#gvbbmbfic22

[ven-brekker]

The Waves’ Heir

“‘There is an ancient Suli saying that goes: “When the Waves’ Heir has crowned himself, the blood of the people shall roam no more.”… It is said, in ink and human story, that the son of the sea shall protect its waters in life and in death.’

I was so excited to take part in this year’s ( and last year’s?) GrishaVerse Reverse Mini-Bang! I got to do two pieces, and work alongside some amazing, very talented people! Speaking of, you should definitely check out the art upon which this fic is based as well as the other fic.

Materialki: @it-takes-acquired-minds (here)

Etherealki: @alonlyfangirl (here)

Full fic under the cut

When the waves rise gray and roar solemnly with storm, it is said that they are calling out for their heir who has yet returned home. It is said, in ink and human story, that the son of the sea shall protect its waters in life and in death. In southern tapestry, his hair flows the same blue as his blood. Up north, his body has the same inky scales known to the Sildroher. In the utmost west, his bronze skin can be formed to ice and rain. In the east, his skin is translucent, his fingers webbed and his head adorned with a living crown of ice, fire and impossible waves. His legacy is one of promise, and one of speculation.

In truth, human whispers cannot mimic the subtle speakings of water. If you ask the waves, they will tell you that their son is not blue of hair nor of blood, and that his body bears no scales, neither can it turn to water of solid or liquid at will. In fact, they may tell you that they do not have a son. Rather, that their heir is no more than a quiet woman, and that the same inky black rumor of her scales in fact flows through her hair, and that the bronze skin that turns to liquid is just simply bronze and flushed red by sun; that the crown upon her head lies, unmade, upon the deep sands of the True Sea, and that her ephemeral legacy is painted upon the seafoam and plastered across the heads of sailors.

The waves, however, have long since stopped responding to the questions asked of them by mortal men, who plague their surfaces with armor of groaning weight and fire of war; who turn the blue crystalline mirror of the horizon into a black and tarry poison. Stories, like many other things, become stuck in this surface of ink, and become unable to travel, or to be told.

There was a time, before, when the waves were not weary with whom they shared their stories, a time when the sands did not heave under the groaning weight of buoyant metal and gunned ships. This was a time of wood tainted with the scent of saline. A time of cloth sails that billowed in the wind, bearing sigils of great history and equal emotion.

One such sigil was that of the blue serpent. Its coiling seasnake bejeweled a deck that heaved under the weight of hefty boot and heftier gold. It carried more money than men; an army of treasure opposing a mere club of sailors.

It was wealth that, most of all, littered the masts and hull. The ship that bore the sigil featured various engravings of its symbol, serpents coiling around each mast until reaching sails of the finest quality. Even the bow of the boat could not escape the serpent’s wrath - a fine figurehead, sculpted in white and washed in blue, slithered in front of the ship, a warning to all those it approached.

The serpent, however, did not calm its fury for man. Below the main deck, in the damp hold that creaked with each rise and fall, laid the serpent’s real treasure: children. They came from all over, east and west of the True Sea. There were tall and short, dark and fair, boys and girls. Yet despite their variety, they all summoned a single likeness: there was darkness in their eyes. The child’s sparkle, the same one that the waves themselves often longed to see, had been thieved and replaced with a dull dimness that belonged to fear. In fear, the hold was silent. Not even shaky breaths nor sobs were risked, lest the serpent be disturbed and provoked to attack.

In truth, the serpent was nothing more than a sigil. His attacks and fury were not his own, but were instead that of the Serpent Captain - his true name long since lost upon the edge of a bloodied cutlass. He was more terrifying than a sea beast ever could be. He was huge, and incredibly strong, with a ruthlessness that manifested itself in the dark rims of his irises, the malicious coils of his oil-black hair and the veins that rose in his neck, upon which there was a vivid tattoo of his ship’s sigil, a serpent inked in deep blue that coiled up his carotid. For not only was he as merciless as a sea serpent, but he was as ugly as one too.

The waves have heard many tales of the Serpent Captain. He has ridden the True Sea for many years, coiling himself around the slaver trade and making illegal business in every country. It is said that the parents of taken children would hear a laugh, hoarse and guttural like that of a cawing gull, in the dead blackness of night, and then their child would be gone. The waves, of course, cannot reach the inland to say if this is true, and more can any of the children, for all who step off the ship have since been silent - or had.

The Serpent Captain imposed silence as a curse and punishment that he himself was the victor of - the dictator, and terrifying tyrant. He did not know that silence was also a weapon. It was a lesson the waves and Saints knew he would learn in good time.

As the serpent cruised southward, unnoticed alongside it rose a second, far humbler ship, whose masts were not adorned with extravagant engravings, nor was its tween deck privy to unfathomable spoils. It appeared from the ocean mist, as though materializing out of the spray of the True Sea itself, and rode with a grace that made it seem one with the water. It stayed steady, but most of all - silent.

It creaked in tandem with the waves, becoming visible to the serpentine crew only when it came so close as to cast a deep shadow over the main deck. At such a proximity, the white lettering on the ship’s side became glaringly visible, just as the sun is in the sky. The Serpent Captain sighed a curse, then muttered with horror the name that gleamed in white cursive: The Wraith.

There was a rush as crew members dashed to ring the ship’s bell, to issue some kind of inescapable warning. The sound of tolling was immediately followed by the splatter of blood against metal. The three had been cut down, and their bodies lay in half upon the sullied deck.

Their screams carried upon the whistling wind, and the echo of the bell soon died out. Silence remained again, and on its depths were the souls of a dozen slavers, whose blood was now ingested by the water.

The Serpent Captain was strong, but he was no fool. And sometimes, the smart thing to do is to turn to cowardice. And so, as the silence filled the captain’s office with a deafening solidify, this man of infamous repute could be found huddling behind a desk that was cluttered with trophies of his exploits: a ring from the hand of a wealthy Kerch merchant whom he’d sold to; a piece of cloth sewn into Zemeni patterns which he’d ripped from the hands of the child of a prominent diplomat; a Shu falcon sculpture. In their ordered rows, they formed a barrier, so that someone looking in would be barred from seeing the fear upon the Serpent Captain’s face.

A barrier of ego and clutter could not defend against the silence for long. After moments, perhaps minutes, the door swung open. Silently, in the doorway, stood a dozen men and women, porting the loose linen and armed with the sharp silver of pirate-sailors. They dragged the Captain by his oil-black hair while he mewled.

Trailing onto the slick red deck, the Serpent Captain was met with dozens more of these sailors. They, as the children, appeared from all corners of the world. They, too, varied in age and origin, though many seemed to bear the branded forearm of slaver indenture - and all bore the glittering jewel of weapon metal. Among them were the cowering, tearful crowds of children, arms clean of branding but littered in cuts and bruises. He recognised none of them, but knew them all to be from the hold, not for the condition of their well-being nor the stench they collectively gave off, but for the mix of rage and fear at which they stared him down with, and for the faint glimmer in their eyes that seemed to be growing brighter each moment.

The Captain’s eyes, however, grew red and teary as he was dragged off his own deck and onto the Wraith, thrown over the slight gap between the two and landing in a dull thud on the neighboring deck.

It is such an odd sensation to face death head on. The Serpent Captain had always known he would have to, perhaps at the hands of some treacherous crew member or some devout chief of law. He had not, in all his years, imagined death to be so young.

Alas, against a wall of golden sunlight, death stood at a small height and gazed upon him with eyes not yet creased by age, but depthened by time. Her hair, young and deep and without a line of stress-gray, covered her shoulder in a loose braid, her face framed by the escaped pieces. Her clothes were thin and light, not at all reminiscent of the thick darkness we may associate with death and its responsibilities. Most notable of death, though, was that she glittered. First, that her face, ears, neck and wrists bore rings of gold. Then, that the rest of her body - her waist, thighs and boots - was adorned with daggers and swords that glittered like diamonds in the sun, casting rainbows across wood and sea better than any jewel.

And though the Serpent Captain may not have thought it then, the waves shall tell you that death was beautiful. That she, too, had a ruthlessness in her, but that it was not the cause of a lack of heart, but rather through an incomprehensible excess of love. Her lips, though now parted and stoic, were well accustomed to the tug of a smile, and that her bronze skin was made radiant by the caress of the naval sun.

The waves shall also tell you that this young girl was not death: she is far more memorable. They shall tell you that she was cunning and courageous and incredibly compassionate, and that they are extremely proud of their daughter. They shall tell you that, as her ship is one with them, she is one with her ship, and that they share a name.

There is an ancient Suli saying that goes: “When the Waves’ Heir has crowned himself, the blood of the people shall roam no more.” Upon The Wraith, it is embodied by a block of wood - attached to a mast - the words engraved in Suli script, lettered in gold, the edges embellished with carved flowers. This block was the last thing the Serpent Captain saw before his throat was slit.

His blood spattered out, creating a road like that of a breaking wave, pooling on the deck as an idle lake. As it sprayed, it seemed to become stagnant in the air, taking humanoid form. All at once, the splatter of blood seemed to form dozens of small human mannequins that collectively cried out in a triumph and power that outweighed nature in a staggering degree.

When the Wraith sheathed her dagger, its shine now dulled by a thick and viscous red, the humanoid blood ceased its shape, and fell to the wood in a silent tsunami.

From then, tales of the Wraith spread far and wide, a greater trade than any merchant or ruler could dream of. The Wraith became a vessel of not only the Wraith’s crew, but also of hope and freedom. Sailors and slavers alike would speak in hushed tones about the Wraith of the Waves, manned by the daughter of the sea itself.

The waves, however, spoke in no such tones. They preached with great pride the achievements of their daughter, and whenever a traveling Suli family would reach the Ravkan coast, they would make sure that their daughter’s mother and father too knew of her victories, and too spoke of her with pride.

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #six of crows #inej ghafa #inej ghafa x reader #kanej #ninej #pirate captain inej ghafa #pirates #ao3 #folklore #mythology #legend #gvbb #gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #literature

[phy-be]

Relationships: Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa, Kaz Brekker & Jesper Fahey Word count: 4911

Summary:

Kaz stilled. He could tell it was not the wooden point of a stake — not a risk, then. The shocking thing was that someone had snuck up on him. His hearing was fine enough to grasp a conversation two streets over and he was the most paranoid bastard this side of the Atlantic, yet someone had snuck up on him. "Don't move," said a little voice. Terrified, but determined. A young voice. "You can't kill me with that thing," Kaz said casually. "No," she whispered, "but I can make it hurt."

Kanej Vampire/Hunter AU. While eliminating a business rival, Kaz saves a young girl from blood slavery. Years later, a mysterious vampire hunter surfaces, the likes of which the underworld has scarcely seen. Quiet, deadly, and undefeated. No name or face is attached to the bodycount; only an anxiously whispered title: the Wraith.

This is my participation for the 2022 @grishaversebigbang ! Thank you so much to the wonderful artists in my gang:

@starrynightsoversunflowers [X] @kayadraws [X] @gigi-drxws [X]

Be sure to check out the beautiful art they did! 

Kaz

Being a vampire who hated the touch of human skin was not an ideal situation.

Kaz Brekker realised that soon after his turning. He saw it as yet another of the universe’s cruel jokes. It was not enough, it seemed, that he’d had to watch a monster slowly kill his brother. Not enough that he’d been bitten himself afterwards, fangs like daggers piercing his throat. Not enough, either, that for him, the monster hadn’t bothered to finish the job.

On that cold damp night of 1931, in the agony of death and rebirth, Kaz had become something new. Something worse.

Then, there had been the hunger. A thirst that tore his mind apart, obstructing any rational thought until he could quench it. And when he found his first victim, ruthlessly caught them with a strength he had yet to understand, grabbed their neck and had his first taste of blood — his relief was short-lived. The feeling of skin on skin was unbearable; it felt wrong, it felt diseased. Images of his brother’s corpse flooded his mind, gruesome, unwanted. It had felt like dying again.

He’d blacked out.

Most turnings did not go so traumatically, he’d since learnt. Any vampire worth their salt could keep their victims from shifting with a simple licking of the bite, so they rarely brought on unwanted Children. No, Sires were supposed to want you. They were meant to guide you, to teach you how to hunt, to educate you on all the new rules and complications of this curse.

Kaz’s Sire had left him for dead. He learnt everything on his own.

It would have been easier, perhaps, to die. He wouldn’t have gone to heaven with Jordie, but waiting on the Amsterdam harbour for the sun to rise would have been less painful than that first year of his unlife, and its endless cycle of thirst and disgust. But for better or worse, he’d always had a stubborn attachment to existence. He would survive. He would grow strong.

For that, he had to best this weakness. He was lucky he hadn’t died after his first hunt. He didn’t intend to rely on luck again.

He first attempted to push the disgust back, hoping to cure this sickness through sheer willpower. He tried everything from intense exposure to gradual steps — nothing worked. Much like his youthful features, which had not changed since his seventeenth birthday, so had his mind crystallised the worst night of his life into unbreakable stone.

If he could not best it, then, he would work around it. He wore gloves, killed with knives, and filled flasks of blood that he drank the way some did whisky. When he could, he stole jars of blood and syringes from hospitals, refining his hunts with clinical precision.

Then, in 1938, fate gave him a single, perfect opportunity. In an underground bar in the shittier parts of Amsterdam, Kaz met two vampires as young and destitute as him.

Jesper Fahey, and Kuwei Yul-Bo.

The first was a scholar with a gun at his hip; the second was a chemist with fire in his eyes. Both were brilliant. Kaz grasped this list of facts from the first few sentences they exchanged.

“Care for a game of cards, stranger?” Jesper drawled.

Kaz sat down.

He began the night by losing. Not too much, not unbelievably so. Just enough to awaken the two men’s greed. Jesper was skilled, though far too eager to keep playing, even when he lost. (Especially when he lost.) Kuwei was a great bluffer, but there were only so many times one could lie to Kaz before he learnt the trick, and the boy was a sore loser. He had something to prove.

When Kaz knew neither players would fold, no matter the cost, he won a game. Then, he kept on winning. Part skill, part bluff, but mostly, a whole lot of sleight of hand.

By the end of the night, his opponents’ accumulated debt left them with barely enough to pay for their drinks. Instead of asking for his due, Kaz paid the bill.

“I don’t need your money,” he said, calmly counting the notes on the sticky table. “I can make plenty of that on my own.” That was mostly true, though he never refused more cash. He simply knew that value was not always stored in coins and banknotes.

He began to explain the idea he’d come up with in the first months of his turning. It had dragged him down libraries at night, perusing endless encyclopaedias of biology and chemistry. But if Kaz was smart and inventive, he lacked any education, and the learning curve was steep.

“So you need a teacher?” Kuwei asked dubiously.

“No. I need business partners.”

“What business?” Jesper jutted his chin.

“Artificial blood.” There was a heavy silence. Kaz took a sip of his drink. “I want to invent it. Manufacture it. Sell it. And rule the underworld.”

Dawn almost crept at the window of the bar. The room was quiet, save for the clinks of the bartender washing glasses.

Eventually, Jesper cocked a brow, and said, “That’s one hell of an impossible plan, Brekker. What else is on your road to success? Curing cancer?”

“No. I’m nowhere near as altruistic as that.”

The boy shook his head, bemused. Even so, he did not laugh, and neither did Kuwei.

They both had a hungry glint in their eye.

Read more on AO3

#gvbbmbfic22 #gvbbmb22 #like cherry wine #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #six of crows #shadow and bone #vampire au

[no-mourners-at-my-funeral]

Eight Years Away

A/N: Written for this year’s mini bang ( @grishaversebigbang ), featuring the Jordie Lives AU I was bound to write one day and two of the most fabulous artists I’ve ever had the privilege to work with!

Materialki (Artists): @cla-oh (x) @polekands (x)

Summary: Kaz's past comes back to haunt him in the form of a Hellgate inmate with a familiar face. Inej isn't sure how to feel about this.

AO3 LINK (Also gonna plug my writing blog, @echochqmber, which you should totally follow if you want to see more of my writing)

Hellgate was just as dark and as dank as it had been when they had been here just weeks ago, to break Matthias out of prison. Darker, even, and without the ruckus of the Hellshow, it was impossible to ignore the sounds of human misery. Inej was grateful for the purple coat that came with the stadwatch uniform she wore as she followed Kaz down the shadowed hallways.

The deeper they descended into the old tower, the colder it got. These were the high security cells, the ones where Ketterdam’s most abhorrent were locked away to rot. An oubliette with iron doors. They stopped in front of a door that seemed, for all intents and purposes, unremarkable from all the rest. Inej could not hear anything from inside that indicated that the cell might be occupied.

“Kaz?” she asked, her voice echoing strangely through the old tower, the circular space reverberating it back at her from every direction. “Why are we here?”

Kaz looked her in the eye for the first time since he had asked her to accompany him to Hellgate. He was leaning against his cane - the long trip down had no doubt been taxing, and despite the chill that hung on the air like an omen, there was sweat beading on his pale forehead. “Do you remember what I told you about my brother?” His voice sounded even raspier than normal, as if something had clawed the remaining skin in his throat away.

Inej nodded. “Yes,” she said, remembering the boat, the smell of salt, and Kaz’s words. Pekka Rollins killed my brother. She remembered Pekka Rollins himself, on his knees in front of Kaz, when for a brief moment, she had thought Kaz had done something unforgivable. “He died.”

Kaz shook his head. “He is… dead. But not in the literal sense.”

Inej eyed the cell door again. The handle was coated with rust. “Who is in that cell, Kaz?”

Kaz didn’t follow her gaze. “Jordan Johannus Rietveld,” he answered, and then he laughed, but it was a strange kind of laugh, the kind with no real joy behind it. “Well. His body, anyway.”

“Kaz…” Inej took in a deep breath. “I trust you. And I know you trust me. So I’ll be here. But if you expect me to watch you kick a man while he’s down -”

“It won’t come to that,” Kaz answered sharply. And then, he softened, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to her. “I just - it’s been eight years. I don’t know if I…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence, when Inej’s mind had already done it for him. I don’t know if I can do this alone.

Inej nodded. Kaz inhaled once before turning to the door, pulling out a pair of silver lockpicks. Inej glanced around; there didn’t seem to be any guards in this section, and she was grateful for their purple faux-uniforms that served as a disguise. But if anyone bothered to take a closer look, it would be obvious very quickly that they were not legitimate guards. They were too young (even Kaz’s face still had that baby-softness), too thin, and besides that, Inej knew the stadwatch didn’t accept immigrants, willing or otherwise, into their ranks.

The cell door opened with a click, and Kaz entered, Inej following behind him silently, cracking a bonelight and letting green light illuminate the cell. There was a person, curled up in a small lump of ragged blankets in the corner. He was sleeping, making tiny whimpers that Inej wouldn’t have been able to hear in the hallway. Kaz moved just slightly closer to him, stopping when he was about four feet away. He poked the sleeping man - Jordan Rietveld - with his cane, and he startled.

“Whozzare?” Jordan pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall, and Inej took the moment to study him. She could see the similarities. He and Kaz both had the same almond eyes, the same high cheekbones, the same mess of wavy hair. But while Kaz’s hair was black, Jordan’s hair was brown, just slightly lighter than his brother’s. And Jordan was tan, and freckled, and his face covered in stubble. He was probably taller, too. “Who are you?” Jordan asked, more clearly.

Kaz had backed away, and Inej was surprised when she glanced at him to see that he looked lost for words. He met her eyes, and Inej maintained the eye contact. Something passed between them, then, and Inej turned to Jordan (Jordie?). “You’re Jordan Rietveld?”

Jordan jumped, his eyes widening as he stared at her. “Are you my lawyer?” he asked in a hoarse voice - hoarse from crying, not from whatever had destroyed Kaz’s, if Inej had to wager a guess. “I have natural rights, you know. Those don’t include being dragged out of my home in the middle of the night and being left in here for days.”

Inej swallowed. “How long have you been in here?”

Jordan shrugged. “A day or three, maybe? I tried to keep track from the meals, but -”

“A week and two days.” Kaz’s voice pierced the conversation as precisely as a blade through silk. Jordan turned his attention to Kaz, wearing a strange expression on his face.

“Has it - has it really been that long?” Jordan didn’t wait for an answer before he launched into what must have been his version of an explanation. “I don’t even know why I’m in here. I swear on Ghezen’s thumb, I didn’t do anything wrong. They literally grabbed me in the middle of the night, said I was under arrest for -” Jordan made quotation marks with his fingers. “- crimes against the council. Said I stole over thirty million kruge.” Jordan made a sound that might have been an attempt, but it sounded more like a sob. “What would I even do with that much money?”

Oh, Kaz, you didn’t. Inej remembered, then, the auction scheme fresh in her mind, two weeks ago, and how Kaz had readily offered the name Johannus Rietveld. A property he owned. A name for Colm Fahey to use to con the merchant council with. Was this his plan all along? Revenge nestled within revenge nestled within revenge? A name easy to trace back to Jordan Rietveld. A life sentence in prison, without a trial because the evidence against him was that strong, and the merchant council was eager to have someone to pin the blame on that wasn’t themselves. Inej opened her mouth, to say what, she didn’t know, but Kaz beat her to it.

“You’re wrong, Jordie.” At those words, Jordan turned white as a sheet, as if all the blood had been drained from him, as if a Corporalnik held an iron grip on the man’s heart. Another memory hit Inej, then. Kaz and Jesper, spitting bullets at the top of a bell tower, the view of Ketterdam stretched out before them like a horrible tapestry. What do you think my forgiveness looks like, Jordie?

What must Jordan Johannus Rietveld have done to Kaz, that he would hate him after all this time? It’s been eight years. Kaz would have been nine.

“Kazzie?” Jordan whispered.

“You’re wrong,” Kaz repeated. He wasn’t looking at his brother, Inej noticed. “You did do something wrong. And there’s plenty you’d spend that money on.”

“Kaz.” Jordan was pushing himself onto shaky feet, likely weak from the time spent in this lonely, small cell. “Ghezen, Kaz, I -”

Inej was reaching for her knives, but Kaz beat her to it, pushing Jordan away with the end of his cane. Inej moved closer to Kaz, and he glanced back at her once. I’m here, she told him with her eyes. I know, he answered, just as silently, before turning back to his brother. He still wasn’t looking at him.

“I thought you were dead.” There was a waver in Jordan’s voice. Like when you got on the tightrope for the first time, and you were wobbling uncontrollably. He opened his mouth to say more, but Kaz held up a gloved hand, and Jordan’s eyes darted to the leather glove once, widening. “Kaz, are you -”

“You could spend that money on a jurda investment.” Kaz's voice was the texture of a serrated knife. “Thirty million is plenty for an entry fee. Enough to get you rich, make you the mercher you always wanted to be, ja? But you’re that great with banking, so why don’t you give the money to someone else, to deposit for you? So they can run with everything you have.”

“I didn’t know Hertzoon would leave.” The edges of Jordan’s eyes glistened in the green light that Inej was still holding. “I didn’t know the plague was coming, but he must have, and he had a wife, and a daughter -”

Kaz interrupted him. “It's a common con in the Barrel, Jordie.” There was no small amount of cruelty in his voice. But behind that, Inej knew, there was anger. “Give them a little, and they’ll give you a lot. Everyone does it. Anyone with half a monkey’s brain in their head would have been able to see it for what it was.”

Jordan stared at Kaz for a long moment. “This isn’t real,” he whispered. “This - this can’t be real.” Jordan rubbed his fingers along each other, glancing down at the pale skin there. Inej noticed that his cuticles were worn down, as if he had torn at the skin there over and over and over again.

Kaz was shaking his head. “No,” he said, and anyone who knew him less would have mistaken the harshness in his voice for him being about to snap into a murderous rage. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to live in fucking denial, while I stayed here, and bled, and -”

“I’m sorry.” Jordan’s interruption had clearly been unexpected, because Kaz went suddenly still, blinking at his older brother. Jordan took in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “I shouldn’t have taken you to the city with me. I shouldn’t have - made a gamble. I shouldn’t have -”

“Let them take me?” Kaz’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it seemed to reverberate through the whole, nay, the whole prison, with the force of a large drum being slammed with a club. Inej was frozen where she was, one hand still resting on Sankt Pieter as she held the bonelight aloft with the other. 

Let them take me. The words seemed to echo through her, and she felt her grip around her knife tighten. What did Kaz mean? What had Jordan done? Made a foolish gamble. Lost everything to Pekka Rollins. Let them take me?

They hadn’t seen each other in eight years. Kaz had been nine.

Jordan flinched, making the same motion of running his fingers along each other, as if feeling that they were still there would calm him somehow. Inej thought of Kaz, stretching his fingers inside his leather gloves to ground himself, to keep whatever haunted him at bay.

“Kaz -”

Kaz growled. “Still paranoid about your fingers turning black with plague, Jordan?” He was breathing heavily. “What about your skin bubbling up in slow motion? What about bleeding out from your mouth, your nose, your skin? What about being unable to move, completely frozen, even as they drag you down to Hell?”

Jordan looked white as a sheet, now, and Inej risked moving slightly closer to Kaz, letting her movement be heard. Sending a message, in the noise. I’m here. I’m right behind you. Jordan’s eyes darted to her, as if he had forgotten she was there, and Kaz glanced back at her, a question in his expression. She answered without saying a single word.

Jordan had sunk to his feet against the wall. “Please stop,” he whispered. “This isn’t real. You can’t be real.” He was still rubbing his fingers together.

Inej had been eight, when news of the plague had reached Ravka. Her parents had shielded her from most of the nastier details, and she hadn’t cared to seek them out on her own. It was simply a bad thing that was happening far away, like a villain in a fairy tale: scary, but not her problem. After she had arrived in Ketterdam, she had seen the scars, left behind by the outbreak, left all over the city.

Kaz would have been nine.

“Kaz.” The word escaped her involuntarily, barely louder than a choked whisper. Kaz heard it, though (he always heard her) and he stiffened. He glanced back at her. She hoped her expression could send him all the comfort he needed in this moment. He held the look. What should I do? She nodded to Jordan. Say whatever you need to to get your closure.

Kaz turned back to Jordan. He inhaled, once. “I’m leaving your cell door unlocked,” he told his brother. “Don’t try to escape right away. There’s a shift change seventeen minutes after eleven bells. Go then. Go straight down, and you’ll find a drain. It will get you out of here.”

Jordan glanced up at Kaz. His eyes were red, and he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Kazzie I - I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Inej knew the look on Kaz’s face even with his back turned to her. Part of him loved the apology, loved the admittance of a wrong. A bigger part of him knew it wasn’t good enough to ever motivate him to forgive Jordan Rietveld for what had happened eight years ago. The apology was a mayfly to a saint. A tiny, broken umbrella against a monsoon.

“Sorry’s not enough, Jordie.” She was proud of him. Saints, she was proud of him. “Get yourself a ticket to a foreign port. Preferably Novyi Zem or the Southern Colonies. Use the Dregs’ bank account. Tell them you’re on business from Brekker, and no one will try to stop you.”

“Wait - Brekker - Kazzie, do you work for Dirtyhands?”

Kaz stopped, glancing back at Jordan. Inej watched with bated breath as Kaz slowly moved closer to his brother. As Jordan took in the gloves, the crow-headed cane, the answer to a question he never should have asked. Inej saw the moment Jordan’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide. “I did what I had to do to survive.” Kaz’s voice was even more jagged than usual.

“You work for a criminal!”

Denial was a powerful drug.

Kaz turned away. “And you gave everything we had to one.” His cane thumped loudly against the stone floor as he left the room. Inej’s eyes darted in between the two brothers, Kaz standing in the slightly-brighter light of the corridor, Jordan illuminated by the flickering green of the bonelight she still gripped in one hand. She turned to follow Kaz.

“Wait!” She turned. Jordan was watching her, and had pushed himself up into a firmer sitting position. “Who are you?”

Inej rubbed her thumb along the hilt of her knife. “My name is Inej,” she answered. “I used to work for your brother.”

“Why did he bring you?”

Inej met Jordan’s eyes. They were a lighter shade of brown than his brother’s, softer too. Everything about Jordan was softer, as if someone had taken all of Kaz’s rough edges and smoothed them over like clay. But all Inej saw was a boy who had doomed his last remaining family, a boy who had run from the city with his tail between his legs, a boy who had gotten this softness by leaving Kaz to the wolves. “He trusts me,” he answered simply.

And then she turned her back, coat whipping out behind her, and she left the cell, and the ghost inside it, behind.

Kaz pushed the door shut behind her when she was in the hallway. She didn’t look back, but he did. She wondered what he saw. His brother? His destroyer? The person he had trusted most, who had thrown that trust away like so much trash? Or a stranger, eight years away from the person Kaz had loved?

Probably all four, all at once.

True to his word, the door was left unlocked.

Inej didn’t bother asking if he was okay. She yanked Sankt Petyr from its sheath at her side, offering it out to Kaz handle first. “Hold this for me, please?” Kaz took it with one shaking hand, rubbing his gloved thumb along the carved hilt. He repeated the motion. Inej nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. Kaz’s eyes darted to hers. His forehead shined with sweat, despite the chill that still hung in the air.

“For what?”

“For bringing me with you.”

Kaz glanced down at his shoes, at the dust and grime collected on the floor below, at a small crack in the old stone. “Guards in Hellgate usually travel in twos on the lower levels.” He was gripping Inej’s knife tightly.

“You could have hired a mute, deaf actor off of the Staves.”

“But they could read my lips.”

Inej glanced from Kaz to the door. She imagined Jordan, with his ear pressed against the door. Listening to their conversation. Listening for the clock, for the promised chime of eleven bells. Listening, listening, listening. “Where do you think he’ll go?”

Kaz pointedly did not look at the door. “Away. He knows the risks.”

Inej nodded. Her knife was in Kaz’s hand, his grip tight. She was still holding the bonelight in her own, and she extinguished it with a quick cut from Sankta Alina, green fluid leaking out onto her skin. She stuck the broken pieces into her pocket. “There’s a new cafe open near the Slat that I’ve been wanting to try. They do deliveries.”

Kaz considered her. His fingers flexed once, changing his grip on the knife. “That sounds… good. And I suppose I should… return the thank you. For coming with me.”

Inej dipped her head. “Always.”

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #eight years away #six of crows #kaz brekker #jordie rietveld #inej ghafa #kanej #grishaverse #soc

[rietveldbrothers]

ice ice baby

a/n: its that time of year again, @grishaversebigbang posting time and here’s what I got for y’all!

this AU grabbed my by the neck and dragged me along with it. Reuben and Eva made some absolutely lovely creations to go along with this fic so be sure to check those out and give ‘em a reblog

and as usual, thanks to @reapersbarge for saving you all from my crimes against the english language

Materialki: @6crowgang [link] & @oretsov [link]

Summary: Mal Oretsev and Zoya Nazyalenksy are the biggest rivals in professional hockey. Too bad their partners compete together in Ice Dance and its impossible to escape one another.

aka 5 times Zoya and Mal were rivals and 1 time they also were rivals but different.

Ao3 Link

part 1 under the cut:

To say Zoya Nazyalensky hated Malyen Oretsev would be an understatement. She loathed him. She despised him. She hated every fiber of his being. She could not get rid of him.

Here she was, on her Sunday off, on a Nike shoot, and he was right there with her. Because could Nike possibly shoot for their new training set with just Zoya alone? No, of course. If one of their star hockey players had to be there, so did the other. Not that Zoya would admit Oretsev was a star. Not publicly anyway.

“How ya doing, Nazyalensky?” He greeted her in that way that was technically nice, but the way he grinned down at her set her teeth on edge. “Nikolai mentioned you hadn’t been feeling well.”

“Nikolai is an idiot who shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“So you are not feeling well?”

“I’m perfectly fine to pound your ass into the boards next Saturday.” Zoya sniffed imperiously. Mal’s team was her’s top rival and both of them were good this year, both strong playoff contenders. People were already disappointed that being in the same division meant one team would have to knock the other out before the cup finals. She had every intention of doing the knocking.

“Alright, Mal? Zoya? Can we have you two over here please?” The photographer interrupted any response Oretsev could have come up with in that pea brain of his, and moved them around under the lights.

Zoya was a professional. She was excellent at her job and sponsorships were part of that job. Which meant photoshoots were part of that job. And Zoya excelled at photoshoots. Mal Oretsev… also excelled at photoshoots. Which was annoying. His hair was nearly as long as hers was, which she was starting to take personally, and the shoot assistants kept cooing over him as they arranged him under the photographers direction. She had no idea what Starkov saw in the idiot. Here he was shooting grins at everyone in sight as she reluctantly allowed herself to be positioned next to him. For once, the photographer was going for determined instead of happy or loving. Zoya’s game face was legendary already.

She could admit the photos they were shown afterwards looked good. Zoya always looked good, but it wasn’t like she wouldn’t have looked just as good on her own. She didn’t need to spend her entire morning with Oretsev’s stupid charms spilling over to infect everyone else present. By the time she could leave, she felt slimy with it. Nikolai had better not be late to pick her up; she was already regretting letting him drop her off in the first place.

To her immense regret, Nikolai was indeed waiting for her, but he was not alone. Alina Starkov’s white blonde hair caught the sunlight right next to where Nikalai was waiting at his car. The two appeared to be in an animated conversation of some sort, perhaps about the free skate they were currently workshopping, based on the way Alina was waving her arms about. For someone with so much grace on the ice, she was remarkably jerky in the parking lot under midday sun.

Mal rushed by her to swing Alina up in a dramatic hug, as if it had been days since he’d seen her. They were always like that, though–disgustingly adorable, which she supposed was a symptom of being recently engaged. Either that or they were just gross; either was possible.

She allowed Nikolai to drop a kiss to her cheek and tried to usher him into the car.

“So Alina and I were thinking,” Nik started, “What if we grabbed a late lunch? You know, the four of us?”

So thats what this was then.

An ambush.

“I don't know if that’s–” “Maybe another–”

Mal and Zoya spoke over one another trying to come up with reasons not to. However much Oretsev’s golden retriever personality refused to allow him to be rude to her face in front of Alina, Zoya was well aware that her dislike was mutual. They exchanged a glance. Solidarity with him certainly did not feel good, but if it got her out of spending the next few hours with him, she’d swallow down her discomfort. If Nikolai thought he was getting any action after this stunt, he was wildly mistaken. Even if he was about to leave for four days.

“You two are silly.” Alina’s voice was light but Zoya could see her grip on Oretsev’s arm tighten. “You like each other, you just refuse to admit it. Come on, Nikki and I already made reservations so I don’t want to hear any excuses. Genya and David are going to join us.”

“Surprised you didn’t invite Tamar and Nadia while you were at it,” Zoya grumbled.

“We did!” Nikolai was proud to chime in, “Adrik and Leoni too. Tolya is still out of town or he’d be in for sure.”

“So how many people?” Mal perked up at this considerably. Zoya figured she agreed it was good news, the more people there, the less she had to interact with him.

“Oh it’s just the Safin-Kostyk’s.” Nik sighed, “Tamar and Nadia are too good for us, of course. Enjoying the nice weather. And Leoni had ice time this afternoon.”

“Her short program is stunning. I was watching her choreograph the other day,” Alina chimed in.

Damn. Tamar would have easily occupied Oretsev; they were teammates after all.

Before she could come up with another argument against lunch, she found herself in the passenger seat of Nikolai’s car and pulling out onto the road.

Nikolai was definitely not getting any tonight.

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #ice ice baby #malina #zoyalai #mal oretsev #zoya nazyalensky #alina starkov #nikolai lantsov #my fic #grishaverse

[zemenipearls]

The Ferryman and the Queen

At the edge of the world, through the eye of a needle that takes up all of space and time, there is a liminal space where a dock exists. The sky is purple-blue and filled with all the stars that there ever was, are, or will be. The dock is made of all the materials that do not exist. And on that dock stands the Ferryman - Adrik. 

This year's @grishaversebigbang mini bang 2022 fic, featuring God x Goddess Adreoni, based VERY loosely on Egyptian mythology! Incredible art by incredible artists: @discountscoobyart (x) and @jusdorangeart (x)

AO3 Link

#gvbbmbfic22 #gvbbmb22 #adreoni #adrik zhabin #leoni hilli #nikolai duology #grishaverse #gv fanfic #shadow and bone #the grisha trilogy #the nikolai duology #my writing

[nazyalenskyism]

Is It Just An Act?

a/n: Here's another fic for this year's @grishaversebigbang . Attached below are the pieces created by the amazing artists I got to work with to make this fic! Be sure to check them out!

Materialki: @songbee (the piece can be found here x), @purns-art  (the piece can be found here x) , @gowridraws (the piece can be found here x)

Summary:  How long can Zoya and Nikolai go on pretending that their relationship is anything but fake?

Ao3: Is It Just An Act?

January 13: Genya Safin’s job title was a bit of a secret, that was to say that no one really knew what she did. When asked, she usually told people that she worked in public relations, which wasn’t exactly a lie, it just wasn’t descriptive enough. Her friends and her clients might consider her a Fixer, though that wasn’t a word that was often thrown around and so they called her an advisor of sorts. While not all the people who hired her required her to deal with the unsavoury, she was glad none of her friends had been in need of her services, though they definitely ran in circles that required her more often than not. A professional athlete, an author, whatever Zoya was up to now,  the son of one of Ravka’s richest families who had tried just about every career path he could imagine, even her husband David and friend Nadia who ran their own labs might require her services, but surprisingly hadn’t. Yet when she opened the door to see Nikolai Lantsov’s face, she knew that the day had finally come.

“Surprise.”

“What are you doing here?” She knew why, but as someone who had vehemently said that he was capable of running his own life, he needed this as much as she did.

“Genya, darling, it’s been too long to pretend you didn’t miss me.”

“You were at Tolya and Tamar’s birthday party six months ago,” Genya studied her nails. It was time for a new set, she’d have to ask the group chat for suggestions, she was feeling adventurous this week and with the paycheck Nikolai Lantsov was about to put into her hands, she would be able to go all out.

“Are you going to let me in? I brought cake.”

“David, Nikolai’s here,” Genya called over her shoulder, making her way into the kitchen to inspect the cake he’d brought. A small pink champagne cake decorated with buttercream flowers sat at the centre of the box. Her favourite kind of cake; pink and flowery, from her favourite bakery– the most expensive bakery in the city. He must really need her help then.

“I came here to talk to you, actually,” he corrected, “though it’s always lovely to see your face, David.”

David waved distractedly from his workstation where he was hunched over a circuit board with the handle of a screwdriver between his teeth and a pencil tucked behind his ear. This was what she loved most about her job, that it gave her the means to pursue a career during the day and engage with her hobbies in the evening with her husband. While Genya had always been a fan of science herself, taking a particular interest in chemistry, she’d decided to make a career out of her other love, fixing everyone else’s problems. 

“His majesty brought cake,” Genya said quietly, approaching David, not wanting to disturb him. While he could focus with anything happening in the background, and he’d never complained about being interrupted, she still preferred not to surprise him, she liked to watch the way his brows furrowed in concentration before he worked out whatever it was that puzzled him.

David chewed his first bite thoughtfully. He was paying attention to every detail he could find and though he knew little of baking, Genya knew he was already coming to some conclusion in his head about the composition of this particular cake. “Delicious, but not as tasty as yours,” he murmured at last, tilting his head back to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Can you tell his highness to check his email, I sent him some notes that need reviewing.”

“Nikolai–” Genya called, smoothing back David’s unruly hair in the hopes it stayed out of his eyes. 

“I heard.”

“Okay, then get talking.”

“I need your help,” he began, fiddling with an apple from the fruit bowl. It wasn’t uncommon behaviour for him, Nikolai had a propensity for doing anything but remaining still, but this was not regular fidgeting, this was nervous movement. What had he gotten himself into? 

“How bad is it?” she asked, placing her hands over his, stopping his movements. 

“I need you to set me up.”

Genya’s fork clattered against her plate. “What?”

“He wants a romantic relationship,” David called out. He was digging into his cake, work completely forgotten. “Likely because of the negative press that’ll come out once people learn about his father’s financial crimes.”

He sighed, “I need to distance myself from the Lantsovs. If I’d known what my parents were up to, I would’ve never come back to this.” The Lantsovs were an older family in the entertainment industry, Nikolai had been a tabloid staple long before he even learned how to read. Despite managing to escape the public eye when he went to university on the other side of the world, he had been dragged back to grace the front page of every gossip magazine in town. “It’s getting worse, then?” “It’s always been this bad, I just refused to acknowledge it. That’s why I need something to tide the papers over, something long, that we can use to keep my name out of that conversation.”

“It may be easier to change your name,” David hummed. “I always liked Nikolai Opjer.” 

Genya shook her head at Nikolai, glad to see him finally smiling at her husband’s antics. “You want a long-term  relationship you can use to control the narrative around your name. I can do that.”  ---

January 31: 

He knew Genya was good at her job, she was the best in the business to be honest but Saints, that was the worst date he’d ever been on. The fact that it was a fake date was all the more troubling. He was a good actor, excellent in fact, but he didn’t think he could feign interest if the only thing his partner wanted to discuss was her ‘best friend’, though he suspected that she viewed him as more than that. Then there was the whole section of the evening that consisted of his date explaining in excruciating detail how she had recently met someone new who was inviting her into a “whole new world,” (her words not his) before launching into an impromptu karaoke session, only after which did Nikolai realise that she might in fact be what Nadia liked to call a “Disney adult.” The night had ended with him thoroughly amused at the idea of listening to the details of her nearly soap-operatic life again, but also a mutual understanding that while they’d both had a decent night, neither of them particularly cared to do this again. 

Nikolai finally managed to get a hold of the matchmaker in charge of his misery after a long walk of self reflection where he determined that this was perhaps the worst idea he’d ever come up with, which was startling given that most of his ideas were horrific. At least David never thought so.

“Genya Safin, how may I help you?”

“You don’t have my number saved?”

She ignored him. “How was the date?”

“Alina Starkov, really Genya? Isn’t she dating that footballer? Mel Oretson?”

“You know it’s Mal Oretsev,” Genya sighed. “You never forget a name.”

“To know I’d actually have to care, which I don’t.”

“They’re on again off again,” she continued, ignoring him again. “She was looking for a relationship because during their last break either Mal made out with someone when he was drunk or she met this other guy— I don't remember and I don’t care. Those two are more exhausting than the week leading up to an awards show or gala.”

“Which one?”

“Every awards show and gala in every industry combined.”

Nikolai laughed, “at least now I know I’m not the most annoying person in your life.”

She sighed and Nikolai could imagine her massaging her temples in frustration. “You’re not even close, you’ve really grown out of your meddlesome phase.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You really shouldn’t. Have you tried being like Tamar and Nadia? There was no drama there, just them realising how they felt and boom! Now they’re the cutest couple I know.”

“Ouch?”

“So, no to Alina?“

“No to Alina unless there’s no one else you can think of but please Genya, think of someone else. Anyone else. Please.” 

“Is Nikolai Lantsov begging me to find him a ‘romantic partner’?” She teased, using David’s words.

“No, not begging. I’m asking politely. And not a ‘romantic partner’, I don’t have time for romance.”

“No one has time for romance but they find it anyways. Look at David, there was no getting his head out the labs until–”

“Until you came along, yes, believe me, I remember.” David and Genya were two of his favourite people on earth, and as much as he considered himself their number one fan, he was also disgusted by how in love they were. Yes, he would like to be as in love as they were one day, but he didn’t see that happening any time soon.  Despite how much everyone told him he was a romantic at heart, he knew that his familial obligations would win out. At least, it was much easier to go with that than the truth; that he had already found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but was unsure if she wanted the same. 

“She’s not that bad,” she sighed, twirling the phone cord around her fingers, “but you’re right, she’s a bit flighty, she’ll probably be back with Mal by the end of the week.” 

“I’d like to think I’m the opposite of flighty, I can’t do this with someone who won’t stick around.” That was the problem with choosing Zoya, he didn’t know if she’d stick around if he said he wanted them to actually take a chance on them as a couple.

Genya smiled, glad he couldn't see her face. This was good, everything was going exactly as planned. “I think the next person I have in mind will be a much better fit.” 

“I don't know if I should trust you after that disaster.”

“Come on, Nikolai, you wouldn’t have come to me if you didn’t have faith in me. Anyways, you’re desperate, you don’t have much of a choice.” 

He groaned, “fine, but if next time is as bad as today…”

“It won’t be,” she could guarantee that. “Promise.”

“Well if you promise…”

Genya smiled to herself, ignoring the curious glance from her husband. With the way things were going, Nikolai Lantsov would finally meet his match. 

 ___

February 3: 

Three days later, Nikolai tapped his fingers against his watch face, his leg hammering away underneath the table. Usually he contained his nervous energy but since he was sitting alone in a private dining room at Os Alta, the most romantic restaurant in the city, he felt it was warranted. He really should’ve asked Genya who he was supposed to be meeting today but it had completely slipped from his mind.

He spotted her first, how could he not? Even in her attempts to dress casual, she attracted attention, looking like she just walked off the catwalk at Paris fashion week. She could wear a paper bag and still be the most beautiful person in the room, which was exactly why he knew who she was before he saw her face.

“Reservation for Safin,” she pushed her sunglasses into her hair, scanning the tables as the hostess walked her towards the room. She halted in the doorway, eyes narrowing at him. “Lantsov.”

“Nazyalensky.”

Neither said anything further until the hostess left, carefully closing the door behind her, and to his surprise, she was the one who broke the silence. “You’re who Genya chose?”

“I was her first choice for you? Clearly she knows to choose the best.”

“You wish,” she sank into the chair he pulled out for her. “The first one was with Mel Olitsev. He spent the whole time sniffling about Alina.”  

“She did the same about him,” he caught her eye, and despite themselves, they shared an amused look. Just their luck to be set up with two people insufferably in love with each other. He wondered if she’d talked about him during her date, then pushed that thought aside. He understood why Genya had set them up, but she didn’t know how Nikolai’s heart was already invested in Zoya, how he couldn’t afford to let himself get swept up in the theatrics. 

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe Genya would even suggest this.”

“Do you want to choose the appetizer?” 

“What’s the point? We’re not doing this. There’s no point keeping up the charade.”

“Why wouldn’t we do this?” Nikolai asked, leaning back into his seat. “We’ve worked well together in the past and this is just work, isn’t it?” They had starred in a movie together, went on a whirlwind presstour where they flirted for the cameras during the day, forgetting themselves at night, nearly crossing the line far too many times. 

  Until they had.

  She knew he must be remembering the same thing she was, stolen moments even their friends didn’t know about. But all of that felt like it had happened in another universe, to another Zoya, one who lived forever in the feeling Nikolai inspired in her, levity and warmth. It would be lying, though, to pretend a part of her wasn’t curious to know what it would be like to have the flirty, vulnerable Nikolai she'd met then, all to herself, for real.

“I need this to last. I need commitment to the role, not someone who leaves as soon as he gets what he wants.” She was fairly sure that she knew the virtues of Nikolai Lantsov, the real ones, not the garbage he pretended to care about in interviews. Nikolai had honour, he wouldn’t let her down by quitting before she was satisfied, but her situation had never been this dire. There was no leniency for her like there was for him, even once his family’s scandals leaked, she was sure that he would get a second chance someday, but the world wouldn’t extend that same courtesy to her. Her likeability wasn’t enough to get her through this dip in her career, and if she didn’t find her way into an upwards trajectory, she knew she wouldn’t have a career for much longer. 

Her last role had been something similar to previous jobs, but where she’d thought her performance would move people, all she got were lambasting reviews calling her a one-trick pony. “That’s why I need this. There’s so much riding on this movie for me, I can’t afford to have slack in any other part of my life.”

“You need a doting boyfriend, one to hold your train at the red carpet and hold your hand otherwise. Stability. Normalcy, while you experiment with your job. That’s manageable. I’m very good at loving glances.” His adoring expression was a little too spot on, and Zoya fought back a shiver. Why did he have to be such a good actor? It would be so much easier to hate him if he didn’t still make her heart clench, after all this time. That was why she didn’t like dating, especially dating other actors, it was too hard to tell when they were being genuine and when they were acting. It was why she couldn’t tell Nikolai she wanted him.

“So, Nazyalensky, are we doing this?” Nikolai held out his hand, expectantly, but when she went to shake his to seal the deal, he flipped hers over, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She almost startled out of her seat, he’d already shrugged on the role of lovesick boyfriend, hadn’t he? 

ZOYA NAZYALENSKY SPOTTED ENTERING OS ALTA FRIDAY AFTERNOON. SOURCES SAY THE ACTRESS WAS ON A DATE WITH ONE OF HOLLYWOOD’S LATEST WHITE BOYS OF THE MONTH.

___

February 10: 

They met again a week later at another one of the city’s most popular restaurants. Genya and David sat in a hidden corner of the room, keeping an eye on the proceedings, as if they could intervene if Zoya looked at Nikolai even a little bit hostility, like she was prone to do. It wasn’t her fault, he purposely goaded her sometimes, she simply fought back when needed. The evening had been going well, funnily enough. There was a reason the two of them had aced their chemistry reading for The Too Clever Fox, why their presstour had been filled with clamouring “Zoyalai” shippers, a term that Nikolai used till this day to refer to them as.

They were both private, and neither had been spotted in public with anyone else since that press tour, so Genya suspected that people would think that they’d secretly been together since then. They’d shared another glance when Genya said that, she didn’t know how close to the truth she actually was. There was a reason they’d never been spotted with other people: every few months, between jobs, or whenever they were in the same city, they seemed to fall into one another, again and again. While fans and their friends couldn’t figure out if they got along or loathed each other, only they knew that it was a bit of both. She hated how little it took to curl back into his arms, how much she longed for quiet nights in a hotel room, sharing takeout and running lines for auditions in peaceful companionship. She didn’t know if Nikolai felt vexed by her and her aloofness, he certainly never acted like it, but considering the possibility that he might only like her, and not hate himself for it was too much for her. If he wanted to be with her, truly, he wouldn’t hide behind the guise of needing a P.R. relationship, would he? He was always much more comfortable with displaying his emotions than she’d ever been.

“Hold my hand,” Nikolai murmured, finally spotting the paparazzi Genya had likely called on them. 

She gazed at him over the top of her sunglasses, “what?” Even when they spent stolen moments together, they were never very intimate. It was just two friends spending time together, completely platonic and understandable. Except for the kisses, the evenings curled up in each other's arms, the quiet whispers in the middle of the night, nothing between them but the refusal to acknowledge what this might really be. 

Fine, holding hands was nothing new for them, but displaying any emotion, even if it was faked, in public still dazed her. Especially when she was growing less and less sure of her ability to keep her actual feelings separate from this job.

“Hold my hand,” he repeated, slowly walking his fingers towards her with a smile, giving her enough time to do it without it looking staged.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“This is a fake date, Nazyalensky. Would it kill you to make it look at least a little believable?”

“It would,” she pushed her sunglasses back up. “Besides, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She’d forgotten that a fake relationship with Nikolai required real displays of affection, something she barely displayed in private when it was just him. It felt odd now, she wasn’t sure if she was comfortable  acting like this when there was unacknowledged truth behind her actions. “Because I’m allergic to skin-to-skin contact.”

“No wonder you’re such a pleasure to be around, you’ve never been kissed.” 

Zoya raised a brow, as if wasn’t the one always trying to kiss her. “Awh,” she mocked, “is this your way of saying you’re desperate to kiss me?”

“I would think someone trying to win her first Oscar would be glad to put her acting skills on  display.”

She rolled her eyes, “I know what you’re doing.”

He leaned towards her, she thought she’d figured him out then, or at least she liked to tell herself that. “Really? Enlighten me then, what exactly am I doing?”

 Nikolai didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on his lips. “You’re trying to goad me. It won’t work.”

“Is that what this is?” he murmured, moving close enough to press their lips together if either of them moved. “You’re not doing a very good job,” she breathed, slipping her hand into his. He jolted at the unexpected sensation, and Zoya sank back into her seat with a cheshire cat grin. Nikolai Lantsov was not easily stunned, and yet she’d managed to do it with something as simple as holding his hand. Maybe he wasn’t as predictable as she thought. Maybe he wasn’t acting all the time with her. She sipped at her drink, enjoying her victory, conveniently forgetting later that she’d spent the entirety of the meal with his fingers intertwined with hers, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her knuckles.

February 14: NIKOLAI LANTSOV JUST POSTED A PICTURE OF A ROMANTIC CANDLELIT EVENING WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND ZOYA NAZYALENSKY AND WE’RE SERIOUSLY JEALOUS.

  April 10: NIKOLAI LANTSOV CAUGHT IN NEW YORK VISTING ZOYA NAZYALENSKY ON SET OF ‘THE STORM WITCH’ . “THE DEVOTED BOYFRIEND BROUGHT HER FAVOURITE SNACKS AND DROVE HER HOME FROM FILMING EVERY DAY FOR TWO WEEKS” INSIDERS SAY.

  June 28: ZOYA NAZYALENSKY SPOTTED GETTING FITTED FOR AN ORIGINAL LITTLE PALACE GOWN FOR THE PREMIERE OF NIKOLAI LANTSOV’S NEW FILM, ‘DEMON KING’. FRIENDS SAY THAT THE COUPLE ARE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE.

  July 31: ZOYA NAZYALENSKY AND NIKOLAI LANTSOV SPOTTED WALKING INTO THE RAVKAN NATIONAL BALLET HOLDING HANDS, WEEKS AFTER THEIR ROMANTIC RED CARPET PICS. SOURCES SAY THEY WERE SNUGGLING IN THE LANTSOV’S PRIVATE BOX BEFORE AN INTIMATE DINNER AT THE CROW CLUB. 

 ___

August 22: 

“I hate that word, snuggling,” Zoya shuddered, tossing Nadia’s phone back at her. “Besides, those headlines are all ridiculous, we didn’t do most of that stuff, at least not how they said it.”

“Were you actually snuggling– sorry, cuddling?” Tolya’s birthday sash crinkled as he teased her, of course her usually quiet and helpful friend had to poke fun at her about this. It was the twins’ birthday party so she couldn’t even fight back.

“No! You don’t get it, Tolya. He’s insufferable!”

“You’ve managed to get this far without throttling him, you can do this. Have faith.” He patted her shoulder sympathetically, grinning at Tamar over Zoya’s sullen form. For all her acting, their friends all had a pretty good idea of how they really felt about each other, even if they didn’t know the specifics. No one went along with what they’d been doing for this long, all that public PDA, unless they actually wanted to do it. 

“I’m miserable.” 

“No you’re not,” Tamar snorted. It was ridiculous how she couldn’t see that she was moping as much as Nikolai right now. “Everyone sees the way you two look at each other.”

Tolya tried to send her a warning look, but it was too late. Zoya’s eyes flashed dangerously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take that for example,” she nodded at the door where Nikolai had just come into the restaurant. “He can’t take his eyes off of you. Not now, not ever.” 

“And you’re not any better,” Nadia added after a minute. “You haven’t looked away from him at all, either. You two are always like this, but you’ve gotten even worse this year.”

“For actors, you’re really transparent about how you actually feel,” Tamar agreed. 

___

As Nikolai made his way over to his friends, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Zoya in her favourite dress. He thought it would be okay, that he could do this without letting his feelings for her get all tangled up in this, but he had been so incredibly wrong. Their meetings had been scheduled by Genya at first but as they spent more and more time together, they began going on dates every night they could. Gone were the days of holing up in a hotel room, sitting in front of the tv, watching sappy rom coms and ordering room service. He loved those moments, but this was something they’d never allowed themselves to do before, be together and happy outside of their little bubble. It had gotten so comfortable between them, he’d gotten so wrapped up in this being everything he had ever wanted, that he’d forgotten that he still didn’t know if she wanted this for real. 

He suddenly felt like he needed an answer right now, he needed to know if she wanted them to do this for real. When Nadia and the twins left to greet more guests, he found himself curled in a loveseat with Zoya in the back corner of the room, far away from prying eyes. 

“You know,” Zoya said, when he couldn’t find the words to ask her, “Genya called me up and told me that there were enough stories about us being cute, and that we needed more photographic evidence,” she huffed a laugh, “I can’t believe that’s her actual job, she’s like a reverse detective, laying evidence instead of finding it.” 

“If that’s really what we need, a little practising wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“Put your arm around me, then.”

Nikolai did just that, pulling her closer. “Put your head on my shoulder.” She did, the scent of wildflowers engulfing him as she rested her cheek against him. His fingers traced an absent pattern against her side while she nestled further into him.

“You know,” she murmured, brushing a stray strand of his hair back as she gazed in a way that he might consider adoring if he didn’t know better. “This might actually be nice, if it were real.” Nikolai had to have felt what she did, the shift in their relationship over these last few months. Zoya wanted him, wanted this more than she ever had, but she needed to know if he actually wanted this too, or if it was all just an act.

“We make a lovely couple, hypothetically,” he agreed. “You’re quite the actress.” 

That was all this was to him. Acting. 

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Her fingers trailed down his skin, brushed lightly against his lips before settling at his jaw. She wanted to let it go, but she couldn’t. “That’s it? Everything between us is just an act?”

Zoya didn’t think she’d ever heard him hesitant before, “is that what you want? For this to be an act?” “No,” her words came out as quieter than they ever had. Nikolai exhaled, thumb brushing over her cheek, “I want this too.”

“It took you long enough,” she laughed, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. Saints, he didn’t know how badly she wanted to hear those words. “Ouch,” he pouted. “With the way this is going, it seems like our last date as a fake couple,” he teased. 

“Fine by me. You need me, not vice versa.”

“Really, Nazyalensky? No one likes a liar now. Well, I do, but I’ve always been a bit of an enigma.”

She snorted, “that’s putting it lightly.”

“You need this as much as I do.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but I can find what I need anywhere else,”

He wanted to laugh, “of course,” he played along, looping his fingers around her wrist, “but you still want me all the same.”

“I’ve never wanted you.”

“Let’s not lie, Zoya.”

“I’ve never wanted you,” she shrugged. 

“Of course you haven’t,” he agreed, tipping his face towards hers.

“I hate you,” Zoya whispered, her cheek pressed to his. For once, she was glad they were free of paparazzi, she felt so lightheaded, she knew she must look affected. 

“Smile for the cameras, Zoya,” he moved even closer. She was nearly draped across his legs, all anyone else could see was a tangle of limbs in the back of a dimly lit birthday party. Maybe that was why she threw inhibition out the window. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. If this was any other moment, she would’ve rolled her eyes, said something snarky and left him staring after her. Instead, she closed the distance, pressing her lips to his. She felt his fingers curl in her hair, her own grasp and his collar, both of them forgetting the world around them.

 ___

The next morning her phone had nearly vibrated off the bedside table, texts coming in so fast she could barely read them.

lada: when are you bringing your new boyfriend home? liliyana wants to meet him!!! 

zoya: It’s not that serious, Lada. We’ve been on a few dates, that’s it. 

lada: thats not what it looks like 🤨

zoya: ?

lada: check twitter

zoya: I don’t have that 

zoya: is that the purple app or the red one 

zoya: lada 

zoya: lada come back

lada: mama says he’s even more handsome than last time. did you know he was on the cover of ravkan vogue a few months ago? you look like you really like him zoyaaaa

zoya is typing…

tamar: ZOYA YOU’RE ON THE COVER OF RAVKA’S BAZAR WITH NIKOLAI LANTSOV’S TONGUE DOWN YOUR THROAT

Genya Safin:  EXPLAIN?

Genya Safin: saints, i just saw

David Kostyk: Good job! 🤗🤗 But I thought you didn’t want “full on PDA… kissing and that sort of stuff,” Zoya? tamar: saints david did you just quote her word for word? anyways it doesn’t matter what she said when she clearly feels differently 😏😏

Nikolai: what are you talking about 

↳ Genya: look at this:

Zoya swiped through the pictures as she walked to the kitchenette, she desperately needed coffee. Tolya with balloons, Tamar smearing cake on Nadia’s nose, a bunch of group photos with friends, and in the very back of the last photo was Nikolai with his hands in Zoya’s hair, her fingers resting against his cheek, locked in a heated kiss. Saints help her. There were pictures of them getting into the same cab, getting out at Nikolai’s hotel hand in hand. 

Genya:  That’s exactly what we needed! How did you know Tolya was taking pictures then? Nikolai, the way you’re looking at her is perfect... you didn’t have to kiss like that, but it really sealed the deal. i have a meeting, but that was fantastic. how long have you two actually been into each other? we’ll talk about what you want to do after the premiere next week. love you

“So,” Nikolai hummed, leaning against the counter. For someone who’d stayed up all night talking to her, he didn’t look tired at all. “What do you think, Nazyalesnky? You want to keep doing this after the premiere?” 

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes, handing him a mug. “That’s so embarrassing, I can’t believe we got caught twice last night.” “I can. We weren’t being very discrete.”

“And now everyone knows about us. For real. Including our friends.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re sure you still want this?” “Yep.”

“Fantastic,” he hummed, pulling her into another sweet kiss. Her phone continued buzzing on the counter, undoubtedly more photos of them had found their way onto the internet, but she didn’t care. Yesterday had been the last day of their fake-relationship and all she cared about was the very real one she had in front of her.

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #is it just an act? #zoyalai fic #zoyalai #genyadavid #denya #king of scars fic #nikolai lantsov #tgt #s&b #zoya nazyalensky #kos #genya safin #david kostyk #the grishaverse #tgv

[crowsheadcaneandleathergloves]

The Legend of the Heartless One and his Wish

A/N: Hello! this is my fic for the @grishaversebigbang! It's been awhile since I've written fanfic for the Grishaverse so it was fun to get back into it. Below are/will be links to the incredible art that was created for this fic!

Materialki: @miedziana-dziewoja (link) @justagrishafae (link)

Summary: Millennium’s have passed and yet the story of the Ice Court heist is still being told, passed down generation to generation. Each retelling is a little different than the last, warping the story every time. A mother tells her young daughter her version of the The Legend of the Heartless One and his Wish.

Word Count: 3535

***

Ilma leaned against the doorframe, just managing to catch Klara jump into bed and pulling her plush wolf close to her.

"Ready for bed?" Ilma asked her daughter, tucking Klara tightly into bed and double checking the window to make sure that it was closed.

"Can you tell me a story?" Klara asked before doing her pouty face. She moved her plushed wolf so it was facing Ilma. "Fannar wants to hear one too."

"Well," Ilma said with a chuckle. "I suppose I'm outnumbered. I guess I have to."

Klara giggled. "Tell the one about the demon and the clock!" She exclaimed.

"Again?" Ilma asked, settling down into the nearby rocking chair. "Why do you like that story so much? It's quite depressing."

"Grandma says that one of our ancestors was at that Hringkälla party."

"You shouldn't believe everything your grandmother tells you." Ilma made a mental note to talk with her own mother about putting thoughts in Klara's head. "But, okay, I'll tell you The Legend of the Heartless One and his Wish."

Klara quietly clapped under her blankets as Ilma began slowly rocking back and forth in her chair. "Hmmm…"

***

In the days of old, when Grisha were still being hunted down for simply being, and the Unsea had just been vanquished by Sankta Alina, there were six unlikely figures who braved the bitter Fjerdan weather to steal Sankt Kho's wish-granting clock.

Ruthless Kaz, whose space where his heart should be was barren. An evil sorcerer who concealed his identity, Pekka Rollins, took it from the young boy for use in his magic and potions. Without a heart and not knowing who took it, Kaz became a twisted half-demon, looking very much the same as any other Kerch boy but bearing gnarled talons instead of hands, unable to touch anything without it withering away into nothingness. For this very reason, he covered his hands with thick leather gloves and yearned to be reunited with his heart.

Light-footed Inej, a creation of Kaz for the purpose of being all-knowing and to spy on everyone for personal gain. Alone and filled with rage, heartless Kaz used a tree in a nearby forest to create her body, then pulled out long strips of the night sky for hair. Finally, plucking a deadly monkshood from the forest floor, he gave Inej life. Silent, but deadly, she entered and exited anywhere she pleased without notice. She killed with no remorse and earned herself the title The Wraith.

Tricky Jesper, a boy of Kaz's past who never gave up on his heartless friend. He travelled around, chaos ensuing in his wake. He won Fariba's battle of wits, fooled Ulla in order to steal his iconic pearl revolvers, and accomplished many other exploits. And yet, he always came back to Kaz and told him of his adventures, always keeping an eye out for anything that could possibly return the heartless one back to his original self.

Mutable Wylan, cursed with the ability to shapeshift—unable to remember his true form. His father, Jan Van Eck, paid Pekka Rollins to cast the spell on his son because Wylan reminded him too much of his dead wife. He spent his days shifting into different people, kicked out by his awful father, until silent Inej took pity on the shapeshifter and took him into safety.

Mighty Nina and golden-haired Matthias, a Heartrender and Fjerdan, in love with one another when it was impossible to be. Matthias was arranged to be married to the lovely Kajsa and, with time running out, Nina made a deal with ruthless Kaz so they could be together. And so the deed was done—on one condition: Kaz could redeem a favour of any kind whenever he pleased.

One day, in the noisy streets of Ketterdam, Jesper told Kaz of a story he had heard on his travels—Sankt Kho's marble clock, given the ability to grant a single wish. It was hidden somewhere beneath the Fjerdan Ice Court, lost in the frigid ground when Sankt Kho's clockwork army ravaged the archaic country Fjerda was founded on.

This was the first time heartless Kaz had heard of any hope for his situation. But he did not want to be too enthusiastic since breaking into the Fjerdan Ice Court was no easy task. It was a smooth white palace, blending into its snowy surroundings. Heavily guarded and with no idea where Sankt Kho's clock could be, Kaz didn’t know where to start.

Then, that night, Sankta Margaretha spoke to him in a dream. She had defeated a demon before but took pity on this half-demon, as they were both of the same country. She led the ruthless one to the beginnings of a plan and where exactly the clock was hiding—beneath the Ice Court's sacred ash tree.

Kaz spent another seventeen days finalizing his plan, cooped up in his home. He thought through all of the problems they could go through, all the things that could go wrong. If he was planning to wish for a new heart, he needed to be prepared. When would this kind of chance come to him again? 

When the plans were all set, Kaz called to trade in Nina’s favour and, not wanting his love to traverse his homeland alone, Matthias decided to join the team as well, contributing his knowledge of Fjerda and his muscle.

Now, it was just a matter of getting to Fjerda from Kerch in time for Hringkälla, the day in which the heist would commence.

In the early morning before the sun came up, Inej and Wylan snuck down to Fifth Harbour and crept aboard the Marya. Inej murdered the captain, disposing of his body in the bay, and shapeshifting Wylan took his place, donning the captain's clothes and firing the entirety of the crew.

By the time the sun arose, the harbour was filled with busy people. Kaz, Jesper, Nina, and Matthias blended right in, aboarding the Marya and setting off into the True Sea.

In the seventeen days and nights that it took to dock in Djerholm, Kaz laid out the scheme and all the altered versions in case circumstances caused them to divert from the original plan. They tested one another relentlessly, sleeping like the dead at nights from exhaustion.

On the last night of their trip, however, no one was able to sleep. Kaz stood on the deck, staring into the pitch black sea, his mind churning endless possibilities. He couldn't fail. He refused to. And yet…what if he did fail? And on the other hand, what would he do if he succeeded? All of his life, he obsessed over filling his heart-shaped hole. What would happen when he finally got what he wanted?

In another part of the ship, Jesper was comforting a sea-sick Wylan. Throughout the entire ship, the shapeshifter had been unable to gain his sea legs and, after passing through an especially rough storm, Wylan was feeling less than ideal.

"Tell me about yourself," the sharpshooter said to Wylan to get the shapeshifter's mind off of his nausea.

And so Wylan did. He told Jesper about his misfortunes—his dead mother and terrible father and the sorcerer who cursed him. How Jan Van Eck told everybody his son had disappeared and planned to write him out of his will. How Jan was close to re-marrying another woman to gain another heir.

Jesper, sorry for inadvertently causing more pain to the shapeshifter's already foul mood, started to tell Wylan about his own adventures. He described the endless Shriftport fields of jurda in Novyi Zem, the quaint red and gold city of Nehlu in Shu Han, and the Bone Road islands, Jelka and Vilka, enveloped in a thick mist.

Curled up in their own room, Nina and Matthias spoke in hushed whispers, fervently arguing whether or not making a deal with the half-demon was a good idea in the first place. Golden-haired Matthias told his love that they could have found a way to be together without making a reckless trade. The heist was a death wish. He had been in the Ice Court plenty of times, being an old Drüskelle before moving to Kerch with Nina. What he was doing—helping a half-demon break into the Ice Court—was treason.

"I do not trust him, but I trust you," Matthias whispered to mighty Nina. "And if I die trying to protect you, then so be it."

"Don't say that," Nina snapped. "This is not a death wish, merely a favour that needs to be repaid. Nothing more, nothing less."

Perched on the mast of the Marya, Inej peered out into the deep blackness of the night, the soft wind blowing her hair back. Her breath came out in a fog but she was warm. The night sky was a part of her and it kept the cold at bay. Down below, she could see her maker staring into the depths of the sea.

Silently, she slid down the giant, wooden, pole, and landed on the deck without a sound. She crept up behind Kaz who did not move even though he knew she was there.

Standing shoulder to shoulder until the sun burst from the horizon, the demon and the wraith said not a word to one another.

They landed at the port in Djerholm with little fanfare even though the energy on board the Marya was electric. Clothes were being put on, satchels were given one last check through, and the group of six were going over the plan in their heads.

First things first, getting to the Ice Court disguised as entertainment.

Hiding in the bushes of an old road, the six of them waited for a passing caravan. When one did come, precise-shooting Jesper pulled out his pearl revolvers and shot the entire caravan dead in under four seconds.

The six descended onto the carriage like a murder of crows. Wylan shifted into the coachman and hopped aboard while the others disposed of the bodies, pulled off their clothes, and stepped inside the carriage.

Mutable Wylan started up the horses once again.

The first check through the outer gate of the Ice Court went without a hitch. Wearing the old entertainers’ clothes and Nina lowering the guard’s heart rate enough for him to relax and become sleepy, the guard let them go past with a mere glance inside the carriage.

Next was the second checkpoint where individuals were to be checked along with the right paperwork and ID. These valuable pieces of information had been forged when they had been back in Kerch. This check one was more thorough and more prone to mishaps.

Inej flashed her ID to the rough guard who inspected it carefully, eyes flicking back and forth between the silent Inej and her photo.

“I know her!” A woman’s voice shrieked, pushing through the line of party goers. Heleen Van Houden, a Kerch socialite, pointed an angry finger at Inej. Her straw-like hair was piled atop her head and around her neck was the largest diamond Inej had ever seen. Heleen was known for abducting young girls from their families and selling them off to men to which Inej had been trying for years to put a stop to it to no avail. The two of them had had multiple scuffles and therefore knew each other well.

"She works for that demon," Heleen said, nearly in tears. "If she's here then there must be others. From that grubby little gang!"

All of a sudden, the Elderclock began ringing—Yellow Protocol.

"You'll have to come with us," a guard said to both Inej and Heleen. "Further questioning is required. We need to be sure that there is no threat."

"I swear! I swear!" Heleen cried hysterically. "You have to go out now or they'll get away."

Kaz, Jesper, Nina, Matthias, and Wylan took this time to discreetly pass through the second checkpoint.

"Is the plan still on?" Jesper asked Kaz. "What do we do about Inej?"

Heartless Kaz nodded curtly, doing the math in his head. "Yes. The four of you split off and do what needs to be done. Inej can handle herself."

And, with that, Kaz went off by himself, in the direction of the party, in full swing.

Wylan and Jesper quickly headed to the back gate where they all planned to make their escape. Wylan quietly climbed the watchtower where two guards were held and carefully shapeshifted into a Fjerdan general while tricky Jesper lingered at the watchtower's doors, back against the wall.

Suddenly, Wylan burst into the room, "it's yellow protocol—what are you doing up here?"

"Commander Brum said that we—"

Shapeshifting Wylan signed impatiently. "I don't care what Commander Bum says, it's Yellow Protocol and you are to be down at the party, searching for gang members or anything out of the ordinary."

"Who's to take our positions?" The other watchtower guard asked although he was quickly grabbing his weapons.

"A few grunts are on their way. They're not your problem. Now go!" Wylan exclaimed, staring down the guards before they started rushing down the stairs where Jesper knocked them out and bound their limbs as soon as they exited the watchtower.

Jesper climbed up to the watchtower, taking steps two at a time where he saw Wylan sitting at the table which held multiple buttons and levers.

"Ready?" Jesper asked with a grin, cocking his head to the side.

Nina and Matthias found a spot at the back of the White Island. Nina squinted up at the sacred ash tree, orientating herself on the circular island. Then, relaxing her shoulders, she reached out her Heartrender powers—the same powers that gave her the title of the strongest Heartrender and able to stop an entire army dead in their tracks—until she could feel every single beating heart on the White Island. Mighty Nina pulled at their muscles discreetly, making most of the crowd outside inadvertently make their way to surround Nina and Matthias while keeping everyone else stuck where they were. She silently passed over her five people, letting them roam free, as they all had missions of their own. No one realized a powerful Heartrender was causing most of the group to move.

"What's happening over here?" One partygoer asked Matthias.

"You'll see," he replied and then discreetly flashed an engagement ring the woman's way.

The woman's eyes lit up and she nodded understandingly. She then leaned over to the man next to her and whispered this in his ear.

As soon as silent Inej noticed that the guards and Heleen were stuck to their spot, Inej got into action. She pulled herself up a ventilation duct and made her way out of the detainment building to where nearly everyone on the island were congregated in the back. All except one person who was limping over to the sacred ash tree, unnoticed by everyone except Inej.

"Are you ready to be a normal boy again?" Inej asked, coming up behind ruthless Kaz who was beginning to weave rope around the sacred ashes' trunk. Inej started to help. Vaguely, she could hear Matthias trying to calm down the crowd of party goers who were beginning to yell at Matthias to just do it already.

Kaz didn't say anything as he and Inej began pulling on the rope, the tree creaking and groaning. He was beginning to have second thoughts. While he hated the fact that he couldn't touch anything without killing it, he had grown accustomed to his talons and extra strength. Not to mention the reputation he had made ever since being branded a demon. People actually respected him. They didn't brush him away—pretend he was a doormat. But he couldn't just back out now. He was in too deep. He would've wasted this entire mission for what? His feelings?

With one last heave, the sacred ash tree was uprooted and Kaz could hear rushing water beneath it. 

"There it is!" Inej exclaimed, pointing at the tree.

And there, amidst the tangle of roots, was Sankt Kho's marble clock, shining in the moonlight as if it hadn't just spent centuries underground.

Heartless Kaz stared at it for a moment before grabbing at it, the clock feeling heavy in his hands. "Let's go," he breathed before jumping in the hole they had just created from the sacred ash tree. Inej quickly jumped behind Kaz, letting out a high whistle.

Instantly, Matthias picked up Nina and ran headfirst into the crowd towards the sacred ash tree hole. The party goers and guards, able to turn their heads but unable to move, watched with shocked expressions as Matthias, Nina in tow, jumped down into the rushing water.

Mighty Nina could feel everyone's heartbeats fade away but she so desperately hung on to them for dear life, trusting Matthias to keep her head above the freezing water.

"They jumped!" Wylan exclaimed, hopping up from his seat.

"Wait…wait…" Jesper muttered, his eyes surveying the crowd of people still on the White Island. 

"I can't…hold…for much…longer…" Nina gasped, feeling her body slowly be dragged down as Matthias was losing steam. All of a sudden, she was dunked under, the water filling her nose. The connection to everybody on the island suddenly snapped.

The crowd began running towards the hole. Guards were about to jump down the hole.

"Now!" Jesper yelled and Wylan hit a button, the Elderclock beginning to ring. Black Protocol.

The guards' head suddenly snapped to attention, momentarily stunned.

"Go, go!" Jesper yelled, pushing Wylan down the watchtower and watched as he shapeshifted into one the guards Jesper had knocked out not so long ago.

Panting and out of breath, Wylan made it to the center of the White Island, dragging Jesper behind him by the collar. "I found one of the gang members!" He shouted. "Stop! Don't jump." Wylan turned to Jesper. "Tell them what you told me."

Tricky Jesper hunched his back and refused to look anyone in the eye. "They're planning to reconvene in Halmhend's main square before sneaking onto a ship and heading for the Wandering Isle.

"We can cut them off there!" A general exclaimed. He began making plans with the others, splitting up their group so there were still some people to watch over the party goers. Jesper didn't really think there was much party left.

"I'll take this one to the prison sector," Shapeshifting Wylan said in a gruff voice before dragging Jesper off the White Island before making a break for it out of the Ice Court while everyone was beginning to plan to go to Halmhend.

Back on the Marya headed straight back to Kerch, the six stood around a table, Sankt Kho's wish-granting clock in the middle of them. Inscripted around the clock's face was "ask your heart's desire."

Taking a deep breath, Kaz muttered under his breath. "I wish to be rid of the demon inside of me." The clock didn't even click. Kaz didn't feel any different. 

He tried to ask in a different way. "I wish to be a normal boy again." Again, nothing happened.

Growing frustrated, ruthless Kaz took the clock in his two gloved hands. "Didn't you hear me, stupid thing? I want to have my heart back."

Realization dawned upon Inej. "Kaz," she said slowly. "It asks for your heart's desire. But you don't have a heart."

Nobody on the ship spoke.

Nina looked a little green. "I need some air," she muttered before rushing to the deck of the ship. Matthias quickly went after her, glancing back just once at the four people left surrounding Sankt Kho's clock.

Kaz gripped onto the table, feeling his talons breaking through his leather gloves. "All that work, for nothing," he spat out. He was too angry to admit that a part of him felt relieved. "Saints," he cursed, picking up the clock in his hand. "I'm throwing this thing overboard."

"No!" Jesper exclaimed, yanking the clock out of Kaz's grip. "Just because your desire isn't able to be granted doesn't mean that nobody else's can."

Kaz quietly limped to his quarters. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore."

Jesper looked expectantly at the two remaining people.

"Go for it," Inej said with a nod.

Wylan nodded eagerly.

Jesper pursed his lips and looked directly at the clock's hands. "I wish that Wylan knew what his true form was."

Ding. Sankt Kho's clock began vibrating, the internal cogs beginning to turn.

And so, you should know that you should not make a deal with a demon. For your abilities might vanish, like mighty Nina's. You should not wish for something that you are not sure of, like heartless Kaz. But you should always look out for opportunities to benefit your loved ones, like tricky Jesper. Be warned and learn what others did not.

***

Ilma glanced down at Klara who was fast asleep, hugging Fannar tightly to her chest. She had fallen asleep before the Marya had even left Kerch harbour. But Ilma wasn't one to let a story go unfinished. It was one thing her own mother had taught her.

Ilma bent down to kiss Klara's forehead before slowly tiptoeing out of Klara's bedroom.

"Good night."

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #The Legend of the Heartless One and his Wish #soc #six of crows #soc fanfic #soc fanfiction #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fanfic

[reapersbarge]

Case Number 658-K5: the Murder of Kaz Brekker

written for @grishaversebigbang​ spring 2022 mini bang!

wc: 4.3k

rating: m

materialki i could not live without: @zemenipearls​ (x) @kavinskysdick​ (x) @kayadraws​ (x)

tw: discussions of slavery/kidnapping, graphic depictions of injuries, canon typical violence and murder, not ravka friendly

pairings: kaz brekker/nina zenik, background jesper fahey/inej ghafa & adrik zhabin/leoni hilli

a/n: part one is written in the form of reports/documents/interviews, while part two is written in a narrative form. below the cut is the first report. formatting is best on ao3!

Office of the Royal Medical Examiner

Os Alta, Ravka

Autopsy Report

Medical Examiner: Sophie de Roos Case Number: 658-K5 Examination Performed: 13/11, 11:00

Type of Death: Violent–dead at scene Location Found: Woods behind blacksmith’s shop at edge of Os Alta (see Report 1-A, #658-K5 for details), 12/11, 18:05 Time of Death: 11/11 0:00-3:00, approximate Cause of Death: Subdural hematoma from blunt force trauma with undetermined weapon Manner of Death: Homicide Decedent: Unknown

Description of Body

State: Decedent found clothed (see Evidence #658-15ME)

Sex: Male

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Brown

Age: 20-24, approximate

Height: 180 cm

Weight: 77 kg

Marks and Wounds

Skull fractures along the crown, front, and back; fragmented in several areas. Lack of coagulation suggests some blows done postmortem.

Right wrist fractured.

Tattoo of indeterminable shape done in black ink (see Supplemental Notes #658-1ME for photographs) on outer right forearm.

Jagged cut wounds to outer right forearm, disfiguring above mentioned tattoo; possibly defensive.

Left arm missing.

Thin, vertical scar through right eyebrow.

Thin, vertical scar through right side of mouth.

Right knee shattered; evidence of preexisting trauma due to scarring and bone malformation.

Signed: Sophie de Roos, 13/11

Office of the Royal Medical Examiner

Os Alta, Ravka

Supplemental Notes

#658-1ME

Case Number: 658-K5

Medical Examiner: Sophie de Roos

Notes: Attached are photographs taken of decedent’s tattoo; shape is indeterminable upon first examination. Reattaching the skin where cut has produced a slightly clearer picture. Feathers are apparent at the top near the elbow, possibly indicating a bird. Tattoo appears fully healed and slightly faded, suggesting it is older. Recommending an expert be sought for further examination.

Signed: Sophie de Roos, 13/11

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #Case Number 658-K5 #soc #six of crows #kaz brekker #nina zenik #six of crows fanfic #kaz brekker/nina zenik #rare pair central over here y'all #gvbb #lo.writes #lo.case

[polekands]

“Alina is fed up with the Darkling“

 -was the work in progress-title for my fic for the @grishaversebigbang and was supported by these incredible artists: <3

@margot-arts find the amazingly detailed piece [here] (it’s a spoiler though whoa)

@bubble--berry check out this lovely shaded artwork [here]

The fic’s final title is “Turn the Lights down Low”

Alina is the ancient, near immortal sun summoner and has been on this earth for quite some centuries now. Successfully avoiding Ravka, the Fold and - of course - the darkling. Due to a chain of unfortunate events though - involving a skiff and a volcra attack - her cover is blown - except for the fact that no one knows she is far older than 18. 

if you are curious check out the full piece on [ao3] :D

here is a short snippet:

“This is my chance to escape." Alina told herself. "Run away and spend another lovely decade in Novi Zem."

But something about the darklings' weird behaviour made her hesitate as well as the still lingering shock from what had happened in the fold. "It's your fault this abomination is still splitting Ravka." But Alina shook her head to chase away the thoughts. She very well knew the cost that was to pay for destroying the fold. She would not be the one to reap it. 

Instead she sat herself on the other side of the fire next to the darkling. "Where are we going?" She sheepishly asked. "I'd expected we're heading towards the little palace, like all grisha." She shuddered. It was weird finally admitting she was a grisha. 

"I have bigger plans for you Alina. The little palace cannot help you with what you'll have to do. But I can." 

Alina had to try very hard not to roll her eyes. And if she had other plans? But she just nodded gently. "It's about destroying the fold, isn't it? I- I can't do that on my own." That part was no lie. 

The darkling placed a hand on her shoulder and Alina flinched under the surge of amplifier-powers he sent out, she made sure that her still ripped sleeves did not roll up too far. "I have been trying to undo what my ancestors have done to this country. I need you Alina. Because you and me. We are going to change the world." He looked at her with a glint in his eyes that you could almost mistake for honesty. 

Alina could not hide a shudder and got up rubbing her arms to blame it on the cold. She excused herself and headed towards one of the makeshift tents. 

All the lies he told. 

Obviously there were no ancestors. She was the sun-summoner and he was the darkling. They always had been. He was the black heretic and he had created the fold. "Why can't I believe that you are trying to undo your own mistakes?" 

She kicked at a tree-stump. "He would be far less creepy if he did not say my name every two sentences."

Alina turned around as she saw someone approaching. It was the squaller-woman who had accompanied them. She had a sour look on her face. "You can be happy to have shown up right on time. The darklings' precious tracker found what he has been searching for months now. Whatever he is trying to give you truly is special." The woman with an impressive set of ravenblack-curls looked at Alina with a mixture of disgust and maybe jealousy. Alina liked her nonetheless. She seemed to be an honest girl that clearly told you when she didn't like you. People like that did not hide behind backhanded compliments and whispered remarks. 

Alina wondered for a moment what she might have done wrong to provoke her jealousy, then her gaze drifted towards the darkling still sitting at the campfire. She sighed, which made Zoya pause and look back at her again. 

“Don’t you think he’s a bit too old for us?” Alina tried her best to sound like an 18 year old girl talking to another girl her age. 

“Eh?” was all that Zoya answered. 

Alina stepped a bit closer to her. “I mean - he is a dozen of decades old, if not older and you are what - 18, 19? I’m not sure if that would end in a healthy relationship.” 

She shrugged and Zoya looked like she was thinking too before she returned to her usual sour expression: “And you are not?” 

Alina froze. “Well, I am not trying to date him.” she responded before finally fleeing to her tent. 

#gvbbmb22 #alina starkov #the darkling #grishaverse #shadow and bone #sun summoner #mal oretsev #zoya nazyanelsky #zoyalina #malina #zoya is allowed to say fuck #[Turn the lights down low] #gvbbmbfic22

[chupenguin]

You're what you own

a/n: this is my contribution for @grishaversebigbang 2022!!! It´s been really fun and I love the final result, here are all the links for both he fic and the amazing artist that have colaborated with me!!!!!!!!

Meet Gang 27 :D

Materialki:

@two-ndborne (link to art)

@justagrishafae (link to art)

Etherealki:

Me

Summary: Nina is back to Katerdam after a year and this time, she´s not alone, Hanne is with her and... what would her crows think of her new partner???

Pride Parade fic with a lot of reunions and hugs!!!!!!!

Ao3 Link (a little fragment under the read more)

Ketterdam welcomes them in the usual way, screams, hustle and a slap of ocean breeze. For Nina it's almost like a hug, even if she can feel her hair sticking to the back of her neck already. Summer in Katterdam is… well, different from summer in Fjerda. Different from any other summer.

It's noisy and bright and right there, in the old docks, it's almost like a fever dream. People dressed in colors and wrapped in flags, ready for the best and biggest parade in all of Kerch.

Nina pushes her sunglasses up, using them as a headband as she turns around and offers Hanne her arm. 

“It´s…”

“Not what you expected?”

Nothing can prepare you for Katterdam. For the buildings leaning against each other, almost like they didn´t have more space. For the alleys and all the street vendors. A tourist city at its peak.

“I don´t know what I expected,” they say as they accept Nina´s arm, walking next to her to walk out of the port. “There's so many people”

“It's always like this in the docks,” and Nina loves it.

She loves docks and stations and airports. Where are all these people going? Why is that girl running? The guy with a giant poster is waiting for a sibling? Or a lover? There's so much to look for, so much to think about in those kinds of places and Nina had always loved stories and creating new worlds in her head. 

“Are we… are you meeting your friends?” 

“Inej said that they´ll come to meet us yes,” without letting go from Hanne´s arm she takes her phone and scrolls until she finds the groupchat, there's a new message from Inej: We´re waiting outside the Silver Six!!!!!!!!! , followed by a lot (A LOT), of purple hearts. “There's a bar a few streets away, they´re there…”

“So… they're… going to meet me”

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #You're what you own #six of crows #rule of wolves #nina zenik #hanne brum #nina x hanne #the crows #the dregs #more charactes are mentioned #I had a really great time with this please check hte art!!!!!!!!!

[ven-brekker]

The Stars and Her Sun

My fic entry for @grishaversebigbang 2022! This was so fun to write and the accompanying art is AWESOME!! Go check it out ;)

Materialki:

@pollyplantar (x) @pinaplelee (x)

Summary: A celebration is held for Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner's, birthday. Only, it isn't really her birthday, and she'd much rather be spending the evening with a certain red-headed Tailor.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38751312

Full fic also pasted under the cut (from ao3, so forgive formatting errors!)

Before she was a Saint, a martyr or a god, Alina Starkov was a girl. Simple, orphaned and herself. Summoning had taken that away from her, and there was nothing she would not give up to be treated as she once had; as a person. Luckily for her, Genya did not ask anything of her, only gave her what she desired without a question uttered on either side. Her white and gold ensemble split by strikes of red hair had always been a welcome and comforting sight. Especially when the Sun Summoner was nervous - which, right now, she very much was.

She sat in a large, plush chair, in which she had far too much space, underneath a large window in her bedroom. The vanity was taken up by Genya’s tailoring kit, as well as various little trinkets: rings, hair combs, the odd scrap of parchment. All of it was painted by the dusky lilacs, oranges and pinks of the sunset streaming through the glass in fractured light - a beautiful display for the oncoming darkness. Genya’s hands were cool against Alina’s face, each slight brush of her fingertips an immense relief against the Summoner’s flushed skin. Her hands rested in her lap, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to resist the unbearable itching. She fiddled with the rings that adorned her fingers, each one a perfectly smooth gold that had been Fabrikator-made to glint and glimmer as though it were better at home in the night sky. Her kefta hung on the back of her chair, and her shoulders felt alien, bare from its soft lining, with only an undershirt protecting her from the slight chill of the room’s emptiness.

The event tonight was, on paper, for her birthday; a gala held for a falsehood attributed to her name. She recalled a time wherein such festivities were not in her name. A time wherein a younger her and a younger Mal would sneak off to their meadow and celebrate each other’s “birthdays'' amongst the grass. A time where despite the day being the Duke’s in history, it was theirs to celebrate and theirs alone. Now, it was hers and it was Ravka’s; a human show of their Saint. The smile she bit back was one of nostalgia, and partially one of sadness. Anger, too, though she denied it with her whole chest. It was a smile and a memory she pushed harshly aside.

To her left, a few feet away from where she sat, was a mannequin. It towered over her, now, as though it were taunting her with its costume, ridiculing her with how stupid she would later look in what it wore. It donned a dress of the deepest blue, embroidered in delicate gold thread, with miniature stars and suns coiling up its long sleeves and bodice. It had a center paneling of pure white, with matching embroidery spanning out from the center and twisting in spirals as it moved farther away. The dress’ trail was long, swathing the floor as the sea did the shore. At its waist, where the skirt and bodice met, was a ribbon that matched the outer skirt’s blue; it was fastened with a gold buckle that featured Ravka’s double eagles, sitting comfortably in the middle. It was, all in all, fit for a Saint. It did not seem fit for Alina Starkov.

“Genya?” She asked. The Tailor paused in her acts, setting down one of her vials and resting herself on the desk.

“Hmm?”

“What will you be wearing tonight?” Genya laughed, the sound sweet like honey, as though the question were somewhat daft.. She gestured down at herself. Alina looked at her, clad in her white and gold - servant’s colors. She wore them as though they were the finest noble silks, but the image of the shock and envy on her face when Alina had been offered the Darkling’s black was burned into her mind. She didn’t know if it was horror at Alina’s then refusal, or a sadness that she would never have that honor, that Alina felt more sorry for.

“This, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll do my hair differently, specially for you.” Alina couldn’t stop a small pang of disappointment striking her, although she did her best to hide it. It was to no avail, though, as Genya smiled sympathetically at her. “This isn’t the winter fête, Alina. This is about you .” Alina smiled. Genya often went on about the fête - it was mere months away, and she assumed Genya loved the excuse to dress up in something aside from her cream kefta . She sighed, and fluffed her hair. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to take your spotlight with my immense beauty.” Alina couldn’t help herself from laughing.

“I’m assuming that would be paired with your immense humility?” Genya threw a small petal at her, then returned to working on her face.

Her cheeks burned with the itch of Genya’s tailoring. Her nails dug into her palms, and she was sure they would leave deep marks. It was all Genya could do to allow Alina to distract herself with conversation. “You don’t need to do anything differently,” Alina continued. You’re already showing solidarity with me.” She tapped the embroidery on Genya's cuffs, causing her to tear her eyes away from Alina’s now rouged cheeks. “Sun Summoner gold. We match.” Genya smiled at her, amber eyes lighting up gold. Those were the eyes Alina found she could spend hours staring at. Carefully tailored, and still so raw.

“Well, speaking of Sun Summoners.” Genya said, raising herself from her seat on the vanity with a soft sniff. She opened one of its drawers and pulled out a small box. “I figured someone of your status deserves at least one proper gift.” She handed Alina the box. It was blue, the exact shade of the Kefta that hung on her chair, and had a sun painted on its lid. She looked at Genya’s amber eyes, then opened it. Sat there inside, in its soft velvet cushion in full gleaming glory, was a ring. It was a delicate thing; gold, most likely real, spiraled into a dainty sun with an opalescent gemstone in its center. It was beautiful, and looked the work of a Fabrikator. “It isn’t much,” Genya began. “I had David make it. I wasn’t sure-”

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Genya. Really.” She held her hand out to the tailor, offering her the ring. She took it, slipping it onto the ring finger of Alina’s right hand. A small flush filled Genya’s perfect cheeks, illuminating the soft yellow in her perfect eyes. She took the Summoner’s hand and examined the ring, tilting it and raising it to the light. It shimmered as it was moved, painting soft fractures of light onto Genya’s face. It made her eyes seem paler, like sun through honey.

“It fits.” She said with a sigh. “That’s a relief.”

“Perfectly.” Alina said, admiring the shine of its gemstone and the glitter of the gold band as she moved her hand. “Tell David I commend his work.”

“If he ever looks up from it for more than ten seconds, I’ll make sure I do.” They laughed, and then Genya moved behind her, pulling Alina’s hair back from her face. She looked into the looking glass on the vanity, then out the large window above it.

“I suppose we better get you ready. You’re supposed to enter at nightfall. Dramatic contrast and all that.” Alina rolled her eyes, but allowed Genya to do the hard work of pinning her hair up.

“You know, I think you’d look good blonde. You’d suit light colors. It’d bring out your eyes.” She said, doing something Alina could not fathom with a few strands of her hair.

“Yes, well you think I’d look good with every hair color other than my own.” Genya shrugged.

“I don’t see why I can’t recommend what I think would look good. That’s my job, after all.” Alina gazed out the window.

“It’s also your job to get me ready on time .” Genya cussed, seeing the deep coal gray of nightfall tearing apart the sky’s lovely dusk, and hurried her work.

By the time Genya was rushing her to get dressed, her hair had been done-up in some kind of elaborate coiffure. It sat fairly low on her head, and she could feel the soft swoop of some tailored hair on her neck. It was coiled up in soft waves and braids, accented with small pins of gold suns. In the front, two tendrils hung loose, framing her face with their curls. She couldn’t stop herself staring in the vanity, at every angle, trying to put words to every small detail. For once, she did not look plain, even though she still looked like herself. It was a wonder Genya was not classed as a Saint, looking at the miracles her hands could work.

The dress had been put on with a haste that only Genya’s band of servants could achieve, and she was ready in under five minutes; five long, long minutes. The dress was indescribably thin, but warm, as though she were covered in a blanket of smoke. A very beautiful, court-like blanket. Alina fiddled with her new ring, twisting the band round and round the base of her finger. Relief seemed to be bonded to its delicate metal. Relief could not save her from the fear of walking down multitudes of stairs with the long, silk train that followed her like a serpent. As if those stairs couldn’t get any worse.

Genya took her arm, and a young blonde girl in the same gold and white took her train, and they exited the room. The stairs were, as always, fatal. Alina had to grip onto Genya’s arm and the thin banister on multiple occasions to stop herself from tripping and arriving torn and bruised.

The walk was short, by description, but it felt impossibly long. Would the nerves of being classed a “miracle'' ever truly cease? Some incessant ramblings from the Apparat rang in her ears, and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Despite his obsession with creeping her out, he may have been right. She hadn’t done a practical demonstration before, not since the performance she’d put on in the Darkling’s tent back in Kribirsk. She wouldn’t have counted that, though. It was the work of him and his amplification. It wasn’t her power, not back then.

She reached for Genya, wanting a few whispered words of encouragement, or an “I’ll find you later”, but the girl was already gone, her fiery hair long out of view. Perhaps she’d gone to hunt down David, or perhaps she’d been called away by one of the Queen’s servants for some last minute touch-ups. With the comfort of her only friend gone, Alina could at least revel in the comfort of the Little Palace. Since the night was, supposedly, about her, it was allowed to commence in her abode. It was somewhat a relief that she did not have to make the trek to the Grand Palace. Besides, she liked the idea of being shown off twice; once on her own terms, here, and once on Ravka’s, at the Grand Palace during the winter fête.

The loud bustle of the room fell quiet, and Alina felt slightly sad that it hadn’t when she had entered. The corridor outside the domed hall was full of Grisha, each in their kefta lined with soft fox fur. Each of them except her, that was; if the Darkling could not make her stand out in his deep black, she supposed he would find a way. Speak of the devil , she thought. Approaching from one of the various arches was the Darkling himself. He was clad in his kefta , too. She made a note to mention it to Genya later. She knew the Tailor lived vicariously through her, and perhaps would enjoy the tales of her being the center of attention where Alina herself did not.

The Darkling approached, his coal-black hair pushed back. He clearly had not had the work of a Tailor imposed on him, but given the sharp slice of his features and the fact he’d be cloaked in darkness for most of the demonstration, Alina supposed it didn’t matter. He held out his arm for her to take, and she obliged, resting her palm on the top of his wrist. That certainty flooded through her like a wave - it was reassuring, but she was glad it was not a feeling she had to rely on to call her powers anymore. That same certainty led her to the makeshift stage, directly beneath the dome. It was that certainty which steadied her when the darkness consumed everything, including the twinkling Fabrikatored lights that had been strung up around the heights of the ceiling. It was that same certainty that allowed her to summon and split beams of pure sunlight, despite the Darkling’s hands being nowhere near her skin. It was that certainty that made her display go by in a whirl of sighs and gasps and soft murmurs from the crowd, until the murmurs became loud and the darkness receded.

Alina had not come down from the pride of summoning light yet. The show was less flashy than it would have been at the fête, Genya had made Alina sure of that. The Darkling, clearly, was not on any pride. He immediately excused himself and made his way to the Tsar and Tsaritsa, striking conversation on something Alina could not and probably did not want to hear. Then, she was once again alone. She debated searching for Genya’s head of fiery red hair, or looking around for Marie or Nadia or even Zoya, but decided against it. Their kefta were the same deep blue, and it would be impossible for her to search in the packed confines of the domed hall.

She could feel the room’s eyes on her; all blank stares, with no substance. It was the eyes of aristocrats hungry for power, and merchants desperate for the opportunities West Ravka would bring with the destruction of the fold. It was the eyes of a desperate people looking at their Saint, their Sun Summoner. The eyes of a people, a nation, who put their trust in her as a symbol, not a person. Not in her. Perhaps it was better that way; she was content with being a symbol if it alleviated some of the pressure, made her larger than herself, made people look beyond who she really was.

She plastered on a smile, a habit she had grown accustomed to in Kribirsk, and let the swarms of nobility take her. There were questions and prayers, and the demand for an acknowledgement of certain rumors (many of which she had to hide offense at - her status as an orphan and a member of the Second Army was clearly a subject of interest for the wealthy), all of which she did her best to answer pleasantly. One woman had requested a blessing, an uncomfortable occurrence that was becoming far too frequent for a girl who did not know how to bless, and who certainly wasn’t going to ask the Apparat for help in learning.

By the time one wave had ended, another took its place. She was surrounded by a cluster of people at all times; the devout, the wealthy, the skeptical. None of them seemed to discriminate in invading her personal space. She had to restrain herself from sighing when a servant came to fetch her for the monarchs. It was an odd feeling to have.

She realized, after a few minutes of enabling their questions, that the Tsar intended only to gawk at her, and the Tsaritsa to observe her with her odd too-blue eyes at any angle she could crane her neck to reach. Alina wasn’t sure why, but she half expected the Tsarevich to be here; though, given Genya’s gossip about his habits, she wasn’t sure she would have wanted him here, anyway. The Darkling had, evidently, been swept away by his duties, and Alina felt a sadness that she wasn’t important enough for him to stay.

“So, Sun Summoner.” The King started. Then, his voice took on a hushed tone. “When will the Unsea be destroyed?” She understood, then, the earlier claims of the King being a child. Such topics were best left to war rooms and Darklings, not Alina Starkovs who had no clue when or how to destroy the fold. It was foolish to discuss such matters in the open, where many foreign ambassadors had sat, amazed by her light show. Even then, it had been subpar. The Darkling had ensured her power not be shown in full, as to not let the surrounding countries know of Ravka’s true progress. It didn’t make much of a difference; her power had grown, but it was still growing, and nowhere near the power needed to destroy the fold. Even so, she was grateful for the excuse to have less people trying to kill her.

Alina turned her gaze to the King’s watery eyes. “I do not know, Moi Tsar.” He seemed dissatisfied with the answer. She supposed that was a thing to remedy. “But, I can assure you it will be soon. The Darkling has made that clear to me.” A lie, but one that proved to work. The King gave a satisfied huff, and waved his hand, conversing with a servant to bring him more kvas. Alina took her moment to escape, slipping to the side of the room behind one of the intricate pillars. She’d been in the room countless times, passed through it every day, but it felt foreign covered in the stench of alcohol and the energy of celebration. It was then, breathing deeply in, that she realized how suffocating the crowds had been. She felt hot, and could feel redness creeping up her neck. Her eyes darted around the room. Everyone was preoccupied with their gossip and their drinks. She surveyed the door at the end of the hall. She stuck out like a beam of sunlight in a dark room. There was no way she could sneak out. At least, in a room of sober people, maybe. She’d never been much of a drinker, but at that moment, she’d never been more thankful for alcohol.

She hiked up her skirt slightly, and began to walk, ignoring the image of Genya’s disapproving face in her mind at her gathered silks. She dodged and darted groups of people, but each was too drunk to properly notice her. It was all she could do to keep herself from sprinting once she had passed the entrance, and she made her way down the familiar halls of the Little Palace.

She approached the carved doors of the library, peeking her head in. The large room was empty, and it was dark without the daylight to pour in through its many windows. She entered, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could, and then she slid down the door, her dress crumpling beneath her. She could have sat there for hours, but her back began to ache against the heavy wood after mere minutes, and she rose from the carpeted floors. She made her way up to the second floor, and sat herself down on one of the plush chairs on the balcony. The banisters were chiseled from the finest marble. It occurred to her that she’d never actually been on the balconies; though, theory and history had almost put her off the library altogether. The balcony overlooked the grounds beyond the Palace. She could make out the expanse of lush forest, though the onset of winter had plucked some of the leaves from the trees, and their bare branches were lacquered in a frosty sheen. She could make out the glittering of still water in the far distance, unidentifiable aside the track of light that contrasted its deep abyss.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Genya’s clear voice made Alina jump. She whipped her head round, and the redhead stood at the door to the balcony, her hands on her hips. Surely enough, she had changed her hair. It was done up in a bun of some sort (not as elaborate as Alina’s, of course, as to not steal her thunder) and her ears were decorated with small sun studs. Alina groaned.

“Sorry. I just couldn’t take it in there for another second.” Genya sighed sympathetically and rested her arms on the balcony’s railings, looking out.

“That bad, huh?” Alina laughed dryly.

“The King practically couldn’t hold a conversation with the amount of kvas he'd had, and he had the nerve to ask me about the shadow fold!” Genya giggled, but Alina could see the crease in her brow at the mention of the King, and the breath that escaped in a visible plume at the mention of his drunkenness. She swiftly tried to change the topic, and Alina let her.

“If you wish to run away and hide from all social functions, perhaps I should have David give you lessons.”

“Did you go and see him?” Genya studied the hems of her kefta .

“No,” she said. “I was busy with some other things. You know how the Queen’s court is.” She didn’t, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I’m glad you managed to get out. I’d rather be here with you than in there.” Alina confessed. Genya smiled and turned her head to face Alina, a wisp of hair falling over her face.

“Oh? Don’t tell the Darkling that. He might not offer his colors up again.”

“I don’t want his colors.” she said with an exasperated sigh, which formed into a shared giggle. “Really, though. Thank you for coming to find me.” Alina stood and joined Genya at the railing. “They kept talking to me like I wasn’t there. They asked me questions, but it was like they were asking the gunman of a canon. Like they were just asking me about the specifics of a weapon I controlled.” “Like you were an object?” Alina nodded, and the understanding in Genya’s eyes was unmistakable, and heartbreaking.

“I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, Genya, I didn’t think, I-” Alina stuttered over her words, trying to remedy herself. Genya placed her hands on Alina’s cheeks. Her eyes flicked over the Summoner’s features, admiring her own work; the soft darkness on her eyelids, the pink of her lips and the glow of her cheekbones. She smiled to herself, and laughed as Alina struggled to say her words, getting more frustrated as Genya did so.

“Alina,” Genya said, tenderly; she never said anything without perfect grace. Her voice was sweet, like honey, or fresh flowers in the meadow, or a soft kiss. It was kind, and Alina stopped her humiliating attempt at explaining herself. She glanced up and met Genya’s amber eyes; she could have mistaken them for stars in the late darkness. “Shut up.” Genya said, and then in one fluid movement, their lips were together. It was only a brush, there and then gone, but the moment they touched, she felt something she’d never felt before. Hunger, greed, desire. No name could describe the soft, delicate craving she had. Genya’s eyes had fluttered closed, her perfect lashes fanning over her perfect cheeks, her lips pulled in their perfect smile. Her face was flushed, basked in the soft blue moonlight. No Saint could have matched her then. With her control all but lost, Alina cupped the redhead’s cheek and closed the distance between them once more. She recalled the kiss she’d had with the Darkling by the lake, but even that felt wrong to compare. It was nothing to how she felt now. Her stomach was warm, as though an Inferni had sparked a flame in her belly and brought it up, out her mouth and onto her lips. It was a sensation she lusted and hungered for, and one she wanted to savor; she didn’t want it to end. It did, of course, and Genya pulled away again, breathing heavily. They rested their foreheads together, and shared silence. Alina would have shared the emptiness of the fold with Genya if she only asked for it. And then, they laughed, and smiled, and Genya peppered her flushed cheeks with more kisses, as though they were an abundance she needed to get rid of.

Above, onlookers to a girl’s first love, the stars twinkled, and the moon bore down on them in a divine spotlight. It was as though Fate saw them and only them, then; pushed together by the Saints and celebrated by the forces of nature. The Sun Summoner and her colorless Grisha ; how fitting was it for their love to be given in darkness? How fitting was it for their love to be given where a thousand small suns glittered idly above them? It was perfect. Genya was perfect, everything was perfect. And whilst it might not be fated to last, it would be fated to be true, as sunlight is to the day. And they would be fated to each other.

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #the stars and her sun #grishaverse #shadow and bone #ao3 #genyalina #gvbb #genya safin #alina starkov #alina and genya #alina x genya #darkling slander #s&b trilogy #my fic

[rukiakwashere]

The Goat Who Wished to Be a Saint

hi, this is my work for the Grishaverse Mini Bang 2022, hosted by @grishaversebigbang ! Hope you’ll enjoy it !

Don’t forget to check out the wonderful work of these artists:

Materialki: @lightleckrereins (here) and @margot-arts (here)

Thank you for bringing Milo to life !

Summary: “Milo’s first challenge on the road to Sainthood proved to be none other than himself… or more like, his nature as a goat. See, he soon came to realise that all other Saints were annoyingly human. Well, admittedly, one had something to do with bees and another could become a dragon, but they could still talk and preach their ways into becoming Saints.”

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38776608/chapters/96959187

Chapter one under cut:

Milo was a goat. It was an indefinite truth he had been born with. His mother was a goat. His father was a goat. His brothers and sisters were goats. Not that goats really exercised a family network. They just were. They ate greens, walked in the field and slept. 

Occasionally a fellow goat would go missing and the rest of them simply would not care. They just carried on eating and walking and sleeping. 

And that routine went on perfectly until Milo himself was the one who went missing. A burly man purchased him and instead of sending him to goat-heaven, he insisted on carrying Milo around with him wherever, because, supposedly, Milo’s fur offered “comfort” and “stability”. Milo really wanted to bite that man’s ass someday.

And that’s pretty much how Milo ended up in the arms of a tall and dark human who was squeezing him like crazy and talking in Milo’s ear. Milo wanted to get out of there. Instead, Milo kept still, sitting in between that tall man and two others; a male with a stick and a smaller female, and the burly man. Milo was having no fun, but at least, it looked like the other four weren’t taking any pleasure in their situation either.

---

Milo’s fate changed when the tall man decided to grab him and drag him with them instead of leaving him inside the disgusting creature that the humans referred to as “transportation”. Milo didn’t know if it was good or bad luck. He didn’t care either. He was a goat and the matters of fate didn’t concern him.

The dark-skinned man, who he later learned, was named Jesper, was obsessed with Milo. He was carried along as the three humans continued their journey, to the cane-man’s -Kaz- disapproval;

“It’s a goat, Jesper.”

“My point exactly! He’s a soft and kind goat who doesn’t complain and understands me perfectly.”

If Milo could speak, he would probably comment on the understanding Jesper part. He bleated instead. Jesper pointed at him in approval and so they continued along.

Milo left the gang when they reached a city. Was it the capital? It was larger than he had ever seen. So many buildings, yet wide streets and not that many people. Maybe it wasn’t the capital. He had heard once that the capital was scary. But this was not.

“Bring the goat.”

“Its name is Milo.” Jesper retorted as he handed Milo to Kaz. The two seemed to never agree on Milo’s name but they somehow never seemed angry about it. It reminded Milo of his relationship with his brothers and their play-fighting. 

And that was how Milo ended up in a stranger’s hands and Jesper was standing above him, saying goodbyes and tying a bullet around his neck. Milo let out a weak bleat as the man turned away. He hadn’t realised until then that it mattered to see him go. He was sad to be left behind.

---

His life progressed more naturally after that. He was put into a barn along with other goats. He learned he was in Balakirev, not the capital after all. He tried to acquaint himself with the other goats… 

He was left with an odd feeling of unfulfillment. He was destined for greater things than sitting and munching grass! The other goats stopped paying him attention when he asked about where they had come from or where in the world they had happened to be, and Milo soon decided to stop paying any attention to them too. 

He didn’t care if it was out of spite or boredom that one day he wandered too far off the grounds and got lost in the nearby woods.

He had found a place where the fence was loose in his many midday explorations of the plain and gradually he had grown more daring in slipping out. He always made sure to be back by the time they were all ushered inside. Nights were cold.

As the sun fell he unconsciously went after the small light and warmth he felt in the distance that proved to be a bonfire. 

Two humans were sitting around it, their backs slightly turned to Milo. They both turned around, suddenly alert as the goat moved some branches after losing his step. 

Milo froze. He felt like two predators were closing in. The man had a knife out and the woman had spread her hands wide. Even though she wasn’t holding a weapon, Milo felt oddly more threatened by her than by the large man next to her.

A millisecond later they both exhaled loudly, falling back to laughing and Milo stepped slowly to the back. His instinct both urged him to run and stay put. 

“It’s just a goat.” The woman said with a smile. She extended her hand, beckoning Milo to come closer. “Hi goat!”

“But what is it doing here?” The man next to her had lowered his knife but still seemed troubled by his appearance. “In the forest, in the middle of the night?”

“Calm down, Matthias. What is it going to do to you?” The woman stood up and approached him slowly. Milo didn’t bother running away. 

“How odd.” She muttered, her fingers tangling around Milo’s bullet necklace. “Where did you run away from Milo?”

Nina didn’t expect an answer so Milo just bleated in response.

The duo seemed to be good enough company. They were heading towards the sea in hopes to make it to Kerch grounds before anyone noticed them. Milo didn’t really have a choice but tagging along.

Nina never got tired of petting Milo’s head and talking to him, mainly of the Fjerdans, and most of all of the one sitting next to her and occasionally cutting into her monologue. 

“... So, at that point the ice broke and that doofus had the nerve to save me. You hear, Milo?” She paused to bite on her cake. “The nerve!” She pointed at her friend, her eyes wide, betraying her fondness.

“You should be grateful, witch.”

“Oh, I’m eternally in your debt, your highness.” Nina mock-bowed and finally Matthias cracked a smile.

Where Nina was easy to please, stocking up on sweets every time they passed through a village and talking and petting and approaching Milo with no second thought, the tall blonde posed a mystery to Milo.

The Fjerdan seemed to be wary of him which was something the goat had never experienced before. Matthias was constantly watching him but wasn’t attentive of him in the same way Nina followed him around. He didn’t talk to Milo, only referred to him when he had to.

Milo was oddly annoyed at his inability to charm the blond.

---

Milo bleated and Matthias looked at him in confusion. The two of them were standing outside a market that Nina had chosen to scavenge for sweets. 

Milo bleated again and Matthias shifted uncomfortably. The goat was starting to enjoy the way the big man tensed.

Their one-sided convo, though, was interrupted by Nina’s loud laugh.

“Oh, come on Druskelle don’t tell me you’re scared of a goat.” She teased as she approached, her bag once again full.

“I’m- I’m not scared of it!” Matthias was quick to retort. “It’s just that… it’s a weird goat, don’t you think? What kind of normal goat follows humans around and bleats when you ask it something.” 

“It’s just a goat.” 

“Witches like you worship much less.”

The female laughed. “You don’t know that much of our history.”

“I know enough to realise that literally everything became a Saint at some point.” 

“Lies.” The girl stuck out her tongue, reaching to pat Milo in between his ears. “Saint Milo the goat.” She muttered nonchalantly and the male laughed, momentarily forgetting about his goat introspections. 

The two continued bickering, not refraining to send fond looks at each other. Milo had long realised that was their natural form of communication.

Still, that small sentence was enough to change Milo’s perspective. For once in his life he had a goal, a purpose… because, why not?! 

Milo was going to become a Saint.

---

I hope you enjoyed it so far ! Next part is going to be updated in ao3 at some point this week ! 

#gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #The Goat Who Wished to Be a Saint #Saint Milo #Six of Crows #Milo the goat #Shadow and Bone

[zemenipearls]

Whenever You Enter a New Land, it's Best to Leave an Offering

Pirate Zoya and Mermaid Alina fic for 2022 @grishaversebigbang mini bang! Shout out to my artists as well, @songbee (x) and @denndrawings (x)!!! Link to AO3 Fic here

(Teaser below)

She conquered the seas until people whispered her name.

The Queen of Storms.

Whether she brought the lightning with her, they didn’t know. But when they saw Zoya Nabri, standing fiercely at the helm of a ship sailed by the Wraith, Inej Ghafa, men shook in their boots. Two Suli women should never have been able to take over the seas, at least not in their eyes. But instead, they left destruction and sunken ships in their wake. Men who wanted too much, who overstepped their bounds. 

Zoya Nabri, Queen of Storms, her name a whispered prayer of fear. But she didn’t have mercy for them. Not for terrible men. They took the girls from their ships, which had been captured from all over the world, covered in the blood of men that hurt them. And Zoya felt strong. Then she let the sea swallow them whole. She couldn’t make the girls forget that they had been stolen, but she could make them disappear from the earth and never harm anyone again. 

She hoped that their corpses would float to the bottom of the sea as some lifeless thing, feeding the fishes and sharks as they ascended to the ocean floor, where light would never touch them. In death, they would bring something good to the world. They returned to the heart of everything, as fish food.

#zoya nabri #zoya nazyalensky #alina starkov #pirate zoya #mermaid alina #mermay #wlw fic #shadow and bone #grishaverse #the grisha trilogy #gvbbmb22 #gvbbmbfic22 #whenever you enter a new land

[nazyalenskyism]

The Set Up

a/n: It's been a while, but here's a fic for this year's @grishaversebigbang . Attached below are the pieces created by the amazing artists I got to work with to make this fic! Be sure to check them out!

Materialki: @cosmicjiver (find the piece here x) @justagrishafae (find the piece here x)

Summary: Nikolai ropes Zoya into helping him with his university goal … setting up their friends. Playing Cupid leads to revelations about their own feelings that they've spent years trying to push down, and they're forced to reckon with how they really feel.

Ao3: The Set Up

“One caramel macchiato with three shots of espresso and a vanilla-raspberry donut.” Nikolai slid the order across the table, watching Zoya’s eyes narrow as it slid closer and closer to her.

“The closest starbucks is blocks away from the donut shop. You don’t even like donuts, so what do you want?” Classic Zoya, she would never accept a gift without checking what strings were attached. Still, she never missed an opportunity to take his offerings. 

“I wanted to treat my vice president. Is that really so unbelievable?” He had been bringing in food while the two of them worked late into the night on student-body issues but despite this, she was still as suspicious as she had been the first time he’d done it. Like he said, classic Zoya.

“Tell me what you want or get out, Nikolai.”

“I need your help.”

Zoya wrinkled her nose, “no thank you.” At least she was being polite, four years ago she would’ve slammed the door in his face. Oh how far they’d come.

“That’s not very nice.” “I’m not very nice.” 

“Come on, Nazyalensky. All I want is a little bit of help setting up Kaz Brekker.”

She perked up, “setting up Kaz Brekker as in, framing him for a crime?” 

“You sound way too happy about the prospect of getting Kaz locked up. Besides, we’re the heads of the student body, we’re not supposed to be endorsing criminal activity.”

“We wouldn’t be endorsing criminal activity, we’d be partaking in it, there’s a difference. Anyways, he deserves to be locked up for that haircut alone.” She wasn’t wrong, the haircut was awful, but that was besides the point.

He dropped the jesting tone from his voice, “I want to set him up with Inej.”

She stared at him. For a minute, then two, and as used to as Nikolai was to Zoya’s staring contests, her opposition on this would be costly. She was the only person who wouldn’t be scared by Kaz’s threats of enucleation. Finally she spoke, waving a dismissive hand at him before turning back to her work. “That sounds like a death wish.”

“I’ve been thinking about my legacy at this fine institution, and I want to go out with a bang.” 

“Being student president isn’t enough? Your wish will definitely come true if you try to meddle in Kaz Brekker’s personal life.” 

“Zoya, dear,” he sighed, “think about it. Wouldn’t Kaz be less of a menace if he wasn’t pining all the time? If we don’t meddle, they may never acknowledge their feelings. Is that what you want for them? Besides, why stop there? We’ll set up Matthias and Nina, Jesper and Wylan too.” 

“I’ve been without love for as long as I can remember, and I’m fine.” She ignored the wounded look aimed her way. As much as he acted like he could deny it, he never would. Denying meant a confession that would ruin everything. Maybe there’s a reason they don’t consider their feelings. That’s what she thought whenever she looked at Nikolai. Gone were the days of toying with boys at frat parties just to see if she could, it had never been like that between them, it never would be. But that didn’t stop the foolish part of her that hoped that he felt what she did, that she wasn’t alone in this. They had been partners in nearly every way for the last four years, and graduation meant that there was a very strong possibility that they wouldn’t be for much longer. And yet, she couldn’t bear the thought of not being on the same page as him for this. Tell me the reason you don’t show me how you feel is because you understand why you can’t. It would be so much easier than facing the truth, that maybe there was nothing there, or that if there was, that they were on the precipice of something that could destroy the friendship they’d worked for. 

Graduating meant fresh starts, new beginnings, a clean slate. She would be free of this feeling once she walked out the doors, free of this burden. Zoya agreed to go along with his plan because in the end, she knew that no number of moments with Nikolai would ever be enough. ___

That was how Nikolai ended up walking through the “International Sailing Expo,” at the docks with Inej a week later. Nikolai had met Inej through Kaz, funnily enough, and the two had become quick friends, despite what others, particularly Kaz, thought. They saw eye to eye on most things, were both optimists despite their more pessimistic –no– realistic best friends, and above all else, they both loved the sea. Sailing meant freedom, a reclamation and an escape for both of them. 

Visiting the Expo had been a no-brainer, they sailed together often and hung out outside of that often too, sometimes with their mutual friends, sometimes without. One of the things that had always intrigued him most about Inej was how she affected Kaz Brekker. He was unreadable, mysterious, probably involved in some illicit activities, but the second Inej was even mentioned? He was so predictable it was almost uncharacteristic. No one outside of his little friend circle had figured it out, that much was clear, the problem was that it wasn’t clear if Kaz truly knew how he felt. He’d been questioning her for what seemed like forever, but he still couldn’t figure out why she and Kaz were at odds right now. 

“I think I want to try a solo-sailing trip,” Inej commented, once he’d finished recounting a particular trip of his. He’d loved his adventure, that trip had been the beginning of truly knowing himself, yet despite all the things he’d learned about himself then, the thing that stood out most to him now was how much he wished to do it again, but with someone at his side. Salt air, the moon shimmering in the water, raven black locks brushing his skin, an always serious face pressed against his shoulder, basking in the summer moonlight, relaxed in his arms. His dreams had really been getting out of hand lately. 

“Do you have any plans for the summer?” He asked, trying to blink away nights of loosely threaded dreams. 

“I signed up for the university’s sailing classes at the fourth harbour.” So she had been listening to him. Nikolai had forgotten how nice it was to have someone who not only valued but looked up to his opinions because they thought that he mattered beyond what the wider perception of him was. His time in the summer sailing classes had been amazing, it was where he’d met Tolya and Tamar, where he’d come into his own, and if they provided a fraction of that happiness for Inej, he would be glad. While she had way more of an idea of who she was than he had at the time, there was always something to be learned about yourself when you were faced with the open sea. Maybe she’d feel ready to take on a solo-sail too.

“What about the others?”

“Nina enrolled in cooking classes so she can make her own waffles, Matthias wants to get certified as a ballroom dancing instructor, Jesper’s trying to plan a road trip but everyone’s busy, and Wylan got an internship at the same labs as David Kostyk.” Nikolai made note of it all, he would be needing it later, as soon as he got the information he really wanted from Inej. 

“And Kaz?”

Inej’s face darkened, “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Inej. If you don’t know, who would?”  Not only was she famed among their friends for being the all-knower of their secrets but she was the only one who knew anything about Kaz. Well, the only one other than Tamar, and him, he needed to know what was happening on every part of campus anyways.

She closed her eyes, tipping her face up towards the sun. “Ask Kaz, I don’t know what he wants.” And then, so quietly that he might’ve missed, “I don’t think he does either.” Her brow was furrowed, and Nikolai felt a pang in his chest. Inej was an excellent friend, but beyond that, he didn’t think he’d met a better person, someone as truly unselfish as her. Everything she did showed that she respected herself and others, even her anger at Kaz wasn’t from a place of personal hurt, but concern for him. She wouldn’t mend the part of him that was afraid of what he felt between them, but she wanted him to work on it for himself, above all else. Nikolai was a greedy creature by nature, he hoarded memories and moments, afraid they would slip through his fingers like love once had. The blue ribbon in his pocket was evidence enough, wound around his fingers when he felt anxious, but hidden from the world in the confines of his clothing all the same. He was greedy, but he wished he wasn’t. Nikolai wished he could go more than five seconds in the same room with Zoya without longing to tell her how he felt, how he suspected she felt. But he was greedy, he didn’t want to lose the Zoya he knew for a Zoya who might not wish to know him anymore, not after making it clear she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. He would keep their relationship as it was, because he couldn’t stand to lose her.

What Inej said was interesting, though . He had hoped things would sail rather smoothly, he would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that a bit of a challenge always made things more fun. But Inej was his friend, and for all his meddling, he wanted her happy, that’s why he was meddling. Perhaps he and Brekker were more alike than he thought, and it was for that exact reason that he couldn’t be the one to talk to him about this. He hated being a hypocrite, and Kaz would see right through him on this

The gears in his mind wanted to set to work, formulating possible plans, but he was still here with his friend, possibly for the last time, his plotting could wait. “Do you want to check out the Wraith?” 

He didn’t think he’d ever heard Inej surprised, “it’s here?” 

“It docked last night. It was a surprise addition to the exhibit.” He watched her eyes flit over the exhibit guide on her phone, finding no mention of the Wraith.

“How many strings did you have to pull to make that happen?” She tried for a teasing look, but she was bursting with excitement, arms crossed over her chest as if she could contain it. 

“I didn’t.” At her incredulous look, he amended, “they didn’t want to listen to me, but Zoya made a call and after a few choice words, they agreed.” It was Inej’s turn to cast a knowing look at him, “Zoya’s quite the force.” “You’re telling me.”

“You seem like you need reminding.” “Believe me, I know.” Even if he were stuck at sea, alone for years, he didn’t think he would manage to forget a single detail about Zoya Nazyalensky, even if he wanted to. ___

‘Tlk 2 kz abt smr plns’ 

That was all she’d heard from Nikolai in the last two days, which would’ve worried her considering he could hardly go a few hours without texting her. Genya thought it was a typo, David thought he might be in medical distress, she was too low on coffee to care, but Tamar had finally figured it out; Zoya was supposed to figure out what Kaz’s summer plans were. Fantastic. If there was one thing she hated more than small talk, it was small talk with Kaz Brekker. She didn’t care about Kaz but she did like Inej, and Nikolai was right, there were definitely feelings between the two of them, everyone could see the way they snuck glances at each other when the other wasn’t looking.

It was only because she wanted Inej to be happy, and for Nikolai to shut up that she found herself stepping into the studyroom that everyone knew ‘belonged’ to the person she was looking for. “Kaz.”

“Zoya Nazyalensky.”

“How are you? It’s been a while.” Maybe her time spent with Nikolai hadn’t been completely useless, if she’d had to talk to him last year, she wouldn’t have gotten even this far. As always, it seemed like Lantsov had upped her annoyance tolerance.

He raised a brow, cutting right to the chase. “What do you want?”

Nope, nevermind. She was as bad as she had been last year. “Bold of you to assume I would ever want anything from you.”

“Okay. Then leave.” It was amazing how different he and Nikolai were. Brekker was a man of such few words. He shifted to close the door with his crow-headed cane but Zoya slipped into the room before it shut. She needed to come up with a way to get answers since her intimidation tactics never got anything out of him. She never had a penchant for bullshitting like Nikolai did, so she tried her best to channel his charmingly underhanded questioning technique. “The Student body is doing a survey–”

“No they’re not.” 

“--Wanting to see how many students are staying on campus this summer so that we can plan our events accordingly,” she finished. “So.”

“Why do you want to know what I’m doing this summer?”

“I just said–”

“You’re not as good at lying as Lantsov.” Zoya rolled her eyes. So much for that strategy. “If you don’t tell me, Nikolai will be the next one through this door and you know that once he starts, he never shuts up. So tell me, Brekker, are you going to tell me the truth so that we never have to talk to each other again, or are you going to spend your Friday night getting your ears chatted off by Nikolai?”

“You know that I know Jesper Fahey, right?” Kaz gave her an unamused look, but he hadn’t ignored her, so she took her chance.

“Are you staying in the city?

“Yes. I got an internship at the Merchant Council.”

She tried to hide her surprise. She knew Kaz was smart, but the Merchant Council was the most cutthroat company to get into, usually all three internships went to nepotism babies. “And what about Inej? Do you know what she’s doing?”

“She’s taking that sailing course that Lantsov told her about.” If she didn’t know any better, she would think that Kaz clipped himself off before saying more. Maybe her time with Nikolai had turned her brain into a hopeless romantic mess, but she was thinking something along the lines of , “the one where she’s gone all summer.” 

So that’s what this was about. It was just as she’d suspected, Kaz Brekker was just a boy, and like every other boy, he didn’t want to lose what he loved. It would be endearing if it wasn’t him, but she would help, for Inej’s sake. Nikolai would argue that it was the romantic in her fighting to break free, but she rejected that, she was the furthest thing from romantic, but she knew what it felt like to… having certain feelings for someone you weren’t sure would ever return your feelings. Inej was in the same limbo she was, and where she couldn’t get an answer for herself, she would get it for her friend.

“Not everyone who takes the course does the fall semester at-sea,” he would hate it if he thought she was pitying him in any way. “I thought Lantsov would leave me without a competent lab partner for a year, but he didn’t. He spent the summer at the docks and came right back.” But things wouldn’t be the same anymore. They would graduate, and for all they knew, they would be on opposite sides of the globe, with no idea when they’d come back to each other. Zoya shook herself off, this wasn’t about her. This was about helping Inej, and Kaz, as much as she hated to admit it.

“You think he’s competent?”

“Barely, but that’s better than the rest of the people here.”

“That’s high praise from you though, isn’t it?”

It was, but it was what Nikolai deserved, despite her initial reservations about him, he’d proved her wrong at every turn, she’d be a fool not to acknowledge how competent he was. But she didn’t appreciate the implication of his words. It was one thing for Genya to take up that tone with her, but from Brekker? Was he right, was she really that bad at concealing her emotions?

“It might be. Just like associating with you is high praise, yet you’ve let in a whole little group into your life. One of them a little more than the rest.” Nikolai would’ve been able to name the emotion that flickered over Kaz’s face for a split second, yet it was lost on her. Why is it so difficult to tell her how you feel? 

“And the point of all this is?”

You know what it is. “Is your friendship so weak that it’ll collapse if she leaves for a semester? 

“What?”

“The sailing courses are during the day. Your internship is during the day. You’re a nightowl, so are your friends. If you want to see them outside classes, you can. Nothing’s stopping you.

Kaz stared at her, but she suspected there was a hint of contemplation behind those dark eyes.

“Sometimes,” she finished, knowing that anything else she said wouldn’t be tolerated. “Letting go and watching what happens, gives you the answers you’ve been looking for.” With that, she slipped out of the room, hoping desperately that she hadn’t messed things up for either of them. ___

“So he’s afraid of losing her, and she’s upset he won’t come out and say why he’s afraid of it?” Nikolai shook his head, of course Kaz and Inej had to parallel how he felt, of course everything about this had to point out how ridiculous he was being. He was here, trying to get other people to follow their hearts, while doing mental gymnastics trying to avoid following his own heart.  Zoya was put-off by graduation, that much was obvious to him. They’d both been spending the last month applying to jobs on opposite ends of the earth, and with their luck, they’d find themselves apart mere weeks after they finished school. She’d never hinted that she would miss him, or that she felt any way about potentially moving away, but there was a tiny part of him that wished that she would. Even if she just admitted that she didn’t care, it would at least let his hopeful heart rest at night. 

Nikolai knew most friendships didn’t last forever, but the thought of losing her, of facing the rest of his life without her at his side, filled him with fear. It felt like he was destined to lose either way. If he told Zoya how he felt, she might not reciprocate, and so their friendship would be ruined by his foolish heart. If he didn’t tell her, she might leave and never come back, they’d spend their days drifting further and further apart until there was nothing but years of silence between them. 

“Yeah,” Zoya sighed. “I don’t know if anything I said worked on Brekker, but I think he knows… maybe it’s not too much to hope that he finally acts on it.”

“Hope? My, Zoya, what did you do with my most pessimistic vice president?” “You’re a terrible influence, what can I say?” She rolled her eyes at him, the simple action warming him up from the inside. Even when he might not have her, at least he would have this. These small moments that set him alight more than anything else with anyone else ever had. 

“I am an excellent influence,” he objected, leaning in. “You got through a whole conversation with Kaz without threatening him.”

“At least that would’ve been fun, instead I had to talk to him about emotions. Ewh.” 

“You can’t fool me, I know that deep down, you have at least one feeling, maybe even more.”

“Don’t make me laugh.” His greatest flaw had always been his audacity, but he couldn’t stop, he needed to know how she felt. “You like me. I think liking me is a feeling.” 

“I don’t like you, Nikolai.” 

There it was then, the final nail in his coffin. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? An answer so he could finally sleep easy at night? If that was what he wanted, why did he keep talking? “It’s been four years, Zoya. You don’t have to pretend you still hate me.”

She shook her head at him, as if she couldn’t believe just how ridiculous he was. “You’ve been my friend for years. That goes beyond like. I like Thursday, I like 

You’re like coffee, more than a like.”

Coffee.

He was like coffee. 

Coffee. The same thing Zoya couldn’t live without, those were her words. Did she just tell him she loved him? By the time he digested that particular thought, her face had closed off, and she was hastily shoving her things into her bag. 

“Zoya wait–”

“I have to go,” she muttered, all but running out the door. “I’ll call you about the other stuff. Nina or whatever.”

Nikolai stared at the empty doorway, what had just happened? He checked his phone every ten minutes for weeks, but she never called. ___

In the meantime, setting up the other two couples had been considerably less work. Or maybe that’s just how it felt because she was determined to focus all her energy on them, in an attempt to avoid an actual conversation with Nikolai. Why did she say that? You’re like coffee? What did that even mean? She may not have his silver tongue, but she’d never blundered a conversation that badly before. It had been a week, and every night before she went to bed, all she could think about was how close she’d been to caving and telling him how she felt. There’d been the strangest look in his eyes, and for a moment she’d wanted to believe that he felt the same way. He’d been close enough to kiss, and yet, she’d turned away, fleeing before she faced the reality that he didn’t reciprocate. 

It didn’t matter though, her moment of weakness had passed. She would be better now, even if it meant focusing on everyone elses’ emotions before hers.

Nina and Matthias were too wrapped up in their past hatred to see what had blossomed between them. There was a stubbornness in them both that exasperated Zoya, why couldn’t they just admit they liked each other now? But that made her notice how she was a hypocrite, weren’t she and Nikolai the height of stubbornness? Wasn’t she refusing to confront her emotions in the same way? It didn’t matter though, her situation was completely different, there was no use comparing it to others. 

She’d pushed this all to the back of her mind, implementing a plan to fix the chasm between the two. Their rigidity had been remedied by an accidental enrollment, Nina in Matthias’ dance class, and Matthias in Nina’s baking class. It hadn't been long before Zoya found herself stumbling across the pair in a quiet hallway, his hand nervously raking through his hair as he asked her out for coffee. The man who never ate sugar was now considering pastry school, and Nina, who loved being contrarian was considering a minor in dance of all things.  ___

Jesper and Wylan were just as easy to figure out. Wylan was stressed about making a name for himself at RavkaTech, and despite wanting to spend the summer with friends, the stress of his internship threatened to take over. Jesper was like himself, Nikolai realized, trying so hard to keep a façade, coming off as a flirt when all they wanted was a break from the unending fear and guilt of never being able to live up to expectations. He wanted an escape, a breath of fresh air, feelings Nikolai understood all too well. It hadn’t taken too much effort to convince David to mentor Wylan, show him the ropes of the company while also emphasizing the importance of maintaining a life outside the labs, of taking an actual break during summer vacation. That, and some advice from himself to Jesper, to ask for what he wanted instead of hoping Wylan would figure it out, and the pair were already done with the majority of their planning for a road trip a week later.

It was nice, he thought, being able to see all his friends happy. The only downside was that now, they were a week away from the end of the semester. He had one more week to see if Kaz and Inej would reconcile, one more week to come up with flimsy excuses to avoid Zoya after that moment in the office, when all he wanted to do was the opposite.  ___

Inej Ghafa: nikolai are you on campus

King Nikolai: whats up?

Inej Ghafa: i need help packing my dorm up for the year

King Nikolai: does that mean you’re doing the semester at sea????

Inej Ghafa: :D

King Nikolai: 💃💃

King Nikolai: did kaz figure out what he wants?

Inej Ghafa: he did. we’re taking the summer to figure things out for the fall. but yes, we’ll make it work. 

Inej Ghafa: i heard from a little birdie that zoya may have had something to do with his realisation? 

King Nikolai: really? i wouldnt know

Inej Ghafa: you’re not very slick, nikolai. everyone knows you two have been playing cupid. i think it’s cute

King Nikolai: didnt you need my help with something?

Inej Ghafa: you’re worried about a future without zoya, so you’re trying to spend as much time with her as you can. you’re like kaz but you deal with it in the opposite way. Zoya was right, men really are all the same. 

King Nikolai: have you talked to her lately? 

Inej Ghafa: haven't you?

King Nikolai: its complicated

Inej Ghafa: help me move my couch and i’ll listen 

King Nikolai: omw  ___ “You’re a terrible influence on her,” Zoya hissed, pacing back and forth in the empty dorm room. Inej had lied, her dorm was already empty, she didn’t need help moving.

“Me? You’re the reason she got involved in the first place! She literally quoted you while texting me.” “Only you would lock two people in a room and force them to talk, that’s what you’ve been doing for the past month! I don’t know why I ever agreed to help you.” 

“You’re right, at least she believes in talking. If it were you, you’d keep avoiding me,” he retorted.

“I’m avoiding you? You’ve been pulling away all year! The second I showed you a sliver of how I felt, you walked away. You’ve been avoiding me.” She jabbed her finger at his chest, furious at him, but angrier with herself. Why did she continue showing him her vulnerability, especially after he’d basically spurned her?

“You turned away first, I thought you were embarrassed, or that I’d misread the situation.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you ran away!” he burst out. “I’ve wanted to know for years, Zoya, if you felt the same way I did, if you loved me too… but when you walked away and avoided me for weeks, what was I supposed to think?”

“You– I told you I loved you,” she tried to argue, but her words came out quiet, and she was horrified to feel the sting of emotion behind her eyes.

“You told me I was like coffee, Zoya. I thought I knew what that meant, but your reaction proved the opposite so…”

“I’m not like you, I don’t know how to make things sound pretty, Nikolai. I just… I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” he asked, stepping towards her. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, it was hard enough to say the stupid words that had pulled them into this moment, but now that she knew she had nothing to lose, it was almost easy to let the truth out. “I love you, Nikolai. There. Are you happy?”  Zoya turned towards the door, ready to break down the door if it meant getting out of the suffocation that his proximity provided. 

His hand closed around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” She didn’t want to look at him.

“I am happy. I’ve loved you for years, do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words?” 

“Of course I know,” she snapped, turning to him. “How do you think I’ve been feeling?”

Nikolai blinked, “I– you…” 

“Don’t tell me Nikolai Lantsov ran out of words to say.”

“No, I have plenty to say,” he said. “I just need a second.” 

“I don’t really want to hear it,” she felt a grin of her own rivalling his as she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. She was sure he wanted to say a lot of things, but his words were lost as he drew her into him.

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