estate as she grew older, to hide that she was Grisha. By her sixteenth birthday, he'd seen her perhaps three times in as many years, and whatever friendship they'd been able to muster up as youngsters had died.

     But he remembers that night. Almost like it was yesterday, the memory of it dances through his mind with startling clarity. "You entered the ballroom, and you must have been nervous but you couldn't tell. You held yourself with all the grace and dignity of a queen, even then."

     "A decade of governesses bullying manners into me might've had something to do with that," Anya grumbles.

     "Hush," Nikolai says with a huff of laughter. "I don't think I'd ever seen anyone so beautiful. All that time growing up at court, all those noble ladies in their pretty dresses and furs, but I'd never felt this way before. It was like watching a sunrise for the first time."

     Anya sniffs. "Nikolai." Her voice is a stern, if slightly wobbly, warning. "If you make me cry before we even make it out of this room, I will make sure Tamar tells her most embarrassing story about you as a toast."

     "And it would be completely worth it, Nastya." His smile grows ever wider. "And then I had to watch you have the first dance with Vasily. I'd never been so jealous in my life."

     His older brother might have been a swine, but Nikolai cannot help the odd fondness he has for Vasily's memory. Had he lived, Nikolai isn't sure whether that affection would still exist, but there is little point in despising a ghost. There's not much more damage they can do.

     Even so, the memory of his lecherous hand lingering a little too low on Anya's hip makes him feel like a viper has curled up in his belly.

     Anya gives up on fiddling with her appearance and sighs, leaning her head back to rest against Nikolai's chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a comfort. "My parents insisted. He was the Crown Prince, I could hardly refuse!" Anya shudders a little as she recalls his touch, the way he'd leaned in close and whispered compliments in her ear that had left her feeling slimy.

     "It was torture. Pure torture." With a gentle push, he spins her in his arms until they're nose-to-nose. Anya's hands curl around his neck. Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I didn't know, then, what it meant. I was so alarmed by those feelings. I didn't understand what you would mean to me. But I fell in love with you that night. I'm sure of it now. One look at you and I was doomed forever."

     "Oh, how charming!" Even as she teases him, Anya's heart does somersaults in her chest. "You did dance with me that night, you know. You stepped on the hem of my dress."

     "I was so worried you could hear my heartbeat."

     "You couldn't tell. You were your usual charming self, all suave and unbearable, flirting with all the girls." Anya smiles, all soft at the edges.

     "What can I say? I was a foolish boy," he says.

     Anya laughs. "Was?"

     Nikolai growls low in his throat and picks her up by the waist, spinning her in a slow circle. "Alright, alright," he murmurs. "But I like to think I learned my lesson in the end."

     She runs her finger along his jawline and says softly, "And I learned mine."

     They might have stayed there forever, bodies pressed tight together, his gaze so intent and earnest that the world around Anya falls away. The warmth of him swallows her whole, and she thinks she wouldn't mind a forever just like this. Just the two of them, and a quiet room, and his heartbeat thudding beneath her palm.

     An insistent knock on the door drags them back to reality, followed by Zoya's sharp-tongued demand that they hurry up, or they're going to be late.

     Nikolai doesn't look away from Anya as he settles her gently back on the ground. His hands still linger at her waist. A slow, lazy smile pulls at his lips. "I suppose it's rude to be late to your own engagement party. Should I be concerned that your speech will flatter me terribly? Is it filled with praise and adoration about my dashing good looks and genius?"

     Anya almost snorts, pulling herself out of his grip. "I'd say it's filled with my exasperation at your recklessness, your daring, your inability to keep your hands to yourself—"

     "—and my dashing good looks." He reaches for her again but she dodges his outstretched hand. "Can't a man kiss his future wife?"

     "That man won't make it to his wedding day if he keeps testing Zoya's patience." She shoots him a warning glance, though the effectiveness of it is ruined by the brightness of her smile. Once, not so long ago, he feared he'd never seen her shine like this again. "I promise to include your handsomeness in my vows if you get a move on."

     With a chuckle, he joins her at the door, their fingers threading together. She kisses the corner of his mouth as a reward, and then the pair of them stumble out of their room and into the rest of their lives.

[dancingsunflowers-ocs]

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘽𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙊𝘾 ✸ 𝘓𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘰𝘷𝘢

It started with a women and her son. The women was strong willed, care free, and beautiful. She was elegant and wise. She loved her son deeply and wanted him to be independent and brave. She taught him the ways of the Grisha and she told him stories of how they were ostracized and unwanted from the rest of society. From his mother he learned how to be tough and to stick up for himself. He became very protective of his mother and wanted nothing more for her to be safe and happy. The women one day decided she wanted more for her son. Seeing as a child would want more than just his mother for company, she went into town and sought out a strong Grisha whom she would take to bed.  When the girl was born, the boy knew that he would do anything to keep her safe and happy just like his mother. As she got older she began to show her powers as a Tidemaker differing from her mother and brother. Even though their powers differed, they taught her everything they knew. 

As the boy grew more powerful and gained more control, the girl stayed by his side. He never made a decision without consulting her first and together their grew the second army. Unlike the boy, the girl quickly fit in with all of the other Grisha her age. She ate with them and went to classes with them, even though she was way beyond their knowledge in summoning. She was an extremely social being. As she grew up she became a bigger part in the court. She would often accompany her brother to the Grand Palace and she became an excellent diplomat. She was poised and elegant like her mother and resembled a queen. She was beautiful and quickly caught the eye of many of the boys at the many balls and dinners she would attend at both palaces.

She noticed her brother hovering and did not mind in the slightest for she did not have her eye on any of the boys except for one?

She had met with the royal family many times and quickly became close with the youngest prince because of his witty banter and his playful nature. Them being very close in age, they have hung out together since he was thirteen and her and her brother moved into the  little palace. Other than her brother he was the girl’s closest friend. They often snuck out at night to run through the grounds and play by the lake away from the palace. They confided in each other about their troubles— mainly ranting about their annoying older brothers— and laughed together throughout their growing years. They shared both of their first kisses together and, knowing of her brothers distaste for the girl having a relationship, snuck around the two palaces stealing kisses in empty palace rooms and at their spot along the lake after it was dark. Her brother remained protective of her, and he remained oblivious of their relationship as she promised him she had no interest in anyone. He knew that she was old enough to make her own smart decisions but he was terrified of someone hurting her so he kept her to himself. And hurt was exactly what happened to her

G͏E͏N͏E͏R͏A͏L͏ I͏N͏F͏O͏R͏M͏A͏T͏I͏O͏N͏:

F͏u͏l͏l͏ N͏a͏m͏e͏: Larissa Anastasia Morozova

A͏l͏i͏a͏s͏: N/A

S͏e͏r͏i͏e͏s͏: The Darkest Sea

L͏o͏v͏e͏ i͏n͏t͏e͏r͏e͏s͏t͏: Nikolai Lantsov

A͏g͏e͏: 21

S͏e͏x͏u͏a͏l͏i͏t͏y͏: Bisexual

P͏r͏o͏n͏o͏u͏n͏s͏: She/her

G͏r͏i͏s͏h͏a͏ T͏y͏p͏e͏: Tidemaker

F͏a͏m͏i͏l͏y͏: Baghra (mother) Aleksander Morozova (older brother)

A͏P͏P͏E͏A͏R͏A͏N͏C͏E͏:

E͏t͏h͏n͏i͏c͏i͏t͏y͏: W͏h͏i͏t͏e͏

N͏a͏t͏i͏o͏n͏a͏l͏i͏t͏y͏: N/A

S͏p͏e͏c͏i͏e͏s͏: H͏u͏m͏a͏n͏

F͏a͏c͏e͏c͏l͏a͏i͏m͏: Claudia Jessie

H͏a͏i͏r͏ C͏o͏l͏o͏u͏r͏: Black

E͏y͏e͏ C͏o͏l͏o͏u͏r͏: B͏l͏u͏e͏

P͏E͏R͏S͏O͏N͏A͏L͏I͏T͏Y͏:

Q͏u͏a͏l͏i͏t͏i͏e͏s͏: Witty. Kind. Independent. Confident. Soft. Brave. Emotional. Compassionate.

M͏o͏r͏a͏l͏ A͏l͏i͏g͏n͏m͏e͏n͏t͏: Neutral Good

M͏y͏e͏r͏s͏ B͏r͏i͏g͏g͏s͏ T͏y͏p͏e͏: ENTP

H͏o͏g͏w͏a͏r͏t͏s͏ H͏o͏u͏s͏e͏: Ravenclaw

L͏I͏K͏E͏S͏:

↳ reading books

↳ adventure

↳ visiting the coast

↳ respect

↳ stating opinions

D͏I͏S͏L͏I͏K͏E͏S͏:

↳ manipulation

↳ arrogance

↳ disrespect

↳ forced marriages

✨ Taglist: @eddysocs @megandaisy9 @ginger-grimm @arrthurpendragon @misshiraethsworld @faerieroyal @daughter-of-melpomene ✨

[multix-ct117]

Dancing in the Dark

Ophelia Laskin + Aleksander Morozova

the Darkling x the Moon Wielder

{Shadow and Bone}

“He was her dark fairytale and she was his twisted fantasy. And together they made magic.”