𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤. private & highly selective MALYEN ORETSEV of leigh bardugo’s grishaverse. primarily book + headcanon based with show influences. become by eza, 24, they/them.
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MALINA ROMANCE WEEK: DAY ONE ♡ BOOK QUOTES (insp.)
“He would kiss her neck and whisper new names in her ear: beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart. They had an ordinary life, full of ordinary things-if love can ever be called that.”-Leigh Bardugo, Ruin & Rising
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𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄 . infernil
“ what? ” marie asks in a sharp whisper, “ no! ” marie looks at mal for a moment before taking him by the hand and pulling him into her quarters. “ saints, i hope not! why, what’s happened? what did he say to you? ” it’s only been a few weeks since she missed her cycle, but already the inferni feels as though she can feel the presence of her and mal’s child. the notion that aleksander might know fills her with equal measures of terror and a protective rage that she had never imagined herself capable of, even for mal.
to have something new worth fighting for is an odd sensation. mal finds it hard to wrap his mind around how this has come to pass, the possibility of a future, a family. he can’t help the unease that comes from this secrecy, even as he shakes his head, trying to bring calm to them both. “no, nothing. he isn’t—” he would never know, not for as long as mal could help it. a new, fierce protectiveness had surged since learning of the truth. it’s all mal can do to breath, shaking his head gently. “he asked for you. about you. i suspected he knew about us, but...” a beat, plans mal never allowed himself to even consider coming forth in his mind. “we have to do something before he does, don’t we?”
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𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐀 . livingprophecy
𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐒 fast as it appeared, leaving her feeling hollow. haunted. neither of them are ghosts and yet that feeling persists, keeping them from having peace. with the life she has been forced into, to have mal haunt her nightmares despite being the only one who’d ever shown her a shred of kindness was the last thing she ever wanted. because if she stops being angry, what is truly left? a shell of a girl who can’t recognizes herself, and a boy doomed to the same fate? genya almost reaches for him, to hold calloused hands in hers, hold him in her arms, HAVE HIM ONCE AGAIN. instead she nods once at his words, swallowing thickly around the knot that felt too much like grief. it feels like acknowledgement enough: she should be worth more, and it shouldn’t be enough, but there’s only so much she can ask for before her throat feels raw. the tailor watches his every movement, as if taking her eyes off him, leaving herself vulnerable, is actually something to fear. (is it?IS HE THAT FAR GONE?) fear controlled her life for so long; she needs to find the courage not to let it. she used to find courage those nights after breaking into so many pieces she thought she couldn’t be fixed, when he always managed to find a way.
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 a sharp breath at his comment, something akin to a laugh but cursed nonetheless. “i’ve no reason to change it. the only thing that really changes are the books.” the darkling still brought her them occasionally like some kind of peace offering, and she’d add it to her shelf of fantasies to escape into. (mal didn’t bring them anymore: she reread the ones he brought a thousand times, and it wasn’t enough). genya takes a sip from the glass then, relishing the burning feeling and wrinkling her nose all the same. if she was lucky, the kvas would make her come to her senses, tell him to leave like he did before, so she didn’t have to bear HER SCARRED AND MANGLED HEART. if she was luckier still, he would drink enough to bear HIS OWN, allow her to crawl back into the space she fit into before. but she isn’t the only one being shuttered from his heart — it pained her, being a bystander, not even able to talk sense into the tracker, considering she wasn’t meant to know anything. (unfortunately for the both of them, she sees it). she considers her words, before making a decision that could ruin everything. “please, NO MORE SMALL TALK. it’s worse than your silence.”
the weight of those secrets left locked tight within him is suffocating. not for the first time since picking up the bottle and making his way to her room, mal wonders if this was a mistake. but there were many mistakes already made ( he’d left her alone; he’d chosen his own survival over her comfort, over bringing any remaining shred of joy to make her smile again ), and there were many more still to make. mal wishes that an apology could come easy, that it might spill out without the thousands of others emotions that were tied down to it. but there were things she could not know, secrets that were kept buried even deeper because— because he was selfish, and to have her know the truth would be a different kind of destruction. the final nail on his coffin, or her refusal to accept it. he isn’t sure which scares him more. she’d get what she wanted, when this war ended; and mal? well, he didn’t care, THE DARKLING’S VISION MATTERED MOST. more than any wish, any dream of a future for himself that could not come to pass. it was why he had to survive, to shut his heart out entirely. she would understand, one day; he prayed she’d be able to understand.
fingers curls over the glass in his hand, too wrapped up in thought and this one tense moment to let himself drink quite yet. at the mention of the books, he can’t help but flinch ever so slightly, eyes flickering to the shelf. mal can still remember the last book he brought her, the feel of it’s worn leather surface in his hands when he’d gifted it; he’d wanted to make her happy, even for a second. “it’s grown into quite a collection.” no thanks to him and his absence. a sigh flitters out from his mouth, quiet enough to be just another breath. he doesn’t know what he’s searching for here, what he expects to gain from this visit, but he can’t walk away now. not even when her words wash over him, squeezing tightly around a heart that shouldn’t exist. a nod is the only thing he can offer, using a quick sip of the harsh liquor to steel himself. HOW MUCH WAS GIVING TOO MUCH? he falters, letting himself give into the urge to lean closer. “i thought that coming here at all would make the words i wanted to say come easily, but that was a fool’s dream.” he can’t meet her gaze. “and i have been— a fool; someone unworthy of calling themselves your friend. i never meant…” but he had, and that knowledge burns worse within him. he’d known what he had to do, to keep himself afloat, and he’d thought the price worth it. he was wrong.
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the boy and the girl
I can't believe mal and alina own my whole damn heart
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𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 . defiesnature
“ …” eyes slightly wide, she tries to adjust back to that composure she’d been taught but never good at. it had been a war zone, a full blown war zone and if - the likelihood of him surviving, had been more than her own. but not much. maybe he just meant half suli. though he did look just the slightest bit older than her. either way, it could’ve been nothing. it probably was nothing. a blown breath, “ I had a family once, “ she says uneasily, “ so I get the feeling.”
she’s been here since she was five years old. clutching a fraying book and bordering on hysterical. she’d been picked up, dusted off - but she’d been allowed to keep her name. who she’d been. they looked similar enough - way too similar. though there was no damn way her brother had found himself all the way in keramzin. not alone. “ my older brother disappeared. the rest are dead. “ does she even want it to be him? is that why she’s confessing more to a damned stranger than she ever had to anyone else ? “ it’s what happens in war.”
it would have been too much of a perfect coincidence if it were her. and it made no sense, there had been no reports of survivors. of course, there wouldn’t have been, not if they — she, the resemblance was uncanny — had been picked up by grisha and taken to the little palace. unease grips him, that same itch that tells him she is too familiar to look away from. “how many?” he can’t help but blurt out the question, mouth drawn in a tight line as he holds out against the hope that wants to bloom within his heart. he’s lost so much, he cannot ask to gain something after it’s all become so bleak. “your family, how many did you lose?”
something in him snaps, grief ripping into him all over again at her words. the rest are dead. he knows that feeling well, it eats at him even now when the loss is more than a distant blur in his memory. his glance falls away, just for a moment, eyes focusing on anything else so he can gain his composure. “i wasn’t with them when it happened, but they…” he can’t remember their names. more than anything, that knowledge stings. “my parents. my siblings, twins— i tried to come back, to look for them, but everyone said they were gone.” and maybe that wasn’t the case, maybe things were different. it was hard not to hope, but he wanted something.
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𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌 . evermxre·
the response almost makes him laugh. a brow arches slightly as he withdraws the extremity, head tilting as he retorts, “ and, exactly what IS the type, hmm? ” amusement twinkles within blue eyes, a sip of the drink in hand being taken. he knows the answer to the question ; grisha aren’t typically found lingering at parties and balls as just partygoers— they’re usually being put on DISPLAY, not mingling in the crowds like the rest of the gentry.
“ more broody and sullen? or, perhaps more show-off-ish? i can do those things, i assure you, i’m just not in the mood. ” charm and charisma comes easily to adam— it’s been IMPORTANT throughout his life, another tool in his arsenal. after all, when one’s father hates their child’s abilities, mastering something such as charm is of the utmost necessity. still, since he hasn’t ever properly answered mal’s question, he finally adds, “ and, yes, i am very much so grisha. a tailor, to be exact. comes in handy, sometimes ; it makes for a nice party trick. ”
adam shrugs, leaning against the wall behind him. blue eyes flicker out towards the mingling crowds, before sliding back onto mal. “ i could make your hair a nice shade of blue if i had the right base. ” he’s TEASING. trying to add just a touch of LEVITY.
maybe if mal were anyone else, he would be embarrassed. to make a generalization concerning grisha was unfair — no two people were alike, and the grisha were just as unique. but mal had spent too long around fellow otkazat'sya to know how to think of it any different. ( he was trying. for alina; the best friend who was more unique than anyone could have anticipated. ) he gives a shrug, eyes drawing over the other’s frame with only a hint of disinterest, analyzing him for those very traits mentioned. “i suppose a party is hardly the place to brood, though showing off… that’s another matter entirely.” that was why mal was here, after all. to be the charming yet disgraced soldier who had tracked the stag, following the sun summoner’s every whim due to a lifetime of loyalty and affection. it was hard not to scoff out loud at the thought. it made mal brood plenty when among company. it’s the words, party trick, that have him rolling his eyes. “i’ve met another tailor before — she’s not someone i would underestimate.”
there wasn’t a grisha out there who wasn’t terrifying in their own right, and as charming as this one was… there was something underneath. THERE ALWAYS WAS. mal found a smile on his lips despite himself, not the fake thing that he’d plastered on plenty enough this night. “i’m not a big fan of blue. green, maybe, i’d consider.” a gentle shake of his head, eyes flitting around them to the attention of the party goers that he seemed incapable of avoiding. everyone wanted to know more about alina starkova, their newest saint. “not that i need another reason for people to stare.”
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𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 . appleyed·
🌿 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 meant to be ran through, with hands spread wide open to feel the leaves and ferns kiss your fingertips. a forest like this feels endless and lawless and feral : anything might happen if you come at dusk or dawn. this kind of forest makes her feel wild again, untamed by the color of her kefta or the regards of the first and second armies. she blends in easily here : like calls to like. the late sun catches in her hair, in the shadows of her lashes, in her lungs. the wind brushes its perfume along — the scent of wild violets and mayflower. he blends in here too : his smile comes less guarded, his laugh is less clipped, his gaze travels from the tufts of leaves on the forest floor back up to the bark of a tree and so on. like these woods are a book he’s enraptured by — like she’s the flower he’s pressed between the pages to welcome him back.
she inhales a breath of faux shock, hand splayed at her neck, “ corporal oretsev, are confessing you’d prefer to live the farmer’s life ? ” the facade lasts no longer than the sentence, and her briefly shocked expression returns to the easy laugh he earns as quickly as ever. it’s an easy fantasy to conjure up —– those beautiful jurda blossoms, the promise of slow and sunny days. the image is so tangible it aches.
“ just you and me, ” andromeda repeats slowly. she craves the promise of the words and resists begging to hear them again. the proposition sends relentless chills down her spine that feel like little jolts of electricity —– excitement, she realizes with a breathy sigh. “ i like the sound of that very much. ” she shifts against the tree, settling into the space he allots to look up at him through her lashes. ( an onlooker might see an unruly girl finally being tamed, pinned between the arms of a straight - laced soldier with a heart brimming with gold, but she knows better than to see only that shade of truth. honey eyes see this instead : a girl and a boy who have faced too many hardships, craving something to smudge away the horrors of the past. a sanctuary, whether that be a place or a person or both. ) she stands on her tip - toes to brush her lips against his once, twice to press a lingering, soft kiss into the corner of his mouth. “ and . . . the way you say it. ”
wanting feels like far too much, the dull ache of longing sounding too much like the pulse of his veins. it tastes like her too; not that of her mouth pressed against him, nothing as simple as that. but freshly bloomed wildflowers pressed under his tongue, the sunlight kissing his skin from where it breaches through the everyday afternoon haze. though they exist in two completely different words, here? they are similar, both woven together by a need to be free and to know all that life and nature has to offer. he could get lost on her, the tracker knows, eyes and body so attuned to every part of her that the passage of time would seem unimportant in comparison. and together, they could both just as easily get lost in the world around them. they belong out here, and maybe, just maybe, THEY BELONG TOGETHER.
he laughs, the soft curve of his lips glowing with fondness for her and her alone. “and what if i said i would? a rank isn’t permanent, what i choose to do with my life after this… that is what matters.” who he chose to be with. to pick his own path, away from the army— it tastes like something forbidden, it is forbidden. and yet, the difficulty of swallowing such a feat disappears every time he touches her skin, hears the gentle hum of everything within her and around them in this world that has so much to give. here, nothing feels impossible.
eyes flutter shut as they meet. for that instant where she presses her lips to his, something loud reverberates within, so familiar, calling to him. it refuses to dull as laughter spills out, his fingers deftly pressing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “i don’t make promises lightly…” the words are almost too hard to give, and he swallows, palm gliding over her cheek and coming to rest over the crook of her neck. it feels almost selfish, to want to keep her close to him for as long as he can. neither of them belong to each other — THEY ARE INSTRUMENTS OF THIS WAY and yet, he wants the promise, FOR HER TO HAVE IT TOO. his smile falters, just for a moment, but it fixes itself easily as he gazes into her eyes. “but if there is an end of this war on the horizon, if we can both make it out of this. i want it to be the two of us, for as long as we live.”
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𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤. private & highly selective MALYEN ORETSEV of leigh bardugo’s grishaverse. primarily book + headcanon based with show influences. become by eza, 24, they/them.
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𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 . livingprophecy
𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘 how their story must be? nikolai spent months trying to apologize, and all he wanted was a chance to go back to those nights. but the darkling marched on os alta and he ran, not even sure if mal or alina were alive. then, at the spinning wheel, he gave mal space — he’s not sure he wanted to see him either, the pit in his stomach growing every moment they crept closer to the end of this war. NEITHER OF THEM KNEW HOW TO EXIST OUTSIDE OF WAR. but it brought more than either of them could handle, and he was drowning all over again; how is he supposed to look at the tracker and tell him not only that he loved alina, but that he loves him too, the same as he always has? and he’ll only keep hurting mal, hurting himself, so maybe it’s easier to push him away himself instead of letting it happen to him, because it’ll hurt less that way. he doesn’t have to deal with the heartbreak of a third rejection. (of course, he knows it’s not true: no matter what happens, he will have more heartbreak than he can ever comprehend). so nikolai will continue to self destruct, since it’s all he knows, all he’s ever done in times like this. he hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the last week, his gut hasn’t settled enough to eat more than a few bites, and he’s denying himself THE ONE THING THAT ACTUALLY MIGHT HELP, and that’s mal.
𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐒 his gaze off the floor, eyes snapping up at the words, and he only feels dizzier. if it was so much easier, then why wouldn’t he stop? how many times did he have to tell mal that he didn’t want this care, that it was fucking overwhelming and he was too scared to admit he needed it? the weight on mal’s shoulders is the same as the one on his own, whether he liked it or not, and he could be the one to help him. (AND NIKOLAI WON’T LET HIM). he feels the grind of his teeth against each other, forcing himself to keep the icy look on his face. “saints forbid i make things easy for you.” words that could have once been said with humor and light were only cursed and hollow now. “we’re talking now. you’re simply not hearing what you want.” his tongue is a knife and he hates it. (he’ll write about this into a letter for alina later, one that would never be received, telling her he was too weak to resist a fight with mal; she’d hate them both for it and he knows it). but it only gets worse. “i thought you said i wasn’t ever broken.” he’d spent so long believing he was in too many pieces to be put back together, but there’d always been one person who didn’t think that — maybe this is proof that HE IS TOO FAR GONE. “what do you want from me, mal? this will never be like it was, and i’m not stupid enough to hope it will anymore. don’t act like i’m the poor boy you tried to save all those years ago.”
if he thought that getting on his knees and begging for nikolai to be honest would garner any results, the tracker would do it in an instant. but there is too much wrong between them, that was not given the chance to heal, that continued to bleed into their lives that had unceremoniously crashed together again. it had been love first, the taste of something neither of them were truly familiar with. then, it had become loss and absence. when the dust had cleared and the fold finally fallen, mal had wondered for weeks if that was all they were meant for; love lost, that familiar ache, and absence. but they were meant for more — ALINA WISHED MORE FOR THEM. to let everything continue to fall apart was an insult to her memory, to the gentle scarred palm which had taken his face in her hands time and time again and only asked for a brighter future. saints, he misses her so much that it hurts to breathe, seeing her shining in his thoughts constantly despite that spark being gone. everything he does now is for her, because to live for himself… he doesn’t know how to, not anymore. but he can do this for her. it’s that resolve that he clings to that keeps him from giving up on what is buried under their grief. “when have you ever made anything easy?” a shake of his head, feeling the very weight of the effort he pushed forth that couldn’t possibly be returned. he wishes it didn’t have to be so blunt, to be friendly and not— not whatever this is, what they’ve made of it.
the seconds that pass between the other’s words feel like an eternity, the silence that mal meets them with thick enough that it’s hard to focus. “this isn’t us talking, this is you refusing to listen; this is you locking me out all over again. but maybe those things seem similar to you.” he can’t keep the bitter edge from leaking through, when silence is all he was familiar with for so long. but he won’t let this be the final straw, the thing to push him away. there is more to be said. he takes a step closer, aching to reach out and hold the other in his arms the way he did what felt like a lifetime ago. that it isn’t his place anymore, if it ever was, and all he can do is close the distance between them with careful stride, gaze unwavering as he regards nikolai’s face, showing nothing of the hurt he knows this is meant to cause. his eyes soften with a gentle apology. “you and i have been hurting for far too long to pretend we’re anything but broken. that doesn’t make us any less human.” they weren’t saints, they weren’t grisha, they were two men stuck in circumstances beyond their understanding. but they were still breathing, still fighting, and that had to count for something. again, the desire to reach out takes ahold of him, if only just to grab nikolai by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. “i want one honest answer, nik. just… just one. even if the people who we used to be are gone, i still remember what that face looked like without the mask.” hands tighten into fists at his side instead, swallowing down a plea for something he cannot ask of this man who has become king. “i want to know that there is hope for the futures that she wanted for us both.” he wants to beg nikolai not to destroy himself, but that isn’t for him to ask.
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just a little heads up that i’m going to be moving and remaking this blog in the next few days! i need the fresh start and am hoping that with a little more organization i’ll be able to get my muse back up, but i will be keeping most of the threads i currently owe.
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𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀 . solsnkta
“ a menace? no, he can’t be! look at those eyes; are those the eyes of a menace? ” alina laughs again. she knows this puppy will quickly learn he will get whatever he wants from her. she’s a sucker and she knows it. she rests her head against mal’s shoulder, totally content. “ hm. that is a good point. and saints know they more than deserve a break from the children. they are the true menaces, i suspect. ”
he feigns consideration as he look at the animal, holding him up for alina to gaze into the sweet creature’s eyes. “those certainly aren’t the eyes of a well behaved young man.” they were both goners, the way the dog whined in his grasp made his own heart melt. and the way she looked to him, mal knew it was only a matter of time before he became the new spoiled addition to their household. he doesn’t mind, though, squeezing her tightly against him. a kiss is pressed to her forehead, letting himself linger before glancing down to the little ball of fur. “we should take the kids and dogs out to the meadow. it’ll be good for them all to get some fresh air, a chance to relax.” and for them to relax, in the place that had always brought them comfort.
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MAL ORETSEV
Shadow and Bone | 1.02
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𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐀 . livingprophecy
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 the darkling could have given her was life; but she chooses to build herself stronger despite this, because in the arms of the only person she’s ever trusted, she can bear to pick up the pieces and stitch herself back together. they deserved a chance to be happy, didn’t they? to walk through fire, and rather than skin being burnt, it was their souls, and WAS THAT NOT ENOUGH? everyone seems to have lost hope — even alina, THE SUN, the light they all needed — and genya is struggling to grip onto what’s left. but she can grip onto mal, and she can find hope in his arms, and oh gods above, she needs him. fingers intertwined, she breathes, trying to make herself smaller, clinging on for dear life. “don’t worry, i can take care of you now.” he has always taken care of her, more than she’s been able to take care of him: he’s never allowed himself to be taken care of. the tears stream down her face silently, feeling like her voice has been taken from her, all the power she felt she once had despite, despite, despite. (power she will hold again, so long as she is breathing, DESPITE, DESPITE, DESPITE).
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄 says her name terrifies her — there is so much weight in that name, one of the few who says it with reverence and respect. and now, it accompanies broken half sobs, something he’s deserved to express for all these years. it still scares her nonetheless, and immediately she refuses to be small any longer, twisting to turn to the tracker, kneeling and cupping his face. “mal. it’s alright. i have you. just breathe.” they are allowed this moment, while the world falls apart around them. the fear settles into a pit in her stomach, and she knows whatever has him this troubled, it would simply be another heartbreak; one hopefully that wouldn’t break her completely. so genya nods, single eye watching his expressions carefully. what he doesn’t know is that she would tear herself apart AGAIN AND AGAIN to end whatever this pain was, because she is tired of the people around her getting hurt. she nods again, more reassuring herself that she’d be okay too. “i could never hate you.” she’s tried, when sobs clawed out of her in the pitch black darkness of her room, left alone and cold. (but he is her constant, HE WILL NEVER CHANGE). hesitating, the tailor takes a shaky breath, wiping at her own tears. “it’s alright, mal. i can be strong. we both can.”
it was only fitting that the very person who had once promised them a better world was the one destroying them. it’s worse to now understand that it had been him all along, the darkling’s quest for something beyond power left their lives as forfeit. he was supposed to care for them; a lost grisha girl and the relative who had lost everything to this war. HE'D DAMNED THEM HIMSELF, had placed her in the path of the man who would be her torment for years to come, and he… while he’d saved mal, it was never life that he’d been granted. but this— this is life, to feel genya’s exhale as he holds her, knowing there are those he has loved and have loved him in return. it’s a comfort, a force that steadies his voice as he nods once. “i’m sorry that it took me this long to give you the chance. i know my soul would have always been treated gently in your hands.” for all that it is tenderness that takes hold of him, mal cannot escape the grief that clouds those words. but grief has not stopped ripping into him since the moment he walked away from the darkling, the only family he had left who was not family at all. ( she was his family; the one who had stuck with him, and had let him back in when he did not deserve it. what he had been clawing for all along, and he was too blind to see it right in front of him. )
nothing about their lives has ever been easy, but this is torture in its purest form. her tenderness should make the words come easier. still, mal can feel himself breaking anew at how much love radiates from her, the strength that’s been stitched into her after everything; DESPITE EVERYTHING. his eyes flutter shut at the press of her skin against his face, letting himself lean into the touch to steady himself as the tears flow freely. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” breath is an afterthought, though he knows each one is counted. apologies are all that he has to give, the only thing that feels almost enough. “i don’t get to see the end of this war with you.” he hates how terribly small his voice becomes as the words form, the fear he’d never let himself show leaking through. aleksandr had all but plunged the knife into mal’s chest with every reminder that his time on this earth was fleeting, that it was owed to him and his mission. and now mal had to die knowing the people he loved would not rest until the sacrifice was made. his heart has broken a thousand times, but it shatters once more as his eyes open, vision swimming as another knife cuts into him. the truth spilled out at last. “the last amplifier isn’t out in some forest. it’s me. it’s always been me.” he can’t voice the rest; that he’d known for as long as he’d been a willing pawn. he knows it wouldn’t matter, everything would fall into place. this was his truth, it had been for years.
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