Honestly, props to Archie Renaux for making Mal bearable. I'm reading the books and literally Mal is so annoying....
Honestly, props to Archie Renaux for making Mal bearable. I'm reading the books and literally Mal is so annoying....
If I ever get a partner, and they don’t yell out that they possibly liked my stupid face, then what’s the fucking point.
Nikolai Lantsov: The Loudmouthed Prince
@clpdwings said: five times kissed for matthias ( my favorite meme of all time | accepting )
She is suspended from the ceiling of her cell, hands bound, the chains hanging from a hook dangling above the drain in the floor. Her feet just barely reach the floor, her weight balanced precariously on the balls of her feet, and she knows there will come a point — if not tonight, then still, soon — when she loses the strength to keep herself held up. The weight of her body will pull her arms from their sockets, and she will be in agony, too much to do anything even if they free her hands. She knows, too, that the drain in the floor is there to contain the mess, should they decide to simply bleed her dry.
She’s clever enough to be frightened. She’s clever enough to know that no matter how much she trusts that Matthias will come back for her, there are a thousand things that could go wrong. He could be killed. He could be prevented. It could come down to her or getting Bo Yul-Bayur, to her or his pardon, and she couldn’t blame him for making the choice that saves his own life, sentimentality be damned. ( Hasn’t that been the point she’s been making since they met? Not to apologize for survival? )
He could decide that coming back for a drüsje, that coming back for her, simply isn’t worth the trouble. Perhaps this is his way back in, pardon or no. Could she blame him for that, either? ( If the roles were reversed, would she do it to him? )
There are footsteps coming down the hall, a key turning in the lock. The blood at the corners of her mouth has dried, and her cheek aches from where Kaz struck her — she should have anticipated how much it would hurt when she asked him to make it look convincing, and how much every inch of her would hurt in a cell like this one. The scrape of metal on metal is excruciating, echoing thunderously off the white walls, and Astoria bites down nervously on the inside of her uninjured cheek, until she’s drawn blood.
Maybe it’s Matthias.
The man who comes in is young, younger than her by a few years, broad-shouldered and clean-shaven. He hasn’t caught his first witch yet, she notes with some satisfaction. He’ll no doubt do less damage than his better-trained counterparts. He looks almost familiar, for a moment, stormy eyes and sharp cheekbones reaching into her memory to dredge up something, something at which her mind rebels —
— she’s nineteen years old and he is hovering over her, a knife aimed at her chest, and she sees flecks of her own blood in his beard and something like pride in his eyes as he swings down with the blade and she watches his eyes widen with terror when he realizes she has her hands thrust against his chest and that his body temperature is rising, rising —
— her own eyes widen and the drüskelle lets out a grunt of approval. “You recognize me?” he asks, and she swallows, hard. “Do I look much like my brother?”
“Not much,” she says with a bravery she doesn’t feel, “but try killing an unarmed teenage girl, and maybe I’ll see the resemblance.”
He raises a hand to bring down across her face and she spits at him, blood and saliva finding its mark in his face; he wipes it away with a sound of disgust and hits her, probably harder than he’d initially intended, and then he’s on her, a hand over her mouth, the other hand holding a knife to her throat.
Matthias should be here. This isn’t how it went. Any moment now he’ll come through the door and he’ll help me.
But there’s no savior, no help, nothing but the sharp agony of the blade beginning to move —
— she wakes with a yelp, a hand flying to her throat, and immediately she feels an arm tightening around her middle and movement at her back. The ship rocks soothingly, as if the water is trying to reach up to comfort her, and behind her, Matthias wakes, exhausted but alert all the same. He sits up to get a good look at her, reaches for the hand at her throat, and she rolls over to face him and offers him a tired, apologetic smile.
“Nightmare,” she says softly, “I’m fine, really — ”
No doubt he understands. She’s certain that he has had plenty of his own since arriving at Hellgate, since his family’s death. Matthias brushes his fingers lightly against her jaw, settling back down beside her.
“You are alright?” he asks warily, his voice husky with sleep, and she nods, moves her hand from her neck. She strokes the backs of her fingers across his cheekbone, affection swelling in her chest.
“I promise. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“’s fine,” he says, and he yawns. “Do you need anything?”
For Nina to be safe. For Kaz to get their money. For Kuwei to be what they need him to be. “No, nothing. If I’m disturbing your sleep and you’d rather go elsewhere, I won’t be offended.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Then I will stay.”
He says it with such authority, such certainty; he turns onto his back and pulls her closer so she can rest her head on his shoulder, his arm around her and holding her tightly to him, one of his hands holding hers over his chest, his nose tucked against her hair. The muddy brown of her Tailored hair has already begun to fade, and her roots have returned to their natural red, and she feels herself, now, even like this, even wrapped around him.
A few weeks ago he would have been the enemy. Now, it’s the memory of him reaching her in time, of him coming back for her that chases away the fear.
He drops a kiss to the top of her head before falling asleep. She watches the steady rise and fall of his chest, listens to the rhythm of his breathing. ( Like the sea under her ear. Comforting. Welcoming. ) Careful not to wake him, she brings their joined hands to her lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles, scabbed over from disabling the drüskelle who’d thought to cut her throat.
She sleeps soundly, only wakes again in the morning while he’s still asleep beneath her and she has, in the night, wound every limb around him. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so safe.
“We’ll have to get you some clothes,” she says, moving around the room that’s been given to him with the surety of someone who’s known him for years. “Something flattering. I have some books in Fjerdan; take them. I’ll buy them in Kerch, I need the practice anyway — ”
Amused, Matthias takes a seat on his bed and watches her as she brushes the dust from the windowsills and tries to rub out a smudge on the glass with her sleeve. One of the stray cats that’s taken a liking to her sits in the doorway, glaring daggers at him, but the other has been weaving eagerly around his ankles since his arrival, perhaps sensing his importance to Astoria, or, more likely, certain that she’s found someone else to dupe into sharing their supper.
“She’s dangerous,” Astoria warns, pointing at the cat, who blinks her beautiful green eyes up at her. “She’s tricky enough that she makes Kaz seem honest.”
“What does she intend to take from me?” Matthias asks pleasantly, reaching down to scratch behind her ears.
“Your time. Your pillow. Any meat that hasn’t been seasoned much.”
“I will be cautious,” he promises solemnly, scratching under her chin while she purrs. He looks up at Astoria, then looks around the room, his expression neutral. It’s better than Hellgate, she’s sure, though she doubts he likes it much; the Slat is hardly known for its decor or its luxury.
“It’s not much,” she says, as if in apology, “but you’re one of us, and this is the safest place for you.”
“And this is where you live, as well?”
“Yes. I’m just down the hall, around the corner.”
He holds a hand out for her and she takes it, stepping obediently closer when he tugs lightly; the cat bolts from the room at this, though her sister remains to stare haughtily at them from the open doorway. As soon as she’s within reach, Matthias looks up at her — even sitting, he’s nearly her height, and she thinks this must be the first time he won’t pull a muscle looking at her with a foot between them. Astoria’s hands make their way to his shoulders as his own settle against her sides, his touch careful, almost reverent.
“And do you intend to spend much time there alone?” he asks, rather pleasantly, and he smiles up at her, warm, boyish, joyful.
“I’m going to be honest,” she says, and has her throat been so dry all night? “I don’t stand a chance when you look at me like that.”
She moves to kneel on the bed astride him, waiting until he’s given permission for her to settle into his lap. His hands tighten against her sides to hold her in place.
“How else am I to look at you?” he asks, still smiling, and she slips her hands up to curl against the curve of his neck.
“It wasn’t a complaint,” she promises. “I like this very much.”
She presses a kiss, careful and lingering, to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and his hands flex against her sides. “You didn’t answer my question,” he points out, and she laughs.
“I’ll be here as often as you’ll have me,” she tells him, “and the rest of the time I’ll expect you in my room with me. I liked waking with you, on the Ferolind. I don’t see much reason we shouldn’t continue.”
She bows her head to kiss the corner of his jaw and she lets out a huff of laughter against his skin when he shivers. Tenderly, she brushes her lips over his, the gentlest ghost of a kiss. She thinks she’d like to memorize him and to start with his face, the clear ice of his eyes and the generous curve of his lower lip and the warmth of his breath against her skin when he looks up at her like this —
— there’s a knock on his door and the mewl of a disgruntled cat being displaced from the doorway, and then Jesper’s voice behind them, sounding thrilled. “Kaz wants to see us,” he says, and there’s something of an ecstatic child in his tone, as if he’s caught them doing something spectacularly scandalous. “I can tell him you’re busy — I’d love to tell him you’re busy — ”
Matthias lets out a sigh and bows his head, rests his forehead against her shoulder. Astoria clears her throat. “We’ll be up in a moment.”
“Really,” Jesper insists, “I can tell him you’re preoccupied, I’m sure he’ll understand...”
“We should have left you in Fjerda,” she tells him, and Jesper leaves, crowing all the way. Beneath her, Matthias lets out a little huff of laughter as his hands fall to her hips, eyes still on hers, as if he’s waiting for instruction.
“Later,” she promises, and she climbs, however reluctantly, out of his lap. “Now that we know where to find each other.”
He stands with her, one of his hands catching hers. He hesitates in the doorway as they move to the hall, and she can’t help but smile. It isn’t the Ice Court, but it’s not Hellgate, either. It’s something. It’s something.
“Welcome home,” she says, and he squeezes her hand before following her to Kaz’s office.
The night is never quite silent in the Fifth Harbor. She’d opened the window in the hopes of relieving the evening’s sticky heat hours before, and the noise of people going about their lives outside the Slat trickles in like a steady rain. Laughter, off-key drinking songs, the click of a pair of heeled boots on the crooked cobblestone — but they hardly notice that, any more than they notice the temperature. It could be because they’ve cast off the blanket from her bed, dropped in a pile with their clothes. He’s spent the last twenty minutes admiring the tattoo on her side, tracing the details with his finger — once, with his tongue, and he’d looked pleased with himself when it drew a delighted whine from the back of her throat. She has her knees bent on either side of him while he hovers over her abdomen, one of her hands carding idly through his hair, the other hanging from the side of her bed.
Well. Their bed, she supposes, considering that she hasn’t spent a night alone in it since their return from Fjerda, though putting it to such enthusiastic use is still new. Astoria absolutely cannot get enough of him; the sight of his hands or the tone of his voice are enough to leave her distracted to the point of uselessness, and Kaz has already grown frustrated with them more times than she can count. “He’s a cranky old man,” Astoria had teased last week, and Matthias, in his fathomless compassion, had shrugged.
“If you were not with me, I would be, too,” he’d said, and she’d melted at that. The water hears and understands, and the ice forgives anything, even Kaz’s foul moods, when he turns those eyes on her.
Tonight he’s thinking of the past, and the future they won’t have in the land they call home. “I am not your first,” he says, and he doesn’t look bothered by it.
“No. My first wanted to marry me. Did I tell you about him?”
A lesser man might be intimidated by the mention, but Matthias only shakes his head and folds his hands over her stomach, resting his chin there so he can watch her as she speaks.
“His name was Jani. His parents thought we were a poor match but he was smitten. Something something the color of my hair the color of my eyes. I was seventeen. He went through the motions, courted me for over a year, and my mother adored him, and I thought I was in love with him.”
“I’m rethinking a lot of things these days.”
He looks pleased at that, too. Astoria’s hand slips from his hair, and she strokes her fingers across his cheekbone. “But you did not marry him.”
“No. He asked me the morning days after and I told him no.”
“Did he know about — ?”
“What I can do? No. I wanted to tell him a thousand times but I could never bring myself to do it. Even if he still wanted me after that, what would happen if we had children and they were like me? It would endanger them. It would endanger him. And — truth be told, I didn’t imagine he would want me after that. If I couldn’t trust him with that, what good would a marriage be?”
“Then there was a sailor on the ship that brought me to Ketterdam. I was curious. It was underwhelming. I spent eight months with Elzinger in the Black Tips — ”
“Well, he didn’t tell me anything for a while. They were moving on our territory, and Per Haskell still wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to keep me. I saved us a million kruge in those eight months. We lost a few small skirmishes, so as to not tip him off, but it was worth it.”
“And he thought you loved him?”
“He thought I was fool enough to betray the Dregs because I batted my eyelashes.”
“You bat your eyelashes at me.”
“Do you think there’s anything I’d choose over you?”
Her fingers fall to his lips, and he presses a kiss to her fingertips.
“I never spent the night with him; I never wanted him to see me vulnerable. He never knew what I could do. I never told him my name. I would never have trusted him to come back for me in the Ice Court, and I had eight months with him. I’d had a couple of weeks with you by then and I still didn’t hesitate. When you know, you know.”
“None who took me to bed, but my first love was named Eirik and he stole an entire cake for me when we were four years old. His family moved away not long after that. It was the start of a lifelong love affair with criminality. And, cakes be damned, you’re still my favorite.”
With a swiftness that she never quite expects he moves up her body, gently pins her wrists together over her head with one hand, his other hand settling at her side and covering her tattoo. She’s practically purring at this, knees bracketing his hips, lower lip caught between her teeth, eyes on his and utterly adoring.
“You are the whole of my heart,” she tells him, honest, open, sincere. “Anything good in me is because of you.”
For a long moment he watches her, and then he bows his head to kiss her collarbone, her shoulder, her throat, her mouth.
( They hear her outside, too, if they listen, and there is something holy in the spoken litany of his name. )
"We could leave.”
“Where would we go that they would not follow?”
“Aren’t we supposed to be at war with Ravka? Or almost at war? Where are they finding the time for this?” Her hands won’t stop trembling, and she can hear the hysterical edge to her voice. It’s still we; Fjerda has burrowed into their bones and doesn’t seem willing to leave them be. “We’ll go to Novyi Zem. Or the Wandering Isle. Ravka will take us, if we disguise you. Or I’ll march into the Ice Court again myself and I’ll tear Jarl Brum’s head from his body if he so much as thinks your name.”
To his credit, Matthias doesn’t seem particularly concerned by the violent turn of her thoughts; he’s too used to her to be surprised by it, and too fond of her to be troubled.
“I don’t want you alone until they’re gone.”
“You are, surely, in as much danger from them as I am.”
“With one exception, my love — you have qualms about killing them. I do not.”
She wants to go home. To the green house in Djerholm, to a little cottage in the Kaelish countryside, to a flat in Zierfoort, to anywhere that isn’t here.
“Could you bear to leave the others now?”
“For you? Unquestionably.” And she would, too, gladly, but the Crows are under threat, too, and no matter how much she is willing to abandon for Matthias’ sake, Astoria knows that the guilt of it would eat at her.
“I would hate it but I would do it.”
“Don’t! Don’t ask me not to be frightened, don’t ask me not to be concerned — I cannot bear losing you. Do you understand me? I have survived every loss. My home, my mother, my freedom. Everything that’s been taken from me, everything I’ve given up, I have lived through it, but this is intolerable to me. This is one loss too many. So if it comes to you or the Dregs, you know the choice I’ll make.”
He stands and he crosses the room to reach her, taking her hands in his when he reaches her and holding them together. “Then tell me what you need.”
“You. Safe. Don’t go anywhere alone until they’re gone. Get Kaz to agree to have them watched until they leave. No risks. No attention. And if they make a move against you, please, please, I’m begging you, don’t be so fucking moral about it. Ask yourself what I would do and then do it.”
She wants to go home.
“Kaz will listen to you before me,” he says quietly, “but the rest, we can discuss. And we can try. Together.”
She’s already home. Here, in the little room in the Slat where she wakes up beside someone who loves her. Here, with him.
Astoria pushes herself onto her toes and grabs him by the shirtfront, pulls him to her to kiss him, reckless, hungry. Matthias’ arms snake around her and he fists a hand in her hair and he holds her as close as he can.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she breathes when he pulls back. “Promise me you won’t take unnecessary risks. Promise me you’ll come back to me at the end of the day.”
“I will come home,” he says, “to you.”
It will have to be enough. For now, it will have to be enough.
She is frozen before him, the red of his blood a vicious contrast against the fabric of his shirt, and when she reaches for him, he falls away from her, just out of reach, just too far. No matter how desperately she fights it she is paralyzed by her own fear, and she hears someone scream, and she notes with a passive sort of awareness that she’s hearing her own voice.
She needs to get to him. She can stop the bleeding. She can find a way to draw the bullet out and close the wound, at least until a proper medik arrives. But her body moves with a will of its own and she turns to the boy, the boy with his gun, and she screams again, but this time it’s animal, feral, furious. The scream shreds her throat and her hands snap up in front of her and she twists them and twists them until he’s on his knees and begging for mercy while his eyes roll back and his skin reddens and a sweat blooms —
— he falls back with a sickening ( satisfying ) thud and only then can she turn to Matthias, his breath coming in short and pained gasps, his hands reaching for her. “I’m here,” she tells him. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
“Ast — ”
“Don’t talk. Don’t. I can fix this. I can fix this. Fuck. Fuck. Just — just give me a minute, I know what to do...”
Her quivering hands move to his wound but she can’t hear the song in his blood anymore. It’s too faint, it’s just out of reach, as though there’s something impenetrable between them. Her fury. Her rage. The boy is dead behind her, precious moments lost to a revenge that serves no one, Matthias least of all.
“Matthias. I can’t find it. The water. I can’t find it. I need — I can slow the bleeding, I can, I can, I swear, you just need to help me — ” But his breathing grows fainter and his grip on her sleeve loosens and the blood won’t stop, the blood won’t stop.
His hand falls. She screams again, this time in frustration, and she shakes her head. There’s something wet on her face. Blood? No. Tears. They’re blurring her vision, but it doesn’t matter because she can’t hear the song in his blood, she can’t hear Djel anymore — stupid girl, playing god, can’t save your country, can’t save your mother, can’t save yourself, can’t save the only thing in your miserable life that means anything —
“Don’t,” she begs, “please, please. I need you. We need to go back. We need to make things right.”
Precious time lost to rage, her rage, and now when he opens his mouth to speak she can’t even hear the sound of her own name.
If loving someone were enough to fend off death she could save him, she knows, but he slips away from her all the same, cold under her hands —
— the space beside her, where he should be, is cold, is empty —
— why is the space beside her empty?
She sits up with a cry, looking around wildly for him, but the room is dark and her eyes need a moment to adjust, but even a moment is too long. Her breath catches in her throat and her heart pounds in her chest as if it means to split her in two, and her hands are shaking her hands won’t stop shaking until she feels a dip in the bed beside her and familiar hands catching hers.
“I’m here. Look at me.”
He’s warm when he touches her, warm and alive and real. ( She let the boy run. She slowed his heartbeat and lowered the temperature of his body so he wouldn’t bleed out while she held him. He asked her to promise to bury her in Fjerda, and she told him that they’d be buried together, decades from now, returned to Djel hand in hand. She let the boy run. )
Matthias’ hands move to cup her face with impossible tenderness, and he presses his lips to her forehead. “You were only dreaming.”
( She let the boy run. )
One of her shaking hands flies to the scar that marks where she’d dug out the bullet with her own fingers. She lets out a laugh, exhausted, relieved, and she lets her eyes meet his now that she’s certain he’s truly there.
“I got up to open the window. I’m here.”
“Shouldn’t I be comforting you?” she asks hoarsely, and she curls her hands around his wrists. “You’re the one who was shot.”
“And you do,” he insists, “but tonight, you need looking after.”
She brings his hands together and she bows her head, presses a kiss to each palm, to the backs of his fingers, to the steady thrum of his pulse in his wrists.
( She dropped to her knees beside him and got to work at once. The anger didn’t come until later, and she could have gone searching for the boy — could have torn the city apart to find him — but she stayed by his side until he opened his eyes again and smiled up at her, exhausted, pained, but alive. She let the boy run. )
She’ll miss the Slat, but she thinks they’ll return sooner than later. Word has it that her mother is in Elling, these days, living under a different name. As much as she loathes the idea of a hound keeping them company, she thinks she can grow to love even a wolf, so long as it’s a part of him. Kaz has, reluctantly, agreed to keep an eye on the cats while they’re gone, on the condition that it isn’t a permanent relocation. She expects that the cats will be handed off to Jesper and Wylan within the first week. They’ll have some time adjusting to Trassel. She has no doubt they’ll find him.
( She’d like to marry him near Halmhend. His parents, she’s sure, would have disapproved of a drüsje for a bride, but if they cannot be there themselves, then they deserve to be close. She intends to ask him the moment they reach Elling, the moment they touch Fjerdan soil. They haven’t followed tradition and she hasn’t completed any rituals, and good Fjedan girls don’t do the asking, but she’s really only ever good for him. )
( After all, she let the boy run. )
“We need sleep,” she says, and she yawns, as if her body agrees. “We leave in less than twelve hours. You’re still sure you want this?”
“I do. And you?”
“More than I can say. Tell me again where we’ll go from Elling.”
He simply looks at her for a long moment before he leans forward to kiss her, with no consideration for what she’s sure is the beginnings of her morning breath. Her hand settles over the scar again and she is overcome by sorrow, by relief, by hope. When he pulls back from her his eyes settle on hers with a deep, profound affection, and he settles in bed beside her, waiting until she’s curled up against his chest and he’s begun playing with her hair before he speaks.
“From Elling, we’ll send your mother back to Ketterdam first, and we’ll turn our attention east — “
She falls asleep to the rumble of his voice and the rise and fall of his breath and the promise of a future.
idk if this is cringe but i realized that i am in fact an epic high fantasy enjoyer 😔
The Six of Crows crew put onto the evil/lawful/neutral alignment chart
What if I am obsessed with them?
Inej: *Sees Matthais and Nina walk into the room holding hand* So who finally confessed?
Nina:*with a proud smile* it was me, I made sure it was short and sweet.
Matthais: you yelled 'listen hear you little shit I have feelings for you and it's about time you acknowledge them'......from the roof
Nina: And we lived happily ever after
Disclaimer: Matthais did NOT
I wrote an angsty Wesper soulmate au! It has a happy ending thou! The timeline is a little off and Nina’s abilities aren’t canon compliant cuz I needed it for the fic to flow. There will be more parts to come, this is just the intro. Enjoy!
The day Wylan turned sixteen was the first time he went on a job for the Dregs. Inej’s voice had been fond when she wished him a happy birthday. Jesper’s had been teasing when he told Wylan he had a special present for him, complete with a wink that made Wylan blush a furious shade of crimson.
He was currently trying not to dwell on those words, nervously waiting behind a stack of crates for his bomb to go off at exactly twelve bells. It would mark the end of their job, and the end of his birthday. The plan had gone off without a hitch, every detail perfectly executed. He should have been elated, running from an explosion he set off with Jesper at his side, decked out in one of his more subtle forest green suits. Yet Wylan couldn’t stop the disappointment that had settled in his heart when we looked around and nothing seemed different.
Inej’s outfit was still a deep purple. His hair was flopping into his eyes and proving it was still a ruddy gold. He could see a fleck of red blood on Jesper’s temple from where some debris must have nicked him. Ketterdam had always been dark and dreary, but it had never looked more colourful to Wylan.
On your sixteenth birthday, you lost a colour that represented your soulmate. You only got it back when you met them. His birthday was officially over now, and yet he still saw every colour he could think of.
He was pulled to a halt when a hand grabbed his wrist, dragging him to the ground behind something. He crouched next to Jesper, trying to catch his breath before realizing what they were hiding behind. A flower cart. He scanned the plants, praying one would be a dull grey, devoid of its colour. They were all annoyingly still bright and beautiful. The light blue hydrangeas mocking him as they blocked them from view of the stadwatch thundering by.
When the street cleared he heard a sigh of relief closer to his ear than he expected. He drew his gaze from the flowers, his eyes landing on Jesper’s stone grey one’s. He hasn’t realized Jesper had grey eyes before. Unless…
“Any chance your eyes used to be orange?” The question left his lips before he could stop them.
Jesper reached over him, hand brushing Wylan’s arm as it passed. Wylan drew in a sharp breath, their chests almost brushing from the proximity. All too soon Jesper was pulling back, a teasing smirk gracing his lips.
“Afraid not.” Jesper said, holding out a bright orange flower Wylan didn’t know the name of.
Wylan took it from his fingers, glaring at it with a hatred it didn’t deserve. He let out a huff, throwing it back at the cart in annoyance. He could see every colour. Which meant he didn’t have a soulmate.
He let his head drop, bangs falling over his eyes. Of course he didn’t have a soulmate. Why would Ghezen or the Saints or the Universe or whoever decided fate let him be happy for once? They hadn’t given him the ability to read or a loving father. They had taken his mother away from him. They had left him to rot in this godsforsaken town. And now they hadn’t given him a soulmate.
“Are you alright?”
Inej’s soft voice made him jump, not having expected her to be right behind him. He hadn’t seen where she hid from the stadwatch, or where she had just come from. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to her doing that.
“You didn’t get hurt did you?” Inej’s concern was apparent in her eyes and she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He shook his head, trying his best to smile reassuringly at her. “Just a little tired I guess.”
She smiled back, nodding as she let her hand drop. “We should get back, report to Kaz.”
Wylan trailed after her, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him he was destined to end up alone. The only person to ever love him had been mother, and she was gone. His life in the Barrel was an empty one. He had been hoping, at the very least, his soulmate would help fill that emptiness.
An arm draped over his shoulders and he glanced up at Jesper. The older boy was staring ahead, a tight smile on his lips and an almost sorrowful look in his eyes. Wylan wanted to question him, wanted to know what had the usually cheerful sharpshooter look so down after a successful job. Instead he stayed silent, watching Inej disappear into the shadows, knowing she would stay close by. He let himself relax into Jesper’s embrace, taking comfort in the warmth he provided against the cold dampness of Ketterdam. Perhaps he wasn’t completely alone.
Nina, going over Jesper's resume: Okay, so right here, it states that you’re creative.
Nina: Okay... may I know what you create?
Kaz: … and that’s the plan
Kaz: now, let’s see if you were paying attention
*Kahoot music playing*
Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader Word: Queen Warnings: slight rule of wolves spoilers Words: 567 A/N: this piece is part of my 800 followers celebration
You’re sitting in the library with Nikolai, it’s your favorite place to be. In the past, he’d often join you. But these days he’s always busy. You can’t blame him. He’s got a country to rule, and that country is still at war.
But thankfully, today he was able to join you. You’re sitting in your favorite chair. Nikolai is walking past the shelves, taking out books he thinks you’ll like. You’re enjoying your time with him, talking about your future. The war was slowly coming to an end, and you’re cautiously optimistic.
You’re talking about what Ravka would look like after the war. A lot of the areas near the borders would have to be rebuilt.
‘But you’re good with the people.’ says Nikolai. ‘They like me as well, but they feel more connected to you. You’re not of royal blood, so I think you should take the lead on rebuilding when you’re queen-’
You drop the book you had been reading and look up at him.
‘What?’ he says, clearly having no idea what cause you to drop your book.
‘You just said “when you’re queen”.’ you say.
‘Yes?’ says Nikolai, getting confused.
‘Not if, when.’ you say.
‘Yes, I did, what are you trying to say, sweetheart?’ he says.
‘You plan on marrying me?’ you ask him.
‘I thought I made that rather clear.’ says Nikolai.
‘I though you might marry some girl form Shu Han to establish an alliance. Maybe even a Fjerdan girl.’ you say.
‘We already have some form of alliance with Shu Han.’ says Nikolai.
‘The one you established by blackmailing the queen?’ you say, raising an eyebrow.
‘Now, now, darling, I wouldn’t call it blackmailing. After all, it’s war. The rules of what is allowed and what is not tend to change a bit in times of war.’ he says.
‘But you won’t marry for the sake of Ravka’s future?’ you say.
Ooh, no, I'm going to do that.’ says Nikolai. ‘By marrying you. You’d be great for Ravka’s future. You’re the only one around here who dares to tell me when an idea I have is stupid. And you’re not afraid to refuse to back down when I pull the king card.’
‘Queen of Ravka.’ you mumble, more to yourself than to Nikolai. ‘It does have a nice ring to it.’
‘You’d have to be in a lot of boring meetings.’ he says. ‘A lot of formalities. Lots of smiling at people you don’t like. Dinner parties with horrible merchants.’
You smile at him. ‘I could endure those.’ you say. ‘With my king by my side.’
Nikolai smiles. ‘They would all be less dull and boring with you there.’ he says. ‘As my queen.’
‘As your queen.’ you say.
‘I'm afraid I don’t have the Lantsov emerald, I gave that to Alina a long time ago.’ says Nikolai. He then digs around in the pockets of his coat. ‘But I do have this.’ he says.
He holds up a hand, showing you a beautiful silver ring. Nikolai walks over to the chair you’re currently sitting in, and kneels down in front of you.
‘What do you say, sweetheart?’ he says, holding the ring out to you. ‘Do you want to be my queen? Will you marry me?’
‘Of course I'll marry you, Nikolai.’ you say, leaning down to kiss him as he slips the ring onto your finger.
A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit
Inej: Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve.
Wylan: I think you mean cards.
Inej, pulling knives out of her sleeves: No, I do not.
thank you universe for Nikolai Lantsov
------------- That's how you get deathless. Walk the same tale over and over, until you wear a groove in the world, until even if you vanished, the tale would keep turning, keep playing, like a phonograph, and you'd have to get up again, even with a bullet through your eye, to play your part and say your lines.// Penned by Darks
Jesper: Sometimes, I don't realise an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.
I feel like I experience second hand embarrassment more than I do first. People just don’t understand how to act around introverts. LIKE WHY ARE YOU TELLING THE WAITER THEY GOT YOUR ORDER WRONG!!!!😳😫
ive always wanted to write a book, but ive always hated making up names for characters… so i write fanfic instead
i need to update my verses with a few things, such as:
fear street 1994