#gvbbrmbfic22

[nerdyhuntress]

A Knight’s Tale: Zoyalina Knight AU

Written for Grishaverse Reverse Mini-Bang 2022! Thanks to @tessorange-art for working on this with me!

Summary: Her attention was drawn to this fascinating tournament. A powerful Squaller had taken down several Inferni and Tidemakers with a few practiced flicks of her hand. Her gorgeous raven hair was woven into an intricate braid down her back. She wore a heavy suit of armor, but managed to move quickly like a bird in flight. She was quickly approaching the final battles and nobody had beaten her yet. 

Alina leaned over and asked a fellow Heartrender about the mysterious knight.“That one? Her name is Zoya Nazyalaneskya, your Highness,” Fedyor replied. “Would you like to meet her?”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44810311

[aceinejghafa]

on the magic inherent in snowflakes and in laughter

Kanej | Rated general | tw for canon-typical discussion of the slave trade

Summary: Ketterdam is grey, when the Wraith docks in berth twenty-two of Fifth Harbour.

Or, Kaz and Inej take a walk in the snow, ft. reflections on magic and absolutely zero plot. 

Materialki: @cassecorrea (art here)

Etherealki: @swift-creates (fic here)

A/N: My fic for the Grishaverse Reverse Mini Bang @grishaversebigbang!

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

Ketterdam is grey, when the Wraith docks in berth twenty-two of Fifth Harbour. Captain Inej Ghafa stands on deck, her hands on her hips, and looks out at the city that has broken her, rebuilt her, shaped her.

On second thought, maybe it’s not quite grey. It’s more black and white, city and snow mixed together and piled on top of each other until the first impression is that it’s all one grey mass. A closer look shows dark rooftops peeking out from underneath the snow, dark streets paled by drifts piling up to either side. The still-falling snow creates a mist that makes the city seem gentler, softer. 

Inej’s feelings for Ketterdam are complicated. Despicable things are done here, just as they are done everywhere else she has been — Ravka’s oppression of the Suli and general imperialist bent; Fjerda’s demonization and genocide of Grisha; Ketterdam’s refusal to value anything more than money. 

And yet, as everywhere, it’s a mix. Ravka has a half-Suli queen. Whatever Nina’s doing in Fjerda, it’s slowly chipping away at the Fjerdan hatred of Grisha. And Ketterdam — well, Inej is doing her fair share to clear Ketterdam of the least savoury aspects of its business, and between Wylan’s influence with the Merchant Council and Kaz’s willingness to help her take down any other barrel boss engaging in the slave trade, the city’s got a chance at not being quite so atrocious as it has been. 

But atrocious or not, grey or black-and-white — Inej has missed this place, missed the rooftops she’s ran across countless times, missed this dirty, complicated, greedy city where she has learned who she is, who she wants to be. 

She has missed the people, too: Jesper, his grin and his guns and his ridiculous waistcoats; Wylan, clever and red-haired and far less innocent than he looks. 

And she has missed a boy with dark hair and sharp edges, with a painful past that’s left him with gloved hands and armour, with a clever mind and a rare smile. 

Inej could spend the next few hours arranging for a food and water resupply for the Wraith. If not, she could head out into Ketterdam and catch up on anything she’s missed — there’ve been some rumours of a buyer in the warehouse district that she could investigate. She could even stay on her ship and spend time with her crew. 

But she doesn’t need to do any of that, and Specht is a perfectly competent first mate who can safely be left in charge of a ship — arguably more competent than her, although she’s learnt a fair bit about handling a ship since first stepping foot on the Wraith. 

She climbs easily down the Wraith’s side — her skills as a spider might not apply to sailing a ship, but they at least work in her favour to allow her to get off and on — and disappears into the maze of the city. 

~

The first time that Kaz saw a snowfall in Ketterdam, it seemed like a magic trick — like the street performers who hid coins in their palms and up their sleeves, reality concealed behind obfuscation. Some of the city’s dirt vanished beneath the white, nature flicking a wrist to hide what she did not want people to see. Drawing attention to the glittering piles of white so that nobody saw the beggar in the corner, the starving child, the scars on the girls in the pleasure houses. A veil thrown over the world to soften its edges. Sleight of hand to replace poverty with beauty. 

But Kaz knew that all the dirt was still there underfoot. The magician’s trick was not quite good enough, or perhaps Kaz was too good for it, too good at seeing through the magic to the mechanism behind it. That first year, the snow brought cold, and cold meant death. The veneer of white concealed a fate to which Kaz refused to succumb. 

He begged and lied and cheated and stole, that first year. He survived that first year. He survived every year, clinging to life, to revenge, to reality, refusing to drift down into the cold white comfort promised by the cold white snow. 

Today’s snow is deeper than expected, and Kaz wonders how many children are wandering the streets as he once did. How many are dying. Dirtyhands wouldn’t care; Inej would. Kaz does not know what he thinks. 

A girl, perhaps twelve at most, decides that the doorway of the Slat would be a good place to beg from. Kaz tells himself that she is good at faking an injured leg to get more sympathy. He tells himself that she seems clever and resourceful. He tells himself that she could be a useful member of the Dregs, one day. When she subtly inserts herself into the Slat itself and settles herself in a corner, he pretends not to notice, and his Dregs follow his lead. He doesn’t know if Inej is rubbing off on him, or if instinct tells him she’ll be useful, or if there is another reason altogether for his actions — but he lets her stay.

She’s still there in the corner when he heads upstairs to his office. The snow has, of course, another effect — his leg aches more than usual, and it’s a relief when he reaches the top of the flight of stairs. Once seated at his desk, he stretches it out under the table, allowing him a moment to massage away the ache; he knows from experience that a long walk without too many stairs would probably be good for it, but he needs to deal with the paperwork that’s accumulated for him to sign. The Dregs have prospered since the Dime Lions’ fall, but the downside is that he has several more properties to worry about. 

He glances out at the cityscape once or twice — his office shows him a panorama of snow-capped rooftops, the familiar view transformed but still fundamentally the same. 

But he’s focusing intently on the accounts for the new gambling den he’s recently opened up when he becomes aware of her presence. 

Kaz looks up, and there she is, perched on the window ledge only feet away from him. Her old spot, and for a moment he wonders if he’s dreamed her up, but there is a sparkle in her eyes that Kaz does not think his subconscious brain could invent. 

Her hair is windblown, a few white flakes scattered amidst the black. She wears a grey tunic with a dark red scarf and gloves; she wears confidence about her shoulders like a cloak. Her cheeks are glowing, and she grins at him when he meets her eyes. 

Kaz smiles. “Welcome to Ketterdam, Captain Ghafa.”

~

Captain Ghafa. Inej has gone by many names, some she hated and some she liked, all of them placing expectations on her shoulders — the lynx, the spider, the Wraith. Captain Ghafa is one she has chosen for herself of her own free will, and she likes it best of all. 

Kaz smiles like he’s a boy again, like he’s only seventeen years old, like he’s not a barrel boss with a reputation to strike fear into the heart of anyone foolish enough to cross him. Inej hasn’t seen that smile often, but she’s as helpless as she’s ever been to prevent her own lips from ticking up in response. 

“Kaz,” she returns. She’s missed him with an unexpected ferocity, in all her months at sea — missed his cleverness, his talent for getting out of any tough situation; missed his scheming face and the quips he trades with her; missed his company most of all, with a deeper ache than she’s cared to admit to herself. 

There’s a moment of silence between them, comfortable silence that doesn’t need to be filled with words. Kaz breaks it first, setting down his pen and leaning back in his chair to look at her, still perched on the windowsill. “What have you been up to?”

Inej takes the invitation for what it is and shuts the window, blocking the cold air out. “Figuring out how to sail a ship. Figuring out how to fight a ship. Figuring out how to track down other ships.” She shrugs. “Killing slavers, which requires a bit less figuring out.” 

“Living the dream, then,” Kaz observes drily. He shifts his leg slightly, and she catches the movement, remembering two winters of watching him limp slightly more than in the summer. He hides it well, of course, but Inej has learnt to be observant from Kaz himself. 

A walk would help him stretch it out, and walking allows for conversation as much as sitting. “Acquired a fair bit of info on the buyers,” she tells him. “Your competitors. I’ll tell you about them, but I’d like to walk around Ketterdam a bit while we’re at it.” 

Kaz raises an eyebrow, and she knows he’s seen her glance down at his leg — he is perfectly aware of what she’s doing. But he doesn’t object. “Gladly,” he says instead, and pushes his chair back to stand up. He doesn’t hide the faint wince on his face, and Inej knows that is an honour she will cherish: to see past the walls he puts up around every weakness, the masks that hide his pain. Kaz lets her through, and it is a gift. 

They walk down the stairs together. Inej does not offer Kaz a hand; she has pushed him enough for today. Instead, she follows Kaz into the Slat proper. 

“Inej!” Anika calls, as soon as Inej comes in sight, and then she’s surrounded by a crowd of Dregs — laughing, asking her how she’s been, congratulating her on the growing reputation she’s gaining. She was worried that they might resent her for leaving, or might see her as a competitor, but they greet her with all the comradeship she built with them over those years in Ketterdam. She hadn’t quite realised how much she missed them until now. 

Kaz stands by, leaning on his cane and watching from the shadows. It’s achingly familiar: Kaz never joined in with the conversations or games or jokes tossed around the Slat, but he always watched, and Inej knew he was secretly pleased when they all got along — and only partially because a more tight-knit gang is a more efficient one. 

Eventually, Inej manages to extricate herself, and walks out the door with Kaz. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rotty open his mouth to wolf-whistle only to be elbowed in the side by Anika; he doubles over in soundless pain. 

Inej smiles, and steps out onto the street. 

~

The streets of Ketterdam are quiet, footsteps muffled by the fallen snow. The cold keeps most of the city in their houses. There are still a few hurrying about on errands, but nobody pays close attention to the two figures walking side-by-side down the street. Kaz is grateful; he isn’t in the mood to get into a fight if a rival gang recognises him. 

His knee still aches, but walking is helping, as he (and Inej) knew it would. His coat is warm enough to keep out the cold, especially with Inej walking at his side. He’s missed her in her absence, more so than his dignity would allow him to admit to anyone but her. Seeing her again is like a breath of fresh air after too long underwater. 

Inej tells him about which slavers she’s gotten rid of and which Barrel bosses she thinks have been buying from them, about the rumours of a buyer with a hideout in the warehouse district, about — in a quieter voice — catching the man who kidnapped her, two and a half years ago. 

Her feet come to a stop; she is not looking at anything around them. “The ship,” she says, quietly. “It was. The same one. That I was—” 

Kaz isn’t good at offering comfort, but Inej’s eyes look far away like she’s been pulled out of her skin, like she’s far away in a ship that brought her torment. “Inej,” he says, but she doesn’t seem to hear him; a shiver races across her skin. 

Touch, Kaz thinks, would help. To ground her. To draw her back to the snowy streets of Ketterdam, and away from where she is now. He doesn’t think he could touch bare skin right now — the cold has brought back memories of cold water and cold skin — but he’s wearing gloves, and so is she. 

“Inej,” Kaz says again, and brushes the back of his hand against hers. 

She shudders faintly, exhaling mist into the cold air, and grabs his hand properly. Her eyes flick over to him, present again in a way they weren’t before. “Kaz.” 

Kaz feels something in him relax at the sound of her voice. A small smile appears on her face; he feels his own lips tick faintly up in response. 

Talking about it, right now, in the open street, is not what she needs. So he returns to their earlier topic of conversation, offering his side of the puzzle that will show her where Captain Ghafa is needed most. 

Thanks to Inej, most of Ketterdam’s pleasure houses have closed down, and Kaz has been ensuring that no new ones open (quietly, because it feels like a crack in the armour that is Dirtyhands, but efficiently all the same). He’s also made a custom of keeping an ear to the ground, listening for rumours of anyone trading in people — whether that be regular indentured slaves, Grisha, or women — and finding out their veracity. 

Now, he tells her what he knows about the trader in the warehouse district, and they fall into planning out their next steps as they have a hundred times before. Except now, Inej isn’t the Wraith, indentured to Per Haskell, Kaz’s subordinate in the Dregs; she is free, and still choosing to walk beside Kaz with their hands still entwined. 

While plotting murder, naturally. But for them, that’s par for the course. 

~

Inej discovers that she’s missed plotting with Kaz. 

He has a tendency to make at least four layers of plans beyond what he actually tells her about, which can be a bit annoying, but she’s missed it nonetheless. Before the Ice Court, she’d bring him secrets and whispers from all over Ketterdam and he’d listen, and ask questions, and take her input on whatever plans he concocted. 

Now it’s — it’s not Kaz concocting plans and Inej bringing him the information he needs; it’s both of them sharing information, then building plans together. Plans that are actually the entire plan, not just the basics that Kaz sees fit to tell her; they are partners in this, equals, in a way that they weren’t before. 

Kaz trusts a very small number of people. Trust itself has been dimmed out of him by cruelty and plague and loss, and the Barrel is not exactly the best place to learn to trust again. Even with the Dregs, she knows that Kaz must always be on the lookout, always aware of the motivations of everyone around him in case those motivations should lead them to betray him. 

He trusts Jesper. Wylan, now, too, Inej thinks. Nina, perhaps; her allegiance to the Ravkan throne is an obstacle, but not an unsurmountable one. Rotty. 

And Inej. Even before the Ice Court, he trusted the information she brought, even relied on it — and today, he shares information with her in equal measure. He tells her what he’s planning, lets her see not only what but how he thinks. Kaz turns life into a series of magic tricks, performances, where he pulls the strings from behind the curtains. Now he’s letting her come backstage with him, and that is a gift. 

(It is also a gift that they’re still holding hands. Kaz hasn’t let go since he drew her from memories of a slave ship she’d rather forget, despite his aversion to touch. Their hands are gloved, yes, but he holds her hand like it’s nothing, like the demons of his past don’t haunt his skin like ghosts. She doesn’t know if they’re absent for once or simply being ignored, but either way, Kaz is choosing to keep holding hands of his own free will.) 

In this part of town — the wealthier, bourgeois district they’ve wandered into — they’re not going to be recognised as Dirtyhands and Captain Ghafa. They could be mistaken for any two sweethearts, wandering the streets despite the cold, speaking sweet nothings in low tones — and although they are not that couple and never could be, on this street, in the snow, they are — similar. 

They are two people broken by the cruelty of the world, two people who have pieced themselves back together into someone different, stronger, than they once were. Two people who have too many jagged edges to fit with anyone unbroken, unscarred; two people who, nevertheless, are walking down Ketterdam’s streets in the snow. 

Snowflakes are still falling, dusting Kaz’s hair with white, the outline of the city paled to something gentler than usual. Their breath ghosts in the air, and Inej is comfortable regardless of the cold, warmed from the inside out by her hand in Kaz’s and his smile when he looks at her. 

Gradually, the conversation shifts from planning to reminiscing, to storytelling. Inej talks about her crew — among them not a few former Dregs — and Kaz reciprocates with updates on how all the current Dregs are doing. 

Their words drift, like snowflakes, and Inej smiles and laughs and is at peace. 

~

Inej is telling a story, and Kaz watches her, drinking up the joy that emanates from her with such ease. She’s dusted with snow, and little curls of hair flutter around her face in the wind. She’s beautiful. 

She is, unquestionably, far too good for anyone so broken and crooked as Kaz. She deserves better than him, but she also deserves whatever she wants. And she has also been quite clear that she wants to spend this time with Kaz, so who is he to deny her?

If she deserves better than what he is now, then he’ll simply have to make himself into someone more worthy of her. 

So Kaz walks by her side and holds her hand and absorbs into himself all the goodness that she gives him freely. She’s brighter now than she ever was as part of the Dregs; this — fighting for what she believes in, fighting for everyone as powerless as she once was — is good for her. (Good for the world, too, most likely, but Kaz is more preoccupied with Inej.) Kaz doesn’t really believe that people have preordained destinies, paths they’re set to follow — but if he did, he’d say Inej is achieving her purpose. 

He doesn’t know what his own destiny might be, but he knows he wants his path to lie close to hers. 

Kaz is a cynical bastard, has been since he swam to shore using his brother’s corpse as a raft. He isn’t good at having faith, at hoping for the best outcome, at believing in a magic trick. 

But Inej laughs, and this is no sleight of hand — it’s more magic than trick, inexplicable and real all at once. There is no curtain to look behind, only truth. Only magic. 

It is fitting that Inej be crowned by snowflakes.

[swift-creates]

That’s The Laugh

a/n: this is my fic for @grishaversebigbang Reverse Mini Bang 2022! This was super fun to write and I hope those who read it enjoy ♥️

see @cassecorrea’s amazing art here

read @aceinejghafa’s wonderful fic here

read on Ao3 or under the cut

Jesper watched Kaz pace the length of the Slat and concluded that his best friend was really, irrevocably in love with his other best friend. 

“Calm down, Kaz,” Wylan tried, but as the past five thousand times they’d tried to get him to stop pacing, Kaz paid no mind. 

“Just like Kaz, to be so contrary.” Nina rolled her eyes. “Bet if we told him to keep pacing, he’d stop, right then and there.” Kaz said nothing, only shot Nina a glare before continuing past the billiards table.

Jesper had a suspicion, a hypothesis, if you would, as to why Kaz was being so moody- Well, moodier than he usually was, anyway. In Inej’s last letter to Jesper, she’d referred to a fight, or at least a chilly ending to a conversation, that she’d had with Kaz before sailing off for Ravka’s Southern Colonies. The sharpshooter suspected that was why the Crows’ favourite bastard wasn’t in the best of moods.

As Jesper wondered if he should try to say something, and if so, if he should mention Inej or not, Kaz suddenly deviated from his regular pacing path and started to limp up the stairs. The other Crows watched him go, and then Matthias broke the silence by asking, “Waffles, anyone?”, at which Nina kissed him very firmly on the lips.

----------------------------------------

“Kaz?” Jesper poked his head into Kaz’s old office. The thin curtains had been drawn over every dingy window but the one at which he sat, staring out over Ketterdam, fingers trailing over the ledge. “Kaz?” Jesper said again, more tentatively this time. 

“Would Wylan hate you if you said his occupation was a waste of time right before he left Ketterdam?” Kaz asked suddenly without turning. 

The question took Jesper by surprise, and he blinked twice before it clicked that he was alluding to his situation with Inej. “Oh. Well, Wylan doesn’t really have an occupation now.”

“Right.” Jesper thought he saw Kaz frown, but it was hard to tell just by his silhouette against the cloudy Ketterdam sky. They fell into silence again before Kaz finally asked, “What are you doing up here, Jesper?”

“Oh, you know. The others are having a waffle party. Didn’t feel hungry, so Nina kicked me out and proclaimed herself queen of the waffle kingdom.” Jesper shrugged nonchalantly.

“Really, Jesper.”

Jesper bit his lip and winced. “I came to see if you were okay? If you needed relationship advice? If you wanted me to write Inej and just tell her, ‘Hey, don’t be mad at Kaz anymore because he’s sitting at his window all sad and moody thinking about your fight’?” “Came to ask you if you wanted a waffle.”

Kaz did turn then, and gave him an appraising look, arching one eyebrow at him with a short “No.”

“Okay. Good talk, then.” Jesper started to walk out, but then promptly turned on his heel and came back. “Nope, that wasn’t what I wanted to ask you.” 

“Then what was it?” Now Kaz was starting to sound a little annoyed.

“Just… Inej wrote me the other day.” He drew the crumpled letter out of his pocket and waved it around a little. “And she kinda mentioned something about, um…”

“About. What, Jesper.”

“That you guys might’ve, maybe, had a teensy, weensy bitty bit of… conflict, is all.” Jesper braced for wrath, maybe threats, probably yelling and the end of a years-long friendship, but all Kaz said was, “Oh. Okay.”

‘Okay’? “‘Okay’?” 

“Okay.”

Huh. “You’re not mad?” He stared at Kaz for a few moments in utter surprise.

“Why would I be? Inej chose to tell you. She thought you should know, so if anyone, I should be mad at her. And I’m not. We both trust her judgement more than that.” Kaz watched a small flock of birds cross the roof of a nearby house, settling on the window ledges of the building next door, and it brought Jesper no small amount of relief to hear that.

“Oh. Okay. Good, then.” He blew out a breath through his mouth before tentatively continuing on. “You sure you’re okay?”

There was a silent pause, then Kaz tore his gaze away from the birds — crows, Jesper realised — and sighed, suddenly looking exhausted and sad. “Maybe.” The moment was gone just as soon as it’d come, and he turned away again. Jesper waited a beat more, then another, then slowly backed away and exited when he realised Kaz wasn’t going to say anything more. 

The part he’d neglected to mention to the Barrel boss, his best friend, was that he was holding onto the hope that Inej would straighten all this up when she docked back in Ketterdam’s twenty-second berth the very next day.

----------------------------------------

Matthias frowned at the Dreg messenger, then nodded, stood, and as the girl left, walked into the adjacent sitting room and said, “Inej is back.”

Kaz’s head snapped up, and he grabbed his cane and left the room just as fast as Matthias had entered. Under Nina’s inquisitive gaze, Jesper grinned sheepishly as the Slat door slammed behind their gang leader. “I forgot to tell him.” That was a lie, and the Fjerdan shared a glance with his partner to see she was thinking the same. 

“You better hope to all the Saints he doesn’t find out, Jes.” Nina pointed the end of a pastry at her friend. 

Matthias agreed. That conversation would likely go very, very badly.

----------------------------------------

“Inej!” Kaz strode quickly down the quay, and the dock workers and sailors scrambled to duck out of his way — the Wraith may have his support and his heart, but he was still a Barrel boss, and one of the most ruthless in Ketterdam. 

When Inej looked up and saw him, her first instinct was to smile and take his gloved hand in hers, but then she remembered.

“Kaz.” His expression remained carefully blank, but she could tell her cold tone had thrown him off a little. Now she was the one with the armour and walls built up, keeping him at a distance.

He had no reply, and they stood there for a moment before he turned and started back up the quay. She fell in by his side as always, but said nothing. The silence lasted as they walked up towards Tuinpark, one of the only green spaces in the whole country, and Inej decided she’d rather focus her gaze at a patch of purple flowers struggling through the snow than talk to him. In the end, it was Kaz who spoke up first.

“We missed you. The Crows. You’re our best spider, you know.” He avoided her gaze as he said it, staring at a puffy cloud drifting over their heads. 

“Say it as you mean to, Kaz.” It came out harsher than she’d intended it, and she bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything else more hurtful. 

He paused, then met her gaze, thoughtful. Then he straightened and said, “I missed you”, and suddenly she found it that much harder to stay mad at him. They kept walking down the narrow path, stopping to let one of the new Dreg messengers pass by them at one point. They silently watched the young Zemeni disappear before Kaz spoke to her again. “Inej.”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t mean it. That day. When you left. And when I said ‘hunting slavers is a waste of time’.” He was looking at a plant with startlingly vibrant green leaves, so if he hadn’t called her name, or if she hadn’t been paying attention, she might have thought he was talking to the plant. Inej figured that was as close to a hug and apology as she was going to get, so she opened her mouth to accept it, but he cut her off before she could. “I was wrong to say it, and I’m… sorry.”

Now wasn’t that something. 

She looked up, met his gaze. “Then this action will have no echo?”

He paused for a moment, then nodded. They continued along the path with a new, soft feeling of peace, and Inej let her gloved knuckles brush his every few steps before she worked up the will to take his hand fully into hers. His grasp was surprisingly warm, and she felt his hand tremor slightly, but then he twined his fingers with hers, and they walked through the snow together, the handheld promise unbroken.

“How are the Crows?” she asked as they left the park and a light snow started to fall. 

“Managing. Jesper is somehow making profits with the Van Eck fortune, and for some reason, Wylan is letting him. Matthias is a snow-covered mountain of gloom. And Nina is, well, Nina. She proclaimed herself the queen of the waffle kingdom just yesterday.” Inej couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh — Nina was and always would be indescribably, unapologetically and incomparably herself — and a soft smile pulled at the edges of Kaz’s mouth when she wasn’t looking. 

“That’s the laugh.” 

They stopped to buy roasted serdtsenuts from a vendor, and the snowflakes drifted down and down, coming to rest on her head and shoulders, nestling in her hair. He reached out, as if to take a nut, but then reached past the bag of food and tenderly brushed snow out of her ebony locks. She put a hand on his, so close to her face, and all of a sudden it was just that much harder to breathe. And all she could think of was how much she wanted to kiss him.

Then he abruptly pulled away, turned to walk quickly off, and the moment was gone. 

A million things ran through her head. Did she do something wrong? Maybe he wasn’t ready yet. Could she have set him off somehow… She tried her best to push them away as she fell in by his side, but they continued to nag at her anyway. They were almost back to the Slat by the time she managed to gather up enough courage to ask him about it.

“Kaz,” she said. 

“Yes, treasure of my heart?” he replied, and once those words would have been laced with caustic sarcasm, but now they fell pure and sweet as spun sugar upon her ears, and she felt her face warm, thanking the Saints for a dark complexion to hide blushes well. 

She took a moment to reel her wayward romantic feelings back in and calm her heart before she asked, “Do you think… Do you think we’ll ever be like everyone else?”

He tilted his head to the side just the slightest bit. “What do you mean, ‘like everyone else’?”

Inej looked helplessly at the tourists and citizens flooding the square in front of Tuinpark, couples holding hands and giggling, rosy-cheeked children following along behind their parents and siblings. “Could we ever have a family like that?” She looked wistfully at two adults and the wide-eyed little girl who was gazing at a frosted cake through a bakery shop window. 

Kaz followed her gaze to the young family, was silent for a long moment, and then cracked the barest of smiles. “Now, why would we want to be like everyone else?” She sighed, turning back to him, but he didn’t give her a chance to argue. “You are magic, Inej. You don’t need their life when you have yours. Maybe… Maybe we’ll have that. In time. But you are anything and everything I need, and the Saints will give you what you want, and what you so deserve. In time, darling.” He brushed one gloved finger against her snow-damp cheek before turning and continuing down the lane again. He tended to do that a lot. 

Inej felt as if the twinkling lights of the bakery warmed her from the inside, encompassing her heart in its soft yellow glow. She was preparing to catch up to him when she heard a chuckle from behind her, and turned to see an old woman standing in the bakery’s doorway. “Lucky girl, you, to have a boy like that,” the woman said with a smile.

Inej laughed. Most would have said she was ill-fated, to end up with the tyrant of Ketterdam, the bastard of the Barrel, but Inej knew the truth.

“You have no idea,” she replied, and ran after the treasure of her heart.

[wafflesandkruge]

two gods before there was a world

“It is an abomination. Merzost,” Elizaveta snarled. The buzzing rose to a fever pitch. “You are playing with laws you do not understand.”

“And who wrote those laws?” Aleksander asked, voice quiet. He was tired of being told what he could or couldn’t do. His own limits were the only thing that stood between him and his goals, and he had yet to reach them. He would never reach them. “You are obeying a master whose face you have never seen. Are you content with that, Sankta?”

Or, Elizaveta pays Aleksander a visit after Novokribirsk.

ao3

a/n: helloooooo!!!! very excited to finally post my first piece for @grishaversebigbang!! this lil fic is based off the showstopping amazing totally unique art by @kavinskysdick​ whom i adore with my whole heart hehe. please go check our their art and stare at it until your eyes blur. hope yall enjoy! and stay tuned for another zoya fic coming soon as part of a second collaboration.

The Saints were always watching. It was a truism drilled into Ravkans from infancy, a boogeyman meant to make them behave lest they displease the Saints and incur their wrath. As far as Aleksander was concerned, it was utter horseshit. Saints didn’t care if you washed your hands before eating or returned a lost wallet. Hell, they didn’t even care if you murdered your neighbor and burned his house down to the foundations. 

The only thing they’d ever cared for was power.

And of that, Aleksander had plenty.

He swept into the darkened war room, eerily quiet this time of night. And though gas lamps and candles were clustered around the room, he didn’t need to light them to identify the shadowy figure positioned at the head of the massive oak table. His lips curved into a cold smile.

“What a pleasant surprise.”

In the pale moonlight, Elizaveta was the very picture of the saints that graced the walls of chapels. Eyes as green as a summer field regarded him coolly, the color all the more striking against her alabaster skin. Her honey-colored hair, woven through with flowers that bloomed with one breath and wilted with the next, gleamed like molten gold. Flowering vines crept across her body in the facsimile of a gown. As always, the low buzz of bees accompanied her presence.

Elizaveta didn’t bother with any false pleasantries. Her voice was low, raspy, as if she hadn’t spoken in decades. “It has been quite a time since we last met, Morozova.”

“Has it? I hadn’t noticed.” Aleksander remained standing at the end of the table, his arms clasped behind his back. It was nothing more than strategic posturing, a reminder of who was in power. The Little Palace was his. The Second Army was his. And with time, something he had no shortage of, Ravka would be his as well.

Judging from the darkening of Elizaveta’s complexion, she understood his intentions. But instead of rising to her feet to mirror him, she merely steepled her fingers and narrowed her eyes. The buzzing of her bees grew louder until it seemed to ricochet off the stone walls. 

“Enough, boy. I am here so you can explain yourself. Talk.”

Aleksander bristled at the command in her voice. Under his feet, the shadows writhed like a living creature struggling to free itself. Casually, he unclasped his hands and allowed them to come to a rest at his sides. “I wasn’t aware I had something to explain,” he said with as much insolence as he could manage.

Something he had learned over the years was that Elizaveta was slow to anger. Whether it was a learned patience that came with the centuries or a deliberate tactic to mislead others, Aleksander still wasn’t sure. But now, her eyes simmered with a thinly-veiled rage. How fascinating. Even the Saints had their limits, he supposed, and he couldn’t help wanting to push her just a bit further.

“The Fold,” Elizaveta hissed. Her nails dug into the backs of her hands. “It grew.”

The scars on his face suddenly ached, the memory of hours under a Healer’s hand coming back to haunt him. Aleksander tilted his head to the side and let the shadows hide the damage, but he knew Elizaveta had already seen what had happened to him. What she had done to him. 

“So it did. You should be thanking me, seeing as I’ve expanded your domain.”

“It is an abomination. Merzost,” Elizaveta snarled. The buzzing rose to a fever pitch. “You are playing with laws you do not understand.”

“And who wrote those laws?” Aleksander asked, voice quiet. He was tired of being told what he could or couldn’t do. His own limits were the only thing that stood between him and his goals, and he had yet to reach them. He would never reach them. “You are obeying a master whose face you have never seen. Are you content with that, Sankta?”

Elizaveta was silent for a moment, his words heavy between them. Then, in the end, as it often did, her pride won out. Her eyes flashed. “You are a fool, Morozova. You, your army, that girl–”

“Do you know what the people call her?” he interrupted. “Sol Koroleva. Sankta Alina.”

Something in his blood whispered at the mention of her name, like calling to like. She would be by his side again soon enough. 

Elizaveta apparently felt no such kinship with her. Her lips curled into a sneer. 

“She is no Saint. And neither are you, boy, as grand as your desires may be.”

Aleksander spread his arms wide, shadows twisting around his fingers like snakes. The room darkened until it was just the two of them alone in the black, two gods before there was a world. When he spoke, he made his words deadly soft. A challenge. “The Saints are just Grisha are they not? They call me a Saint? Fine, I’ll be their Saint. It’s as simple as that.”

“‘Sankt’ is not a title you can bestow upon yourself, Aleksander.” She rose to her feet and began walking around the table toward him. With each step, the marble floor cracked and split, flowers bursting forth until his war room began to resemble a garden. His lips quirked at that. That would be a bother to fix in the morning. She came to a stop an arms length away from him, and this close, her beauty was stunning and frightening in equal measure. But it had been centuries since something had truly frightened Aleksander, and there was nothing Elizaveta could do to make him act like a pious man frightened of her shadow.

“I have lived for eons,” Elizaveta intoned gravely. “And I will live for eons more. I have seen empires rise and fall. I have seen hundreds of Grisha martyred. I have seen everything there is and everything there will be. You are nothing special.”

Aleksander clicked his tongue softly and took a step closer to her. “You lack imagination. You’ve grown content on your perch and don’t want for more. That is why I will surpass you, Sankta. I know how to keep wanting.”

Elizaveta scoffed, but Aleksander could see a flash of realization in her eyes. “Wanting makes you weak.”

A deflection at best. Aleksander knew he had won. He closed the distance between them and leaned in closer until he could whisper into her ear.

“It is lack of wanting that makes you complacent, Elizaveta. The Age of Saints is over. Your successors are already here. Do you see the way we bend Ravka to our whims, the way we rewrite the world you passed down to us? You will come to see the truth, or be trampled into the mud.”

Elizaveta tilted her head back, red lips curling into a venomous smile. “Do not equate ambition with power, Aleksander. It will be your ruin.”

With that final barb, she stepped away from him, her dismissal clear. Aleksander let the shadows dissipate into nothing. There was no use arguing with words what he could prove with results. He clasped his hands behind his back again.

“When you are ready to become more than a Saint, you know where to find me.”

Elizaveta let her fingers trail across the war table surface until they came to a stop above the black slash that represented the Fold. She traced the edges of it, fresh paint covering what had once been Novokribirsk. “And what is above a Saint?”

He smiled, cruel and terrible. “A god.”

Elizaveta burst out laughing, the sound harsh and discordant. “You are a mouse dreaming of becoming a dragon. Be content with your army, little mouse. Go and find your sun saint. They are all that you will have.”

Aleksander shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and exited the war room, not bothering to look back, not caring if she left or stayed. She would come crawling back to him once she realized he was right. They all would.

[evermore-crow]

Crotchety Remedies

a/n: very excited to have been able to participate in this event for @grishaversebigbang this year. Got to work with an amazing artist, go check it out like right now!

Materialki: @krugecrow (x) 

Summary: Inej has been helping Kaz in his quest to rid the Barrel of disease. Now, a new variant of the firepox has been killing more of Ketterdam's people and Kaz has been commissioned with finding a cure. He wants to but, Ghezen, does he have to work with more people? *Cue Inej rolling her eyes to her Saints*

Ao3 Link here or read below.

Only two lanterns lit the room, but Kaz usually preferred to work in limited light. Inej didn’t mind either way, except that sometimes his laboratory became too dim. She lit a third lantern and continued working, noting Kaz’s frown as she returned to her station.

“I need light,” she muttered, as she picked up the pestle to continue grinding the ingredients jotted down on her notes. It was a remedy to reduce swelling that she had made all by herself.

She heard Kaz grunt and looked up at him, his gloved hands both gripping the head of his cane, eyes on her face. Inej raised an eyebrow and he turned away, the tips of his ears going red. Shrugging, she decided to let him stew in whatever was bothering him until he’d had enough.

They had been working together for almost two years now. Ever since Kaz had helped her get out of the Menagerie, that place of death and pain that had enslaved her for a year. She was thankful for his help. And grateful for the opportunity to help other people. More often than not, Inej found herself wondering what her life might have become had Kaz not seen her potential. I might have really died there, she thought, crushing some more jewelweed sap with her pestle.

There had recently been a spike in deaths by something seemingly deadlier than even that strain of firepox that had caused Inej to jump into Kaz’s work. Inej decided that must be what had Kaz in such a state. They had more and more patients every day, these days. She knew he worried about it incessantly, and she thought she knew why. It had become obvious when they had gone out to see five patients in their homes. Inej wasn’t one to pry, but she could see the stress on his shoulders, the way he sometimes got a far-away look and was quiet for long periods of time. Kaz Brekker had lost someone to disease.

“Inej,” she heard Kaz’s rough voice call. She put down her instrument and turned to face him. His dark eyes and inscrutable countenance from before was gone, replaced by the frightened, pale face of a boy of nearly eighteen.

“Kaz?” Inej whispered, feeling her stomach drop, heart rate accelerating. This couldn’t be good.

“Those cases…” he paused, turning his face away towards the shadows. Inej didn’t know why he did that; she could tell when he was uncomfortable, just as she knew he could tell when she was in the room. They had become so attuned to each other in such a short amount of time, Inej knew it was strange. But she didn’t question it. She just wished Kaz would acknowledge it, even if it was just by not hiding from her this way.

“Those cases…?” Inej tried to encourage him.

“I think there might be a new variant,” Kaz rasped.

“The newspapers haven’t–”

Shaking his head, Kaz stopped her. “The newspapers will not publish anything about it because they do not know of it yet. Only about eight people have died—”

“Eight? That’s so many!” Inej cried. “Where are you getting this information from? We visited five patients–”

“And they were all dead before we even arrived, Inej,” he said, making Inej inhale sharply.

He was right, of course. She thought about the patients’ families’ faces then. Remembered the tear streaks on the mother’s cheeks. The empty stares in the childrens’ eyes. Though Kaz was not in agreement with her faith, Inej silently sent a prayer to her saints for those people, and the ones she had not seen as well.

“What are you planning?” she asked, turning to look at him.

Kaz shrugged his shoulders, capturing Inej’s attention. He didn’t acknowledge it, but Inej’s cheeks still grew hot. “There is someone whom I think will help, or at least wants to,” Kaz said.

“Who?” Inej inquired, trying her best to not think about Kaz’s broad shoulders.

“His name is Van Eck. Let’s just say he has a vested interest in a cure,” Kaz said, his voice sounding harder than usual. Inej wondered why he felt such contempt for the other man. She wouldn’t ask—he wouldn’t consider her question relevant. “We will need to gather a few others for this. Get this note to Nina, tell her to be here tomorrow morning, first thing; I need to talk to Jesper.”

He set the small square of parchment on the table and Inej nodded. Still, she could not help herself. “I thought you didn’t like Nina’s methods,” Inej said, narrowing her eyes at Kaz’s figure as it moved away. Even as she said the words, she knew what he would say.

Kaz turned to look at her with an arched eyebrow. His eyes were dark and inscrutable. He released a heavy sigh and said, “A heartrender is always of use during these things.”

Inej shook her head, but Kaz had already turned away. Nina Zenik was the only heartrender they knew, though Kaz would have anyone believe he abhorred their methods, he knew she had enough training as a Healer, as well. Inej remembered the first time they had all worked together.

Kaz did not like Grisha, especially of the Corlporalki order. The reason he had given Inej when she had asked was, “Their so-called Small Science has nothing to do with real science, Inej. What they do is essentially magic, I have no patience for it.”

“You know they have worked as hard as you to learn about the human body, and how to use those abilities for good, Kaz,” Inej had insisted.

But Kaz only shook his head. “They also use it to kill, Inej. Or have you forgotten the Heartrenders’ work during the war?”

“That was a necessity, Kaz.”

Kaz could not be convinced, pig-headed that he was.

Once Nina had joined them in Kaz’s practice, their relationship had been rocky from the start. A boy of about five years of age had been brought in with an isolated case of firepox. Kaz wanted Nina out of the room but Nina insisted she could help the boy.

“At least let me regulate his heart rate, Brekker,” she snapped. “I’m not a Healer, but I am a Heartrender, I can still help, Kaz.”

“What about when you aren’t here? I’m not waiting for your Grisha abilities,” Kaz snapped back and Nina turned to look at Inej, who was glaring at Kaz. “I’ve never had to rely on a Grisha for anything and I will not start now,” he muttered, as he began taking a sample of the boy’s blood.

Sighing deeply, Inej finished her work and set about returning all her supplies to their rightful place. Kaz turned to her once more but remained quiet. For a moment, Inej wondered what was going on in his mind, but he would not let her know until it was strictly necessary. It was the way they worked, or the way he worked, really. Inej had no love for this particular trait of his.

“I will find Nina and let her know about your… plans. And give her your note,” Inej said, undoing the knot on her apron. She watched his eyes lower to her hands at her waist and felt a new flush on her neck, but neither of them commented.

Instead, Kaz nodded and turned away again.

Before she left the laboratory, she heard Kaz grunt. Stopping at the door, she turned, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“Don’t forget your mask,” he rasped.

Inej swallowed. Right, she thought. “I won’t,” she murmured, leaving the laboratory to quickly get to her small closet of a room.

The Slat, the building Kaz practiced from and lived in, was quiet, dark and cold most of the time, just as that night. Inej was surprised to note that the sun had long since set, not that Ketterdam allowed the sun to warm any part of it. Usually, Inej had to wrap herself in various layers to go out of the Slat. And don’t forget the mask, as Kaz had reminded her.

It was important for two reasons: contagion was harder if she wore it and she could remain anonymous while under it.

The mask was something Inej was very proud of. She had dyed it a dark purple that reminded her of the sky as the sun set, before a storm. The Suli protection symbols she had stamped on it reminded her of home, of her Saints. And her family. She loved that when she stood over a patient, the symbols were clear for them to see, and she knew they would remain calm throughout her visit.

Ketterdam was not the home to many patients that shared her beliefs, but she had found a few and it warmed her heart that she could help them, that they could share in the light of the Saints.

After donning her cloak and mask, Inej followed the shadows all the way to Nina’s workplace, which Inej really hated visiting.

Nonetheless, she loved seeing her friend.

Nina received her with a warm hug and a tight smile. She knew why it meant to see Inej at the White Rose. “You’re here on his orders, aren’t you,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Inej resented that Nina seemed to think Inej was on Kaz Brekker’s beck and call, but she nodded, pulling her mask away from her face. “It’s important, Nina.”

Nina sighed. “It is. Of course it is. If his work wasn’t, I know you would never agree to anything he said.”

Inej didn’t know about that. She’d followed Kaz into a lot of places. Most of them were dark and full of suffering, but she always knew they would leave the place better than they had found it. That was the hope she held in her heart every time she left the Slat by his side.

<<<>>>

The next afternoon, Inej stood next to Kaz at her station as Nina introduced Kuwei Yul-Bo. Kaz told them all about how the boy was the son of the physician leading the research for finding a treatment for this strange, new strain of firepox in Shu Han. Unfortunately, and the reason why they were here now, he had died before completing it.

Kaz had initially shot down Nina’s suggestion to have Kuwei at the Slat, as he was loath to allow another stranger into his laboratory, or even the Slat, simply because Inej was there. “Too many eyes as it is,” he’d said. “We don’t need anyone else to know you are still in Ketterdam.” He had only relented to having the Shu boy at the Slat because he could not possibly have recognized Inej’s face. Inej had not protested: she trusted Kaz.

Except that whenever he brought up the issue of her still being in Ketterdam, she remembered another issue: her parents, who were still in Ravka. Or so she hoped.

Now, she was finding it difficult to concentrate, to keep up with Nina.

Kaz, though, was firing questions at Nina every few seconds, and Nina was eager to impart her knowledge of all things medicine while also translating for Kuwei, who did not speak much Kerch.

Nina was as passionate about medicine as Kaz. Inej hid a smile. They would make a powerful team. If only Kaz would accept her help more frequently.

“No, we could still use meadowsweet or willowbark for most of the patients, unless they’re too far gone,” Nina was arguing, making Inej straighten where she stood. Had she missed anything important? Kuwei muttered something in Shu, and Nina shushed him gently.

Kaz heaved a great sigh. “It was only a question, Nina,” he muttered.

“Well, next time ask better questions,” Nina snapped.

“Saints, is everything okay in here or is something going to explode?” Jesper said from the doorway.

“Don’t drag your germs in here, Fahey,” Kaz scowled, flexing his hand on the head of his cane like he had to stop himself from swinging it at Jesper’s head.

Inej tensed. A pair of bright blue eyes peeked from behind Jesper’s shoulder, taking in the room, and Inej wondered if she should disappear. He looked important, she thought, as irrational fear lanced through her. More new people?

“Pfft, germs? I don’t have those, Kaz,” Jesper brushed Kaz off like he would a lint off his shoulder. “This is Wylan!” he said, far too enthusiastically.

“Did you bring the books,” Kaz demanded, ignoring the introduction. He suddenly stepped in front of her, covering her from view.

Nina met Inej’s eyes from over Kaz’s shoulder and Inej felt her face darken with a flush. Nina hid a grin. When movement caught her attention, Inej looked down to see Kaz’s left hand reaching behind him.

Inej stared at it for a second and then realized his gloved fingers held his mask. She grabbed it quickly and tied it around her face.

Finally covered, Inej stepped out from behind Kaz

Jesper huffed, annoyed. He took the messenger bag from his shoulder and dropped it on the table with a heavy thump. “You’re welcome. Wylan, why don’t you tell them what you can do,” he said to his companion.

“Ahh, I uh…” the boy stammered.

“Spit it out, man,” Kaz snapped.

Jesper rolled his eyes, turning to smile widely at Inej, ignoring the two others. “How are you, love? Is the good doctor treating you well?” he teased. Everyone knew Kaz wasn’t officially licensed, yet he was good— the best physician in the Barrel. He didn’t discriminate; Kaz helped everyone. It didn’t matter how much Kruge a patient carried in their pockets.

Inej and Jesper had met just after Kaz had helped her out of the Menagerie; Jesper had access to the library at Ketterdam University, which helped Kaz immensely. What didn’t help Kaz was Jesper’s love for gambling, but Inej didn’t think Kaz cared much about that unless it interfered with his practice. “I’m fine, thank you, Jesper,” she said.

Jesper sighed. “Glad to hear it.”

Turning back to Kaz, Inej was taken aback at seeing him standing toe to toe with Wylan. The redheaded boy looked ready to burst a blood vessel. Kaz did not look happy either.

Jesper pulled Wylan away from the brooding physician and Kaz limped around the table, towards Inej. “He says he can help,” he scoffed. “As if I need another child to babysit.”

“Kaz,” Inej hissed in warning.

“He has more experience with medicine than Jesper. He only gets you books, Brekker. I think a person with actual practice would be a good asset—“

“I don’t need your input, Zenik,” Kaz snapped.

Nina spat a curse in Ravkan at him and Inej shook her head, tired of it all. “He says he can help, you should let him, Kaz,” Inej said, making her voice sharp and decisive. She looked up at Kaz; he wasn’t scowling. He had a look of angry surprise, but it wasn’t a scowl. He wouldn’t look at her. Inej tried not to smile behind her borrowed mask. “The more help we have, the better, Kaz.”

“We know you’re not used to getting much help, Kaz. But I think it would be best, at least for this, to have Wylan’s knowledge. If we want this to work, we should try to work together,” Jesper said.

In the end, it was Jesper’s words that convinced him.

[fandomscraziness22]

duplicitous - a Kanej gala heist

i freaking loved this idea from our artist @bubble--berry, and their art is soooo amazing!!!! so i’m glad we got to write this! co-authored by me and @desidarling123

Inej docks The Wraith in Ravka’s port, only somewhat happy to be on land. It’s been almost a year since she’s been in Ravka, and the sight of so many joyous Grisha out and about is a bit startling. The nation’s port is busy with preparations for the Harvest Festival set to commence in a mere two days.

She’s here at Kaz’s request – though calling the letter a “request” would be like saying Jesper “mildly enjoys a game of chance.” Inej has known Kaz long enough to determine what is  a request versus what is a demand for her unique skill set. And this letter, short and to the point, had been a thinly veiled command for her to meet him at the bustling port of Udova, ready for a job. Inej knows the newly appointed Queen and her prince consort are to be at the festival –  however, that is where her knowledge starts and ends. And if there was one thing Inej didn’t miss about working with Kaz, it was his complete lack of willingness to divulge information that most would deem necessary knowledge. 

Nevertheless, her crew is a well-oiled machine, and Inej is soon ready to disembark. Many of her crew members have family in Ravka, and she’s given them an extended leave to go and visit them. Those who aren’t from Ravka have either made plans of their own or have been invited to visit their friends’ homes, so Inej is left to her own devices for the week of the festival. 

According to Kaz’s very brief letter, her identity is that of ‘Isla Rooj’, a lesser-known Mercher who has traveled overseas from a small town in order to witness the first festival under the country’s new monarch. She is to meet him at a tavern called the Ptitsa-Sinitsa, where they will be staying for the duration of the festival. As she makes her way through the busy streets, she wonders what Kaz could possibly plan to steal amidst the Ravkan festivities.

Well. That’s not exactly right. She’s got a few ideas, actually. Inej imagines the job has something to do with the amount of powerful and influential people gathering in the city. These gatherings bring with them a horde of secret information, not to mention loud displays of wealth and power. 

But Kaz has most of the Barrel afraid of him already, and he’s working his way steadily through the few who still disobey, so… it’s not like he’s lacking anything, on his end. 

So it must be for someone else. But who?

keep reading on ao3

Inej supposes she’ll have to get her answers when she sees him. And despite her annoyance at the circumstances under which it’s happening, her heart skips a beat at the thought of being with Kaz again. It’s been far too long since she last docked in Ketterdam, having been kept away by the constant slavers she’s been thwarting and the terrible weather of the open seas. She’s successfully kept in touch with Jesper and Wylan through their joint letters to her, and with Nina, who, despite often being out on assignments, keeps Inej updated whenever she can. There’s even been a scarce exchange of letters between herself and Kuwei detailing the latter's continued studies as an Etherealnik within the Little Palace. But Kaz has been oddly silent during her most recent voyages. His letters have been few and far between, and whenever they do come, they’re often undetailed and impersonal, a far cry from his first few letters to her. Not that Kaz had ever been forthcoming in that way, either in writing or in person, but his letters had become much more distant, which had hurt her more than she’d care to admit.

It still doesn’t change the fact that her heart belongs to him — an undeniable truth she had realized long ago – and that she’s excited to see him, even if she does also want to smack him over the head with his own cane. Kaz can be obtuse when it comes to understanding his own feelings, and even worse with expressing them. Though the two of them have progressed at their own speed, Inej can’t recall anything bad happening the last time she saw him that would prompt such a stark change in his behavior. Kaz Brekker may not always need a reason, but he sure as hell always had one.

I’ll just have to find out for myself, she thinks as the sign for Ptitsa-Sinitsa comes into view. The tavern itself is packed, much like the various buildings around it, with people from all roads of life coming to see the Queen’s festival. Inej skirts around a group of excited Ravkans and notes a few poorly-disguised Fjerdans on the edges. Of course, an event like this would be crawling with foreign spies. None to worry about yet, but she vows to keep an eye out anyways. 

There’s also some Kaelish folk around, evidenced by their bright hair and loud voices ringing out over the crowd of people eating and talking.

Finally, she spots Kaz at a table near the back with a plate of smoked cod and skillet bread and heads towards him. He’s wearing a hat she knows he hates, but refuses to get rid of. All the better a disguise, she supposes with a sigh. Kaz looks up from his food, and although his face doesn’t change, the edges of his eyes grow softer at her approach. 

“Isla, good. You found it,” he says in greeting. Inej smiles warmly at the sight of him, her overwhelming happiness at seeing him in the flesh overriding her annoyance for the time being. 

“Of course. It wasn’t too hard, your instructions were quite clear. Did you have a good journey?” she asks, sitting down opposite him. His body relaxes, a sight Inej doesn’t see often, though she knows he’s still on high alert to their surroundings.

“Tolerable. I took Rotty with me, as he’s the best sailor I’ve got now, and the man wouldn’t shut up about how he needed to be back in two weeks’ time for the annual plink-drop competition.”

Inej rolls her eyes. “Trust Rotty to stick to routine. He loses every year, I’m not sure why he bothers to play anymore. One would think six straight years of losses would make the whole thing not enjoyable, but alas.”

They fall back into familiar territory with ease, chatting harmlessly whilst they eat, all too aware of the many eyes staring into the backs of their heads and ears tilted ever-so-slightly in their direction. Once they’ve had their fill, Kaz guides her to their room where they retire for the evening. It’s definitely one of the nicest places Inej has stayed in for a heist of any kind, with a double bedroom, a small lounge area in the front, and a balcony looking out over the port.

Once they’ve inspected the room and secured all entries, she takes a seat next to Kaz on the plush red couch. “Who’s bankrolling this one?” she asks without preamble.

“Our friend, the demon.” Kaz’s voice is dry, but Inej can sense the humour in Kaz calling someone else what he himself has often been named. “He’d like us to relocate a foreign dignitary's documents.”

“Your friend, you mean. I’ve not become as well acquainted with Nikolai on the sea or land, despite his many roles in his country.” Kaz has kept her informed of the former king’s whereabouts, such as he knows them, but news travels slowly at sea (as opposed to rumors which spread like wildfire), and it hasn’t been a top priority for Inej. 

“In any case, he asked me to get some documents a Fjerdan official will be carrying.” Kaz’s face is set into scheming mode, and it once again makes Inej’s heart stutter. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed seeing him in his element; a slight smirk on his face and a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

Inej shoves that thought away. Not the time, she admonishes herself. “What kind of documents?”

Kaz eyes her carefully, as though hesitant to say. It’s a strange look on Kaz; he’s never hesitant about anything. Careful, yes, but not dubious. Not like he wants to hide the information from her.

Inej keeps her gaze steadily locked with his, unwilling to back down until he relents. “It’s the instructions for a drug to render any individual catatonic in seconds. They plan to use it in hunting Grisha, and selling them to slave traders in Ketterdam.”

Saints, she thinks. Her mouth goes thin, mind racing, because of course things wouldn't stay good for her. She’s been bringing down slavers and saving people with surprising speed and efficiency (surprising only to those who don’t know the Wraith from Ketterdam’s rooftops), and her name is getting around through rumors. It makes sense that the twisted people who trade in human lives would look for new ways to get easy captives.

“Is that why you didn’t inform me in your letter?” Inej asks, half hoping that he will catch on to her annoyance about his lack of general communication in the last few months. Kaz nods in answer to her question, and Inej decides to let it go for now, sitting back against the couch in contemplation. “I assume you have a plan,” she says, and Kaz nods once more. “Tell me.”

“The Harvest Festival begins in two days. The plan is, we sneak in as guests and find the official with the documents. My plan is to steal them, leave in its place instructions for a … friendlier alternative, so as to not arouse suspicions, and make our getaway.”

“So simple,” Inej says with raised eyebrows. She’s used to Kaz only sharing parts of a plan, so it is a miracle that she even gets that much of an outline all at once. (The mention of a friendlier alternative, one she somehow doubts is as friendly as he implies, also has her curiosity piqued). Still, she knows he’s got backup plans galore, and Inej trusts him implicitly.

Kaz gives her a begrudging twitch of his lips. “For now, yes. We have two days to find clothes and fill in some additional details. Get some rest, and we can begin in the morning.”

The next two days pass in a blur of planning, laying low, and shopping. The formal gala that is set to open the Festival requires nicer dress than the two Dreg members usually wear, and Inej gleefully picks out a range of horrific colors and patterns for Kaz to try on (which he declines in a variety of ways: with an eye roll, a smirk, a sarcastic comment, or outright disgust). 

His reactions do nothing but spur her on, and for those small pockets of time, she is simply a girl shopping with a boy she likes; she’s living a future she had only imagined for herself as a small child in her family’s caravan, excited for a whirlwind romance with the perfect man as only a little girl can imagine. 

The thing that truly drives her fantasy home, however, is the moment Inej spots an honest-to-saints lehenga, one of her people’s favorites for fancy occasions. She’s never worn one, having been deemed too young by her mother before…everything. Traditionally, they are worn most often at weddings and official gatherings, held once every five years where all the Suli come together to celebrate and tell stories. The sight reminds her so vividly of her mother that her heart aches as she reaches out to grasp at the fabric. The lehenga she holds in her hands is made of well-made silk, embroidered with intricate floral and paisley resham. It is obviously worn, but has remained in good condition.

Inej runs her fingers over the pieces and marvels at how this seems made for her. It’s her favorite shade of purple, the detailing done in neat rows. The lighter fabric of the shawl flows over her, and Inej trembles as she realizes that there’s nothing stopping her from buying and wearing this to the festival tomorrow. When she tries it on in the small stall of the dressmaker’s, her mind works quickly to pick out places for her knives, how the skirt doesn’t limit her motions, the way she can tie the shawl part of the lehenga in specific places to keep it from being a hazard if she should need to run. 

A thought occurs to her then. She remembers distinctly the coy look the older girls would get once dressed in their lehengas, the heavy blush riding on their cheeks, as they’d wait for their lovers to see them decked out in their finest, playing teasing games for minutes if not hours on end, before not-so-secretly escaping with them into a dark corner somewhere, far away from the rest of the caravan. 

It’s such a silly, random memory to come to mind, but suddenly it’s there, in her heart: a desire to have Kaz look at her like a boy in her caravan once might have – as she could have been, maybe, if her life had turned out the way it was supposed to. 

Yes, she has made her peace with who she’s become, the feared Pirate Queen of the Seas. But in this moment, she feels a strong pull back to who she could have been. Inej feels strong and beautiful in the lehenga, and although she thinks Kaz already knows that about her, she wants to hear him say it. She wants it to be acknowledged openly, for him to take off a piece of armor that he’s kept clutched firmly to his chest since she left Ketterdam. 

So Inej buys the lehenga, keeping the purchase a secret from the boy she came with. He’s never bothered about her clothes before, and he doesn’t break that streak when they reunite, both carrying bags with their new clothes. She drags Kaz along to buy jewelry to complement the outfit, forcing him to purchase new cufflinks for the suit he’d picked out for himself. For her part, Inej is immediately drawn to a set of golden earrings and a matching tikka, and doesn’t let herself second-guess the decision, purchasing it quietly while his eyes are elsewhere. 

She can be devious in her own right, and finally, this festival is something she can look forward to.

They do not – cannot – enter the gala together. Cannot, because, as Kaz had explained to her, should their covers come into question, both need some modicum of plausible deniability. 

(She hates that he’s right about that.)

But maybe that’s for the better. Without him by her side as she gets ready – he leaves their shared room early, claiming one final errand to run without her –  she finds herself able to gather some much-needed nerve. To put on her battle armor, so to speak.

It helps to start with her knives first – she carefully straps those to her legs, murmuring prayers to each Saint as she fixes them in place. 

(The lehenga, however tempting and beautiful it might be, is still a hard sell. It reminds her of the home she used to have, the life she used to live. But she’s determined to reclaim that piece of her that was stripped away.)

So Inej runs her fingers over the embroidered edges once more. The obvious care that was put into the details suffuses her with a much-needed sense of calm.

Yes, it would’ve been nice to have him here, to help her with this part. 

But she’s always known, deep down, that this is something she has to do alone. 

So she pulls herself together. The skirt goes on first, her trustworthy knives disappearing beneath the heavy layers. She works the blouse on next, lacing up the back of it securely, ensuring no wandering fingers will take it apart. Finally she wraps the dupatta – a gorgeous, shimmering, delicate thing – over her shoulders. A fitting last touch, the cherry on top.

She’s relieved to find that she still looks and feels like herself, beneath it all. Even if that’s not what anyone else will see.

It paints a perfectly duplicitous picture, in the mirror. A glittering, distracting facade on Ravkan soil.

And if this night goes the way she hopes – no one else will ever have to see what lies beneath.

—---------

So she enters the gala alone.

Well, correction – the gala doors have not officially opened yet, so she’s here in the large banquet hall that serves as a makeshift waiting room alone.

That is unusual in and of itself, but that’s by design. She doesn’t look like a working girl (not that any would have been allowed in at this kind of event), but she does pique some immediate interest amongst the well-dressed attendees in the room. Inej firmly ignores it, choosing instead to take in her surroundings.

It’s a magnificent hall, if darker than she’d expected. But the low light will work to their advantage, and it gives the event an air of mystery. The floor is a rich, dark wood (perfect for hiding stains of all kinds, she thinks grimly) and the furnishings are ornate and well-worn. There are small candles everywhere, reminding her, counter-intuitively, of the inside of a church.

If only this could be as safe.

Inej turns now to scan the crowd, and mercifully, most eyes have since fallen off of her, the thrill of novelty long gone. But she can pick out a few who stand out, their movements not quite casual. And just like that, her previous suspicions are confirmed: they’re not the only ones with their own agendas on the loose tonight.

That’s fine, expected really, but it adds a lovely new wrinkle to their mission: not only do they have to swap out the documents, but they have to make sure they’re not observed by anyone else looking to do the same thing. Of which there are likely several. 

That’s her job for tonight, and just as well. She can handle it, easy. 

Now as for the man of the hour. Their diplomat – where is he?

The Fjerdans are difficult to miss, generally speaking. She’s looking for someone who, by Kaz’s description, is a tall, blonde, older gentleman, one who’s covered in military regalia. Currently, nowhere to be seen.

That’s when, of course, she feels what can only be described as someone’s gaze on her. 

Inej turns, and there he is: Kaz Brekker, looking quite unlike she’s ever seen him before. He’s dressed in a more traditional Ravkan-style suit-coat, a stormy grey-black color, but it’s the look on his face that stops her where she stands: there’s a hunger, a greed on his features she’s never seen before. Never directed towards her, anyways. 

It’s so much coming from him, a man who never tells her bloody anything if he can avoid it, but it doesn’t scare her like it probably should. Instead, it sends a thrill down her spine, tilts her world on its axis. 

He’s looking at her as she could have been, yes, but he doesn’t see it that way, she realizes. There’s no bitterness in his eyes, no lingering regret over what had been taken from her. 

No, for once there’s just pure, unadulterated want from the boy she loves, the feeling it evokes is every bit as magical as those starlit caravan nights she’d always dreamed of.

And yes, maybe that exact dream had been stolen from her past, but every choice she’d made since had brought this part of her life back to her, even when she’d thought it impossible. 

The world kept changing, just as they both had. This could change, too.

It’s what emboldens her to draw closer to him, all covers be damned. 

He meets her as if he can read her mind, the two of them moving into a secluded, dark corner. (Some things, perhaps, always stay the same.)

But this part will be different. Because she has a question she needs answered, and she knows when to pull her advantage. 

“Why didn’t you reply to my letters?” She doesn’t let her gaze leave his, can feel the way he suddenly stiffens beneath it. His eyes avert from hers, on some faraway point on the wall.

“I wrote you letters,” he responds slowly. 

But it’s not a complete answer, not really. He’s leaving out something, he most certainly is. So she waits until he looks at her again, eyebrows raising in an unspoken question.

Kaz’s eyes bore into hers, daring her to look away, but Inej has held many a contest with him, and he can’t scare her away this time. Once, the challenge might have frightened her, but she knows his feelings are something he doesn’t feel comfortable expressing outright unless she pushes.

So she does.

“Why didn’t you reply to all my letters? I heard more from Nina than you this past voyage.”

A brief moment of hesitation, then – 

“I didn’t think you would want to hear from me.”

Inej snorts. “I always want to hear from you, even when you’re being an insufferable idiot about it.”

The boy lets out a small laugh, and the sound lifts Inej’s soul into flight. Kaz doesn’t laugh easily, and she treasures each and every one she creates in him.

He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for whatever admission he is about to make. “I…thought that hearing from me might be too much of a reminder of the life you left behind. I didn’t want to pull you under the weight of Ketterdam once more.”

She’s startled, not having expected that at all. It’s complete nonsense, of course, but she’s touched that Kaz is worried about that. Inej knows he has his demons, and his course of action is to fight through them by sheer force of will and by conquering the streets of the city that never gave him an inch, but she isn’t like that. 

“My demons are strong, yes...but Ketterdam has never been a reminder of that,” she shares, willing him to realize that when she said Ketterdam, what she really means is Kaz Brekker. 

The boy who saved her from a living nightmare, who had bought her freedom with the last of his funds, and who had been willing to let her leave him behind to fulfill what she was born to do.  

But she’s not leaving him behind. Not now, not ever again. Not even if he wants her to.

“You are a part of the life I want to keep, Kaz,” she says simply. “So don’t keep yourself away from me.”

“Or what?” he says, and though there's a challenge in the low pitch of his voice, she can also see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. It’s a look that makes her want to do to him what those older girls would do with their clandestine lovers, mission be damned. One day, maybe.

“Or I’ll have to steal you away, of course,” she retorts, and there’s a fully-formed smile on her face, one she’s certain doesn’t hide her inner thoughts in the slightest. “After all, I learned from the very best.”

Around them, the crowd starts moving with a shout – the gala doors have finally opened, praise the Saints! – but neither pays it any heed.

Kaz nods once, gaze never leaving hers, before slowly moving his arm upwards to hover it in the air between them in an offering. Not everything, but enough.

As long as he reaches for her, she will always reach back. 

So Inej slowly, gently wraps a henna-covered hand around his outstretched arm. She feels Kaz stiffen momentarily before forcing himself to relax, feels a warm surge of pride at the effort made. 

He’s doing this for her. They both are.

So together, arms linked, they push through the heavy wooden doors and enter the gala. 

It’s finally time for real work to begin. 

But, Inej knows, there’s no one else she’d rather have at her side.

[patronsaintofdemons]

A different kind of fairy tale

Hi this is my fic for the @grishaversebigbang!! I worked with gang 14 on a Nikolai-centric piece and we decided to do Zoyalai in a Howl's Moving Castle AU!!

Materialki: @paranormarine! Check out their amazing art here!

Etheralki: @moon-penguinn! They wrote another fic with the same setup, a sort of continuation (actually I wrote a prequel since they wrote theirs first) You can check it out here!

When Nikolai is cursed, he decides to go to the Dragon Witch for help. He finds that and more in her magical castle. OR Fairy tales aren't always about princes and princesses. Sometimes they are about sailors and witches (and the friends we've made along the way)

Read on ao3

Nikolai was left coughing on his knees in the darkened room. By the time he gets his bearings and stands up on shaky legs the wizard is long gone. 'Fuck,' he thinks. And then again, because he feels like it, 'Bastard.'

There's a strange hum all throughout his body, like there's something coiled just under his skin, waiting for the moment he stops looking to rise up to the surface. He looks down at his hands and swears that for a second the shadows move across his fingers, but he can't see anything different about them in the moonlight.

He's half-tempted to try to follow the wizard, but almost immediately dismisses that as an incredibly bad idea. What would he even do? Try to punch him? He'd be dead, or with an even worse curse before he could even try. He's still breathing heavily and at this point he's not sure if it's from the adrenaline or pure anger. He's not sure he cares.

Eventually, after he calms down somewhat, he decides to go home and sleep on it.

Whatever happened, he can deal with it just as well, if not better, in the morning. 

*

He can't deal with it better in the morning.

He wakes up and without thinking tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. He nearly takes his own eye out, jerking his hand back when he feels a scratch under his eyebrow. Blinking his eyes open, he sees that his fingers have turned into horrible blackened claws, with shadows snaking all the way up to his elbows. ‘Mirror,’ he thinks, and frantically gets up. Or tries to, anyway. As soon as he stands up, he falls back onto the bed. There's an unfamiliar weight on his back. Reaching behind himself, he feels something thick and leathery protruding from his shoulder blades.

Carefully untangling himself from the blankets as to not tear them, Nikolai gets up. Hunched over, he manages to find his balance after a few moments. His feet are clawed and blackened too, leaving faint scratches on the wooden floor. His breathing quickens.

There's a small dressing table in his room with a basin of water and a mirror he usually uses to shave. He stands in front of the mirror and takes in what happened to him, how he looks now, mentally cursing at the wizard the whole time. 

His limbs look as if submerged in shadows, nails turned into sharp, scary claws. He thinks he can feel- ah, yes, of course his teeth are sharp too. His eyes are black. And just to fully complete the look, two black, bat-like wings stretch out behind his back. 

He stands, like a monster from legends, and tries to think rationally about this. 

How do you break a curse? True love's kiss? No, that only happens in fairy tales. It would stand to reason that if it's magic, magic can be used to get rid of it. What better way to get rid of a curse from a wizard than with an even more powerful one? And Nikolai knows of only one such magic user - the Dragon Witch.

They say she's the most powerful witch in the land. Some say she killed the last dragon to gain that power. Others say she is the last dragon.

Nikolai couldn't count the number of scary stories people tell about the Dragon Witch even if he tried, but he was never a coward.

*

The rain falls on Nikolai like tiny hammers, his torn clothes soaked through within moments. The storm clouds cover the sky completely and, save the occasional flash of lightning, it's so dark he would have trouble telling when day changes to night if not for his wings disappearing, which momentarily throws him off balance and nearly causes him to face plant in the mud. 

He's smart, and he knows enough fairy tales and legends to know what's going on. A monster by day, man by night? Or something like that anyway. He can still feel his teeth are sharper than they used to be.

The castle silhouette on the horizon is getting bigger and bigger as he gets closer, an unclear shape of even darker grey against the stormy sky. He's close now, can see the place where the gargantuan structure touches the ground and the door there. Suddenly, irrational anxiety grips him for a moment. What if the witch won't let him in? What if some other witch or wizard lives here? One that would hurt him for daring to trespass?

No matter, there would be no point in turning back now. He knocks on the door. Before his hand can even make contact with the wood, the door swings open.

Nikolai cautiously enters the castle. He's immediately hit by a pleasant wave of warmth that feels magical after the biting cold of the storm. 

There's a stairway leading up and he can't see into the room from here. He doesn't like walking into a situation blind, but he's always had more courage than most. His parents used to say his recklessness would get him into trouble one of these days. He hopes it's not this one.

"Come on in," a voice calls from above, "don't worry, I don't bite."

The room above the stairs is lit by a large fireplace and most likely serves as the main room of the house, with a cluttered table and a few chairs off to the side, but that's not what catches Nikolai's attention. There's a woman seated on a couch by the fireplace, watching him with a book in hand, as if she'd been reading before he came in. The red of her dress contrasts sharply with her pale skin, and her hair seems to move and flicker along with the flames. 

"Are you the Dragon Witch?" Her fiery hair and crimson dress bring to mind the fire breathing dragons from stories he used to read when he was little. 

She laughs, though not unkindly. "Saints, no, I just live here!" 

"Could I speak with her? I need her help." He doesn't like how desperate he sounds.

"Not right now, It's not a good idea to wake Zoya. She gets grumpy if she doesn't get her beauty sleep. But maybe I can do something for you - what do you need help with?"

"I've been-" cursed. Nikolai's words fail him for some reason, he can't get the rest of the sentence out. He tries again. "I'm-" He looks down at his hands. The shadows have receded, covering only his fingers, but they are still clearly visible in the firelight.

The woman watches him splutter for a second, then looks at him intently. He can't tell if her eyes are glowing or if they're just reflecting the flames. "Oh, you've been cursed! I'm afraid I can't help with that unfortunately." She examines her nails, doesn't look at Nikolai as she continues, "Seems like you'll have to stay here until morning." 

Nikolai could swear she sounds happy about it. He wonders what he's gotten himself into.

She introduces herself as Genya and offers her hand to him like a courtier might. Nikolai presses his lips to her knuckles, because despite general opinion he has manners, and introduces himself in turn. Her hand is very warm.

She giggles, and the sound makes some of the tension in Nikolai uncoil.

"Oh dear, how charming. Are you perhaps a prince? A king even? Coming to the witch for aid in desperate times?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm just a sailor who pissed off the wrong people."

"And where do you come from, sailor Nikolai? Come, sit with me and tell me your tale." She pats the couch cushion beside her.

And he does. He tells her about the port and about the sailing, little, inconsequential things. Doesn't mention anyone by name, not even the town, but when he sees she's nearly hanging onto his every word he describes the sights and sounds and smells, and how the women at the market would coordinate their dresses so no two of them wore the same color at once.

*

"Genya, why is there a monster in my living room?"

A sharp voice resounds throughout the room, waking Nikolai. He must've fallen asleep at some point during the night - he was exhausted, after all - but he doesn't remember it, which concerns him a little. 

"He came for your help. I let him in so he wouldn't wake you with his knocking - I couldn't sleep anyway."

The other woman scoffs. "And then kept him up for half the night, I'm sure." She's dressed in blue, which complements her bronze skin nicely, and with sunlight glinting off of her long dark hair she seems ethereal even just standing in the room. Her deep blue eyes shine with power as they land on Nikolai.

He scrambles to stand up and face her properly. "Uhm- Hello. Thanks for letting me sleep here. As you can see, I have a... problem." He gestures to himself. "I was hoping you would be able to help."

She circles him, once, slowly, and he keeps looking straight ahead, eyes settling on the windows. There's a city there - houses, streets, gardens. The house was miles away from civilization yesterday. Interesting. 

"That's quite an interesting curse you've got there." She comes back to stand in front of him. "It's probably going to take me some time to find a cure." Her gaze is sharp, calculating. Almost as if she likes the challenge.

"I'm not sure walking around like this in the meantime would be a good idea." Or safe. "Any suggestions about that?"

She takes a deep breath. "I suppose you can stay here then. As long as you're at least a little bit useful."

"So all you want as payment is help with the chores? Not my firstborn or anything?" He hopes his tone makes it clear he's joking. Mostly.

She scoffs. "I only take firstborns on Tuesdays.” 

"That's all good then. Nikolai Lantsov, at your service." He bows slightly, and smiles, in lieu of extending his hand. He doesn't want to risk it with those claws.

"You can call me Zoya."

*

And so, Nikolai stays. He helps with the housework, talks with David and Genya when he passes them in the hallways and tries to not knock things over with his wings. He doesn't especially try to pay attention to the habits of the inhabitants of the castle, but he doesn't have to. He sees them every day, their daily routines and even a few disruptions to that. Sees Genya parading around the castle in beautiful dresses just because she can, sometimes gazing wistfully out the windows. Sees David tinkering in his workshop and elsewhere, leaving little pieces of ideas strewn around wherever he goes. 

He sees Zoya helping clients - carefully making spells and enchantments and potions - and putting on a stern façade every time she talks to them. But he also sees her laughing at a joke Genya tells over dinner, or with genuine delight in her eyes when David shows off something he made. 

He sees all of them and thinks that perhaps he could belong here, with these people. That perhaps he could abandon the lively city and its busy port and stay here, in Zoya's castle, even after he gets rid of the curse. That he could exchange the sea for the deep blue of Zoya's eyes, the thrill of sailing for hearing her laugh.

*

People come for spells and potions and charms. Among them children, married couples and the elderly. The dial by the door spins, the sunlight and sounds filtering through the window panes change, and another customer knocks. 

They call Zoya miss Nazyalensky, and bring baskets of eggs and fruit as payment.

Sometimes, it's a person in uniform with a pouch of gold, calling her the Dragon Witch and demanding complicated enchantments and protections.

The Dragon Witch, so different from miss Nazyalensky who sells cold remedies from her little house with flowers growing on the windowsills, and yet still the same. Nikolai thinks the flowers might be enchanted to take care of themselves, but so far he hasn't been able to prove it.

*

He takes to sitting with David in his workshop sometimes. David doesn't mind the company as long as he sticks to talking about the things he's working on and their potential uses, and Nikolai gets to witness him using magic to help with his work. Not in the inventions themselves, his creations are never magical, but in the process of making them. Welding seams as precisely as a master craftsman with half a decade of work under his belt with but a few movements of his fingers and a couple whispered words, or setting pieces too small for even most tweezers into place with ease.

As to not accidentally knock things over - Nikolai would hate himself for eternity if he destroyed anything here - he mostly comes in after the sun has already set. Then, he stands next to David at the workbench, leaning over to better see what the other is working on. 

Sometimes he offers his own ideas, inventions he hadn't had the opportunity to test before, either due to the price of the materials needed, or simply because the fact that he was able to design the plans didn't mean he was skilled enough to make them. 

They usually work until Genya comes to get them for dinner, always kissing David hello. David is always smiling then, and when Nikolai sees them, he can't help the small, bitter pang of envy that stabs through his heart.

*

"The sailors sometimes tell fairy tales about you, you know?" 

"Oh do they now? And what do they say?"

"They say you eat men's hearts."

She scoffs and shakes her head. "What nonsense. Do they also say if I cook them first? or do I eat them raw?"

"Raw usually, I think." He pauses, waiting for her reaction, but hears only a huff of breath, which may or may not have been a laugh. "I could tell a different fairy tale about you if you wanted me to."

She finally turns to him and raises her eyebrows. "And what fairy tale would that be?"

"I would tell a tale about a beautiful princess who defeated the dragon keeping her prisoner, who took its lair and power for herself. A princess, living in a magical castle with a monster who turns into a handsome prince at night, helping him break the curse." 

"I'd wait until sunset before you even try calling yourself handsome. And I'm not a princess, so you can stop telling fairy tales about me." 

"You could be one if you wanted to though. I don't think there would be a prince that could resist your dry wit and captivating charms. Add in this castle and all the magic here and you might even get yourself a king wanting to unite your two kingdoms. You could be a queen."

"And what would I do all day? Sit around and look pretty?"

"You could do whatever you wanted to."

"I can already do that here." 

She turns back to her work but before she does, Nikolai can see a smile tugging on the corner of her lips and her eyes sparkling with mirth.

That night, Nikolai goes to sleep feeling warm not because of Genya's ever-present fire, but because he made Zoya happy.

[noirshadow]

On the Ropes

Had so much fun writing this zoyalai cirque AU for the reverse @grishaversebigbang! The fic was inspired by this incredible artwork by @jjelliacee. Thank you for the amazing idea and inspo ❤️.

With the talented @aurorasnnsadprose, who wrote the Zoya POV, I wrote Nikolai for an alternating POV story. We only had a loose plot and didn't see the final combined version till after. Super happy with how it turned out. Enjoy!

[that-lantsov-bastard]

No Place like Ketterdam

Aaaaand here it is, folks! My historically semi-accurate Six of Crows Sweeney Todd AU fic for the @grishaversebigbang! Can you... smell something delicious in the air?

This story is paired with the wonderful Polekand's amazingly vivid animatic which is linked [here], so please go and watch it! It's a masterpiece and the time and effort that went into it cannot be denied. >.<

Click below for a taste of the introduction and here for the rest of the story!

The streets of London stank of unwashed bodies and filth, unravelling beneath a sky choked with thick smog. Here, the pollution was so rife that upon looking up, Kaz could barely make out the top of St Paul’s Cathedral as he strode beneath its ominous spires.

He was a lean man, dressed in old-fashioned but meticulously chosen clothes. His black waistcoat, trousers and gloves were neat and the cravat around his neck was immaculate, at odds with the dingy city around him. Perhaps there was an air of forgotten elegance about him as though he was a man fallen to hard times, who had yet to claw his way back up from the grimy street floor.

In one hand, Kaz held a basket. In his other, a striking black cane topped with a silver crow’s head. Every step was angled but precise; he moved at such a pace that people parted around him so as not to get in the way.

“Deliver this to Judge Van Eck,” Nina had told him, her lips drawn into a slight moué. “And try not to let him know who you are. We’re not in the business for revenge just yet.”

“You might not be,” Kaz had said, keeping his voice even, face neutral. “But I’m always in the mood for business. Revenge is only one part of the plan, remember?”

[chupenguin]

Fret not, dear heart

(This is my fic for the @grishaversebigbang, hope u enjoy it!!)

Materialki: @paranormarine piece!!! I'm so in love!! Look at this amazinf thing!!! (art) 

Ethrealki: @patronsaintofdemons This fic has another part!! Go read it here to have more of this au (fic)

Summary: 

Her back faces him, clad in a blue jacket with white sleeves and strange worlds engraved across the back. 

Sopot hockey

What is a hockey is a mystery Nikolai would leave for later, now he’s busy trying to look at his hands, at his feet. He’s busy pinching his own face to check that he’s not dreaming. When he shoves his finger inside his mouth, Nikolai finds a plain, normal, perfect row of teeth.

A shiver runs down Nikolai’s back when rain keeps soaking him. He feels cold, something he had forgotten after weeks living by Genya’s fire.

“Welcome to Sopot,” Zoya’s voice reaches him in the middle of the fog that clouds his mind. “Now tell me why are you here and why I shouldn’t hide your dead, cold body where no one else could find it?”

Or: Nikolai gets cursed, finds The Storm Witch in a strange castle and follows her into a stranger world

Ao3 Link

Zoya looks blue today, and Nikolai doesn’t talk about the silk of her blouse or her eyes. Today she is blue. She looks sad instead of fierce and Nikolai can see it.

And he’s sure Genya and David, after living with her for much more time than he has, can say it too.

There’s something about the witch that seems off and Nikolai wants to find what. He had been living there for several weeks —or maybe months, he’s not really sure about how time flows in the castle— living here, he had never seen her like that. 

Zoya is rude and cold but hardworking, and she never complains about business. Due lines are always complete and no client is left unsatisfied when the Dragon Witch is the one tending to your demands. 

But these past days Zoya seems distant, less focused than usual, all of today’s clients have been attended by Genya or David. 

It’s late when Zoya steps out of her room. The moon shines up in the sky, which means that Nikolai’s wings are gone and he feels a little less monstrous. It’s easier to sneak behind her now, without a stupid big body that knocks things out of their place. 

Zoya ties her hair in a high ponytail before making the dial by the door spin until it points to the black slot, opens it and jumps to the other side. Nikolai has seen her disappear through the door a lot of times. But he doesn’t know that waits behind the black door and…

He's scared.

Is Zoya meeting with a lover? Some high level client that can’t show during the day? Is she doing something dangerous out there? Following Zoya is never a good idea. Not without her permission at least- Zoya is a private and mysterious woman. Maybe it has something to do with her heartless Witch facade or with some gruesome secret. 

Nikolai had already checked for both corpses in the basement and a secret stack of romance novels that may shame someone like Zoya. Instead of that he had just found all of David's inventions and a trunk full of Genya’s dresses. The castle is a sifting thing but, if Zoya has a secret, it doesn’t lay beneath the walls of her home. 

So, searching for something to satiate his curiosity and his need to know what’s wrong with Zoya, he opens the door.

When he steps through the door the last thing Nikolai expects is for the curse to retreat. It’s so sudden that air leaves his lungs, pressure making his chest hurt. 

One time, when he was just a kid, Nikolai had tried to dive deeper than any other time, trying to catch the shine of a starlight fish for his mother. His lungs had burned, but Nikolai had looked up, seen the surface of the sea above him and thought that he wanted to have that view forever, before kicking against the current. Deeper and deeper until all he could see was water, not a single trace of the world above or his family boat. 

He had turned to lay - or float - on his back, the world around him bright and alive, so alive and fascinating that he didn’t even notice when it had been too much. 

Nikolai remembers hands then, pulling him up, up, up to the sky. 

Losing the curse feels similar. 

He’s sinking but nothing around him feels alive.

What is this place?

He feels hollow. Something here is different, like life itself is dull and weak. The curse is gone, but the only thing he can think about is how weak his knees feel and how everything is gray, soft rain tapping against the ground. 

A gentle tap-tap-tap that balances the loud thud of Nikolai’s own heart inside a chest that no longer feels the weight of dark magic.

He can’t feel magic at all.

Looking around the place he finds stone walls and dust under his nacked feet. He’s got so used to the claws that the feeling of dirt and soil doesn’t even bother him. In front of him is an iron gate that must have served as a portal to lead them here. So this is the place where the black door leads…

A garden.

He’s in a garden where plants of all kinds climb up the gray stone walls, with a gray sky above and gray ground under him, light rain falling from the sky. 

Everything is so gray and, in the center of it, stands Zoya.

Her back faces him, cladded in a blue jacket with white sleeves and strange worlds engraved across the back. 

Sopot hockey

What is a hockey is a mystery Nikolai would leave for later, now he’s busy trying to look at his hands, at his feet. He’s busy pinching his own face to cheek that he’s not dreaming. When he shoves his finger inside his mouth, Nikolai finds a plain, normal, perfect row of teeth.

A shiver runs down Nikolai’s back when rain keeps soaking him. He feels cold, something he had forgotten after weeks living by Genya’s fire.

“Welcome to Sopot,” Zoya’s voice reaches him in the middle of the fog that clouds his mind. “Now tell me why are you here and why I shouldn’t hide your dead, cold body where no one else could find it?”

I wanted to follow you.

“What is this place?” You looked so deep in sorrow that I had to follow “Where are we?”

“This is Sopot,” Zoya says and the wind carries her voice to him. “We’re in north Poland, I think you would like this place.” Poland.

Nikolai grew as a well educated kid, he was smart and quick on his feet. He loved learning and, above all, he was curious and wanted to travel the world. He learned to read nautical charts and maps, he learned about the four corners of their world and never had he heard about this place or this city.

“We’re not far from the beach, there’s this pier that-”

“What is this place Zoya?” Nikolai interrupts her, taking a cautious step to approach the witch. “Why is the curse gone?” Why is he back to being human?

“No curse can be sustained without magic,” she explains. Her left hand leaves the safety and warmth of her pocket and she reaches for one of the flowers. When she takes it away the tips of her fingers are red and Nikolai wants to kiss the color from her skin. “The only magic here is the lies humans tell to themselves when they try to find hope.” That’s why everything feels so dull?

This world is painted shades of gray and Nikolai finds it disturbing, unnatural.

“We’re not in Ravka?”

“We’re not in anyplace you know,” Zoya finally looks at him. Her dark eyes remind Nikolai of the sea right before the storm. “We’re the furthest you've ever been from your world.” “My world?” so many questions want to crawl their way out his mouth and Nikolai is scared that he’ll start to stutter for the first time in his life. “This is my world,” Zoya walks away from him, further into the strange garden. “I grew up in this house.” It’s not until she points it out, Nikolai notices why everything is so gray. A small house with dark walls and half collapsed. The shadows it casts condemns half of the garden to eternal darkness. 

“And I thought you were raised  by wolves or dragons,” Nikolai dares to walk after her. “Didn’t your mother crave you out of stone and storm gave you life?”

“I was born like any other mortal does,” Zoya’s black hair dances around her face when the wind rises, cold rin hitting their bodies. “And I found a way into your world.” She doesn’t explain any further.

She doesn’t tell him what a hockey is or why the house is silent as a cementerie.

“You found… a portal?” 

Yes, magic portals are a science. Math and physics and the right spell written in the right ink and lines drawn in the right angle. You don’t find portals. At least not in his world. At least that’s what Nikolai had thought all his life. If he had known that portals were something you could find he would have loved the ocean a little less, too busy trying to find one of those magic doors. 

“And you’ve been the first person fool enough to follow me through it.” Like he wouldn’t follow Zoya to the end of the world.

She has the charm of a leader, she makes you want to follow her. She has the kind of pull tides have.

“Since my teeth no longer look like a saw, I think I made a good choice my dear Zoya,” her blue eyes spark with something similar to amusement. Or maybe murderous rage, it’s hard to tell them apart. “But I guess we can’t stay here.” “No if you want to keep yourself alive,” Zoya crouches down and starts to pull weeds from the ground. She’s the last woman on earth Nikolai expected to see taking care of a garden, a beautiful one. “Your body feeds on magic, so does everyone in your world,” when Nikolai goes down to his knees to help, Zoya doesn’t bother to look at him. “So does mine now, your world changes people.” He doesn’t want to ask.

He wants to know, but he’ll take whatever piece of information Zoya gives him.

Nikolai won’t push, he won’t insist, he can sit patiently until she gives pieces of herself to him.

A whole life or whatever it takes.

Damn, he would be fine with what he already has, no need for more if Zoya doesn’t want it. He can bleed openly for her to see without nothing in exchange.

That’s how love works doesn’t it?

“I plant something here each time I lose someone,” her voice sounds distant, a trace of something Nikolai can’t identify. “Lilys for my aunt,” her hand gestures to the small flowers growing in the corner. “Forget-me-not for her daughter…”

“They…” Nikolai swallows. “Are they…” “Death? Yes,” when she stands she dust off non existent dirt for her pants. “A car accident, two years ago today.”

Zoya turns around, pointing to some red flowers, big and brilliant and gorgeous. “Dahlias for a friend and yew for another… Nina and Sergei I… lost them too.” 

She had lost so many people.

And if she belongs to two worlds… Nikolai supposes that she has the double of people to lose.

“I fear one day… I’ll run out of space you know?” her eyes are wet with tears when she looks at him over her shoulder. She’s beautiful even like this. “And I don’t know what I’ll do then.” Find another garden, Nikolai thinks. Bring down the wall so the whole world is your garden. 

But he can’t tell her that.

“I don’t know,” he says instead. “But I can promise that I’m not going to become one of these flowers.” You won’t lose me.

“Don’t promise things you can’t know for sure Lantsov,” Zoya walks to him, face cold as stone, but with blue eyes that tell Nikolai all he needs to know. “I don’t like promises.” “I cross my heart on that Zoya,” Nikolai traces an x over his skin, wishing he had his claws back. He would paint himself red for Zoya to see. “I’m here for as long as you allow me to be.” Zoya’s eyes, those eyes that are usually calm, are roaring with emotion as she lets her body fall against his.

Two years ago today, she said.

How long had she carried the pain alone?

Nikolai wraps his arms around her, locking her in a safe space where Zoya can brawl her eyes out and break. Nikolai knows that it’ll be gone the exact moment they’re back into the castle, so he allows her to cry now.

The monster and the witch, together under the rain.

________________________________________________________________

Nikolai doesn’t know how much time passes but, after a while they’re back into Zoya’s castle. Back to the already familiar sounds of the building, alive around them.

He prepares tea for both of them and Zoya changes into clothes that aren¡t soaked. She leaves her jacket by the fireplace to dry.

Silence is welcomed, instead of uncomfortable or tense. Zoya cried the tears she needed to cry. Nikolai held her… and now they have followed into a quiet place where none of them knows how to advance.

Light dances over Zoya’s face, casting shadows over her skin that flickers with each breath of wind that sneaks between the cracks of the castle. It’s a quiet pace, filled with a silence that remains Nikolai of the sea he misses so much. It’s the same quietness he finds when he lies under the surface, trying to sink in the bottom of the ocean.

Zoya sits in front of the fireplace, long legs tucked under her body, holding into the steaming cup of tea with hands that are no longer trembling. She looks smaller than usual, not weaker but… more human. Maybe she is, maybe she’s just one of those humans with a little too much love for magic.

“You’re staring again,” she says, voice low so she won’t bother any of the other habitants of the castle. “A picture would last longer.” “I was thinking,” he catches the tug in Zoya’s lip, the way she almost slips from that cold armor and laughs at him. “Have you ever thought about destiny?” “Destiny is for the third sons of a poor family and bastards from evil kings who will overthrone their parents,” Zoya answers questions with poison under her tongue. Sometimes Nikolai can’t help but wonder what’s behind all that hate for a world that, if cruel sometimes, he loves so much. “You don’t stick me like either of those Lantsov, or are you the seventh son of a seventh son?”

No, he’s not.

Maybe he’s not the youngest of three sons.

He’s the youngest of two, and no merchant has ever sold him a magic  device who will change his life.

He’s a sailor, but no mermaid has tried to drown him, to later fall in love.

He was loved, so no prince could rescue him from a dark tower.

Until the curse, Nikolai was meant to live the most mundane and normal life one could imagine. 

Until Zoya, Nikolai was meant to wander around, trying to find what made him feel alive apart from the ocean and his inventions. The witch is like one of the last some times, a strange machine he wants to tear apart piece by piece until he figures out the gears.

“Maybe I’m destined to find a star,” he says, eyes fixed on her profile.  Zoya’s nose is slightly crooked and, even if he doesn’t know it, he likes to think that, just like him, she broke it during a fistfight.

There’s something endearing about imagining the most powerful witch in the land getting into a fight using her hands.

“A star who would fall in love with me and I would rule the sky by her side.” “The ones who own the heart of a star are meant to live forever. You look like the kind of man that would be bored of immortality after a few years.”

And she’s not wrong. A life with no ends seems tedious and boring.

“I would annoy a certain witch until she des-immortalized me.”

It’s only in moments like this one, late at night with just the two of them, when Zoya allows herself to laugh. 

“There was this one song… a lullaby my aunt used to sing to me,” she whispers just for them and the fire to hear. “About catching stars and making potions. I think it was the first time I believed in magic.”

“She was the one raissing you?”

“Mostly. It was us two and her daughter,” Nikolai feels like, as soon as the fire dies and the sun rises, no trace of Zoya’s sincerity will remain. “My parents and I… we didn’t click.”

“The thing about blood relatives is that they can be deleterious for your health,” Nikolai says, leaning in to grave his own mug from the counter of the fireplace. “I haven’t talked to my parents in years, I don’t…” swallowing the knot on his throat, Nikolai forces himself to say the next words like it doesn’t make him feel like a cruel son, “I don’t even consider them my parents sometimes.”

His parents had been wealthy, they had given him everything. Toys, education, food and a roof over his head. They were the reason he had met Dominik so, in a way, they had gifted him his first kiss. 

But they were distant, they wanted a stoic and serious kid, not a curious and loud one.

When he left his home - his house, since it didn’t feel like he belonged there - he arrived at a small coastal town. The place rushed with life and magic, street vendors in each corner and loud voices filling the street. He was young and the old sailors were charmed with him as soon as he started helping around the marina. 

They taught him how to read nautical charts, how to navigate a boat, the ropes and the secrets of the ocean that had fascinated him for years.

For Nikolai, those old men and women had been more like parents than the real ones. 

But his story, his tale, is not for this night to tell.

This night belongs to Zoya. He doesn't want to interrupt the little flow of truth that the witch is letting escape from her cold heart. 

“I hope my mother is dead in some ditch along the road,” she raises her cup. “To a family we wish we didn’t have.”

“To the family we found along the way.” 

Their cups click, a soft sound in the silence of the night, and Zoya looks a little less blue than she did in the morning.

Fire suits her, it makes her glow like a bronze statue, hair so dark that it swallows the light around them.

Nikolai black eyes are fixed on her, and that’s how he wants the morning sun to find them.

________________________________________________________________

When Nikolai walks to the kitchen, he’s meet with Genya already waiting in the corridor, exactly what he was searching for.

“My dear Genya, would you do me the favor of warming a bath for this poor cursed soul?”

Nikolai bows in a way that would make his parents proud and takes Genya’s hand on his, leaving a caste kiss against her knuckles. “I really need a bath.”

Like he always does, David walks past them, not paying attention to the demonic creature holding his wife's hand. 

“You know the price,” Genya laughs, bubbly and happy. His good Genya, so bright and beautiful. Each day he wakes up and each day the small kid that still reminds him is glad for the sister he spent years asking for. “A song.” Genya always asks for little prices for her favors.

A song.

A tale.

A small trinket.

As a fire demon, she can’t leave the castle, so she would take anything from the outside world.

“Zoya, would you help me to entertain the most precious demon in the world?” he asks, eying the witch as she walks into the kitchen. “I could use a dance partner.” “I don’t dance with ugly bats,” she says, already opening the cabinets so she can get the breakfast going. “Just let him freeze Genya.” “My cold witch, what would I do without your disdain,” Zoya’s facing the fire, but he can feel her roll her eyes. “Would you dance with me then?” “Of course my dear,” she bows too. It’s an exaggerated bow, like the one Nikolai offered her. It’s fun, laughing at the things his parents taught him as a kid. He would never do it in front of a king, he still has decorum, but it’s fun throwing all your manes out the window when it’s just you and your friends. “What’s the song called, heart of mine?” Nikolai clears his voice, like he’s about to start the most heartbreaking ballad ever written. He takes a deep breath, holds Genya's hands…

And start stomping around the room, pulling her along as they spin and he sins like a drunk sailor in a tavern late at night. Voice deep and slurred. 

“I’m the captain of a Ravkan ship!” he screams and it mingles with Genya’s laugh. “In each port a wife waits for me!”

She throws her head back and laughs, hair like fire shining in the dim morning light.

“The blond front enchanted men and the ginger rode the waves,” he can feel himself about to laugh. “But I’m due to marry, oh who would it be? You my dear siren, who took it all from me!”

The song gets worse.

Way, way worse.

It’s fun to scream in a tavern and make a song up as you go, singing with friends and lovers, not minding how crude you are.

But Nikolai bursts into laughter so he cuts it short and finishes the song. He wants to wipe Genya’s tears, but the fire demon cries boiling water.

“I think I can warm the bath for our brute pirate,” she says, wiping away tears. “Tell me one thing, how many women slap their husbands faces after that one?” “More or them join the song,” he says. “After all, one of the lines says something about… you know,” he gestures to his body, holding another chuckle. “Masculinity.” “Sailors… they’re one of a kind,” she walks up the stairs and he trots behind her, loaning for his warm bath and breakfast before going for a flight. Before getting away from the kitchen, Nikolai looks over his shoulder.

Zoya’s blue eyes find him, there’s a small smile on her lips. She’s gorgeous and perfect and he returns the smile and the thing bubbling in his chest feels real as nothing he had ever felt before, mind flying back to last night.

.

.

.

.

.

.

That’s how he wants the morning sun to find them but, instead of that he talks again.

“The men raising me, not my father, also taught me a song,” he says as he stands. “It didn’t make me believe in magic, I already saw it each day, but he told me that he used to sing it to his husband…” It didn't make him believe in magic.

But it made Nikolai start to think about what love means.

“Indulge me?” offering Zoya his hand feels wrong now that the black marks cover his skin again. Even if once the moon is out the claws retract, it feels wrong holding so delicate as Zoya’s hand against the skin of a monster. “I don’t-” “Just for tonight, you indulged this poor soul with the truth, what’s a little more?” “I’ll step on your foot.” “And I’ll pretend it didn’t happen.” Zoya is an emotional woman, even if she thinks that the mask of stone she puts each morning hides it. He can see the shift in her eyes. From the blue of the deep sea to the one ocean right after a storm. He can see how she swallows and takes a deep breath.

“If you tell anyone…”

“I don’t plan to die an early death my dear,” he stands there. Like the stoic prince each person dreams of at least one. A hand behind his back, the other offered to Zoya. “Can I have this dance?”

“Just one,” her hand is small against his. Not delicate, Zoya may be the most beautiful woman he knows, but no part of her is delicate. “Just once.” “Is all I’m asking for.” At least for tonight.

At least for the night where truth bleeds out of them.

“You’re insufferable,” she says, placing her free hand over his shoulder. 

“I know.”

“You’re lucky I’m open to put up with you,” Zoya’s chin is up, back straight and shoulders firm. Like she’s declaring war instead of whatever this is. “You can’t imagine how lucky you are.” Oh he does.

Of course he does.

“Go and catch a falling star,” he starts, moving Zoya around the room. “Go and sail the savage seas.”

He signs, low enough for just them to hear.

A whisper that makes Zoya need to step closer, stop moving an ocean away from him to listen. 

“Get the parem root and a ring of gold, tell me, oh dear, where all the past year’s are.”

He thinks of Dominik, all the times he cowered away from him, all the times he regretted not doing this with him and how now it’s too late.

Or who cleft the Kestrel feathers

Teach me to hear the mermaids singing,

and ride the waves of life

Or to keep off envy’s stinging,

He thinks of his father and lipstick stains on his shirt that didn’t match the ones his mother always wears. They never taught him what love meant.

If that makes you promise me your heart

Find the scorching sun and capture the freezing cold

Put the wind in a bottle and love me for eternity

He thinks about Tamar and Nadia getting married with their feet buried in white sand. He remembers his own tears and the river Tolya cried. 

I've no need for mighty deeds

I could use an honest mind.

He thinks about the old sailor, telling him the story of his life. Telling him about the man he loved and the nights they spent dancing to this same song. He thinks about the night the sailor wept as he told him, how love hurt so much that it was worthy.

Decide what this is about

Write a second verse yourself

My dearest one, If thou be'st born to strange sights

Allow me to be one and love me for eternity

And he thinks about the woman in front of him. 

Fierce and gentle.

Opening him the doors of her home, allowing him to stay.

The woman searching for a cure and the way to fix this.

Ride ten thousand days and nights with me,

Until our hair turns white with age

And swear I’ll have  your hand to hold

To love and kiss to sweetly hold

He thinks about Zoya in her lonely garden.

Zoya, facing the storm to catch lightning.

Zoya in the morning, hair messy and pillow lines on her face.

Zoya, bright, vibrant Zoya.

“And love you for eternity…” the words die as he sings the last verse.

Silence rings and he meets ocean blue eyes. He could down in those eyes because calm, deep waters are the most dangerous ones. 

“It’s a good song,” she says, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. Maybe for comfort. Maybe so they can keep dancing. Maybe it’s just so she doesn’t have to look into his eyes.  “Do you know more?”

Of course he does.

He could lure Zoya for a whole life.

For a thousand and one.

Nikolai holds her closer, hands clasped on her back and just swinging on his feet as his lips part one more time.

“My heart just yearns to say, scream in the horrors of the night,” he could sing for Zoya forever if it means holding her like this. “I love you in ways that I can utter to say, so my rotting bones will sing for me when the rest is dead.” He sings.

Nikolai keeps singing.

And Zoya keeps being held, learning how to be held, and they keep dancing.

That’s how the sun truly finds them. 

[poeticor]

I had such a swell time working on the reverse mini bang  for @grishaversebigbang we ended up doing a little something to show snippets of Kaz and Jesper’s friendship.

Materialki - @idkchatie wonderful art right here

Etherialki - @it-takes-acquired-minds (and me) fic!

[alonlyfangirl]

The Legend of the Wraith

summary: The tale of the legendary Wraith that so many know, and who so many pray to for a safe journey

a/n: I am so happy to finally have participated in a Grishaverse Big Bang event! so shoutout to @grishaversebigbang for making this possible! (also I know I am posting late I am a very busy person I'm sorry). Anyway, I love the concept my group came up with, and I hope you enjoy it too and check out their amazing pieces!

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

Etherialki: @ven-brekker (story)

ao3 link

full story under here

No matter what, everyone had something to believe in. The Fjerdans had Djel, the Kerch had Ghezen, and the Ravkans had their saints. but amongst sailors there was a living legend, whose name was far more important than any deity. The Wraith. 

For some the Wraith was frightening. A sure sign of death, a sure sign of knowing that all their sins had caught up with them. But for others the wraith was a hope for freedom and safety. 

When someone went missing at sea, they told the legend of the wraith to spread hope for a safe return. 

“Come here and listen,” the mother would say to a distraught child, crying for their lost sibling. “You don't need to worry, the wraith is out there, and she will bring your sister back, safe and sound.”

And then they would tell the legend of the Wraith. It always went something like this.

It was not the first time a sailor had heard the name The Wraith, but no one had heard it said like this before. It wasn't the way people would speak about some insignificant captain that had tried herself against some small slaver and won. No this time it sounded like someone bit, someone worthy of attention. 

In the beginning the wraith wasn't much to speak about. Sure she had a nice ship and a good crew, but anyone with enough money could get themselves that. It was said that the wraiths had plans of becoming a legend, even from the start, but it still took some time for her to get the attention she deserved. 

Just because few knew the true power the wraith held in the beginning, didn't mean that she was a bad sailor or captain. Quite the opposite. 

Of course, she had started small. Some say her goal had always been to hunt slavers, to free the people taken from everything they knew. It was known that more and more ships were being taken down on the true sea. Particularly slave ships. But it was nothing to worry about. Not until that day. 

It was a clear day out on the sea. The water was still and not a cloud in sight. It was peaceful. maybe too peaceful. At least while knowing that the particular ship that was being looked at held dozens of people, kidnapped to be sold as slaves. Most of them children. 

Most of the people on board had given up hope. They knew it was over as soon as they were thrown in the cell. Others kept hope out longer, still praying to whatever saint or god they believed in. Little did they know, they would get their miracle soon enough. 

There, while locked in the dark of the inside of the boat, they heard something. While they could not see the sky, they knew this day was calmer than most, and therefore sounds like they should not be heard. Still, it could just be one of the men on the ship having a little too much to drink and stumbling around. That was not exactly an un-normal accordance. Still, some of the children began to feel a bit of hope. 

But this was no man with too much to drink, this was a man hit in the head with a knife. No drunken accident, but a very deliberate murder. Because someone was here to save them. First the one man, then another and another. 

Above the deck, it was the wraith who had thrown the knives and killed the men. On this still day she had managed to sneak aboard the ship, and then attack. And she wasn't the only one. Now that she had their attention for a bit, the rest of her crew came on her ship to help. 

When her people were aboard the ship she only had two more things to do: release the captured, and pay the captain a visit. 

As soon as she saw one of her men was aboard the slaver ship and helping her with taking them down she made her way beneath deck.

When she opened the hatch that led her below, the prisoners were scared. Sure they knew something was happening, some of them even had hope for a rescue. But others were weary. How could they know if this person truly came here to help them. Maybe it was just another slaver looking for some good girls to be sold. 

But they needn't worry, because the wraith had come, and she had come to help them. 

She quickly made her way towards the cages, working to get them open and set the girls free. 

“Quick, go, go, you’re free,” she said. “Are there any more hidden prisoners?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so,” someone replied.

“Okay, I will look around just to be sure, and then I’ll come back up to deck to make sure the captain gets what he deserves.”

The captured would stay below deck for some moments more, wondering what to do. They were free, yes, but that didn’t mean that they were safe.

They didn’t know what was happening up there, and some of them didn’t want to know. However, some did want to know. And so they went up on deck, seeing sunlight for the first time in weeks.

But the sun was not the only thing that greeted the freed prisoners when looking at the deck. They were also met with the sight of the captain, tied to a chair with his mouth bound in the middle of the deck. 

Most of the prisoners had never seen the captain, but just by looking at the man tied to the chair, they knew it was him. No other man on the ship looked like him, clean and rich. Rich on the lives of other people that he sold. And by the looks of it, he had sold a lot. And here he was, tied and gagged on his own ship.

None of his crew dared to move or even try to help. Maybe they were scared to move, scared of the wraith, or maybe, just maybe, they knew he was getting what he deserved. They knew how many children and women he had taken. They knew how he treated them. and deep down they knew he deserved even worse than this. That this was just the way mortals dealt with it. No one dared think about what he might face in death. It didn't matter when they believed in it, no one could believe he would die and that would be it. 

And maybe that's why they needed the wraith. Sure she couldn't guarantee that he got exactly what he deserved, but she could do what gods and saints could not. She could kill him right where he was, on his own ship, surrounded by his own prisoners. And she could make sure they all knew. Everyone on deck knew that he was going to get what he deserved. 

Even the ones that choose to stay under deck for safety, knew that the captain would not fare well after this. 

When the wraith stepped on deck, she made her way towards the captain. Everyone could see the pure fear on his face. No one knew exactly what she was going to do. No one had expected her here in the first place, so they could not even begin to expect what she was going to do to the captain. 

When she had finally made her way towards him, she leaned down to press one of ehr blades to his throat. 

“Do you know how much I have suffered because of men like you?” she had asked. The man made no noise, nor did it seem like he was planning on making any. That was until she pressed her blade harder against his throat and he whimpered. “Answer me,” she said sternly. 

There was something about the way she spoke. It was not inherently threatening, but when she spoke the way she did, you knew that you were in danger. 

“I honestly do not,” he replied. “I am sorry if I have somehow caused you pain, I truly didn't mean any harm. Did I take one of your loved ones? Your sister perhaps?” he tried getting himself out of the situation, tried to get her to show mercy. But it was not worth trying mercy when it came to the wraith. 

She was snot completely ruthless, but she would not give mercy to anyone who did not deserve it. 

“You have not hurt me. you have not taken my sister, or any other loved one,” she said calmly. it was so calm it was weary. “But I was taken, by someone just like you. and I have suffered from it. you said it yourself, you have no idea how much.”

And just like that it was over for him. With her last word she sunk one of her knives into his stomach. “This will never make up for what I have suffered through. It will never come close to healing me or any of the people in a similar situation. But it can stop people like you from continuing doing it to others. And that will have to do for now,” she whispered in his ear as she sunk the knife deeper and deeper, watching the color drain slowly from his face until he was just a pale sack of tied up meat. 

But there was something strange about this. Some would swear that it was not the wraith who killed the captain, but ghosts. Grown people would swear they saw the ghosts of the ones who had been captured on this ship before.

And they were ruthless. More ruthless than the wraith ever could have been. But it was only fair, they were the spirits of the ones who had died on this ship. sure the wraith had rage, but she still had a life. She had gotten out, she was doing what she could to make this better. But they never got that chance. They were trapped, watching so many suffer the same fate as they did. So when they got their chance for vengeance, they took it.

The legend usually went something like this. Sure there were some variations, and some told other stories of the wraith on other ships then this one. But the one told the most when something like what you heard. 

And when the boy heard this he could stop holding his breath in fear for his sister. because there was hope. There was the wraith, out there, making sure people like his sister didn't need to suffer. 

Of course no one actually knew exactly what happened on any ship the wraith was on, except for the wraith herself. She did not mind the exaggeration, but they did sometimes get a bit too outlandish for her. 

But that was not what mattered. What mattered was that soon, no one would need to suffer her fate, or the fate of the ghosts on the ship. The details were actually true. Every time she killed one of the men doing these horrible things, she started to hear a faint singing, they got progressively louder until suddenly there were spirits flying through the men. 

And she hoped, however little it might be, that it lightened their suffering just a little bit. anything was better than being stuck with the rage and the feeling of injustice. 

But no one would have to feel that anymore. Not as long as she was sailing the seas. 

[dazebras]

Paper Faces on Parade (Ninej Masquerade AU)

a/n: Part of the @grishaversebigbang Reverse Mini Bang 2022. Big thanks to @margot-arts​ for such a fun concept! Check out her amazing art here.

Summary:

Bastijn Morssink’s annual masquerade ball: A night of pageantry and loose inhibitions. An anonymous mingling of nationalities, classes, and enemies confined to Morssink’s Zeirfoort estate. There was no guest list; as long as a person fit the dress code, they’d not be turned away at the door.

It made the first part of Nina’s plan - entry to the grounds - ludicrously easy.

Read the full fic under the cut or on AO3.

Nights like this made Nina miss the little things about being a Corpralnik the most. Right now, her nose itched, and she wistfully recalled the days when she could soothe a minor discomfort without missing her makeup or clothes.

It was this damned mask. The gorgeous half-mask that tapered in sharp angles beneath each eye did wonders to accentuate her full lips, but the lace trim itched wherever it brushed against her cheek.

Still, it was required for Bastijn Morssink’s annual masquerade ball. A night of pageantry and loose inhibitions. An anonymous mingling of nationalities, classes, and enemies confined to Morssink’s Zeirfoort estate. There was no guest list; as long as a person fit the dress code, they’d not be turned away at the door.

It made the first part of Nina’s plan - entry to the grounds - ludicrously easy.

Ravkan intelligence indicated that Morssink had been buying abducted Ravkan citizens on the slave black market and falsifying their indenture contracts. Ravka had enough evidence to move on the mercher’s holdings, discreetly seizing his assets and liberating his indentures, but first they needed the name of his forger. If Ravkan operatives acted without that information, the forger could get spooked and go to ground before they learned who was forging documents for multiple slavers throughout Kerch. The name of the forger was speculated to be in a ledger kept in a floor safe in Morssink’s office.

It wasn’t Nina’s usual mission. Her skills as a Corpsewitch, as some called her now, were unlikely to come in handy. But, given her recent lack of attachment to anything - or anyone - keeping her in Ravka, she was one of a handful of operatives familiar enough with Kerch customs to blend in and willing to travel at a moment’s notice.

And, as she wandered the crowded ballroom, she admitted that she did not mind being assigned to play dress-up and attend a fancy party.

Like most of the female guests, Nina wore a shade vibrant enough to make a Barrel-born gangster sweat. The bright scarlet reminded her of her kefta, which was half the reason she had chosen it. The off-the-shoulder neckline of the tightly fitted bodice plunged to a daring level. Around her waist, the skirts billowed out into an exaggerated silhouette achieved by ruffled layers of silk and tulle.

Nina slipped amid the wallflowers and gossiping grandmothers who crowded the borders of the dance floor. The guests’ full skirts made it difficult, but she was nothing if not graceful. Finally, she spotted her target on the other side of the room - the buffet table.

The table was laden with tiny sandwiches sliced into delicate shapes, meticulously iced cakes and bonbons, succulent pink shrimp, soft cheese and fruits spreads ready to be slathered onto bits of herbed toast, and more. Nina sampled each with gusto. After only tasteless meals on the boat from Os Kervo, she didn’t let herself feel any guilt about overindulgence.

“You should try the Bossche Bollen next,” suggested a masculine voice to her left, just as Nina popped the last bite of something cheesy into her mouth. She turned to see a tall gentleman decked in a fine mercher suit and teal, satin mask. The matching teal lapel pin with the Morssink Trading insignia gave away his identity. He indicated a puff pastry half-dipped in chocolate. “They’re to die for.”

Nina smiled and licked her lips, noting that his eyes followed the movement intently. “They look divine.”

Morssink was right - the creme-filled pastry was delicious, if a bit messy. When she finished, she debated whether it was too rude to lick the chocolate smeared on her fingers and looked up to see Morssink offering her a handkerchief. She left her small plate off to the side and took the cotton square gratefully.

“I like a woman who knows how to enjoy the finer things in life.” Oh, he really was making this too easy, even if his flirting was enough to make Nina’s skin crawl. She was sure his wife enjoyed the finer things too, which was why she was at their country estate where she didn’t have to be around her husband. Or perhaps Morssink just didn’t want her to bear witness to his… indiscretions.

“Oh, I do have an appetite for fine things,” Nina purred. “But now I find myself a bit parched.”

And just like that, Nina found herself whisked away to the back halls with a promise of a bandy in the library.

The most eye-catching thing wasn’t the frankly tacky statuette of Ghezen’s Hand that formed the centerpiece of the room or the fact that the books were all grouped by color, proving that most of the tomes here were merely for show. It was the gorgeous, dark-eyed woman draped across the settee, clearly awaiting their arrival. Her sleek, amethyst satin gown and simple braid that cascaded over her shoulder made her stand out in comparison to the full skirts and elaborate up-dos of the rest of the guests in attendance tonight. A pair of gloves the same shade as her gown and a mask tipped with dyed violet feathers at the upper corners completed the costume.

Nina’s surprise at the other woman’s presence gave the Interloper, as Nina decided to call her, the advantage of the opening move.

“I’m so glad you found someone else to join us, Bastijn.” With a dancer’s grace, the woman slid off the settee and glided across the room to a decanter of golden red liquor, giving Nina an eyeful of the expanse of bronze skin revealed by the woman’s open-backed dress. “How many fingers should I pour?”

Nina lost Morssink’s response in the time it took her to weigh whether she should pretend to be put out. The Interloper presented the perfect distraction for Nina to slip the vault key from her mark’s neck but also introduced another pair of eyes she must avoid.

In the end, Nina chose to play it cool. She flirted with Morssink, pouted for him when he paid more attention to their third companion, made him feel as though he were the most interesting, charming man in Kerch.

But when she finally found the opportune moment to slide her hand inside Morrsink’s collar to unlatch the thin chain that held his vault key, she found it missing.

She glanced up to see the Interloper grinning slyly at her over Morssink’s shoulder, as if to say, “Looking for something?”

That little thief! Her confidence game had been easy enough to see through. Still, she’d expected the Interloper to be playing the long game for a spot as one of Morssink’s regular mistresses, a competition Nina had been happy to let her win in the end. Now she knew the woman was a direct threat to the success of her mission. There was likely no money in the vault - it was supposedly only the size of a small document safe - but the Interloper wouldn’t know that and would be unlikely to believe her if she tried to explain. Regardless, Nina had to get her alone if she wanted any chance at nabbing the key.

One deliberate spill down Morssink’s shirt and giggle about her “clumsiness” later had Morssink rushing to reassure her that it was a quick fix. He left, patting himself ineffectually with his sopping handkerchief, and promised to have someone fetch them to relocate to his “love nest.” Nina was surprised anyone could say that with a straight face, but then again, what did you call a room set aside for entertaining your mistresses within your marital home?

With Morssink gone, Nina finally had the chance to confront the Interloper. She rose and went to the decanter across the room to pour herself another finger of brandy - it really was good stuff - only to spin around at the sound of the library door creaking open. She witnessed only the hem of the Interloper’s amethyst dress fluttering behind her as she darted from the room. Racing to the door, Nina saw her meld into the crush of bodies beyond and disappear.

Nina was not one to be outdone, however. With the urgency of her mission spurring her on - and just a little bit of professional pride - Nina followed the Interloper into the throng, pressing between canoodling couples and dodging grandmothers with hors d'oeuvres plates.

Nina thought briefly that she might call out that she had witnessed a theft but quickly discarded the idea. The crowd’s attention would instantly turn to her, allowing the Interloper to slip away easily and would end with her being questioned by the Morssink’s guards instead. Still, she thought as she peered about the room, straining to catch a glimpse of the Interloper, it might not matter after all.

There!

The petite, brown-skinned woman pushing her way toward the exit to the estate’s family wing. She’d untied her braid, releasing a curtain of luscious black waves to flow down her back, but it did little to disguise her. It had taken Nina a moment longer to identify her, but there was no concealing that purple gown. While the dress must have done its part to catch Morssink’s eye earlier in the night, its unique silhouette now worked in Nina’s favor.

Nina shoved and twisted her way toward the exit with a singular focus, tossing half-hearted platitudes at the trail of glares behind her. Finally, she reached the woman and caught her by the shoulder just before she slipped out the door.

Immediately, the Interloper grabbed Nina by the wrist and spun her, ending with one hand on Nina’s waist and the other clasped in Nina’s own.

“That eager for a dance, are we?” she teased, loud enough for the nearby party-goers to hear.

Nina took in the curious eyes observing them and sized up the woman holding her. Amicably, she said, “I suppose I am.”

Their audience twittered approvingly and turned away appeased now that Nina’s rudeness had the excuse of young love to fuel it.

“Well, gorgeous? To what do I owe the honor?” the Interloper asked. Nina had to admit that the woman was a skilled dancer. She led Nina through the steps of the Kerch Waltz with easy confidence.

“The key to Morssink’s vault,” Nina answered. “You took it.”

“And I suppose you want it for yourself.” The Interloper flashed Nina a rakish grin as she steered her through another spin, pressing even closer to Nina when they rejoined the basic hold. “If only you’d been faster in your lift.”

The woman’s cockiness should have irritated Nina. Under any other circumstance, it would have. But with the bare skin of the Interloper’s shoulder blade under her palm and the ghost of her breath against her cheek, Nina found she couldn’t get too upset about it. The Interloper was right, after all. Nina had made a mistake by writing her off as a common swindler, a non-existent threat. And, it had been too long since she had been close to anyone like this. Not since -  It didn’t matter. What mattered now was getting that key and completing her mission.

“That’s right, I do,” Nina admitted. “What’ll it take for you to hand it over?”

As she said it, Nina ran her free hand across the woman’s nape, trying to discern whether she wore the object of their negotiation. The Interloper clucked at her mockingly. “You won’t find it so easily. You took long enough to catch up that I was able to hand it off to my accomplice. He’ll have already stashed it at our drop site. Or did you think I’d be so careless as to let you catch me with it on my person?”

To Nina’s chagrin, she hadn’t considered the possibility that the woman wasn’t working alone. This entire evening had been one distraction after another - from the spectacle of eye-watering colors to the beauty in front of her - all leading to Nina behaving like a complete amateur. She thanked her lucky stars that this was a solo mission with none of her colleagues to witness her blunders.

“A kiss,” the Interloper said. At Nina’s bemusement, she elaborated, “You asked me what I’d trade the vault key for. A kiss. From you.”

“A kiss? I was expecting you to demand half the kruge inside.”

“Are you shocked? I’ll admit, it’s a little more bold of me than I usually am. It’s the mask, I’ve decided.”

“My mask or yours?” Nina wondered.

“Mine. There’s no accountability where there’s anonymity.”

“Clever quip.”

“It’s true though. Don’t try to tell me you can’t feel it too. It wasn’t until tonight that I realized that’s the appeal of these sorts of parties. No one knows who you are under the mask, so as long as you wear it, you can be anyone you like.”

“There are no inhibitions.”

“And no consequences. At the end of the night, I’ll go my way, and you’ll go yours. We’ll never recognize each other even if by some small chance we happen to meet one day. So why shouldn’t I ask the pretty girl for a kiss?”

She was right, Nina realized. Perhaps that was what Nina had feld all evening - an untethered freedom. If she hadn't had her mission to keep her grounded, where might she have floated off to?

She thought, if not for that, she might have offered more than a kiss.

“One kiss,” Nina said firmly as the music began to wind down.

“Agreed.”

The Interloper led Nina out of the ballroom and up a roped-off staircase. The upstairs hall was deserted with no one to stop them. Finally, they stopped in front of a non-descript door that opened into an unused parlor, its furniture covered in white sheets.

“It’s under the couch at the back of the room,” the Interloper said. “But first, your end of the bargain.”

She tucked her hand around the back of Nina’s neck to pull her down to meet her lips. Nina went easily. The woman clearly had more experience with being kissed than doing the kissing, but her lips were soft and tasted faintly of sweet wine. Nina found herself leaning into the gentle press, savoring the sensuality. The moment seemed to stretch for an infinite, magical moment but still was over far too soon.

“Well, Nina breathed as the woman drew back. “Was that worth the trade?”

“Easily.”

Her smile made Nina wish she could recapture the woman's hot mouth, pull her solidly against her, and spend the rest of the night learning just how to make her melt. But Nina had already fallen behind schedule.

Reluctantly, Nina left the woman in the doorway and pulled back the sheet covering the couch the woman had indicated at the other end of the room.

She nearly missed the sound of the door pulling closed behind her, but the sound of the lock turning was unmistakable. At the same time, she realized that the space beneath the couch was empty of anything but undisturbed dust.

Nina flew to the door. She tried the handle, but it wouldn’t turn, and there was no way to unlock it from this side. Banding fruitlessly on the door, she shouted for the Interloper: “You little thief! Come back here!”

“Sorry, gorgeous.” Though the reply was muffled by the solid wood, the Interloper’s smugness was clearly audible. “You just weren’t at the top of your game tonight.”

“Open this door immediately,” Nina demanded. “You’re playing with things bigger than you realize. There’s more at stake here than the weight of your purse.”

“I know what’s at stake. Do you?” she hissed.

Before Nina could question her, a cry came from down the hallway. The sound of hurried footsteps - at least four sets - echoed from multiple directions. The guards!

“There she is! Grab her!”

Nina could do nothing but listen to the scuffle beyond the door from her prison turned hiding place. Judging by the pained yelp and colorful swearing, the Interloper seemed to have the upper hand to start. The meaty thud of flesh hitting flesh followed by a feminine whimper and a brief moment of silence signaled that the confrontation had ended in the guards’ favor.

“Here it is,” a gruff, masculine voice said. “Just like Morssink said. Damn, this bitch was armed to the teeth.”

“What the hell was she doing up here?” a second, more nasal voice asked.

“Who the fuck knows,” a third said. “Come help me with this.”

“One second,” said the nasal voice.

The door handle rattled. Nina held her breath, accidentally drawing in a lungful of dust. She fought the urge to sneeze, her eyes watering, as the door rattled again.

“Locked,” the nasally guard finally concluded. “Doesn’t look like she got in there.”

Nina strained to hear beyond the door, but the only other words the guards exchanged were an order to get their wounded comrade medical attention. Nina could just make out the soft grunt of a guard lifting hefting a body off the ground and their retreat down the hallway.

Nina couldn’t even feel relief at not being found. Since the Interloper still had the key, tonight’s mission would be a failure if she didn’t intervene. Ravakan intelligence could send in a proper lockpick on a second try at breaking into the vault, but every day they wasted meant more information slipped through their fingers. Which in turn meant more people would get hurt, a possibility Nina found unacceptable. Not to mention what Morssink and his employers would do to the Interloper. He hadn’t shown a particular taste for violence, but he protected sensitive information for people who did. And, with the Interloper’s earlier trick, Nina was fairly certain her earlier quip about an accomplice was a bluff. If Nina didn’t help her, the Interloper’s chances of escape were slim.

Nina threw her weight against the door once more, knowing it was unlikely to do any good. When it didn’t budge, she examined the parlor with new intent. The room was stripped of all decoration, save for the dust covers that hid the sofas and side tables. A brick fireplace dominated one wall; the rest were bare.

There were only three exits: the door, the chimney, and the window on the far wall. The door was useless, and she was unlikely to fit in the narrow chimney, even if there wasn’t a grate somewhere further up to keep animals from crawling inside. Window it was!

The window fought Nina, sticking to the sill as she raised the lower panes. Finally, she had raised it high enough to unlatch the shutters and push them aside. It was her lucky day - an empty flower bed with a bit of decorative, cast iron fencing was built into the wall outside the window. And, as she leaned out to get a better look, she saw the room next door had a similar ledge installed. She had really not been looking forward to the prospect of rappelling to the ground on those filthy white sheets.

Nina shimmied through the window, her gown making it more difficult by half. The fencing did little to make her feel safer. At a smidge taller than knee-height, it required a bit of coordination to clamber over both sets, even though the window ledges were close enough to step from one to another. Inej, she thought, would have leaped from one to the other as easily as breathing. The Interloper, with her dancer’s grace, would probably not have much trouble either.

Nina cursed the time it took her to unstick the shutters and break the top window pane with her shoe so she could unlatch it. She tore a bit of fluff from her underskirts to protect her arms from broken glass as she reached through. She scrambled through the window, narrowly avoiding a tumble into an empty bookcase. The door to this room thankfully unlocked from inside.

Where would Morssink’s guards have taken the Interloper? He didn’t have any sort of holding cells that Nina was aware of. They’d removed her from this floor, but with all the guests about, it’d be a risk to question her in one of the publicly accessible rooms. No, it had to be somewhere more private.

The secret “love nest” he'd bragged about. He’d said it was remote, which would keep the guests from interfering with whatever he had planned.

Nina realized she knew where it was. One of the notes in her intelligence dossier had mentioned a number of construction laborers stationed in the field by the side garden a few summers ago, but more recent surveys of the grounds by Ravkan operatives showed nothing had visibly changed. Morssink’s hideaway must be somewhere nearby.

Nina raced down the stairs as quickly as her skirts would allow. There was little she could do to be stealthy in a bright crimson ball gown, so she opted for speed. Who knew how long the Interloper could hold out?

She passed a pair of lovers tucked away between the hedges on her sprint through the garden, but they paid her no mind. It grew even more deserted the further from the house she ran. Nina peeled around the corner of a final hedge into an open work area in front of a small gardener's shack.

Right in front of two armed guards.

To their credit, the two goons were quick to act, leveling their pistols at her. Looks like she was in the right place.

“Woah, woah,” Nina said, pitching her voice a little higher than normal. She raised her hands up beside her head and did her best to appear non-threatening. “There’s no need for that. I’m a guest, not an intruder.”

The two guards shared a look. The bigger of the two spoke up, “You can’t be back here, Miss. This area’s off limits.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” she said with a genial smile, inching closer. “My boyfriend and I were playing a silly game. I took a wrong turn and got a little lost. Maybe you could help me find my way back to the party?”

“We really can’t leave our station,” Goon Number Two said.

“I’m really terrible at directions, though. It wouldn’t take but a minute. And it would save me the trouble of having to complain to Herr Morssink about how his staff left me to wander the dark alone for hours.”

The thought of her complaining to their boss made the goons visibly uncomfortable, but Nina didn’t care, because now? Now, she was within arm’s reach of them.

It doesn’t take much for a man to underestimate a woman - a fancy dress and a ditzy voice will usually do the trick. It also doesn’t take much to dislocate a man’s knee, only a sharp kick delivered to the outside of the joint. From there, Nina’s Second Army training had them disarmed and on the ground unconscious within a matter of minutes.

Nina grabbed one of the pistols. Even if she didn’t much like the things, there was no sense in walking into a hostile situation unarmed.

The shack looked like an unused gardener’s tool shed from the outside. Inside, though, a gilt, marble staircase descended into an underground bunker.

From the top, Nina didn’t have a good angle to see into the apartment below. She listened for a moment, trying to get a sense of what waited for her. Four voices: Morssink asking increasingly frustrated questions about the Interloper’s employer, her refusal to answer, and two more goons squabbling over whose turn it was to hit her for the cheek.

Nina crept part of the way down the staircase to get a better view, obscuring her pistol behind the folds of her skirt.

Morssink’s back was to her. He was perched on the edge of a sofa, leaning into the Interloper’s face. A pistol and a glass of something strong sat on the table beside him in easy reach. Someone had shoved the coffee table against the wall and replaced it with a kitchen chair from the breakfast nook. Coils of rope held the Interloper barely upright. Her head drooped to her chest, that dark curtain of hair obscuring her face. Morssink’s hired muscle loomed menacingly at either shoulder. As one of them leaned closer to the Interloper, Nina caught sight of another pistol in his shoulder holster.

Two guns, then - probably three. There was little cover on this side of the lounge if things turned into a firefight, Nina wasn’t a quick enough shot to take out more than one before the other two gunned her down. She’d have to make her one shot count.

“I can’t believe you boys decided to start the party without me,” she drawled, slinking further down the stairs.

Immediately, all three men’s attention snapped to her. The two guards drew their pistols.

Morssink’s expression cycled comically through shock to rage. “You! I should have known!”

But Nina’s focus wasn’t on them. Her world narrowed, and time dilated as the Interloper looked up.

She looked up, and the hair fell from her face.

She looked up, and the hair fell back from her face, and her face was bare.

She looked up, and the hair fell back from her face, and her face was bare, and Nina knew her.

“Inej?” Nina croaked.

Before she had time to read Inej’s surprise to see if she’d been recognized too, her sense of awareness rushed back in.

Morssink had grabbed his pistol off the side table and now pointed it at Inej’s head. “I should have known you two were working together. You thought you were so clever, but now I have you both. Guards, seize her!”

The guards clearly thought she wouldn’t fight with a gun pressed to her friend’s temple. They holstered their guns and stalked toward her with typical meathead confidence. Their mistake. Nina let them both grab her and pull her bodily off the stairs. But before they could realize she was armed, she squeezed off a shot into the nearest goon’s thigh. He went down immediately, clutching at the inside of his thigh. It earned her a sharp punch to the head that left her dizzy, but Nina didn’t care. All she had to do now was wait.

It was clear none of the men in the room, the injured one included, realized how quickly a person could bleed out from a wound to the femoral artery, or they’d be getting their friend medical attention instead of tying her to a second kitchen chair and ignoring his increasingly weak curses.

Morssink’s attempts at interrogation were even more pathetic up close. For an interrogation to have any chance of extracting useful information, the interrogator needed to project a mein of control. Morssink’s jitteriness and half-drunken slurring said he wasn’t in control of himself, much less the situation.

“Who are you working for?” the Mercher demanded.

He’d been working Inej over for the answer to this question for as long as Nina had been listening, but she decided to let him have it for free. After all, Nina had made up her mind that he wasn’t leaving this room alive. Even so, she had a little fun by answering in her mother tongue first, “Ravkan intelligence.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Inej’s lips twitching in amusement.

The answer seemed to make Morssink as furious as if she’d remained silent. He slapped her solidly across the face. “In Kerch.”

“Ravkan intelligence,” she answered primly around her stinging cheek.

“What the fuck to the Ravkans want with me?”

“We want the forger.” She had to keep his attention until the dying guard’s heartbeat stopped. Three more minutes, maybe less. Already, she could feel him drifting closer and closer to her - a fuzzy image whose detail drew sharper as it drew near. “Maybe you can tell me about him. His name, for instance?”

“I’ll ask the questions around here.”

“Then try asking ones that aren’t so boring.”

“Say for a minute I believe you. The Ravkans want my forger. What information did you think you were going to find? The man’s a ghost! I’ve never even met him face-to-face!”

Whatever information Morssink’s vault had was going to be more than the idiot himself could tell them. Still, she entertained his questioning long enough for the unlucky guard to bleed out on the floor.

It was a strange sensation, feeling someone die. As a Heartrender, she’d been able to track the moment when a person passed from Something into Nothing, as lifeless as a brick to her. Since the parem had mutated her powers, it was the reverse. She was sense blind until someone died, a Something appearing at her fingertips.

Nina curled her fingers and brought the corpse of the guard to his knees. Inej seemed to sense Nina’s concentration shift elsewhere, and Nina dimly heard her address Morssink; though, she paid it little mind. Puppetting a corpse was easier than controlling the body of a living human - there was no intelligence to resist the Grisha’s direction - but it still required focus to coordinate all the moving parts. Especially when the Corpsewitch’s ears were still ringing from multiple blows to the head.

Nina got her corpse soldier to its feet and set it stumbling toward the living guard. A violent twist of her wrist burned her skin against her rope bonds, but the corpse soldier’s hand clenched around the guard’s neck and crunched.

Inej did not waste Nina’s distractions. Her ropes parted like butter under her knife, and quick as a flash, she buried the blade in Morssink’s stomach.

“They never even bothered to check my gloves,” she said, plunging the blade again into his chest.

With their enemies dead around them, Nina let her corpse soldier all to the ground and sagged back against her bindings. Inej turned from Morssink, the vault key dangling from its chain around her neck, and grimaced at Nina sympathetically. She winced when the look pulled at her own injuries.

“Let me get you out of those.”

Nina waited patiently while Inej cut her bindings. “I’m surprised to see you in that color. I thought you hated purple?”

“It was all I could find on short notice,” Inej said wryly. “This shade doesn’t bring back as many bad memories as some.”

“You know, it seems like we were after the vault for the same reason after all,” she said. When they were free, she rubbed at her sore wrists while Inej saw to the ones around her ankles.

“Looks like it. I didn’t know the Crown was interested in it.”

“Well,” Nina said with a smile, “it seems like we were a step behind the Wraith. As usual.”

Nina liked the flattered smile that painted Inej’s lips. She swallowed thickly when she remembered she had kissed those same lips not an hour ago.

It looked like Inej had the same thought because she shot to her feet and turned to hide her reddening cheeks. “We should probably move. There were more guards upstairs.”

“They were taking a nap last time I saw them, but I agree. Will you be able to get in and out of the vault without any trouble?”

“Without you trailing behind, trying to snatch the key from me, I should manage.” Her glibness faded and was replaced with genuine concern. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I have a safehouse here in the city.”

“No, I mean your mission. You won’t get in trouble when you return empty handed?”

“My handler won’t be happy. But I think the Crown will agree the information is in good hands.”

“Give me two days with it. Then I’ll hand over the files. You’ll know where to meet me.”

Nina spent those two days in her showbox of a safehouse stewing over what she would say to Inej when they met for the handoff. They were old friends, but now Nina had had a glimpse of something more. Who would they be if those party masks were their true faces?

But they weren’t. Both women had baggage, had a lot to lose, had things they couldn’t and wouldn’t sacrifice for anyone. Not an old friend and not a lover.

Even so, Nina craved that closeness with someone, with Inej, if her flirtatiousness meant she was unattached.

On the second day, her mind made up, Nina went out for waffles.

[aurorasnnsadprose]

On the Ropes - A Zoyalai Cirque du Soleil AU

had an absolute blast writing this fic for @grishaversebigbang ‘22 reverse big bang!! this idea was based on this GORGEOUS artwork by the amazingly talented @jjelliacee !!

the wonderful @noirshadow and i worked together on this. she wrote nikolai’s pov and i wrote zoya’s. i think it turned out so so cute. hope u guys enjoy!! <33

[nerdyhuntress]

Blue Ribbon: A Zoyalina College AU

Written for Grishaverse Reverse Mini-Bang! Thanks to @dumpsterslugz for working with me on this project :)

Summary: Alina smiled warmly, reaching out a hand after the boxes were dropped on the floor. “Alina Starkova, you must be - 

”Zoya frowned in annoyance, “So you’re the little freshman that I’m stuck with this year? Saints, they really screwed up, didn’t they? I tried to get transferred to another room, but they wouldn’t let me.”

A Zoyalina College Roommates AU! Written for the Grishaverse Reverse Mini-Bang :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44810560

[fandomscraziness22]

No Middle Ground - a Kanej GOT au

I loved getting to write this for the @grishaversebigbang (my first fandom bang ever!)

artwork by the incredible @gigi-drxws which can be found here and co-written with @nerdyhuntress (thank you for getting the title lol!)

The Wraith never turned down an assassin job.

Her knives were sharpened on a day to day basis, gleaming brightly in the weak winter sunlight. Living in the north of Westeros meant dealing with harsh winters. She bundled herself in layers to stave off the freezing temperatures. However, for the sake of her accuracy in knife throwing, Inej refused to wear gloves. Her hands grew calloused and dry from the winter winds, but it was preferable, so she could use her weapons correctly.

The war wasn’t going well. For the last few months, scouts claimed that Night Walkers from the far north were amassing an invasion. Kings and monarchs frantically searched high and low for answers, sacrificing countless innocent lives to negotiate treaties. Inej didn’t get too caught up with all the news. She only heard bits and pieces, scraps of rumors from trusted sources at taverns and inns during her late nights at work. As kingdoms rose and fell, she knew it would have no effect on her personal life.

People like her, who weren’t born with crowns on their delicate heads, had to struggle to survive in this harsh world.

continue on ao3

After her kidnapping and recent escaping from the Menagerie, she could finally breathe freely. A heavy weight like a massive yoke had been yanked off her shoulders. The Dregs were an assassin’s league, who had reached out to her when she was living alone on the streets. One evening, while sleeping in a tiny alleyway, she was approached by a sleazy beggar, asking her for another night of pleasure. She figured he must have been a client at the brothel, but in those traumatizing years, her memory had grown murky. At that moment, she was backed up against a wall and only had a sharp shard of rock for protection. Thinking fast, she pressed it against the man’s eye before aiming a kick at his groin and escaping the alleyway.

Little did she know, the Dregs were watching this encounter with a curious eye.

They sent her an invitation the following week, pressed into her hand by a passing courier. She frowned, thinking it was a clever trap created by Tante Heleen. Inej almost didn’t go, but a thought persisted in her mind: after that dangerous encounter with the beggar, she couldn’t possibly survive on the streets alone. Perhaps some extra connections from dangerous assassins would help her. When they interviewed her, she displayed her knife throwing talents and demonstrated an acrobatic routine. Though she hadn’t expected it, they were impressed and gifted her with a set of rusted old knives for her to use. The assignments came nearly every single week after that, asking her to kill important members of Westeros to destabilize the new government.

But Inej still hadn’t met Dirty Hands yet. Supposedly, he was the man who started the whole operation. Rumors abounded concerning his origin story and appearance. Some claimed that he wore thick leather gloves every single minute of the day, not to stay warm, but to cover up his hideous clawed hands. Others said that he was a demon, born of the blood and bones of damned souls. Many said that he didn’t even exist. He was merely a shadow created by a living saint, who had let his creation run amok.

Every story was more wild than the next, and Inej didn’t believe a single one.

She kept her head down and accepted each assignment without a fuss. It was usually very simple to find her targets. They tended to be loud and boisterous, spending their ill-gotten wealth on gambling dens or underage brothels. Inej always wore her hood and mask, refusing to reveal any personal details. Sometimes, they caught a glimpse of dark brown eyes before life bled from their tattered bodies. Guilt would often consume her soul for taking another life. Even if they were horrible, ruthless rich people who destroyed the lives of innocents, how would the saints react to her sins? Would she be rewarded or terribly punished in the afterlife? Surely, the merciful ones would sympathize with her situation.

Better to die fighting with a knife in her hand, she figured, than perishing inside that hellish brothel.

Inej was sitting in the Dregs headquarters one early morning, pouring herself a warm cup of tea, when a courier passed her a note. She blinked in surprise, scanning the contents of the paper. Her heart skipped a beat and then began furiously pounding in her chest. Dirty Hands wanted to meet with her right now. Inej looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but nobody like the rumors described was in sight. She only saw the familiar faces of their gang, chatting about the invading army that approached Westeros or sharing gossip about their friends.

Inej’s eyes fixed on the staircase that led to his office. Very few people were ever invited up to his private rooms. She wondered if he truly was a monster. Did he wish to fire her or did he want something else out of her? What if he was worse than all those clients at the Menagerie? Her throat closed up as memories of the past threatened to drown her in a sea of despair. However, no assassin could refuse a summon from Dirty Hands. She shuddered to think what would happen if she simply discarded the note.

Inej closed her eyes and silently sent a prayer to her saints before standing up.

Saints, please. Don’t let him be like the others.

The staircase was daunting, but she managed to make it to the top without her legs shaking. In these last months, she hadn’t made a single friend in the Dregs. Would it be easier to meet him if she had gotten close to his friends? Did he even have close associates or did he spend his days alone? Inej lifted her hand to knock, but she heard a deep voice speak.

“Enter, please.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. What type of a heartless demon spoke so politely?

Inej opened the door and stared at the office in surprise. After all the rumors, she expected to see a place akin to a dragon’s lair: treasures and jewels haphazardly scattered around the place, while the blood of his enemies decorated the walls. Instead, she spotted a pristine, clean table with plush armchairs. A large bookshelf stood on the side, neatly organized with large, ancient tomes of Westeros history. This place could have belonged to a wealthy merchant or a clever chamberlain to a monarch. Why would the head of an assassin's operations work in a place like this?

He cleared his throat and Inej finally spotted him. The first thing she noticed was the much-rumored-about gloves, the black leather covering his hands completely. She wondered faintly which of the stories would prove true, in the end. He sat behind a large wooden desk, papers and books and writing utensils covering most of it. Inej was surprised at that too; she assumed that Dirty Hands would want to keep things neat and organized, if he truly was the one who started the Dregs.

“Ah, the Wraith,” Dirty Hands greeted her. His voice was raspy and drew her attention to his face, where yet another surprise awaited. He was about her age, maybe a year or two older. Inej hadn’t realized he would be so young; not that age takes away from lethalness, as she herself knew full well. It certainly made some of the more brutal stories take a new shape in her mind.

“You’ve become one of our most prized assets. And in only a month,” he mused. Inej’s eyes darted up to meet his in surprise. She knew she was good at her job, but she hadn’t realized Dirty Hands knew who she was.

His eyes were the color of coffee, dark from the violence he had committed in Westeros, she assumed. It was just another way his exterior matched the many rumors that swirled about him. They stared intensely at Inej, waiting for her to respond—almost daring her to.

Inej kept quiet, though fear and apprehension rippled down her spine. She wasn’t sure that it was a good thing to have caught the attention of a man so powerful and vicious. Yes, she worked for him and the league he ran, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. It was work for Dirty Hands or risk dying on the streets of Westeros, with no one the wiser. Inej just wanted to make it out of this conversation alive. She wasn’t sure what the procedure was for spies and assassins of Dirty Hands who did too well at their jobs.

The man sighed, though he didn’t seem annoyed by her silence. It was a bone-weary sigh, one that could only come from a person who was tired of the world, tired of working and pushing themselves with nothing to show for their troubles. Even though that wasn’t the case for Dirty Hands (the trail of bodies left behind by the Dregs could attest to that), the sigh somehow made Dirty Hands human in a way that Inej would never have guessed.

“Your name is Inej, yes?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply Dirty Hands reached for something under his desk. Inej heard a drawer open for a moment before closing again. The man set something down on the wood between them.

A knife.

It was a beautiful piece, covered in emeralds at the hilt. The blade was polished to a shine and the handle had a firm grip. Inej hadn’t seen a weapon so beautiful in her entire life. Most she saw were rusted and nearly dull, requiring extra force to dig into an enemy’s unsuspecting flesh. Her own, of course, had been carefully sharpened and cleaned after each kill, but with each knife she collected, she had to put in hours of work to make it usable once more. However, Dirty Hands seemed to possess more extravagant methods of killing people than a simple knife, beautiful though it may be. Who was he, truly? She yearned to know all his secrets and figure out his true motivations for hiring her in the first place.

“You speak, don’t you?” he asked abruptly, as her hand reached out to touch the knife.

“Yes, I do,” she replied firmly. “Why have you summoned me?”

Dirty Hands took a seat at his table, his gloved hands clutching his chair’s armrests. “I have a job for you, Inej.”

He spoke her name with such reverence, like it was a prayer whispered in the halls of a church. Nobody spoke to her in such a manner in Westeros. Her name had almost become foreign to her ears; the Menagerie didn’t allow for real names (because who wants to be reminded that the person being used was a real person with their own identity?). In the few weeks she had worked for the Dregs, her code name of the Wraith was what people called her. And certainly no one in all of Westeros had ever said her name with such awe and respect.

“A job?” she asked. “What kind of job?”

It couldn’t be the normal kind, the ones she’d been sent on day after day, week after week. If it were, she would have been handed a note and a passing “good luck” from the messenger.

Dirty Hands’ eyebrow quirked up; it would have led to a smirk if he’d been anyone else. “You’ve a good intuition, Inej. I need your alleged acrobatic skills for this mission. In six days, the Targaryens are hosting a party of special magnificence. A dreadful display of the ruling class’s desire for opulence, I suppose. They can’t be bothered to worry about the incoming armies.”

Inej nods along, waiting for more directions. She’d be tempted to scoff at his mention of her ‘alleged’ skills, but now he’s on a roll about the upper class, and she really isn’t looking for a fight today.

“I need you to infiltrate their performance company. Blend in and find out when the Targaryens intend to make his move against the crown. His wife is far too fond of drink, and it’s a drain on our city’s resources to keep importing it, among a number of other sins. Once you get the intel, you will make your way out. Without getting caught.”

Inej blinked in surprise, inspecting the dagger with a shrewd eye. “And what’s the dagger for, exactly? Why do you want me to have this?”

Dirty Hands leaned forward, staring at her with a fierce expression, like he was trying to memorize every crease in her face. She was reminded of how one might stare at a priceless, pilfered painting. It unnerved her for a second, so she looked away, her face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s Grisha,” he explained patiently. “Covered in an untraceable, invisible poison. I’d advise you to keep it in a scabbard and only unsheathe it when necessary. Just a few drops into a person’s bloodstream and they’ll be dead within seconds.”

Inej was stunned. “And you would trust me with this?” she couldn’t help but ask. Grisha weapons were particularly hard to come by, and this dagger would fetch a pretty penny on the market.

Dirty Hands caught her eyes once more, and in that moment, Inej glimpsed a reflection of her own anger at the world that took away her childhood, her freedom. In his eyes, she saw something so human Inej knew she would follow his orders no matter what. A strange sort of agreement passed between them; two people both hungry to prove that though Westeros had taken something from them, they would not let that stop them; they would demand something of the world back.

“The deal is the deal,” Dirty Hands said, sticking out a gloved hand to Inej.

“The deal is the deal,” Inej repeated as she shook the offered hand.

And thus began the longest-running partnership in Westeros—Dirty Hands and the Wraith, armed and ready for the harsh times ahead.