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atlabeth · 6 months ago

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can i request a bridgerton au fic with nikolai? (i was reading not so simple earlier and was thinking about nikolai and now i can’t get the idea out of my head lol) maybe the reader isn’t the diamond of the season, so she has no idea why nikolai (A PRINCE!!) wants to court her

sweet relief

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader (bridgerton au!!!)

summary: you meet a striking stranger at your first ball, only to discover he is not a stranger at all.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting this man it was so much fun to write i got carried away!!! i hate nikolai and his charming self so much

wc: 3k

warning(s): none that i can think of ??

Nikolai is bored.

In truth, he does not fully know why he is here. Vasily has already been declared as the catch of the season, and the heir to the throne is much more valuable than the second son. But he is back in London after years spent traveling—not in search of a wife, he might add, to the chagrin of his mother—and he supposes that is cause for some interest.

In the most basic sense of the word, Nikolai is also a prince, though he hardly has claim to the title. Not with the rumors of his true parentage floating about.

If he was lucky, he figured he’d find some fun around Mayfair. If he was unlucky, he will be forced to deal with swarms of eager debutantes and even more eager mamas.

And at this ball, Nikolai has realized that he is unlucky.

He’s already had to fight off a horde of eligible ladies and their mothers, and explain ten times over that he is not here to participate in the season, he is just here to visit family. He doesn’t think they’ve heard a single word he’s said. They only see the lack of a ring on his finger.

It is why he has found himself in some corner of the ball, a glass of champagne—that he wished was brandy—held loosely in his hand as he tuned out the idle musings of the men he’d somehow ended up around. His eyes dart around the ballroom, looking for anything even remotely interesting to get him through this night.

He catches a glimpse of a pair walking through the doors, a mother and a daughter that he recognizes as a debutante from earlier in the day, but before he is granted the chance for further inquisition, his thoughts are interrupted.

“Your Highness,” someone says, and his attention is drawn from his glass to not just one, but three pairs of mothers and mares, surely trying to vye for his hand. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“I was unaware of my popularity,” Nikolai says wryly, looking at each of the women in turn. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The pleasure is all ours,” another mother says brightly, and he sees her nudge her daughter. “If I may introduce my daughter, Miss Eleanor Woodbridge?”

Nikolai bows his head in greeting, and she curtsies. When Miss Woodbridge speaks, her head is still bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

“So I’ve already heard,” he remarks.

Her cheeks flush bright red as she stands back up, and the next mother begins to introduce her daughter, and then the next—a Miss Evelyn Frances and a Miss Anna Huntsbury.

Nikolai ends up in a dance with Miss Huntsbury at the nudging of her mother, and though it is perfectly pleasant, he can’t fully enjoy it with all of the eyes on him.

It is not as if he doesn’t enjoy attention. He is perfectly fine with being the center of attention, with being adored by women, with dancing and balls and all sorts of revelry.

But this— especially after his travels to other countries, away from good society and the expectations of nobles— is so unbelievably predictable. All of these mothers attempting to find their daughter a husband, only interested in Nikolai because of a title he likely won’t earn. He doubts a single one cares of the man behind the Lantsov brand.

But a second prince is better than no prince at all, and thus the moment he is off the dance floor, he is once again swarmed by women.

He allows an inward sigh as he plasters on a smile.

It is going to be a very long night.

You are inexplicably nervous.

You’ve just debuted and you are already in attendance of a ball. God, why must they hold the season’s first ball the night of all the debuts? You haven’t even had the afternoon to soak everything in—to truly absorb the fact that you must search for a husband—as your mother and lady’s maid spent every moment ensuring you were the image of perfection for tonight.

In your mother’s opinion, they succeeded. But you already feel as if you are suffocating in your gown.

You are not the diamond, but in truth, you are thankful for it. There is already a huge weight on your shoulders to make a match—you could not imagine having the queen’s eye on you the entire time. You wished luck to Miss Jasmine, both that she could avoid horrendous suitors and the queen’s ire.

Your mother says your name softly as you cross the threshold into the ballroom, immediately overtaken by the dancing and the musicians and glittering jewels. “Are you alright?”

You shake your head rapidly. “No, Mother, I do not think I am alright. I am at my first ball of the season and I believe I may pass out.”

She breathes a loose laugh as she shakes her head as well. “You’ve nothing to be nervous about. You will shine just as you always have, my love. I’ve no doubt that a suitor will see that.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” you huff. “I’ve equal fear both of finding a husband and not finding one. How is one meant to dread both of their options?”

“You’ve nothing to be nervous about, and nothing to be afraid of,” she repeats, “and certainly nothing to dread. I’m sure by the end of the night, you will have suitors lining up for a chance at your affections.”

You truly doubt that, but you do not voice anymore of your concerns. Your mother has already done you a favor working through so many of them with you—the least you can do is smile prettily and dance a time or two.

And you do. More than you imagined—your mother sends you away to fetch glasses of lemonade after a few minutes of idle chatter, and after you’ve poured the first glass you are approached by your first suitor.

Lord Kenneth Barham, son of the Earl Pritchard. You’ve no idea what a man of title is doing around you, but he is agreeable and kind throughout your first dance. Had you the ability, you would have stayed by his side for the rest of the night only so you could avoid the rest of your expected debutante duties.

But you do not, and so after a respectful if not slightly boring conversation between the two of you and your mother, he parts ways with the promise to call on you. You are not granted reprieve, to your mother’s delight, and it is not until a near full hour of dancing that you are able to get away.

You slip away while your mother is busy discussing things with the Baron Ashford and his son, and you have never been so thankful for the outdoors when the cool air hits your skin.

You let out a long, deep breath as you attempt to calm yourself. Things are going well, much better than you expected—you are already expecting five gentlemen to call on you by the morrow, three of which are titled.

But you are not even halfway through the ball, and you are already exhausted. Your feet ache and you’ve grown weary of the weight of jewelry on your head and wrists and neck. You’ve truly no idea how you are meant to make it through the entirety of the season, if it is like this.

“I apologize, my lady. I was unaware there was another out here.”

You turn around and hold back a sigh. Even in your attempts to be alone, men still find you.

“I do not have a claim to these gardens,” you say wryly. “You are free to roam.”

He chuckles as he nods, and he takes another few steps towards you. “I wish not to roam—just to take after you and wrestle out a moment for myself in this schedule.”

“Then you have picked a wonderful spot,” you say with a nod. “I will give you time to enjoy it on your own.”

You start on your way, but he steps in your way. “There is no need, my lady. I already rather enjoy your company.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You have been in it for but a moment.”

“And what a lovely moment it has been,” he says.

Normally, irritation would have won over by now. You should not be out here with a man unchaperoned, and you truly just want to be alone for a moment—you’ve a myriad of reasons to stick to your bearings and leave.

But you have to admit, he is agreeable. His blonde hair is artfully styled, he’s dressed rather finely, and his hazel eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at you with a smile.

“...Alright,” you say, and you decide to stay in place for now. “Have you a name, good sir?”

“You can call me Lord Sturmhond,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “I apologize, my lord. I’ve not yet heard of you.”

“That just means I am all the more able to make a good impression,” he says, his smile only growing. “Which is rather imperative with a lady such as yourself.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm, and you bite back a smile of your own. “You are quite the charmer. It could be quite scandalous for us to be found alone.”

“You needn’t worry,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I doubt anyone will leave the ballroom. They are all too focused on the visiting princes.”

Your eyes widen. “There are princes here?”

“The Lantsovs,” he nods, and this time his eyebrows rise. “Had you not heard?”

“...My mother may have told me, but it would not come as a shock if I neglected to listen,” you say sheepishly. You let out a deep sigh as you wring your gloved hands together. “I should be all the more thankful to be out here with you, then. The only thing to come of my meeting a prince would be disaster.”

“Oh, I surely doubt it,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I enjoy your presence, and I enjoy your conversation. I believe the princes would feel the same.”

“You flatter me, my lord, but I am in doubt.” Your gaze drifts off to the sky as you take a moment to appreciate the stars. “Truthfully, I am out here because I am overwhelmed. I’ve spent the hour dancing and in conversation with various men, and already I have had to venture out here for reprieve.”

“All of this takes practice,” he says. “It is an unreasonable expectation for debutantes to be thrust into the season and perform perfectly. None of this is a light matter, and yet it is treated as one.”

You sigh. “I just cannot imagine doing this for so many more months. It is going to be a very long season.”

Lord Sturmhond chuckles. “I have thought the exact same thing tonight, my lady.”

You find yourself smiling, freer and more genuine than anything you’d mustered earlier in the night. The other men you’d met were fortunately kind, but you just felt… different out here, with him.

There were no eyes on you, meaning you did not need to act the pinnacle of propriety. That must have been the difference—not the man himself.

In the distance, you can hear the changing melody of the strings, signaling the start of a new dance. Your eyes fall to your dance card, and as you read the last few names, you remember you still owe three more dances. You bite back a very unladylike curse.

“I apologize, my lord,” you say, hurrying through a curtsy as you begin to back your way towards the ball. “I really must be going. My mother will have my head should I stay out here any longer.”

“I understand.” Lord Sturmhond catches up to you in a few quick strides and he takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks. Your breath catches as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart hammers in your chest even with the barrier of your glove.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His hazel eyes are nothing less than enchanting as they focus entirely on you, and had you any less sense, you could easily find yourself talking away the hours of the night with him. “Have confidence. I am sure this night will go your way should you wish it.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you as well, my lord,” you say. “I hope it is not too forward of me to wish on our meeting again.”

“Do not worry,” he says. “We will.”

You open your mouth to ask him how he can be so sure, but the strings grow louder and you huff a sigh. In lieu of another goodbye, you nod and grin at the lord before you rush back indoors.

Your mother doesn’t berate you when you appear by her side again, so you were not gone for too long. You get through your next three dances, and your last suitor is just leaving when your mother jabs you in the side.

“Darling, the queen is coming our way,” she whispers. “And she has the Lantsov princes with her.”

You nearly collapse just at that combination of words, but you hold fast—quite literally, as your hold tightens on your mother’s arm. You are thankful to the Lord Sturmhond for alerting you to the presence of princes tonight, for your shock would be exponential without it.

“Why are they coming our way?” you ask.

“They have been making the rounds together,” she says. “Straighten your back.”

You do, and then you nearly collapse yet again when your eyes meet those of one prince.

Those gorgeous hazel eyes stare back at yours—you know yours are as wide as dinner plates, despite your attempts to hold back—and he gives you that same damned smile, bowing his head ever so slightly as if to acknowledge your meeting.

You met the prince.

You told the prince of all your worries.

You were kissed on the hand by the prince.

You only hear your mother saying your name when she nudges your shoulder, snapping you out of your reverie. You blink and look at her, then to the queen.

“Your Majesty,” you rush out, ducking into your best bow, “Your Highnesses. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

The queen greets you and your mother with your surname, and though all your attention is on her, you can still feel the prince looking at you.

“Have you met my sons, Vasily and Nikolai?” she asks.

Vasily bows politely, respectful but reserved. “A pleasure, my lady.”

You curtsy in return, and your Lord Sturmhond steps forward. You are thankful, at least, to put a name to the lying face.

“It is a pleasure to meet such a beauty,” Nikolai says. He takes your hand and bows down to press a kiss to it, and your skin burns from his touch just as it did out in the gardens. He does not let go when he straightens, instead looking to your mother. “I do not wish to end our meeting prematurely, but I would love to have this dance.”

“Of course!” your mother exclaims. “It would be her honor, Your Highness.”

Nikolai nods and smiles, looking back to you for your permission. You nod as well through your haze, and he leads you out to the dance floor. It takes a moment for you to fully come back into yourself, and it only occurs once he has laid his hands in the correct position. His feather light touch is like lightning.

“I did tell you we would meet again,” Prince Nikolai says, that sure smile on his lips yet again. Had it not been for your years of dance lessons, your weakened knees would not be enough to carry you through this waltz. “Did I not?”

“...You did,” you say. “But you did not tell me you were a prince.”

“I find it invites unnecessary pressure,” he says. “Did you not enjoy our time together?”

“...I did,” you say again, unsure of your words.

“And I am proven right in your manner,” the prince says. “You spoke so easily in the gardens, and now you seem to be putting thought into each syllable.”

“You— you are a prince,” you repeat, your still-lingering shock making you speak plainer than you intend. “Of course I am putting thought into my words.”

“You needn’t worry around me,” Nikolai says. “I am just another man in London.”

“You are a prince.”

“As we have established,” he nods, and when you let out a light huff he grins. “You have a lovely smile.”

“As do you,” you say, and you shake your head. “I cannot believe you allowed me to make a fool of myself out there.”

Nikolai frowns. “However did you make yourself a fool?”

“You allowed me to ramble!” you exclaim. “I told you of my worries, of being overwhelmed, of all my thoughts—”

“And what is the problem with that?” he asks.

“It is unseemly to complain to a prince,” you insist.

“We see our meeting quite differently, then,” he says. “For I left it with a most favorable image of you, and a wish to see you again.” He cocks his head. “Did you not leave with the same?”

“...I did,” you say after a moment.

Your conversation stalls for a moment as you part from each other, following the steps of the dance, before joining back again. His hand is sure in yours, startling but welcome warmth.

“Then I do not see the issue,” the prince says.

“You have made this night all the longer,” you intone. “Your attention makes me something of a target among the ladies of the ton.”

“Do not worry,” he says, that irritatingly pretty smile aimed at you yet again. “I believe we can get through it together.”

“Together?” you ask.

“You wished to meet again,” Nikolai says. “I plan to grant that wish several times over.”

“...I would like that,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“And just to think,” he says, amused, “you said your meeting with a prince would be a disaster.”

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x y/n #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov fluff #bridgerton au #grishaverse x reader #shadow and bone x reader #sadie’s 3k celebration #sadie writes

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salemssimblr · 3 days ago

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My Top 24 Screenshots Renders of 2024!

I was tagged by the so many lovely mutuals and creators! Thank you @elderwisp, @savagemagician3, @sikoi, @blvckentropy, @mosneakers, & @azeterna! I love yall so much!

I'm so sorry, despite my very best efforts I couldn't choose just 24, so have 30 instead 😅

Looking at all these together, I'm worried I may have plateau'd just a bit 😅 No but in reality, it's really cool to see that I've refined my style and methods over the year, starting in January and continuing it all through 2024. Seeing progress and improvement is one of my favorite things about this process, so doing these recaps is always enjoyable.

January:

Looking back, I'm still so proud of the first dancing set of renders for Ariss & Vasily, and who could forget the first Alice sighting?? I can't, look at her.

February:

February was a bit of a slow month for me but I still love how this A+tM album cover came out!

March:

March was a bit slower, but I love this set of Ariss (:

April:

April was a goood month, I'm still so in love with all three of these.

May:

MerMay was lacking for me a bit this year, but I really love how my contribution turned out (: & this spicy render of Ariss & Vasily is one of my favorites, if for no other reason than his little fang peek.

June:

June was all about Alice + the Madness! & like LEGIT? I still can't believe I made this Rolling Stone cover? I have a secret, I've tried to make another one for Alice, but nothing has or probably will ever look as good as this one so I've given up lmfaoooo

& this render of Erisande was such a labor of love. I sat down and said it'd be really quick and then spent hours editing meshes and adjusting the lighting... but then, that always happens with me and "quick" renders 😅

July:

Bit of a slow month, but I'm still so floored (& happy!) about the love Millie has gotten! This isn't even a completed render and it's one of my most well-received posts to date haha, but I can't blame anyone, look how cute she is.

August:

Ramping up into spooky season we have two of my favorite renders of all time, my "bog demon" and mothwoman! As obsessed as I am with Ariss and Vasily, it's really nice to do creative one-off renders and these were both SO FUN to do. I hope to do more in the new year too (:

September:

This iconic portrait of Ariss will always be one of my favorites (& is actually my computer's wallpaper rn, but a version updated with her 'new' tattoos), & this render of Kai could definitely be improved on (maybe in the new year...) but it was a really fun challenge! I do see flaws in it now but that's growing and learning!

October:

October was (not surprisingly) a very busy month for me! The idea for the render of Theo & Millie had been rolling around in my head since I first created them, & while the end result wasn't exactly what I was envisioning, I still really love how it turned out.

& though this set of renders for Ariss & Vasily took me FOR-FUCKING-EVER, and I see a lot of flaws even now (after trying my damnedest to have NONE), I still really love it. The end result/edit/colorway was NOT what I planned but I really fell in love with it.

November:

November, the month of ambitious scene-building, pose-making, and upping my skin shader game in a BIG way. I spent literal hours perfecting Ariss' new tattoo, and literal days building the scene for that gorgeous render of Kai.

& I'm so glad yall love that pose set! It was definitely a learning experience and a labor of love.

December:

Looking at this overview, December has been dark and spicy lmfao but I actually love it. Once again, all of these took wayyyy longer than I thought they would when I sat down to start them, but I'm genuinely in love with all three!

& that's a wrap (so far) on 2024! I'm having surgery tomorrow so not sure I'll be able to create/post anything else this year, but I have big plans for 2025! So stay tuned (:

I'm tagginggggggg @kuroashims, @a-m-pyra. @acidheaddd, @gothoffspring, @pralinesims, @thebramblewood, @moonfromearth, @nepotisim, & YOU, I want to see all your creations!

(There were a LOT more creators I wanted to tag but I saw yall have already done this!)

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims #ts4 render #ts4 edit #sims 4 render #sims 4 edit #sims render #sims edit #tag game #top 24 #top 24 of 2024 #top 2024

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hyper-girlcrush · 3 months ago

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Modern AU that started as a joke, but ended up taking longer than I wanted. I won't be finishing this comic, sigh. I still like the story and overall relationship dynamics, so I'm sharing.

I like giving Vasily the liberty of being an artist w/o restraints, and I think the three of them would have a funny friendship.

#fanart #golden kamuy #gk fanart #ogata hyakunosuke #sugimoto saichi #vasily pavlichenko #fellas is it gay to fight over your bros flowers #2024

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corpsebasil · 8 months ago

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heyy hope youre feeling ok! unis a bitch lmao, can you do one where y/n is betrothed/married to vasily and maybe shes a secret grisha? idk but shes sneaking around with nikolai but then vasily finds out or nikolai goes off to be sturmhond? something super angsty, you can decide how it ends! have funn

I have an idea but I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you want.

HESR ME OUT OKAY—

Warnings: cheating, smut, angst, etc 18+

^ that’s you getting caught with Vasily

Three years, seven months, eighteen days, three hours, and…six minutes since Vasily married you.

He isn’t abusive at all—not physically. He just likes to avoid you like the plague as if his Queen wasn’t the most important person in his life. If you’d wanted kids now you wouldn’t have them; Vasily had a son from his previous marriage, a union was was annulled after the girl was caught doing interesting things in a closet with her brother.

“I can excuse infidelity,” Vasily had said. “but not raw-dogging your family.”

Touche.

Now, somehow, it’s been a year since you’ve even laid eyes upon the King. He’s cozying up to foreign girls in the Southern cities, you assume. Vasily has never bothered to hide his own infidelities, of course, and you yourself have heard rumors of a bastard or two walking around the continent.

“You’re boring me.” A voice calls out and you glance up from your desk, your hand stilling over the paper’s you’ve been reading. Nikolai, slouched on the sofa in your private study, is barefoot and relaxed as he watches you work. “Entertain me.”

“I’m not a court jester.” You say, raising a brow as you look back to the paper. “Your brother’s son wants me to give him Sun Cast.”

“Sun Cast?” Nikolai snorts, tucking his toned arms behind his head. In a white button-up and rolled sleeves, dark pants perfectly cut against his strong legs, he looks absolutely sinful laid out the way he is. “Doesn’t Sun Cast have a Lord?”

“Yes, Lord Barlow. But your brother’s son—”

“He has a name.”

“—insists that he be given the castle upon his eighteenth name day.”

“A decent request for a future heir.”

“Sun Cast has more brothels and taverns than any city I’ve ever been to. More than any should have a right to have.”

“I know.” Nikolai smirks, wiggling his brows at you. “Excellent quality as well.”

Your annoyed look only makes him smile wider as you force yourself to scan the paper again, reading your brother’s son’s—Zorin’s—request. Finally you sign the document carefully, rolling it back up and pouring a wax seal onto the edge.

“I still don’t know why he couldn’t have just asked his father.” You continue, standing to tuck the paper into drawer. You’ll take it to the Council tomorrow. They can deal with Prince Zorin. “Vasily would’ve said yes without a second thought.”

“Yes but Vasily isn’t here,” Nikolai points out, standing as well to follow you out of the study. He stretches leisurely, a dramatic and slightly erotic sounding groan leaving him as he does so. At your unamused expression he winks. “and you are, my dear. Even if he had to wait a week he still got what he wanted.”

“He knows I can’t stand him.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” You roll your eyes as Nikolai approaches, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze. His fingers are warm on your jaw as his eyebrows furrow, expression suddenly more intent. “You’re doing a good job, you know. Being Queen. Everyone can see it.”

“All everyone sees are the endless meetings, and the bags under my eyes, and the other morning I snapped at a maid—”

“—and they still love you.” He interrupts smoothly, reaching up to use both his hands to cup your face. You pout, almost comically, and he grins. “Trust me. You are doing a good job. Vasily’s doing whatever he’s doing—”

“I know what he’s doing.”

“—and you’re here, keeping the kingdom together. We all commend you for it.”

You sigh and nod against his palms, peering up at him as he watches you for a moment. Your eyes narrow slightly and you give him a mischievous little smile.

“Why haven’t you ever requested Sun Cast, oh Lord of High-Quality Brothels?”

Nikolai’s answering smirk, followed by his words, make your blood run hot.

“I don’t need a brothel to make love to a beautiful woman, Your Majesty.” He says, cocking his head to the side. Your skin flushes pink as he tucks your hair behind your ears, his fingers lingering. “Or to admire one.”

You pull away, flustered and blushing, and it’s obvious Nikolai is holding back his laughter.

“Get out, you heathen.” You scoff, reaching over to grab the nearest rolled up piece of paper. You hold it like a weapon, armed and ready to defend your honor against visuals of Nikolai inside a brothel and what exactly he was doing in one. “Get out.”

“Hey, hey—hey!” Nikolai gasps dramatically when you whack him on the arm, then shrieks, diving out the door to your study as you give chase.

Three months later, Vasily brings his new mistress to court. High-born, of course, and very pretty, but it makes a mockery of not only your marriage, but also the crown.

“He can’t parade his whore around court for everyone to see.” Ser Dominik is ranting, halfway through the bottle of wine he and Nikolai have been sharing that evening. “I don’t care if he has bastards in the cities—we know about them. Bringing some woman from Saints knows where makes Y/N look like a cuck—”

“Easy.” Nikolai interrupts smoothly, raising a blond brow as his vivid eyes, such a startling blue, meet his best friend’s. “Don’t call her what you were about to call her.”

“Sorry.” Dominik mumbles, setting his goblet on the desk. He and Nikolai have been sequestered in the Prince’s rooms since dinner, talking about the red-headed beauty that had sat on the King’s lap all night. She’d fed him grapes and cheese from the platter in front of them, giggling shamelessly as you’d sat, stiff and annoyed, at the opposite end of the banquet table. “It’s just—Y/N…” Dominik trails off and Nikolai gives his friend a half-hearted smile.

“…is going to unleash Hell?” The prince offers. “I thought she was going a send her fork straight into the girl’s jugular when she had the audacity to refer to Y/N as Vasily’s ‘ball and chain’.”

Dominik laughs, then Nikolai does, and soon the two are shaking their heads in both disbelief and amusement.

“God, I hate your brother.” Dominik chuckles, taking a sip of wine. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“You should check on her.” The knight suggests, raising a brow at Nikolai. “I’m sure she’d like to see you.”

“Me?” Nikolai’s brow raises in return. “Why me?”

“You know why.”

The silence that falls is tense and Nikolai swirls the wine around his glass, staring down at the purple liquid.

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting.”

But he does.

In the past several months since you’d beaten him within an inch of his life with a piece of paper—his words, not yours—he’d grown closer to you. He spent as much time as he could—going to shows, spending evenings at the taverns you favored, even attending balls in distant cities as your guest.

He was your ‘date’, as some said. ‘Guest’, you’d both insisted.

But then there was the way he always found excuses to touch you. Holding your arm as you walked through the gardens together, teaching himself to braid your hair on cold nights when only books and the fireplace was your company, his hand on the small of your back as he directed you places, your smooth thumb wiping a trace of sugar from the corner of his mouth when you’d shared pastries together, his eyes always lingering on your soft, warm lips and—

“Don’t.” Nikolai blurts, his gaze darting up to Dominik’s open mouth. The poor knight hadn’t even begun to speak, yet.. “Don’t add fuel to the fire.”

The rumors, he means. Rumors of the way Prince Nikolai seems to gaze at you with lovesick adoration every time you look away.

“I’m not.” Dominik says, then blinks. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Nikolai stands abruptly and forces a stiff smile, lifting his brows to his friend. “I suppose I should check on our Queen, then.”

Dominik, watching his brother with a slightly amused smile, nods.

It’s a month later when Vasily decides to formally announce his mistress as his official lover. The entire court had been opposed, of course, to the diadem that had been placed upon the ginger’s head. You, seething and humiliated, had fled the throne room.

That night Nikolai arrives in your rooms to, as he refers to it, ‘talk shit’. You’re laughing and in a better mood than you could’ve hoped for soon, but then a knock hits your door.

“Lady Wife,” Vasily drawls, drunk and leaning heavily against the door of your chambers. Nikolai and you had been in the middle of a rather competitive card game. “Come with me.”

You had, to Nikolai’s dismay.

You’d endured it, knowing damn well that his mistress was sleeping in a room not far down the hallway.

You hate him.

Hate him.

“Don’t.” You start, almost two weeks later when Nikolai slips into your study, watching you organize your desk. “Don’t say it.”

“I miss you.”

You stiffen and clench the scroll in your hand, effectively crushing it.

“You let him have me.” You snap, then turn away. “I’m sorry. Don’t—”

“What would you have me do?” He breathes, coming up behind you to turn you around. You face him, eyes damp as he grasps your waist. “You have to talk to me, Y/N.”

“I wanted you to do something.”

“Do what?”

“It’s like—” you tuck your hair behind your ears, frustrated. “It’s like no one gives a shit that he’s disrespecting me every day. If anyone were to defend me I thought it would be you—”

“I cant.” He snaps, fingers digging into your skin. “I cant do a thing and I hate myself for it, trust me. Saints, if I could kill him I would—” he stops, noticing your wide-eyed gaze. “Forget that.”

“Nikolai.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for. “Please, just—” Please what? What?

“Y/N..” He groans, low in his throat, and leans into you, brushing your nose with his. “I want to protect you.”

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t be his. You shouldn’t be—you should be—“

“What?” You murmur, lips a fraction away from his. “Should be what?”

He grits his teeth and digs his fingers harder into you, making you gasp.

“Mine.” He finally says, reaching up to cup your neck in his hand. “You should be mine.”

The first kiss is bruising.

Youre both desperate, clinging to one another harshly as he tugs at the laces of your dress.

“Nikolai, you—“ you gasp, your eyebrows raising when he drops to his knees before you. His lips travel along your calf to your thigh, fingers tugging your underwear down in a quick movement: “Nik—” Your eyes roll back when he glides the tip of his tongue through your folds.

Fingers tangled in his hair you jolt, arching against him as he lashes his tongue against you, working you desperately towards your finish.

“Mmm..Nik—” You moan, nails scratching his scalp and he thrusts his tongue in and out of you, the warm muscle searching out the spot that makes you see stars. “Nik, I—”

He doesn’t let up.

You come against his mouth and gasp, his greedy tongue lapping up every inch he can reach. Then he’s lifting you onto your desk, scattering papers to the side.

“Please.” He mumbles against your mouth, hands tugging his pants down. “Please, I—”

Nikolai’s thrust is deep and quick, making you cry out into the skin of his shoulder. He grips you roughly, moving in sure, quick movements, slamming your cervix to Hell. Things on the desk rattle noisily, a several quills rolling off and hitting the floor. Your words are a jumble of moans and incoherent praise as he fucks you, hard and deep, making your head spin.

“Tell me you want me,” he begs, nipping the skin below your ear. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“Mine,” you gasp, walls pulsing around him as you reach a second peak. “fuck, Nikolai, yesyesyes—”

He groans as he finishes inside you, thighs hooked around his waist as his mouth crushes against yours, drawing your whimpers between his lips.

Moments later he sighs, burying his forehead into the crease of your shoulder.

“Still mine?” He questions, rubbing the ache out of your hips as your throat tightens.

“No.” You mumble, and he moves away.

Sorry

#nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone imagine #wattpad #fluff #knight nikolai lantsov #six of crows #nikolai lantsov smut #nikolai smut #modern nikolai #nikolai lantsov fanfic #king nikolai #prince nikolai #nikolai lanstov x reader

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sentient-stove · 1 year ago

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“Silly boy, do you know where your heart is?”

Same place it’s always been, he assumes. Stuck under his rib cage and nestled between his lungs. Leo tilted his head to mimic the cat and tapped over his coat, right where his heart would be.

“Here.”

“Maybe now, maybe then, maybe in a hundred deep breaths. Your heart isn’t there when it needs to be little human-god.”

“Will you tell me where it is then?”

“And what will you give me? You’re the one who needs entrance here, not me.” They yawned, teeth sharp and yellowed with age. “Why should I offer freely?”

“I don’t know cat, I already gave you half a rabbit. And some of my memories to a pooka twice over.”

When the cat yawns again, their head folds backwards, jaw unhinging to lead off their body disappearing. The branch springs up, as if the cat leapt off it and Leo’s backpack suddenly feels just a bit heavier.

“Along the edge of the knife, slips the sinew and vein, sawed bone and a heart in the enemy’s paled palms.” The cat hissed in his ear. “Without it, the heartless wander forever and ever and ever.”

Delightful.

Leo already hates it here.

“Metaphorically, right?”

“Why of course half-god child.”

#fanfic #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #hoo #percy jackson #pjo #the vasilis three #Leo through the looking glass

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kanejbr3kker · 7 months ago

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Okay I need to vent. This morning I saw this on my fyp:

(btw I'm choosing not to reblog the original post and instead just post screenshots because this is definitely a rant and since the creator and I clearly have different opinions, so I decided it's just better to leave them out of this)

Anyways, I saw this and I got pissed. Very very pissed. And so I spent 2 and a half hours writing a whole three page essay explaining everything wrong with this.

So here it is. (:

First of all, the Darkling does every single thing listed here for Nikolai, excluding cutting people’s fingers off, but he does commit mass murder, which I personally consider to be worse than cutting off someone’s fingers.

Anyways, let’s first just address Nikolai’s reasons for doing each of these things and then the Darkling’s reasons for doing the same things.

Cutting the fingers off a man: Nikolai was a teenager who wanted to help his incredibly war torn country. He felt helpless, and even once he became a privateer, a lot of people still disrespected him because of his age, so he proved his ruthlessness by injuring one person, so he could help save his entire country.

Usurping the throne: First of all, Nikolai was second in line to the throne, and after Vasily died, he would’ve been first. Also, the current king was an ignorant rapist who let the rest of the country go to waste to fuel his own luxuries. Nikolai wanted to rescue his country from war and a ruler that was doing nothing to stop hundreds of people (many of them kids) from dying in unnecessary battles.

Lying to Alina/hiding information from her: All Nikolai did was hide his identity from Alina to get her safely away from the Darkling who had just kidnapped her for the second time in less than a year. Kissed her without her consent: Okay, let’s just preface this by saying Malina was what got me hyperfixated on the Grishaverse, so seeing Nikolai kiss Alina did upset me, but he did it spread hope to the Ravkan villagers. They were also already spreading around a fake engagement, so while it was wrong, it wasn’t like he was trying to manipulate her. Nikolai was just trying to make their marriage more believable. (I’d also like to address a scene later in the book where Alina actually wants Nikolai to kiss her, and he says no, knowing that she just wants a distraction and isn’t really in love with him).

And now for why the Darkling did all the same things.

Trying to usurp the throne: The Darkling hates the king, but not because he’s a terrible person, but because he’s ignorant and the Darkling knows he could be using the Fold to expand Ravka’s power. The Darkling usurps the throne so he can try and take over the country, not because he wants to save it.

Lying to Alina/hiding information from her: Unlike Nikolai, he wasn’t trying to protect her. The Darkling lied to Alina so she would believe that 1) he was in love with her and 2) he wanted to save Ravka. We know this isn’t true. When Nikolai lies, he does it to protect Alina, but when the Darkling lies he does it to manipulate her.

Kissed Alina without her consent: The Darkling tried to convince Alina he was in love with her so she would be easier to manipulate. Alina even says she doesn’t know how he feels about her, and that she doesn’t believe he loves her, but that she wants to be wanted by him.

And now for everything else the Darkling does:

Mass murder: He destroyed an entire town just to prove a point.

“Gifting” Genya to the Lantsovs, and then allowing her to be continually raped by them

for years. More than anything else, I feel like this proves just how terrible he is.

Killing his own mother: No explanation needed, that’s just awful.

Threatening to kill Mal to make sure Alina stays in line. He enslaved Alina. He put an unremovable collar around her neck that forced her to do whatever he wanted, and then promised to kill her boyfriend just in case that wasn’t enough.

Using kids as bargaining chips. Using grown people is bad enough, but kids. Sure, they’re Grisha, but they aren’t strong enough to fight back, especially after seeing their captor kill Ana Kuya, who helped care for them while they were in hiding. (Also just felt like adding that Nina was one of the students who he used as a bargaining chip. That’s honestly pretty unimportant, but if you needed another reason to hate him.)

Killing Alina’s mother figure: Again, he did this just to prove a point. He wanted to show Alina that he could hurt the people she cared about, and that was his only incentive.

So that the first 75% of my rant, but I also made the mistake of looking at the comments on that post and added a whole extra page responding to those.

Saying that the same thing can be applied to Kaz is so fucking disrespectful. Kaz is a traumatized teen. Is he violent? Yes. But he only hurts people who have hurt him, his friends, or other innocent people. Oomen nearly killed Inej, as well as the other crows, so Kaz hurt him because he cared about his friends and was mad that they were almost killed. When the Darkling kills people, it’s out of greed for power and the fact that he knows it’ll get a rise out of Alina.

And then this. Kaz calls Inej an investment because he values her. She said four words to him and chose to pay off her indenture. She ended up being not only an incredible spy, but an incredible friend as well. Kaz didn’t need to pay off her indenture, but he did because despite everything terrible that he does, he’s still a genuinely good person, and didn’t want to see a woman being exploited the way she was. An investment is something you value, which is why Kaz calls her one.

Also, Kaz makes a big point of Inej not belonging to anyone. He didn’t force her to get the Dregs tattoo, because he didn’t “want to be the one to mark her again.” He recognized that she was an independent person, and by not making her have the tattoo, he was giving her the freedom to leave Ketterdam when her indenture was paid off. Also, when Inej tells Kaz she wants to leave Ketterdam, he literally buys her a boat so she can leave. That’s not how you treat your property.

And as for the Darkling, he used Alina’s power to start a civil war. What he does is beyond redemption. The Darkling exploits and manipulates women. He abuses and assaults them to reach his own goals, most of which involve destroying the rest of the world so that Ravka stays in power. Comparing him to two kids who just do what they have to to survive is so disrespectful, and clearly you misunderstood the messages of the books if you think that Kaz and Nikolai are the same as the Darkling.

So that's my little anti-Darkling rant. I've already tortured my frienda with this, so if they didn't think I was insane before, they do now lol.

#anti darkling #darkling slander #grishaverse #shadow and bone #six of crows #king of scars #save shadow and bone

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basilknell · 4 months ago

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Vasily's Rank

I've seen it pop up a couple times that people point to Vasily's cockade and say that he's canonically low-rank because of it. I've addressed this before in previous blogs, but I figured I'd separate out the information here for a better, more in-depth discussion.

First and foremost: Vasily has more evidence he is an 'officer' than that of being a low rank enlisted man.

It's prudent for me to go ahead and say that, as this blog is in English, Imperial Russian military ranks are categorized differently from how you see the military organized in England and the USA. I will, however, try my best to lay things in terms without one needing to know much about any of these military rank systems.

For ease of sake, I will be splitting Imperial Russia's rank system into three categories: Enlisted Men (EM for short. This refers to those who had no prior military schooling when entering the military, and are colloquially 'low ranking'), Non-Commissioned Officers (NCOs. These are enlisted men who have risen through the ranks to become officers but have no military schooling. They are officers technically, but are more simply called NCOs), and Officers (those who have completed military schooling and begin as a second lieutenant).

So, to start with the most commonly cited piece of evidence, is Vasily's cockade.

Below, I've attached the three sperate ways the cockade is illustrated between the anime, manga, and Noda's detailed illustrations. Since there is only a single image of the latter, I'd like to state that the design of the cockade is consistent across the anime to itself, and consistent across the manga to itself.

An equally important thing I'd like to note -- Vasily's cockade was not added into the manga until his 'resurrection'. Additionally, when the official volume that first contained Vasily (Volume 16) was released in 2019, only then did Noda go back and heavily edit Vasily (and the other Russian soldiers') designs. From adding Vasily's eyelashes and changing his equipment, to his papakha gaining a cockade. Hence, when reading non-volume scans of the border crossing event, is why Vasily missing his cockade and looks a tad different.

So, one might argue the manga has the most correct design of the cockades, as season 3 of the anime (the season in which Vasily first appears) was also announced in 2019. While the season did begin airing in 2020, there could be a couple reasons for why his cockade appears different from the manga. Firstly, it could be the animators were given the uncolored panels and told he wears an Imperial Russian cockade, of which search results would give the cockade design Vasily does wear in the anime. Secondly, and the more likely case, is animators were given the outfit reference Vasily's almost entire outfit is based upon: Johan Somers' Imperial Russian Field Uniform and Equipment 1907-1917.

Having the book myself, here's a quick photo of someone that might be a bit familiar:

Of course, there are some minor changes between Vasily's design and the one in the book. But, surprisingly, Noda changed Vasily's design to be more towards the WWI time period (such as giving him model 1916 ammo pouches). Regardless, while you can't see the cockade on this mannequin, other outfits displayed on its surrounding pages have that same cockade design that Vasily has in the anime.

So, it could have been that the animators were handed an incorrect design, and Noda either did not care or forgot about doing so, as it is quite an insignificant detail in the long run. After all, given the problems with Vasily's outfit and gear I will not specify in this blog, he did not have too much care for making Vasily's outfit completely correct. Regardless, this would explain the discrepancies between the anime's cockade design, and the one in the manga.

But is there actually a significant difference between these two (three) cockade designs? Actually -- yes!

[Photo belongs to RDSTRPV]

Cockades were a way to differentiate between ranks from a distance when it was hard to see shoulder straps. The cockade on the far left is one of an EM. As you can see, it most resembles the one Vasily wears in the anime, and the most common design to find in general because there were so many EM in the army. The design in the middle is an officers cockade. While one could argue Noda's illustration of Vasily looks an an artistic rendition of this cockade, it otherwise bears no importance. The third cockade is that of an NCO, and resembles manga Vasily's cockade the most with its large ring of silver. Again, an argument could also be made that illustration Vasily has a stylistic choice to appear most similarly to this cockade as well. At the very least, illustration Vasily's cockade looks the least like the EM cockade.

This is all to say: the manga and illustration Vasily appear to be wearing an NCO cockade. There exists argument and reasoning for why the animators would accidently be drawing an EM's cockade as well. However, this is not the sole evidence towards Vasily being an NCO.

Let's examine some of his other equipment: namely his Nagant revolver and his binoculars.

To be quite frank -- Vasily should have neither of these things if he was an EM. Even if he was an NCO, he'd need to be of a certain NCO rank to be issued a Nagant as well.

Vasily is either infantry or cavalry, the latter of which is only likely if he is a Cossack (refer here for Cossack Vasily discussions). Regardless, for both divisions, a single-actioned Nagant was only issued to NCOs of Feldwebel rank, an NCO rank that is three ranks above counting as an EM. Just as well, binoculars were also only issued to those of Feldwebel or higher ranks. While one might be able to argue that, as a marksman, Vasily had special permission to have binoculars, this does not explain why he owns a Nagant either. Even if Vasily proclaims in the series his revolver is a back-up for close combat, it would not justify supplying it to a soldier who technically does not have a strong need for a sidearm.

The only feasible explanation for why Vasily could be an EM and have both these items is that he stole them off a dead officer (in the case of the binoculars particularly -- he could have also stolen the revolver off certain division EMs such as artillery). But the more likely scenario is that he is, at the very least, a Feldwebel NCO and was issued these items.

Now, on to one-off evidence.

For whatever reason in this singular panel below, we can see Vasily wearing a double-breasted overcoat, something only officers were issued. However, we never see his coat drawn like this again so I don't think it is solid evidence. Also, at times soldiers often bought their own clothes when their own wore out, but it'd be strange for a non-officer soldier to pay so much more extra for a double-breasted coat at the risk for being berated.

Vasily's bashlyk is also of a unique point. The embellishing of it is of a brown-tan consistently through his illustrations and anime. However, bashlyk were not issued with this type of embellishing color. EM were issued bashlyk with gray embellishments, NCOs with silver embellishments, and officers with gold embellishments. Obviously, this brown-tan is closest to gold in appearance, but its still most definitely not gold, nor would it make sense for Vasily to have been high ranked enough of an officer to receive a gold-trimmed bashlyk when that would have required military schooling for him.

This leaves us conjecture evidence based on circumstance.

We can, at the very least, assume Vasily is not a private because he is stated to have served in the Russo-Japanese War. Unless he committed some grave offense during or post-war, and seemingly was not removed from the military for it, he perhaps could have been demoted back to private. Otherwise, there was only one other EM rank above private: Gefreiter (Yefreytor), loosely equivalent to private first class. It is not a stretch to believe he'd at least ranked up twice during the war if he was as excellent of a marksman as Vasily holds himself to be (and that Ogata states him to be as well). If he had ranked up at least twice, then he would count as an NCO.

Following that, it would be odd of the Russian government to have sent a group of EM to apprehend a known Tsar assassin. For the same reason they didn't issue Nagants to lower ranks (they believed EM couldn't be trusted not to waste ammo), why would they trust a group of EM to capture the assassin? Though, conversely, one might argue that Vasily's group were the only soldiers around, in which case they were the governments only option to send to the border.

Conclusion

Of course, even after all of that, Noda strictly avoided rank shoulder straps on both Vasily's overcoat and gimnasterka (his undershirt). Whether this was intentional or he either didn't want to do the research or did not realize shoulder straps were needed, I'm unsure.

Much of what I stated and pointed out has reasonable counters against the facts. Thus, one can easily still headcanon him as an EM if they so wish. However, the strict evidence does stack in favor of Vasily being an NCO -- particularly one that is at least of Feldwebel rank.

Anyways, have fun with this information! I just was surprised at the amount of people I've seen claiming him to be canonically an EM based solely on his cockade, which isn't quite right.

#vasily pavlichenko #golden kamuy #i am aware ogata served in the war but is only a private first class as well so keep that in mind if you want lol

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historicity-was-already-taken · 9 months ago

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"In these last few months of war, from January to May 1945, the inmates of the German concentration camps died in very large numbers. Perhaps three hundred thousand people died in German camps during this period, from hunger and neglect. The American and British soldiers who liberated the dying inmates from camps in Germany believed that they had discovered the horrors of Nazism. The images their photographers and cameramen captured of the corpses and the living skeletons at Bergen-Belsen and Buchenwald seemed to convey the worst crimes of Hitler. As the Jews and Poles of Warsaw knew, and as Vasily Grossman and the Red Army soldiers knew, this was far from the truth. The worst was in the ruins of Warsaw, or the fields of Treblinka, or the marshes of Belarus, or the pits of Babi Yar. The Red Army liberated all of these places, and all of the bloodlands. All of the death sites and dead cities fell behind an iron curtain, in a Europe Stalin made his own even while liberating it from Hitler ... The ashes of Warsaw were still warm when the Cold War began."

Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands, 311-312

#tw: holocaust #cw: holocaust #cold war #ww2 #I've probably posted this quote here before #but godDAMN timothy #the ELOQUENCE

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dearmantis · 2 years ago

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There's no love like our love

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader

Summary: When the Royal Family finally turns on the Grisha, you find yourself caught in the crossfire. Alone, of course. You're always alone, it seems.

Warnings: murder, death, canonical persecution of Grisha, violence, mentioned death of children, sexual harassment, slutshaming, mentions of sex and cheating, suicidal thoughts, self hatred

Word Count: 6.6k words

Authors' Note: I DID IT! HERE IS YOUR PART TWO FOR A LOST EMBRACE! IT ONLY TOOK 76 YEARS! BUT I GOT IT DONE BEFORE THE END OF APRIL (this is also very not edited, and I'm still not a native English speaker).

Also, funfact: I cut the ending of this, just like I did with part 1. There was a whole other ending, but that was basically just a lot of fluff. I wasn't sure if people would want that from this series/twoshot specifically so I cut it. I can't tell of cutting the ending is a good or a really bad habit.

The title is from Lights are on by Tom Rosenthal!

Part 1: A lost embrace | Masterlist

The universe is filled with light. Billions of beautiful stars, all different sizes and temperatures, burning brightly and sending their energy out into the universe to bring warmth and light.

But there is even more darkness in the universe than there are stars, filling the space between the celestial bodies. An all surrounding nothingness that acts as a playing field for all of the beautiful, weird and wonderful things hiding in the endless sky. A canvas for everything else in the universe that hugs and surrounds all.

And one day, at least according to the most popular theories, the last stars will die and the universe will be entirely engulfed in darkness.

It began with a loud burst of light, and it will die quietly in shadows.

That knowledge used to bring you comfort and a feeling of belonging. The darkness became your new home, a special, safe place right next to your husband, but there is no safety and love to be found in the darkness now.

It was predictable, honestly. You should've known the second Vasily allowed the Darkling to travel Ravka to search of the Sun Summoner with only a few First Army soldiers for protection, but you simply didn't pay attention to the signs, too caught up in your own frustration and bitterness.

He didn't realise it either, it seems, because he simply left without even saying goodbye, leaving you behind to run the Little Palace in his absence. One night you fall asleep next to him, back turned towards him to visibly reject his presence, and the next morning he is gone, his side of the bed made and all of his most important belongings gone. No letter, no announcement beforehand, nothing.

Maybe his head was simply too focused on Alina to even remember that he still had a wife.

It doesn't matter anymore.

You're still awake when they come, three nights after the General left the Little Palace.

You're laying in bed, humming an old lullaby – one of the really old ones that you learned because he sometimes sings them to you when you can't sleep – while working on fixing the embroidery on the kefta of one of the younger students.

The disappearance of the Sun Summoner has led to chaos in all of Ravka, and there hasn't been a calm moment in the palace in weeks. You are forced, just like everyone else, to work until you pass out while keeping up appearances in front of the royal family. Everything needs to be immaculate despite the fact that the whole country is in a state of emergency, so you push small detail work like this into every free second of your day in hopes of doing something good.

You're so focused on your project that you don't even hear them approach your windows from the outside.

They sneak around, quietly taking out the guards until they're sure that they won't meet too much resistance, and then, suddenly, everything is very loud.

You don't remember what happens. Just flashes of memories. Little pieces that simply aren't enough to form a full picture, as if your body simply wasn't able to take it all in. Or maybe it refuses to remember.

Glass shatters, loud and unfamiliar steps echo like thunder through the halls of what was supposed to be your home, men with bad intentions are in your bedroom, in your house, in your garden.

And your husband is nowhere to be found.

The air smells like fire, panic and fear crackling in the air like electricity and the screams of the Grisha you swore to protect as if they were your own children echo through the building and outside.

Shots are fired in the distance, you're on the floor, the barrel of a gun pressed tightly against the back of your head.

There are more screams slicing through the night. You think you hear someone yelling your name, but before you can answer, one of the men who broke into your room slams their heavy gun against your head, and darkness welcomes you into it's familiar embrace.

When you finally wake it's to the sound of a gun shot ringing through the air, and though the bars of your new cage you watch through bleary eyes how one of your fellow Grisha runs away, his bright purple kefta unfortunately doing very little to hide his movements between the trees. You can't tell who it is, not in the dark.

A second shot gets fired. You see how it hits the Durast in the head, his body falling to the ground and staying there, unmoving. Nobody goes to check if he's dead or to drag him off and bury or burn his corpse. It's just left right there, next to a large ash tree.

Someone whimpers and sobs, begs for their life, but you can't take your eyes off the corpse. The way it just lays there, like it's nothing.

You haven't seen an actual battle in centuries. The Darkling is too paranoid to let you go, convinced that his enemies will target you in a fight and take you away from him. The thought alone used to turn his eyes cold and hard like ice, his whole body shaking with anger at the idea of you being in a dangerous situation. You haven't seen death like this, so fast and seemingly insignificant, in forever.

There is no triumph visible in the body language of the soldier that shot the Durast, but no shame either. A job done, nothing more. He doesn't celebrate or pat himself on the back. He just sits back down next to the fire in the middle of the camp and takes a sip of water, like the life he just took was worth less than even the life of a rabbit.

The other guards move to check the handcuffs of the others after that incident, making sure that everything works and no one is able to use their powers. Your heart races so fast it makes you dizzy, the fog in your head thickening and threatening to drag you back into unconsciousness.

It's hard to stay focused enough to take the whole situation in, but you try anyway, tearing your gaze away from the corpse. There are nine cages, including yours, one of them now empty.

The Grisha in the cages are, just like you, handcuffed with their hands far apart. Three of them are wearing their keftas - two of them being Alkemis, and you ask yourself if the Materialki were all still down in the workshops when the raid began - but the others, including you, are wearing whatever you wore to sleep that night. All of you are dirty, and you pray silently that none of them are hurt. It's hard to see with the lack of light. The cages all stand a bit too far away from the fire to truly see much.

The men who guard you, on the other hand, all look like they dressed up for a military parade. Their First Army uniforms sparkle almost, their faces clean shaven or decorated with carefully trimmed beards. This was planned. This whole raid was planned, probably for weeks, and you didn't notice. The idea most likely came up as soon as the General returned from the Fold, and no one ever picked up on it.

It feels like a relic from a time you're supposed to have left behind, a time you didn't even experience and only heard about from the Darkling and on rare occasions his mother.

The First Army doesn't hunt Grisha anymore. The king doesn't put you into cages. They just hate you, insult you, and harass you, but they don't physically harm you anymore. Yet... here you are.

Ravka isn't supposed to be like Fjerda, like Shu Han, like Kerch. The Darkling had made sure of that, worked for this one singular goal for centuries, and dedicated his whole life to it.

The thought of him makes your heart sting painfully, and you suppress the urge to worry for him, to wonder where he is and if he's safe. You have bigger issues than him right now. He's fine. There's no room for argument. He has survived wars and centuries of persecution. This won't kill him. He's probably out there somewhere, completely safe, trying to track down his sun summoner while you rot in this cage alongside the others.

After the handcuffs are checked you watch as four of the five soldiers walk to the cages of the two Alkemi, Ivanna and Ole, and pull them out, the fifth still sitting at the fire and watching the whole situation with mild interest.

You hear one of the guards make a suggestion on how to deal with them, and your stomach turns.

In your mind, you are 12 years old, hiding behind your mothers skirt. Her hand rests on your head, trying to soothe you as you watch with the other people your village how a woman gets dragged out of the cage they kept her in. You remember her face. She works as a seamstress. She gives you pretty ribbons to tie around your wrist or into your hair whenever your mother buys something from her.

The man – was he the mayor? The village head? You don't remember what he called himself – who pulled her out of the cage pushes her to the ground, right in front of a large rock, and motions for someone hiding in the crowd to come closer.

Another man steps forward, the blacksmith, in his hands the biggest hammer you have ever seen.

The woman starts screaming now, her voice breaking under the force of her violent sobs. Her body shakes horribly, and your own shaking hands dig deeper into the material of your mothers skirt.

"Please, please, I swear it. This is a misunderstanding. I did nothing wrong. I swear it. Please, just listen to me," the woman begs while the mayor grabs the thick rope attacked to her handcuffs and pulls her arms and hands to rest on the rock.

The noise the hammer made when it slammed down on her hands haunts you for centuries, just like her screams do.

Just like the screams of the Materialki probably will if you survive this when the guards push them to the ground. The only difference is that the soldiers have no large hammers to break their hands.

You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything, completely frozen in fear while the soldiers hold them down, each of them pressing an arm down onto the cold ground. The two have no chance to defend themselves.

The man at the fire finally stands up slowly, grabbing one of the rocks lining the fire to prevent forest fires, and walks over to the six people on the ground.

You watch him do it. You have to. You failed to protect your Grisha, and the least you can do is witness the horrors they have to go through because of your own mistakes.

Because you should've known. You should've known. Of course the royal family would turn on Grisha. Of course they would send the Darkling away before they raided the Little Palace. He is the last line of defence for the Grisha in this country.

You should've noticed the signs. You should've talked to the General about it, maybe even with Baghra. You should've started to prepare to evacuate the whole Palace, organized a place to hide with food and beds and water.

But you didn't. You didn't because you were too blinded by your own stupid quarrel with the Darkling. This is your fault. Every drop of blood that was shed that night, every bit of pain and suffering that your Grisha experienced, clings to you.

It's all your fault.

When the soldiers are sure that they broke every bone in Alkemis' hands, they put the cuffs back on and throw them back into their cages.

And then they walk back to the fire in the middle of the camp and begin to eat, ignoring the sobbing of the Grisha only a few metres away from them and the corpse still peacefully resting between the bushes and trees.

You wake up the next morning with aching muscles and the knowledge that you probably won't get out of this camp alive. Because as much as you would like to pretend otherwise, these people know you. If Vasily gives the command to have you killed, these men know that you're their target. And he would. You can't even blame him for it. You're the wife of the General, just as much of a symbol for the Second Army as the Darkling. Killing you would be a message to all of Ravka.

They don't treat you much differently than they treat the others, to your surprise. You get starved like the others, glared at like the others, and dehydrated like the others.

You could almost believe that they somehow don't know who you are if it wasn't for the insults.

Every Grisha gets insulted, some more creatively than the others. Especially the two Alkemi get made fun of for their broken, swollen, and discoloured hands by the soldiers, like they aren't the reason why they look like that. Other insults directed at other Grisha in the camp, on the other hand, are overused and boring, like when they asked Lena, an Inferni, where her spark is, why her fire has disappeared.

"I thought Infernis are always so hot-headed? Come on, give us a show!" One of the older men in the camp says to her on your second day awake, and it makes your skin crawl. You wish you could claw those mens eyes out, make them bleed.

But the insults they direct at you, those are personal. They prove that they know exactly who you are despite never saying your name once.

The Darklings slut. That's what you are to them.

His favourite toy. A bedwarmer. A plaything. A whore to entertain him. A distraction from the war. A thing he can let his frustrations out on.

That's who you are in their eyes. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that deserves respect or should be feared. The fact that you and the other Grisha can't use the small science makes them braver.

The worst insults are the ones they come up with after the third day in the cage, right after the soldiers get a quick visit from one of Vasilys messengers, because their words are suddenly no longer insults. They are observations and a horrible, new truth that convince you that their earlier insults are true, working hand in hand with the thoughts and fears you had before any of this even started.

"Don't look at me like that, whore. Everybody, even us fools in the First Army, know how enamoured your husband was with the sun summoner. How many times do you think he fucked her before she ran? Probably did it right behind your back in your shared bed, you stupid thing. I bet she was the last thing he thought of before the guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

The soldiers celebrate the news of the Darklings death like they just won the wars with Fjerda and Shu Han and tore down the Fold with their bare hands, drinking alcohol and eating freshly hunted deer meat while you and the other Grisha grieve and starve. You don't allow yourself to cry like the others, but you can feel your soul rip itself apart.

You begin to lose yourself after that.

Your sanity runs through your hands like sand, your mind desperate to escape the smell of the Durasts rotting corpse that the soldiers never bothered to remove, the insults, the screams of the other Grisha when they get pulled out of their cages (one a day, always only one a day, like they're trying to drag it out), the desperate hunger that burns in your stomach, the thirst that tears your throat apart, the death of your husband: reality in all it's horrible shapes and colours.

First, you spend a few minutes caught up in a nice memory, like a short conversation in the gardens of the Little Palace, drinking tea and leaning on his shoulder while he tells you about his day. Then the daydreams get longer and take more control over you until you spend days staring at nothing, buried so deep in your own mind that you're no longer aware of what happens around you.

A small part of you hopes that they'll kill you while you're in that state, caught up in the past. Everything is better than reality, and with every second that passes when you're fully aware of your surroundings, that reality becomes more unbearable.

You love remembering the time before Alina the most. You know that her only sin is shining a light onto the lies, destruction, and rot surrounding you, but without her light, you were able to pretend.

You are good at pretending.

The light just makes it harder, and sometimes you slip up and accidentally sink into a more recent memory, your mind racing through different thoughts so fast that you're unable to stop it.

Like how the girl whose kefta you repaired that night, little Bibi, probably ended up dying without it after working so hard to prove to everyone that she earned it. And now her corpse lays somewhere in Ravka with no one to take care of it, to lay it to rest.

The kids are easily the worst thing to remember. Every time you do, it feels like the guilt eats your heart or whatever is left of it right out of your chest, ripping and tearing on the muscle like a wolf on a bone.

How many of them got out of the Palace in time and are now hiding somewhere, probably scared and alone with no one to help them and no idea how to get to other Grisha or back to their families? How many of them are stuck in cages just like you, starving and terrified of the First Army men who are only waiting to get the command to kill them? How many of them didn't even make it out of the Little Palace and died at the hand of the soldiers during the raid?

How many children were buried and burned that night?

Your husband isn't much better to remember either. The words of the First Army soldiers burn themselves into your mind like hot coals. You don't want to think about it. You've never wanted to think about something less in your entire life, but no matter what you do, the pain of losing someone you've known for almost your whole life feels like a knife stuck in your chest.

"... guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

It's odd, really, how all consuming grief can be even if a part of you hates the person you lost. Almost surreal.

There have always been chapters of your life subtitled with "before the Darkling". There aren't supposed to be chapters subtitled "after the Darkling", not even a single one. It's wrong. It's entirely wrong. He's supposed to be a constant. Something that doesn't move, doesn't change, doesn't leave. He was supposed to be here until the end of everything.

He wasn't supposed to leave you behind. You can't do this without him. You can't lose him. This isn't right.

It's the last piece. The last drop required to convince you that giving up might not be the worst option. If they succeeded in killing the Darkling... what can truly be done anymore? What can you do? You can't free the Grisha in your camp, not with your hands cuffed so far apart from each other that your arms regularly start cramping, and a stomach so empty that it feels like your entire body is trying to collapse in on itself to fill the void. You can't convince the soldiers to free you. You can't save the children and rebuild Ravka into a safe place once more, not alone. You can't do anything on your own. You are nothing.

So why shouldn't you die? Why not join your husbands soul, wherever it may be now? What is left for you to do here? What can you do?

Death haunts your sense of smell and vision. It haunts your mind, and it haunts all of Ravka. Why not let it carry you off? Away from the pain, the suffering, the fear and grief and rot.

There is only more to come. More horrors that linger in the unpredictable future, and no one left to fix it. You certainly can't do it, Baghra - if she still lives, that is - doesn't care enough about others to even attempt to fix anything, and the sun summoner evidently can't do it either. All she can do is shine light on the evil lingering in the dark, but she's not strong or persuasive enough to improve and change the nightmares she exposes.

The Darkling could've done it. He would fight tooth and nail, drench his hands in blood and ash to free the others. He has fought his whole life, after all. He could've done it again.

But you can't. You can't take his position in this war, as much as you wish you could. You can't even get your hands out of your stupid cuffs, no matter how hard you try.

Baghra was right in the end, it seems. You really are too weak to stay at her and her sons side as their equal. You are dust, nothing more.

Now that you're here, stuck in a cage and unable to defend yourself in any way, you ask yourself once more how she and her son could've possibly survived this long. How did they not give up? What do they have that you lack?

"When the entire world hates you and wants you dead, the best thing you can do is live."

That's what she said back then, but you simply don't understand how she found the strength to keep going. You can't find it in you, no matter how much you look. Your whole life is gone. Your friends are probably all in cages or dead. Your husband is dead. Your home is gone. There is nothing left, no reason for you to continue.

Your husband would want you to keep going, a voice in the back of your mind answers, and you can feel the sharp stinging in your chest return at the thought.

You miss him. You miss him so much that it feels like you're being torn apart from the inside. And if you're really honest with yourself, you have to admit that you have been in this state for a while.

All of that anger and jealousy was just your bodies way to avoid facing the fact that you were lonely. No wonder you immediately fell back into routine like a desperate little cat when he finally gifted you some attention after Alina fled. Your entire being was begging to get him back.

And now you will never have him again because you were both too stubborn to simply talk with each other. He will never understand how much it hurt to see him obsess over someone else, and you will never know why you suddenly weren't enough for him anymore.

You will never hear his voice again, or knit him a new scarf for winter, or wash his hair for him after an exhausting day. You will never be comforted by him when you have a headache or watch the first snow of the year cover the grass outside of the Little Palace. You will never fall asleep next to him again, his arms wrapped around you and your face pressed against his chest as his heartbeat and calm breathing lull you to sleep.

He will never hug you again or surprise you with breakfast. He will never help you choose jewelry for an event again, give you his cloak when you're cold, kiss you, laugh at your horrible jokes, or moan your name into your ear, his voice raspy with love and desire while he tries to bring you to another orgasm before his own crashes down on him.

You will never do anything with him ever again.

Turning your head slightly, you stare at the soldiers sitting at the fire, eating some form of stew. You can't smell it. The stench of the decomposing body is too strong, and you wonder how the soldiers can stomach food in this environment.

You can barely breathe on some days without gagging every few seconds. It's so horrible that it drives tears into your eyes.

They talk and laugh about some servant girl, and you silently ask yourself what fate the servants of the Little Palace met. How many of them died that night? How many fled? Did any of them try to help the Grisha that might've fled? And saints, what happened to the Oprichniki?

Slowly closing your eyes again, you pray that the wind changes direction and starts blowing the smell away while you try to think of something that gives you strength.

The first thing that comes to mind is your amplifier.

You haven't thought about that day in a while, not since Alina came to the Palace and your heart and soul drowned themselves in jealousy and hate.

But it's not right to forget something so special. You should remember.

Who else in all of Ravka got proposed to, not with a ring but with a barn owl and a knife?

He has been gone for months, looking for something in West Ravka, choosing to trave through Fjerda and around the Fold to avoid going through it, and the constant worry that he would be discovered keeps you awake on some nights. He sends a letter once a month and promises you over and over that he would be back in the spring, but you still end up surprised when one of your friends drags you out of your bed in the middle of the night and ushers you towards the Generals quarters.

And when you open the doors you find him leaning against his desk, a knife next to him on the table and a barn owl sitting quietly in a cage, large eyes looking at you curiously, but you don't even see those things. Not at first, at least.

You just see him.

"You're back!"

Quickly jumping over to him, you throw your arms around him and press your face against him, a deep laugh bubbling in his chest as he moves to embrace you tightly.

"Careful, my love," he murmurs, his hands finding the back of your neck and pressing you closer to him.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other tightly while he whispers soft words into your ear.

"I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much, little love. I hope you weren't too lonely without me," he coos, pressing a long kiss onto your head.

You're about to answer him when the bird finally makes himself known. Turning your head quickly you look at it, and the owl turns it's head to the side as if it's trying to do assess you carefully as well, it's dark eyes looking you over a few times. You feel a bit self-conscious in your night dress, but instead of shying away, you decide to let it look.

"Is that what you were looking for in West Ravka?" you ask, gazing back up at him.

"I did a lot of research over the past year, and I think this amplifier would be strong enough," he explains, his voice as soft as a feather.

"Strong enough?"

"To keep you with me. I didn't believe it at first either, but this little bird could give you forever. Time would no longer be able to take you from me. I could keep you for eternity."

Tears well up in your eyes, your hands moving to hold onto the front of his kefta as he reaches over to the knife and holds it out to you.

"You don't have to do it right now. You can get to know the owl and see if it feels right. Think about it for a while. It's a big commitment, after all." His empty hand moves up to cup your face, and the tenderness in his gaze makes your heart race. "If you chose the amplifier, I will stay with you. I will be at your side until the end of everything, I promise it. I will take care of you when you're hurt, hold you when you're sad, and laugh with you when you're happy. I will fight at your side, protect you with my life, and take care of you until I die."

Biting your lip weakly, you look up into his eyes, somehow darker than the night sky. "And if I don't choose to take the amplifier?"

"Then I'll still do all of those things. I will just have less time by your side, but I will cherish that time just as much, sweet girl."

You don't know when it happens because you start to loose track of time after the first week is over, but at some point in a random night one of the soldiers goes into the forest to get fresh water from a nearby river and doesn't return.

You're not conscious enough to notice it, and the soldiers are too caught up in their preparations for tonight's entertainment.

You don't even notice how they move through the camp, their eyes looking at each and every grisha they have, and judging who would be able to provide the most fun tonight. You just wish you were lying on the floor.

If you laid down, you could pretend that the heaviness on your chest is your husbands weight and not a heavy mountain of grief that tries to drag you down into the heart of the world.

He liked to do that. Lay on top of you to make sure that every single centimetre of you touched him in some way. You used to jokingly complain about it, but he never stopped. Every time he knew you needed comfort he would lay down on top of you, his heavy, strong body pressing you deep into the mattress while he talked, either asking questions about your day and whatever might be bothering you, or telling you about his, always carefully pressing small kisses onto your face and neck.

He must've known that his weight comforted you, made you feel safe. You've never wanted to be crushed into a mattress by him so badly in your whole life.

You don't hear it when they discuss if you're weak enough now to remove you from the cuffs. You don't even hear it when they open your cage, the old metal screeching loudly.

You don't realize that anything is wrong until one of the soldiers unlocks the cuffs and your body falls to the floor like a wet sack of flour. A loud groan leaves your mouth, your voice rough from lack of use.

The soldier grabs your ankles and drags you out of the cage, your upper body dragging over the floor. After being hung up for so long, you realise very quickly that you can't move your arms at all. The muscles start twitching as soon as you even attempt to bring them together, and a horrible, sharp tingling sensation makes itself noticeable. You bite your teeth together to stop yourself from screaming out.

A wave of panic crashes over you as soon as you fully understand what's going on, trying to kick the man dragging you closer to the fire, but none of your movements seem to really bother him.

As soon as you're close enough to the fire, someone flips you onto your stomach and buries their hand in your hair to pull your head up. Your back bends horribly, and you hiss out in pain as your eyes find those of the soldier who broke the Alkemis hands with a rock.

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, eyes taking in every flinch and twitch in your face.

You stay like this for a few seconds staring at each other, when he suddenly spits directly into your face, a wide grin splitting his face into two a few seconds later before he slaps you. Your head drops to the ground quickly.

"Let's get started. Markus can join us later when he's done," someone says. Three seconds later, before you have time to register what he means, you have a small knife in your back.

A blood curdling scream leaves your throat and tears well up in your eyes. You want to beg, to humiliate yourself even further and kiss their shoes in hopes of escaping this, but the last shred of pride left in you won't let you.

One of the soldiers steps onto one of your hands, twisting his shoe a bit in the process to make it hurt more. Someone else grabs your other arm and twists it behind your back until you scream out once more. This time, you scream your husbands name, unable to stop yourself in time. It's a broken, pathetic sound that echoes through the trees like a gunshot.

You know he won't come, but something about saying his name again feels almost cathartic, so you continue to scream it out with your full heart and soul. With every hit, every kick, and every stab wound, you scream the real name of the black heretic out into the endless night and beg death to bring you to him.

When the first gunshots get fired into the forest, you mistakenly assume that they're shooting at you and tightly close your eyes. Your heartbeat rushes loudly in your ears, and your mind replays the events of the first day when the Durast got shot. You can't even stand up and run. Your whole body is consumed by pain.

This is it, you think. Loud screams pierce through the air, gruelling, blood curling screams that scare you half to death.

Your mind races, trying to quickly find a last memory to remember before a bullet pierces your chest or head and kills you, something sweet and soft and perfect, like your wedding night, or your first kiss, or your-.

A loud scream rips itself out of your throat when a bullet hits you right into your leg. The man who shot it is dead seconds later, torn to shreds by darkness itself, but you don't see it, your eyes still rightly closed as you wait for the next bullet to hit you.

It never comes.

Instead someone yells your name, and you think it sounds familiar.

"Ivan!" the man screams, and a second later, someone carefully turns you onto your back and falls to their knees next to you, pulling your head up into their lap, their large hands cupping your face.

You don't want to die. You're not ready.

"My love, my love, it's me. Can you hear me?," he speaks. Fabric ruffles and something wide is dropped over your shaking, weak form, and your whole body feels warm for the first time in days. A familiar scent enters your lungs, somehow overpowering the stench of rotting corpse and fresh blood.

"Sasha?" Squinting your eyes, you look up, trying to focus on the blurry face hovering above yours. He's easy to recognize. The ink black lines over his face are unique to him, almost out of place in this world, just like him. You want to reach up and touch him, but you can't. Your muscles won't cooperate.

"I'm here, my little love. I'm right here. I found you. And I'm so proud of you. So, so proud of you. And I'm sorry," Aleksander answers. His eyes sparkle like stars, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto yours like raindrops. In the back of your mind, you realize that you've never seen him cry in front of people like this before. Only ever in private. Now his voice is almost breaking, his sobs so loud it drowns out the noise of your own hammering heartbeat. It must be a dream. He would never allow himself to show weakness like this.

Ivan appears next to him like a ghost, his hands covered in blood as he carefully lifts the thick black cloak Aleksander covered you with from your legs to look at the injuries there.

"Sasha," you rasp out again. You want him to hold you so badly, but you can barely speak. All you want is to be held by your husband.

"Right here. I'm so sorry, sweet girl. So sorry. I promised I would protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry, I will never make that mistake again, I swear. I'll never take you for granted again. I'm so sorry for being late."

You want to respond, to calm him down, but he doesn't give you a chance to talk. He just continues with his panicked, slightly hysterical rambling, his whole body shaking under the force of his sobs.

"I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're safe, and I will never leave your side again. No one will ever hurt you again."

His thumb strokes your cheek gently, and the love in his gaze almost feels like a punch in the gut. He looks absolutely in love and absolutely devastated as well. "I thought I lost you. I kept looking for you in every camp I found, but you were never there, and none of the soldiers would tell me where you are. I was so sure they killed you. I was so scared. I thought-"

Aleksanders voice shatters like glass, his body almost curling in on itself as he presses his forehead against yours. You recognize the breathing pattern he uses, an old trick he taught you a few years ago when you were still new to your position as the Darklings wife. He's trying to stop a panic attack from taking over.

"I'm so proud of you. You're so strong and brave, my darling girl. My lovely wife. I love you so much. You're so good, so good for me. I don't know what I would do without you. What I would do if they... I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry."

He sounds broken, you notice. You've never heard him like this in your entire life. Tears flood your eyes, and you take a deep breath, more of his familiar scent entering your lungs. Rosemary and ash, with a hint of something sweet.

"I'm never going away again, I promise. I will never leave you again, sweet girl. Never again. You will never be able to get rid of me. I will bind myself to you, body and soul, until the end of everything, I swear it."

You're starting to get dizzy. Everything is so overwhelming.

"Am I dead?" You hear yourself asking, your vision dimming slowly, and you're sure you will be dragged back into unconsciousness by your body soon. Aleksander laughs, and it's oddly light and relieved, considering the context.

"No. No, you're alive. You survived. We both survived."

You smile.

Part 3: So I stayed in the darkness with you

Taglist: @savagejane1 @deadunicorn159

#aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #darkling x reader

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